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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:36:25 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:36:25 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/11254-0.txt b/11254-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6110bed --- /dev/null +++ b/11254-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8839 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11254 *** + +THE + +POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +JOHNSON, PARNELL, GRAY, + +AND + +SMOLLETT. + + + + +With Memoirs, Critical Dissertations, and +Explanatory Notes + +BY THE +REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. +EDINBURGH + + +M.DCCC.LV. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +JOHNSON'S POEMS. + + The Life of Samuel Johnson + London: a Poem in imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal, 1738 + The Vanity of Human Wishes. In imitation of the Tenth Satire of + Juvenal + +PROLOGUES:-- + Prologue Spoken by Mr Garrick, at the Opening of the Theatre-Royal, + Drury-Lane, 1747 + Prologue Spoken by Mr Garrick before the 'Masque of Comus', acted + for the benefit of Milton's Grand-daughter + Prologue to Goldsmith's Comedy of 'The Good-Natured Man', 1769 + Prologue to the Comedy of 'A Word to the Wise,' spoken by Mr Hull + +ODES:-- + Spring + Midsummer + Autumn + Winter + +MISCELLANEOUS:-- + The Winter's Walk + To Miss ***** on her giving the Author a Gold and Silk Network + Purse of her own Weaving + Epigram on George II. and Colley Cibber, Esq. + Stella in Mourning + To Stella + Verses Written at the Request of a Gentleman to whom a Lady had + given a Sprig of Myrtle + To Lady Firebrace, at Bury Assizes + To Lycè, an Elderly Lady + On the Death of Mr Robert Levett, a Practiser in Physic + Epitaph on Claude Phillips, an Itinerant Musician + Epitaph on Sir Thomas Hanmer, Bart. + On the Death of Stephen Grey, F.R.S., the Electrician + To Miss Hickman, Playing on the Spinnet + Paraphrase of Proverbs, chap. iv. verses 6-11 + Horace, Lib. iv. Ode vii. Translated + On Seeing a Bust of Mrs Montague + Anacreon, Ode Ninth + Lines Written in Ridicule of certain Poems published in 1777 + Parody of a Translation from the 'Medea' of Euripides + Burlesque on the Modern Versification of Ancient Legendary Tales: + an Impromptu + Epitaph for Mr Hogarth + Translation of the Two First Stanzas of the Song 'Rio Verde, + Rio Verde', printed in Bishop Percy's 'Reliques of Ancient + English Poetry': an Impromptu + To Mrs Thrale, on her Completing her Thirty-Fifth Year: a + Impromptu + Impromptu Translation of an Air in the 'Clemenza de Tito' of + Metastasia, beginning 'Deh! se Piacermi Vuoi' + Lines Written under a Print representing Persons Skaiting + Translation of a Speech of Aquileio in the 'Adriano' of Metastasio, + beginning, 'Tu Che in Corte Invecchiasti' + Impromptu on Hearing Miss Thrale Consulting with a Friend about a + Gown and Hat she was inclined to Wear + Translation of Virgil, Pastoral I + Translation of Horace, Book i. Ode xxii. + Translation of Horace, Book ii. Ode ix. + Translation of part of the Dialogue between Hector and + Andromache.--From the Sixth Book of Homer's Iliad + To Miss * * * * on her Playing upon a Harpsichord in a Room hung + with Flower-Pieces of her own Painting + Evening: an Ode. To Stella + To the Same + To a Friend + To a Young Lady, on her Birthday + Epilogue intended to have been Spoken by a Lady who was to + personate 'The Ghost of Hermione' + The Young Author + Friendship: an Ode. Printed in the Gentleman's Magazine, 1743 + Imitation of the Style of Percy + One and Twenty + +PARNELL'S POEMS. + + The Life and Poetry of Thomas Parnell + Hesiod; or, the Rise of Woman + Song + Song + Song + Anacreontic + Anacreontic + A Fairy Tale, in the Ancient English Style + To Mr Pope + Health: an Eclogue + The Flies: an Eclogue + An Elegy to an Old Beauty + The Book-Worm + An Allegory on Man + An Imitation of some French Verses + A Night-Piece on Death + A Hymn to Contentment + The Hermit + +GRAY'S POEMS. + +The Life and Poetry of Thomas Gray + +ODES:-- + I. On the Spring + II. On the Death of a Favorite Cat + III. On a distant Prospect of Eton College + IV. To Adversity + V. The Progress of Poesy + VI. The Bard + VII. The Fatal Sisters + VIII. The Descent of Odin + IX. The Death of Hoel + X. The Triumph of Owen + XI. For Music + +MISCELLANEOUS:-- + A Long Story + Elegy written in a Country Churchyard + Epitaph on Mrs Jane Clarke + Stanzas, suggested by a View of the Seat and Ruins at Kingsgate, + in Kent, 1766 + Translation from Statius + Gray on himself + +SMOLLETT'S POEMS. + + The Life of Tobias Smollett + Advice: a Satire + Reproof: a Satire + The Tears of Scotland. Written in the year 1746 + Verses on a Young Lady playing on a Harpsichord and Singing + Love Elegy, in imitation of Tibullus + Burlesque Ode + Ode to Mirth + Ode to Sleep + Ode to Leven Water + Ode to Blue-Eyed Ann + Ode to Independence + Songs + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +SAMUEL JOHNSON. + + +THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. + +We feel considerable trepidation in beginning a life of Johnson, not +so much on account of the magnitude of the man--for in Milton, and one +or two others, we have already met his match--but on account of the +fact that the field has been so thoroughly exhausted by former +writers. It is in the shadow of Boswell, the best of all biographers, +and not in that of Johnson, that we feel ourselves at present +cowering. Yet we must try to give a rapid account of the leading +incidents in Johnson's life, as well as a short estimate of his vast, +rugged genius. + +Samuel Johnson was born at Lichfield, Staffordshire, on the 18th of +September 1709, and was baptized the same day. His father was Michael +Johnson, a bookseller and stationer, and his mother, Sarah Ford. +Samuel was the first-born of the family. Nathaniel, who died in his +twenty-fifth year, was the second and the last. Johnson very early +began to manifest both his peculiar prejudices and his peculiar +powers. When a mere child, we see him in Lichfield Cathedral, perched +on his father's shoulders, gazing at Sacheverel, the famous Tory +preacher. We hear him, about the same time, roaring to his mother, who +had given him, a minute before, a collect in the Common Prayer-Book to +get by heart as his day's task,--"Mother, I can say it already!" His +first teacher, Dame Oliver, a widow, thought him, as she well might, +the best scholar she ever had. From her he passed into the hands of +one Tom Brown, an original, who once published a spelling-book, and +dedicated it "to the Universe!"--without permission, we presume. He +began to learn Latin first with a Mr Hawkins, and then with a Mr +Hunter, head-master of Lichfield,--a petty tyrant, although a good +scholar, under whom, to use Gay's language, Johnson was + +"Lash'd into Latin by the tingling rod." + +At the age of fifteen, he was transferred to Stourbridge school, and +to the care of a Mr Wentworth, who "taught him a great deal." There +he remained twelve months, at the close of which he returned home, and +for two years lived in his father's house, in comparative idleness, +loitering in the fields, and reading much, but desultorily. In 1728, +being flattered with some promises of aid from a Shropshire gentleman, +named Corbet, which were never fulfilled, he went to Oxford, and was +entered as a commoner in Pembroke College. His father accompanied and +introduced him to Dr Adams, and to Jorden, who became his tutor, +recommending his son as a good scholar and a poet. Under Jorden's +care, however, he did little except translate Pope's "Messiah" into +Latin verse,--a task which he performed with great rapidity, and so +well, that Pope warmly commended it when he saw it printed in a +miscellany of poems. About this time, the hypochondriac affection, +which rendered Johnson's long life a long disease, began to manifest +itself. In the vacation of 1729, he was seized with the darkest +despondency, which he tried to alleviate by violent exercise and other +means, but in vain. It seems to have left him during a fit of +indignation at Dr Swinfen (a physician at Lichfield, who, struck by +the elegant Latinity of an account of his malady, which the sufferer +had put into his hands, showed it in all directions), but continued to +recur at frequent intervals till the close of his life. His malady was +undoubtedly of a maniacal cast, resembling Cowper's, but subdued by +superior strength of will--a Bucephalus, which it required all the +power of a Johnson to back and bridle. In his early days, he had been +piously inclined, but after his ninth year, fell into a state of +indifference to religion. This continued till he met, at Oxford, Law's +"Serious Call," which, he says, "overmatched" and compelled him to +consider the subject with earnestness. And whatever, in after years, +were the errors of his life, he never, from that hour, ceased to have +a solemn sense of the verities of the Christian religion. + +At Oxford, he paid little attention to his regular tasks, but read, or +rather devoured, all the books he could lay his hands on, and began to +display his unrivalled conversational powers, being often seen +"lounging about the college gates, with a circle of young students +around him, whom he was entertaining with wit, keeping from their +studies, and sometimes rousing to rebellion against the college +discipline." He was, at this time, so miserably poor, that his shoes +were worn to tatters, and his feet appeared through them, to the +scandal of the Christ-Church men, when he occasionally visited their +college. Some compassionate individual laid a new pair at his door, +which he tossed away with indignation. At last,--his debts increasing, +his supplies diminishing, and his father becoming bankrupt,--he was, +in autumn 1731, compelled to leave college without a degree. In the +December of the same year his father died. + +Perhaps there was not now in broad Britain a person apparently more +helpless and hopeless than this tall, half-blind, half-mad, and wholly +miserable lad, with ragged shoes, and no degree, left suddenly +fatherless in Lichfield. But he had a number of warm friends in his +native place, such as Captain Garrick, father of the actor, and +Gilbert Walmsley, Registrar of the Ecclesiastical Court, who would not +suffer him to starve outright. He had learning and genius; and he had, +moreover, under all his indolence and all his melancholy, an +indomitable resolution, which needed only to be roused to make all +obstacles melt before it. He knew that he was great and strong, and +would yet struggle into recognition. At first, however, nothing +offered save the post of usher in a school at Market-Bosworth, which +he occupied long enough to learn to loathe the occupation with all his +heart and soul, and mind and strength, but which he soon resigned, and +was again idle. He was invited next to spend some time with Mr +Hector, an early friend, who was residing in Birmingham. Here he +became acquainted with one Porter, a mercer, whose widow he afterwards +married. Here, too, he executed his first literary work,--a +translation of Lobo's "Voyage to Abyssinia," which was published in +1735, and for which he received the munificent sum of five guineas! He +had previously, without success, issued proposals for an edition of +the Latin poems of Politian; and, with a similar result, offered the +service of his pen to Edward Cave, the editor and publisher of the +_Gentleman's Magazine_, to which he afterwards became a leading +contributor. + +Shortly after this, Porter dying, Johnson married the widow--a lady +more distinguished for sense, and particularly for _the_ sense to +appreciate his talents, than for personal charms, and who was twice +her husband's age. It does not seem to have been a very happy match, +although, probably, both parties loved each other better than they +imagined. He was now assisted by his wife's portion, which amounted to +£800, and opened a private academy at Echal, near Lichfield, but +obtained only three pupils,--a Mr Offely, who died early, the +celebrated David Garrick, and his brother George. At the end of a year +and a half, disgusted alike with the duties of the office, and with +his want of success in their discharge, Johnson left for London, with +David Garrick for his companion, and reached it with one letter of +introduction from Gilbert Walmsley, three acts of the tragedy of +"Irene," and (according to his fellow-traveller) threepence-halfpenny +in his pocket! + +To London he had probably looked as to the great mart of genius, but +at first he met with mortifying disappointment. He made one +influential friend, however, in an officer named Henry Hervey, of whom +he said, "He was a vicious man, but very kind to me; were you to call +a dog Hervey, I shall love him." In summer he came back to Lichfield, +where he stayed three months, and finished his tragedy. He returned to +London in autumn, along with his wife, and tried, but in vain, to get +"Irene" presented on the stage. This did not happen till 1749, when +his old pupil David Garrick had become manager of Drury Lane Theatre. + +In March 1738, he began to contribute to the _Gentleman's Magazine_, a +magazine he had long admired, and the original printing-place of +which--St John's Gate--he "beheld with reverence" when he first passed +it. Amidst the variety of his contributions, the most remarkable were +his "Debates in the Senate of Lilliput"--vigorous paraphrases of the +parliamentary discussions--of which Johnson finding the mere skeleton +given him by the reporters, was at the pains of clothing it with the +flesh and blood of his own powerful diction. In May of the same year +appeared his noble imitation of Juvenal, "London," which at once made +him famous. After it had been rejected by several publishers, it was +bought by Dodsley for ten guineas. It came out the same morning with +Pope's satire, entitled "1738," and excited a much greater sensation. +The buzzing question ran, "What great unknown genius can this be?" The +poem went to a second edition in a week; and Pope himself, who had +read it with pleasure, when told that its author was an obscure man +named Johnson, replied, "He will soon be _déterré_." + +Famous as he had now become, he continued poor; and tired to death of +slaving for the booksellers, he applied, through the influence of Pope +and Lord Gower, to procure a degree from Dublin, that it might aid him +in his application for a school at Appleby, in Leicestershire. In +this, however, he failed, and had to persevere for many years more in +the ill-paid drudgery of authorship--meditating a translation of +"Father Paul's History," which was never executed--writing in the +_Gentleman's Magazine_ lives of Böerhaave and Father Paul, &c., &c., +&c.--and published separately "Marmor Norfolciense," a disguised +invective against Sir Robert Walpole, the obnoxious premier of the +day. About this time he became intimate with the notorious Richard +Savage, and with him spent too many of his private hours. Both were +poor, both proud, both patriotic, both at that time lovers of +pleasure, and they became for a season inseparable; often +perambulating the streets all night, engaged now, we fear, in low +revels, and now in high talk, and sometimes determined to stand by +their country when they could stand by nothing else. Yet, if Savage +for a season corrupted Johnson, he also communicated to him much +information, and at last left himself in legacy, as one of the best +subjects to one of the greatest masters of moral anatomy. In 1744, +Johnson rolled off from his powerful pen, with as much ease as a thick +oak a thunder-shower, the sounding sentences which compose the "Life +of Savage," and which shall for ever perpetuate the memory and the +tale of that "unlucky rascal." It is a wasp preserved in the richest +amber. The whole reads like one sentence, and is generally read at one +sitting. Sir Joshua Reynolds, meeting it in a country inn, began to +read it while standing with his arm leaning on a chimney-piece, and +was not able to lay it aside till he had finished it, when he found +his arm totally benumbed. In 1745, Johnson issued proposals for a new +edition of Shakspeare, but laid them aside for a time, owing to the +great expectations entertained of the edition then promised by +Warburton. + +For several years, except a few trifles in the _Gentleman's Magazine_, +and his famous "Prologue delivered at the Opening of Drury Lane +Theatre," he seems to have written nothing. But in 1745 appeared the +prospectus of his most laborious undertaking, the "English +Dictionary." This continued his principal occupation for some years, +and, as Boswell truly observes, "served to relieve his constitutional +melancholy by the steady, yet not oppressive, employment it secured +him." In its unity, too, and gigantic size, the task seemed fitted for +the powers of so strong a man; and although he says he dismissed it at +last with "frigid tranquillity," he had no doubt felt its influence +during the time to be at once that of a protecting guardian and of an +inspiring genius. In 1749, he published his "Vanity of Human Wishes," +for which he received the sum of fifteen guineas,--a miserable +recompense for a poem which Byron pronounces "sublime," and which is +as true as it is magnificent in thought, and terse in language. In the +same year, Garrick had "Irene" acted, but it was "damned" the first +night, although it dragged on heavily for eight nights more. When the +author was asked how he felt at its ill-success, he replied, "Like the +Monument!" How different from Addison, walking restlessly, and +perspiring with anxiety behind the scenes, while the fate of "Cato" +was hanging in the balance! + +In 1750 he began his "Rambler," and carried it on with only tolerable +success till 1752. The world has long ago made up its mind on the +merits and defects of this periodical, its masculine thought and +energetic diction, alternating with disguised common-place and (as he +would have said himself) "turgescent tameness"--its critical and +fictitious papers, often so rich in fancy, and felicitous in +expression, mixed with others which exhibit "bulk without spirit +vast," and are chiefly remarkable for their bold, bad innovations on +that English tongue of which the author was piling up the standard +Dictionary. Many have dwelt severely on Johnson's inequalities, +without attending to their cause; that was unquestionably the "body of +death" which hung so heavily upon his system, and rendered writing at +times a positive torment. Let his fastidious critics remember that he +never spent a single day, of which he could say that he was entirely +well, and free from pain, and that his spirits were often so +depressed, that he was more than once seen on his knees, praying God +to preserve his understanding. + +A great calamity now visited his household. This was the death of his +wife. She expired on the 17th of March 1752. She had been married to +him sixteen years; and notwithstanding the difference of age, and +other causes of disagreement, he seems to have loved her with +sincerity, and to have lamented her death with deep and long-continued +sorrow. He relaxed not, however, an instant in his literary labours, +continued the preparation of his Dictionary, and contributed a few +lively and vigorous papers to the "Adventurer"--a paper, edited by Dr +Hawkesworth, a writer of some talent, who did his best to tower up to +the measure and stature of the "Rambler." + +During this time Johnson was filling his house with a colony of poor +dependants,--such as Mrs Anna Williams, a soured female poetaster; and +Levet, a tenth-rate medical peripatetic, who, as well as Hodge, the +great lexicographer's cat, and Francis Barber, his black servant, now +share in his immortality,--besides becoming acquainted with such men +of eminence as Reynolds, the inimitable painter; Bennet Langton, the +amiable and excellent country-gentleman; and Beauclerk, the smart and +witty "man about town." In 1755 (exactly a hundred years ago), Johnson +chastised Lord Chesterfield for his mean, finessing conduct to him +about his Dictionary, in a letter unparalleled, unless in "Junius," +for its noble and condensed scorn,--a scorn which "burns frore," cold +performing the effect of fire--and which reached that callous Lord, +under the sevenfold shield of his conceit and conventionalism; visited +Oxford, and was presented by acclamation with that degree of M.A. +which he had left twenty-four years before without receiving; and, in +fine, issued his Dictionary, the work of eight years, and which, +undoubtedly, is the truest monument of his talent, industry, and +general capacity, if not of the richness of his invention, or of the +strength of his genius. He had obtained for it only the sum of £1575, +which was all spent in the progress of the work; and he was compelled +again to become a contributor to the periodical press, writing +copiously and characteristically to the _Gentleman's Magazine_, the +_Universal Visitor_, and the _Literary Magazine_. In 1756, he was +arrested for a debt of £5, 18s., but was relieved by Richardson, the +novelist. In the same year he resumed his intention of an edition of +Shakspeare, of which he issued proposals, and which he promised to +finish in little more than a year, although nine years were to elapse +ere it saw the light. In 1758, he began the "Idler," which reached the +103d No., and was considered lighter and more agreeable than the +"Rambler." He has seldom written anything so powerful as his fable of +"The Vultures." In 1759, his mother died, at the age of ninety,--an +event which deeply affected him. Soon after this, and to defray the +expenses of her funeral, he wrote his brilliant tale of "Rasselas," in +the evenings of a single week,--a rare feat of readiness and rapid +power, reminding one of Byron writing the "Corsair" in a fortnight, +and of Sir Walter Scott finishing "Guy Mannering" in three weeks. +There are perhaps more invention and more fancy in "Rasselas" than in +any of his works, although a gloom, partly the shadow of his mother's +death, and partly springing from his own temperament, rests too +heavily on its pages. He received one hundred guineas for the +copyright. In 1762, the Earl of Bute, both as a reward for past +services, and as a prepayment of future, bestowed on him a pension of +£300 for life. This raised a clamour against him, which he treated +with silent contempt. + +In 1763 occurred what was really a most important event in Johnson's +life,--his acquaintance with Boswell,--who attached himself to him +with a devotion reminding one more of the canine species than of man, +sacrificed to him much of his time, his feelings, his very +individuality, and became qualified to write a biography, in which +fulness, interest, minute detail, and dramatic skill have never been +equalled or approached. In 1764, Johnson founded the celebrated +"Literary Club,"--perhaps the most remarkable cluster of distinguished +men that ever existed; and in 1765 he was created LL.D. by Trinity +College, Dublin. In 1765, too, he published his "Shakspeare;" and he +became intimate with the Thrales,--the husband being a great brewer in +Southwark; the wife, a lady of literary tastes, better known as Madame +Piozzi, the author of "Anecdotes of Dr Johnson;" both distinguished +for their attachment to him. He was often domesticated in their house +for months together. In 1767 he had an interview with George III., in +the library of the Queen's house; which, because Johnson preserved his +self-possession, and talked with his usual precision and power, has +been recounted by Boswell as if it had been a conversation with an +apostle or an angel. In 1770 he did some work for his pension in a +pamphlet entitled the "False Alarm," defending the conduct of the +Ministry in the case of the Middlesex election. In 1771 he wrote +another political pamphlet, entitled "Thoughts on the late +Transactions respecting Falklands' Islands;" and five years later +appeared "Taxation no Tyranny,"--an elaborate defence of the American +war. Johnson was too dogmatic, and too fiercely passionate for a good +political writer; and these productions added nothing to his fame, and +increased the number of his enemies. + +In 1773 he fulfilled his long-cherished purpose of visiting Scotland +and the Hebrides, the story of which trip he told afterwards in his +usual rotund and massive style, and which was recounted with far more +liveliness and verisimilitude by Boswell. In 1774 he lost Goldsmith, +who had long been his friend, whom he had counselled, rebuked, +assisted, loved, and laughed at, and at whose death he was deeply +grieved. In 1775, the publication of his "Tour to the Hebrides" +brought him in collision with the _perfervidum ingenium Scotorum_, and +especially with James Macpherson, to whom Johnson sent a letter which +crushed him like a catapult. Macpherson, as well as Rob Roy, was only +strong on his native heath, and off it was no match for old Sam, whose +prejudices, passions, and gigantic powers, combined to make him +altogether irresistible in a literary duel. The same year, the +University of Oxford conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Laws; +and in the close of it, he paid a visit, along with the Thrales, +to Paris. + +In 1776 nothing remarkable occurred in his history, unless it were the +interview which Boswell so admirably manoeuvred to bring about between +him and Jack Wilkes. Everybody remembers how well the bear and the +monkey for the time agreed, and how both turned round to snub the +spaniel, who had been the medium of their introduction to each other. + +In 1777 he was requested by the London booksellers to prefix prefaces +to the "English Poets," part of which was issued the next year, and +the rest in 1780 and 1781, as the "Lives of English Poets." This work +has generally been regarded as Johnson's masterpiece. It nowhere, +indeed, displays so much of the creative, the inventive, the poetical, +as his "Rasselas," and many of his smaller tales and fictions. Its +judgments, too, have been often and justly controverted. The book is, +undoubtedly, a storehouse of his prejudices, as well as of his wisdom. +Its treatment of Milton, the man, for instance, is insufferably +insolent, although ample justice is done to Milton, the poet of the +"Paradise Lost." Some poetasters he has overpraised, and some true but +minor poets he has thrust down too far in the scale. But the work, as +a whole, is full of inextinguishable life, and has passages verging on +the eloquence and power of genius. A piece of stern, sober, yet broad +and animated composition, rather careless in dates, and rather cursory +in many of its criticisms, it displays unequalled force of thought, +and pointed vigour of style, and when taken in connexion with the age +of the author (seventy), is altogether marvellous. Truly there were +"giants in those days," and this was a Briareus. + +For the details of his later life, his conversations, growing +weakness, little journeys, unconquerable love of literature, &c., we +must refer our readers to Boswell's teeming narrative. In 1783, he had +a stroke of palsy, which deprived him for a time of speech. That +returned to him, however, but a complication of complaints, including +asthma, sciatica, and dropsy, began gradually to undermine his +powerful frame. He continued to the last to cherish the prospect of a +tour to Italy, but never accomplished his purpose. Death had all along +been his great object of dread, and its fast approaches were regarded +with unmitigated terror. "Cut deeper," he cried to the physicians who +were operating on his limbs; "cut deeper; I don't care for pain, but I +fear death." He fixed all his dying hope upon the Cross, and +recommended Clarke's Sermons as fullest on the doctrine of a +Propitiation. He spoke of the Bible and of the Sabbath with the +warmest feelings of belief and respect. At last, on the 13th day of +December 1784, in the seventy-fifth year of his age, this great, good +man, whose fears had subsided, and who had become as a little child, +fell asleep in Jesus. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, on Monday, +December 20th, and his funeral was attended by the most distinguished +men of the day. + +Perhaps no literary man ever exerted, during his lifetime, the same +personal influence as Samuel Johnson. Shelley used to call Byron the +"Byronic Energy," from a sense of his exceeding power. The author of +"Rasselas" was the "Johnsonian Energy;" and the demon within him, if +not so ethereal and terrible as Byron's, was far more massive, equally +strong, and in conversation, at least, much more ready to do his work. +First-rate conversation generally springs from a desire to shine, or +from the effort of a full mind to relieve itself, or from exuberant +animal spirits, or from deep-seated misery. In Johnson it sprang from +a combination of all these causes. He went to conversation as to an +arena--his mind was richly-stored, even to overflowing--in company his +spirits uniformly rose--and yet there was always at his heart a burden +of wretchedness, seeking solace, not in silence, but in speech. Hence, +with the exception of Burke, no one ever matched him in talk; and +Burke, we imagine, although profounder in thought, more varied in +learning, and more brilliant in imagination, seldom fairly pitted +himself against Johnson. He was a younger man, and held the sage in +too much reverence to encounter him often with any deliberate and +determined purpose of contest. He frequently touched the shield of the +general challenger, not with the sharp, but with the butt-end of his +lance. He said, on one occasion, when asked why he had not talked more +in Johnson's company, "Oh! it is enough for me to have rung the +bell to him!" + +In all Johnson's works you see the traces of the triumphant +conversationalist--of one who has met with few to contradict, and +scarcely one to rival him. Hence the dogmatic strength and certainty, +and hence, too, the one-sidedness and limitation of much of his +writings. He does not "allow for the wind." He seems to anticipate no +reply, and to defy all criticism. One is tempted to quote the words of +Solomon, "He that is first in his own cause seemeth just, but his +neighbour cometh and searcheth him." No such searching seems ever to +have entered into Johnson's apprehensions. His sentences roll forth +like the laws of the Medes and Persians; his praise alights with the +authoritativeness of a sun-burst on a mountain; summit; and when he +blames, he seems to add, like an ancient doomster, the words, "I +pronounce for doom." With Burke, it was very different. Accustomed to +parliamentary debate in its vicissitudes and interchange--gifted, too, +with a prophetic insight into coming objections, which "cast their +shadows before," and with an almost diseased subtlety of thinking, he +binds up his answers to opponents with every thesis he propounds; and +his paragraphs sometimes remind you of the plan of generals in great +emergencies, putting foot soldiers on the same saddles with +cavalry--they seem to _ride double_. + +This is not the place, nor have we room, to dilate on Johnson's +obvious merits and faults--his straight-forward sincerity--his strong +manly sense--the masterly force with which he grasps all his +subjects--the measured fervour of his style--the precision and +vivacity of his shorter sentences--the grand swell and sonorousness of +his longer; on his frequent monotony--his _sesguipedalia verba_--the +"timorous meaning" which sometimes lurks under his "boldest words;" or +on the deep _chiaroscuro_ which discolours all his pictures of man, +nature, society, and human life. We have now only to speak of his +poetry. That is, unfortunately, small in amount, although its quality +is so excellent as to excite keen regret that he had not, as he once +intended, written many more pieces in the style of "London," and the +"Vanity of Human Wishes." In these, the model of his mere manner is +Pope, although coloured by Juvenal, his Latin original; but the matter +and spirit are intensely his own. In "London," satire seems swelling +out of itself into something stronger and statelier--it is the +apotheosis of that kind of poetry. You see in it a mind purer and +sterner than Dryden's, or Pope's, or Churchill's, or even Juvenal's; +"doing well to be angry" with a degenerate age, and a false, cowardly +country, of which he deems himself unworthy to be a citizen. If there +is rather too much of the _saeva indignatio_, which Swift speaks of as +lacerating his heart, it is a nobler and less selfish ire than his, +and the language and verse which it inspires are full of the very soul +of dignity. In the "Vanity of Human Wishes," he becomes one of those +"hunters whose game is man" (to use the language of Soame Jenyns, in +that essay on "The Origin of Evil," which Johnson, in the _Literary +Review_, so mercilessly lashed); and from assailing premiers, +parliaments, and the vices of London and England, he passes, in a very +solemn spirit, to expose the vain hopes, wishes, and efforts of +humanity at large. Parts of this poem are written more in sorrow than +in anger, and parts more in anger than in sorrow. The portraits of +Wolsey, Bacon, and Charles the Twelfth, are admirable in their +execution, and in their adaptation to the argument of the piece; and +the last paragraph, for truth and masculine energy is unsurpassed, we +believe, in the whole compass of ethical poetry. We are far from +assenting to the statement we once heard ably and elaborately +advocated, "that there had been no _strong_ poetry in Britain since +the two satires of Johnson;" and we are still further from classing +their author with the Shakspeares, Miltons, Wordsworths, and +Coleridges of song; but we are nevertheless prepared, not only for the +sake of these two satires, of his prologue, and of some other pieces +in verse, but on account of the general spirit of much of his prose, +to pronounce him potentially, if not actually, a great poet. + + * * * * * + +JOHNSON'S POEMS. + + +LONDON: + + A POEM IN IMITATION OF THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL, 1738. + + "--Quis ineptæ + Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus ut teneat se?" + + --JUVENAL. + + Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel + When injured Thales[1] bids the town farewell, + Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice commend; + I praise the hermit, but regret the friend; + Resolved, at length, from vice and London far, + To breathe in distant fields a purer air, + And, fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore, + Give to St David one true Briton more. + + For who would leave, unbribed, Hibernia's land, + Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand? 10 + There none are swept by sudden fate away, + But all whom hunger spares, with age decay: + Here malice, rapine, accident, conspire, + And now a rabble rages, now a fire; + Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay, + And here the fell attorney prowls for prey; + Here falling houses thunder on your head, + And here a female atheist talks you dead. + + While Thales waits the wherry that contains + Of dissipated wealth the small remains, 20 + On Thames's bank in silent thought we stood, + Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood; + Struck with the seat that gave Eliza[2] birth, + We kneel and kiss the consecrated earth; + In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew, + And call Britannia's glories back to view; + Behold her cross triumphant on the main, + The guard of commerce, and the dread of Spain; + Ere masquerades debauch'd, excise oppress'd, + Or English honour grew a standing jest. 30 + + A transient calm the happy scenes bestow, + And for a moment lull the sense of woe. + At length awaking, with contemptuous frown, + Indignant Thales eyes the neighbouring town. + Since worth, he cries, in these degenerate days, + Wants e'en the cheap reward of empty praise; + In those cursed walls, devote to vice and gain, + Since unrewarded science toils in vain; + Since hope but soothes to double my distress, + And every moment leaves my little less; 40 + While yet my steady steps no staff sustains, + And life, still vigorous, revels in my veins, + Grant me, kind Heaven! to find some happier place, + Where honesty and sense are no disgrace; + Some pleasing bank, where verdant osiers play, + Some peaceful vale, with Nature's paintings gay, + Where once the harass'd Briton found repose, + And, safe in poverty, defied his foes: + Some secret cell, ye Powers indulgent! give; + Let--live here, for--has learn'd to live. 50 + Here let those reign whom pensions can incite + To vote a patriot black, a courtier white; + Explain their country's dear-bought rights away, + And plead for pirates[3] in the face of day; + With slavish tenets taint our poison'd youth, + And lend a lie the confidence of truth. + Let such raise palaces, and manors buy, + Collect a tax, or farm a lottery; + With warbling eunuchs fill our silenced stage, + And lull to servitude a thoughtless age. 60 + Heroes, proceed! what bounds your pride shall hold? + What check restrain your thirst of power and gold? + Behold rebellious virtue quite o'erthrown; + Behold our fame, our wealth, our lives your own! + + To such the plunder of a land is given, + When public crimes inflame the wrath of Heaven. + But what, my friend, what hope remains for me, + Who start at theft, and blush at perjury, + Who scarce forbear, though Britain's court he sing, + To pluck a titled poet's borrow'd wing; 70 + A statesman's logic unconvinced can hear, + And dare to slumber o'er the Gazetteer;[4] + Despise a fool in half his pension dress'd, + And strive in vain to laugh at Clodio's jest? + + Others, with softer smiles, and subtler art, + Can sap the principles, or taint the heart; + With more address a lover's note convey, + Or bribe a virgin's innocence away. + Well may they rise, while I, whose rustic tongue + Ne'er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong, 80 + Spurn'd as a beggar, dreaded as a spy, + Live unregarded, unlamented die. + + For what but social guilt the friend endears? + Who shares Orgilio's crimes, his fortune shares. + But thou, should tempting villany present + All Marlborough hoarded, or all Villiers spent, + Turn from the glittering bribe thy scornful eye, + Nor sell for gold what gold could never buy-- + The peaceful slumber, self-approving day, + Unsullied fame, and conscience ever gay. 90 + + The cheated nation's happy favourites see! + Mark whom the great caress, who frown on me! + London, the needy villain's general home, + The common-sewer of Paris and of Rome, + With eager thirst, by folly or by fate, + Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state. + Forgive my transports on a theme like this-- + I cannot bear a French metropolis. + + Illustrious Edward! from the realms of day, + The land of heroes and of saints survey; 100 + Nor hope the British lineaments to trace, + The rustic grandeur, or the surly grace; + But lost in thoughtless ease and empty show, + Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau; + Sense, freedom, piety, refin'd away, + Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey! + + All that at home no more can beg or steal, + Or like a gibbet better than a wheel; + Hiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the court, + Their air, their dress, their politics import; 110 + Obsequious, artful, voluble, and gay, + On Britain's fond credulity they prey. + No gainful trade their industry can 'scape. + They sing, they dance, clean shoes, or cure a clap: + All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows, + And bid him go to hell, to hell he goes. + Ah! what avails it that, from slavery far, + I drew the breath of life in English air; + Was early taught a Briton's right to prize, + And lisp the tale of Henry's victories; 120 + If the gull'd conqueror receives the chain, + And flattery prevails, when arms are vain? + + Studious to please, and ready to submit, + The supple Gaul was born a parasite: + Still to his interest true where'er he goes, + Wit, bravery, worth, his lavish tongue bestows; + In every face a thousand graces shine, + From every tongue flows harmony divine. + These arts in vain our rugged natives try, + Strain out, with faltering diffidence, a lie, 130 + And get a kick for awkward flattery. + + Besides, with justice, this discerning age + Admires their wondrous talents for the stage: + Well may they venture on the mimic's art, + Who play from morn to night a borrow'd part; + Practised their master's notions to embrace, + Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face; + With every wild absurdity comply, + And view its object with another's eye; + To shake with laughter ere the jest they hear, 140 + To pour at will the counterfeited tear; + And as their patron hints the cold or heat, + To shake in dog-days, in December sweat. + + How, when competitors like these contend, + Can surly Virtue hope to fix a friend? + Slaves that with serious impudence beguile, + And lie without a blush, without a smile, + Exalt each trifle, every vice adore, + Your taste in snuff, your judgment in a whore, + Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear 150 + He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air. + + For arts like these preferr'd, admired, caress'd, + They first invade your table, then your breast; + Explore your secrets with insidious art, + Watch the weak hour, and ransack all the heart; + Then soon your ill-placed confidence repay, + Commence your lords, and govern or betray. + + By numbers here from shame and censure free, + All crimes are safe, but hated poverty. + This, only this, the rigid law pursues, 160 + This, only this, provokes the snarling Muse; + The sober trader, at a tatter'd cloak, + Wakes from his dream, and labours for a joke; + With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze, + And turn the various taunt a thousand ways. + Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd, + Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest; + Fate never wounds more deep the generous heart, + Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart. + + Has Heaven reserved, in pity to the poor, 170 + No pathless waste or undiscover'd shore; + No secret island in the boundless main; + No peaceful desert yet unclaim'd by Spain?[5] + Quick let us rise, the happy seats explore, + And bear Oppression's insolence no more. + This mournful truth is every where confess'd, + SLOW RISES WORTH, BY POVERTY DEPRESS'D: + But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold, + Where looks are merchandise, and smiles are sold; + Where, won by bribes, by flatteries implored, 180 + The groom retails the favours of his lord. + + But hark! the affrighted crowd's tumultuous cries + Roll through the streets, and thunder to the skies: + Raised from some pleasing dream of wealth and power, + Some pompous palace, or some blissful bower, + Aghast you start, and scarce with aching sight + Sustain the approaching fire's tremendous light; + Swift from pursuing horrors take your way, + And leave your little ALL to flames a prey; + Then through the world a wretched vagrant roam, 190 + For where can starving merit find a home? + In vain your mournful narrative disclose, + While all neglect, and most insult your woes. + Should Heaven's just bolts Orgilio's wealth confound, + And spread his flaming palace on the ground, + Swift o'er the land the dismal rumour flies, + And public mournings pacify the skies; + The laureate tribe in venal verse relate, + How Virtue wars with persecuting Fate; + With well-feign'd gratitude the pension'd band 200 + Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land. + See! while he builds, the gaudy vassals come, + And crowd with sudden wealth the rising dome; + The price of boroughs and of souls restore, + And raise his treasures higher than before: + Now bless'd with all the baubles of the great, + The polish'd marble, and the shining plate, + Orgilio sees the golden pile aspire, + And hopes from angry Heaven another fire. + + Could'st thou resign the park and play, content, 210 + For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent, + There might'st thou find some elegant retreat, + Some hireling senator's deserted seat; + And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling land, + For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand; + There prune thy walks, support thy drooping flowers, + Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bowers; + And, while thy grounds a cheap repast afford, + Despise the dainties of a venal lord: + There every bush with Nature's music rings, 220 + There every breeze bears health upon its wings; + On all thy hours Security shall smile, + And bless thine evening walk and morning toil. + + Prepare for death, if here at night you roam, + And sign your will before you sup from home. + Some fiery fop, with new commission vain, + Who sleeps on brambles till he kills his man; + Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast, + Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest. + Yet e'en these heroes, mischievously gay, 230 + Lords of the street, and terrors of the way; + Flush'd as they are with folly, youth, and wine, + Their prudent insults to the poor confine; + Afar they mark the flambeaux's bright approach, + And shun the shining train, and golden coach. + + In vain, these dangers past, your doors you close, + And hope the balmy blessings of repose: + Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair, + The midnight murderer bursts the faithless bar; + Invades the sacred hour of silent rest, 240 + And leaves, unseen, a dagger in your breast. + + Scarce can our fields, such crowds at Tyburn die, + With hemp the gallows and the fleet supply. + Propose your schemes, ye senatorian band! + Whose ways and means support the sinking land, + Lest ropes be wanting in the tempting spring + To rig another convoy for the king.[6] + + A single jail, in Alfred's golden reign, + Could half the nation's criminals contain; + Fair Justice then, without constraint adored, 250 + Held high the steady scale, but sheathed the sword; + No spies were paid, no special juries known, + Blest age! but, ah! how different from our own! + + Much could I add--but see the boat at hand, + The tide retiring, calls me from the land: + Farewell!--When, youth, and health, and fortune spent + Thou fliest for refuge to the wilds of Kent; + And, tired like me with follies and with crimes, + In angry numbers warn'st succeeding times, + Then shall thy friend, nor thou refuse his aid, 260 + Still foe to vice, forsake his Cambrian shade; + In Virtue's cause once more exert his rage, + Thy satire point, and animate thy page. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Thales:' supposed to refer to Savage, who intended to +retire to Wales about this time, and who accomplished his purpose +soon after.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Eliza:' Queen Elizabeth.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Pirates:' the piracies of the Spaniards were openly +defended in Parliament.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Gazetteer:' the then ministerial paper.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Unclaimed by Spain:' Spain was said then to be claiming +some of our American provinces.] + +[Footnote 6: 'The king:' the nation was discontented at the visits +made by the king to Hanover.] + + * * * * * + + +THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. + + IN IMITATION OF THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. + + Let Observation, with extensive view, + Survey mankind from China to Peru; + Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, + And watch the busy scenes of crowded life; + Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate, + O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate, + Where wavering man, betray'd by venturous pride, + To tread the dreary paths without a guide, + As treacherous phantoms in the mist delude, + Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good; 10 + How rarely Reason guides the stubborn choice, + Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice; + How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd, + When Vengeance listens to the fool's request; + Fate wings with every wish the afflictive dart, + Each gift of Nature, and each grace of Art, + With fatal heat impetuous courage glows, + With fatal sweetness elocution flows, + Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful breath, + And restless fire precipitates on death! 20 + + But, scarce observed, the knowing and the bold + Fall in the general massacre of gold; + Wide-wasting pest! that rages unconfined, + And crowds with crimes the records of mankind + For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws, + For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws; + Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth, nor safety buys, + The dangers gather as the treasures rise. + + Let history tell, where rival kings command, + And dubious title shakes the madded land, 30 + When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, + How much more safe the vassal than the lord: + Low skulks the hind beneath the reach of power, + And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower; + Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound, + Though Confiscation's vultures hover round. + + The needy traveller, serene and gay, + Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away. + Does envy seize thee? Crush the upbraiding joy, + Increase his riches, and his peace destroy-- 40 + Now fears in dire vicissitude invade, + The rustling brake alarms, and quivering shade; + Nor light nor darkness brings his pain relief, + One shows the plunder, and one hides the thief. + Yet still one general cry the sky assails, + And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales; + Few know the toiling statesman's fear or care, + The insidious rival, and the gaping heir. + + Once more, Democritus! arise on earth, + With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth; 50 + See motley life in modern trappings dress'd, + And feed with varied fools the eternal jest: + Thou who could'st laugh where want enchain'd caprice, + Toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a piece: + Where wealth, unloved, without a mourner died; + And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride; + Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate, + Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state; + Where change of favourites made no change of laws, + And senates heard before they judged a cause; 60 + How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish tribe, + Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe! + Attentive, truth and nature to descry, + And pierce each scene with philosophic eye, + To thee were solemn toys or empty show + The robes of pleasure, and the veils of woe: + All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain, + Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are vain. + + Such was the scorn that fill'd the sage's mind, + Renew'd at every glance on human kind. 70 + How just that scorn, e'er yet thy voice declare, + Search every state, and canvass every prayer. + + Unnumber'd suppliants crowd Preferment's gate, + Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great; + Delusive Fortune hears the incessant call, + They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall. + On every stage the foes of peace attend, + Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks their end. + Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's door + Pours in the morning worshipper no more; 80 + For growing names the weekly scribbler lies, + To growing wealth the dedicator flies; + From every room descends the painted face, + That hung the bright Palladium of the place; + And smoked in kitchens, or in auctions sold, + To better features yields the frame of gold; + For now no more we trace in every line + Heroic worth, benevolence divine: + The form distorted justifies the fall, + And detestation rids the indignant wall. 90 + + But will not Britain hear the last appeal, + Sign her foes' doom, or guard her favourites' zeal? + Through Freedom's sons no more remonstrance rings, + Degrading nobles, and controlling kings; + Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats, + And ask no questions, but the price of votes; + With weekly libels and septennial ale, + Their wish is full to riot and to rail. + + In full-blown dignity see Wolsey stand, + Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand! 100 + To him the church, the realm, their powers consign, + Through him the rays of regal bounty shine; + Turn'd by his nod, the stream of honour flows, + His smile alone security bestows: + Still to new heights his restless wishes tower; + Claim leads to claim, and power advances power; + Till conquest unresisted ceased to please, + And rights submitted, left him none to seize. + At length his sovereign frowns--the train of state + Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate; 110 + Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye, + His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly; + Now drops at once the pride of awful state, + The golden canopy, the glittering plate, + The regal palace, the luxurious board, + The liveried army, and the menial lord. + With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd, + He seeks the refuge of monastic rest. + Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings, + And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. 120 + + Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace repine, + Shall Wolsey's wealth, with Wolsey's end, be thine? + Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content, + The wisest justice on the banks of Trent? + For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of Fate, + On weak foundations raise the enormous weight? + Why but to sink beneath Misfortune's blow, + With louder ruin, to the gulphs below! + What gave great Villiers to the assassin's knife, + And fix'd disease on Harley's closing life? 130 + What murder'd Wentworth, and what exiled Hyde, + By kings protected, and to kings allied? + What but their wish indulged, in courts to shine, + And power too great to keep, or to resign! + + When first the college rolls receive his name, + The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame; + Resistless burns the fever of renown, + Caught from the strong contagion of the gown: + O'er Bodley's dome his future labours spread, + And Bacon's[1] mansion trembles o'er his head. 140 + Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious youth, + And Virtue guard thee to the throne of Truth! + Yet, should thy soul indulge the generous heat, + Till captive Science yields her last retreat; + Should Reason guide thee with her brightest ray, + And pour on misty Doubt resistless day; + Should no false kindness lure to loose delight, + Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright; + Should tempting Novelty thy cell refrain, + And Sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain; 150 + Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart, + Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart; + Should no disease thy torpid veins invade, + Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade; + Yet hope not life from grief or danger free, + Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee: + Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, + And pause a while from learning, to be wise; + There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, + Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. 160 + See nations, slowly wise, and meanly just, + To buried merit raise the tardy bust. + If dreams yet flatter, once again attend, + Hear Lydiat's[2] life, and Galileo's end. + + Nor deem, when Learning her last prize bestows, + The glittering eminence exempt from foes; + See, when the vulgar 'scapes, despised or awed, + Rebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud. + From meaner minds though smaller fines content, + The plunder'd palace, or sequester'd rent, 170 + Mark'd out by dangerous parts he meets the shock, + And fatal Learning leads him to the block: + Around his tomb let Art and Genius weep, + But hear his death, ye blockheads! hear and sleep. + + The festal blazes, the triumphal show, + The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe, + The senate's thanks, the Gazette's pompous tale, + With force resistless o'er the brave prevail. + Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd; + For such the steady Romans shook the world; 180 + For such in distant lands the Britons shine, + And stain with blood the Danube or the Rhine; + This power has praise, that virtue scarce can warm, + Till Fame supplies the universal charm. + Yet Reason frowns on War's unequal game, + Where wasted nations raise a single name, + And mortgaged 'states their grandsires' wreaths regret, + From age to age in everlasting debt; + Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right convey + To rust on medals, or on stones decay. 190 + + On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, + How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide; + A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, + No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; + O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, + Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain; + No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, + War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; + Behold surrounding kings their powers combine, + And one capitulate, and one resign; 200 + Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain: + 'Think nothing gain'd,' he cries, 'till nought remain, + On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, + And all be mine beneath the polar sky.' + The march begins in military state, + And nations on his eye suspended wait; + Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, + And Winter barricades the realms of Frost; + He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay; + Hide, blushing Glory! hide Pultowa's day: 210 + The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, + And shows his miseries in distant lands; + Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, + While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. + But did not Chance at length her error mend? + Did no subverted empire mark his end? + Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound, + Or hostile millions press him to the ground? + His fall was destined to a barren strand, + A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; 220 + He left the name at which the world grew pale, + To point a moral, or adorn a tale. + + All times their scenes of pompous woe afford, + From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord. + In gay hostility, and barbarous pride, + With half mankind embattled at his side, + Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey, + And starves exhausted regions in his way; + Attendant Flattery counts his myriads o'er, + Till counted myriads soothe his pride no more; 230 + Fresh praise is tried, till madness fires his mind, + The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind; + New powers are claim'd, new powers are still bestow'd, + Till rude resistance lops the spreading god; + The daring Greeks deride the martial show, + And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; + The insulted sea with humbler thoughts he gains, + A single skiff to speed his flight remains; + The encumber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded coast + Through purple billows and a floating host. 240 + The bold Bavarian,[3] in a luckless hour, + Tries the dread summits of Cæsarean power, + With unexpected legions bursts away, + And sees defenceless realms receive his sway: + Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful charms, + The Queen, the Beauty, sets the world in arms; + From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze + Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise; + The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar, + With all the sons of ravage, crowd the war; 250 + The baffled prince, in Honour's flattering bloom, + Of hasty greatness finds the fatal doom, + His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame, + And steals to death from anguish and from shame. + + Enlarge my life with multitude of days,-- + In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays, + Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know + That life protracted is protracted woe. + Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, + And shuts up all the passages of joy: 260 + In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, + The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flower; + With listless eyes the dotard views the store-- + He views, and wonders that they please no more. + Now pall the tasteless meats and joyless wines, + And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns. + Approach, ye minstrels! try the soothing strain, + Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain: + No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious ear, + Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near: 270 + Nor lute nor lyre his feeble powers attend, + Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend; + But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, + Perversely grave, or positively wrong; + The still returning tale, and lingering jest, + Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest; + While growing hopes scarce awe the gathering sneer, + And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear; + The watchful guests still hint the last offence, + The daughter's petulance, the son's expense, 280 + Improve his heady rage with treacherous skill, + And mould his passions till they make his will. + + Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade, + Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade; + But unextinguish'd Avarice still remains, + And dreaded losses aggravate his pains; + He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands, + His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands; + Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes, + Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies. 290 + + But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime + Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime-- + An age that melts with unperceived decay, + And glides in modest innocence away, + Whose peaceful day Benevolence endears, + Whose night congratulating Conscience cheers; + The general favourite as the general friend: + Such age there is, and who shall wish its end? + + Yet e'en on this her load Misfortune flings, + To press the weary minutes' flagging wings; 300 + New sorrow rises as the day returns, + A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. + Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier, + Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear; + Year chases year, decay pursues decay, + Still drops some joy from withering life away; + New forms arise, and different views engage, + Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage, + Till pitying Nature signs the last release, + And bids afflicted worth retire to peace. 310 + + But few there are whom hours like these await, + Who set unclouded in the gulphs of Fate. + From Lydia's monarch[4] should the search descend, + By Solon caution'd to regard his end, + In life's last scene what prodigies surprise, + Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise! + From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage flow, + And Swift expires a driveller and a show. + + The teeming mother, anxious for her race, + Begs for each birth the fortune of a face: 320 + Yet Vane[5] could tell what ills from beauty spring; + And Sedley[6] cursed the form that pleased a king. + Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes, + Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise, + Whom joys with soft varieties invite, + By day the frolic, and the dance by night, + Who frown with vanity, who smile with art, + And ask the latest fashion of the heart; + What care, what rules your heedless charms shall save, + Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave? + The rival batters, and the lover mines. + With distant voice neglected Virtue calls, + Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls; + Tired with contempt, she quits the slippery reign, + And Pride and Prudence take her seat in vain; + In crowd at once, where none the pass defend, + The harmless freedom and the private friend. + The guardians yield, by force superior plied-- + To Interest, Prudence; and to Flattery, Pride. 340 + Here Beauty falls betray'd, despised, distress'd, + And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest. + + Where, then, shall Hope and Fear their objects find? + Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? + Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, + Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? + Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, + No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? + Inquirer, cease! petitions yet remain, + Which Heaven may hear, nor deem Religion vain. 350 + Still raise for good the supplicating voice, + But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice; + Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar + The secret ambush of a specious prayer, + Implore His aid, in His decisions rest, + Secure whate'er He gives, He gives the best. + Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires, + And strong devotion to the skies aspires, + Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, + Obedient passions, and a will resign'd; 360 + For love, which scarce collective man can fill; + For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill; + For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, + Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat: + These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain, + These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain; + With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, + And makes the happiness she does not find. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Bacon:' Friar, whose study was to fall when a wiser man +than he entered it] + +[Footnote 2: 'Lydiat:' a learned divine, who spent many of his days in +prison for debt; he lived in Charles the First's time.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Bavarian:' Charles Albert, who aspired to the empire of +Austria against Maria Theresa--but was baffled.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Lydia's monarch:' Croesus.] + +[Footnote 5: Vane: 'Lady Vane, a celebrated courtezan; her memoirs are +in 'Peregrine Pickle.'] + +[Footnote 6: 'Sedley:' mistress of James II.] + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + SPOKEN BY MR GARRICK, AT THE OPENING OF THE + THEATRE-ROYAL DRURY-LANE, 1747. + + When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes + First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose; + Each change of many-colour'd life he drew, + Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new: + Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, + And panting Time toil'd after him in vain; + His powerful strokes presiding Truth impress'd, + And unresisted Passion storm'd the breast. + + Then Jonson came, instructed from the school, + To please in method, and invent by rule; 10 + His studious patience and laborious art, + By regular approach essay'd the heart: + Cold Approbation gave the lingering bays, + For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise; + A mortal born, he met the general doom, + But left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb. + + The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame, + Nor wish'd for Jonson's art, or Shakspeare's flame. + Themselves they studied; as they felt, they writ: + Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit. 20 + Vice always found a sympathetic friend; + They pleased their age, and did not aim to mend. + Yet bards like these aspired to lasting praise, + And proudly hoped to pimp in future days. + Their cause was general, their supports were strong; + Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long: + Till Shame regain'd the post that Sense betray'd, + And Virtue call'd Oblivion to her aid. + + Then crush'd by rules, and weaken'd as refined, + For years the power of Tragedy declined; 30 + From bard to bard the frigid caution crept, + Till Declamation roar'd, whilst Passion slept; + Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread, + Philosophy remain'd though Nature fled. + But forced, at length, her ancient reign to quit, + She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of Wit; + Exulting Folly hail'd the joyous day, + And Pantomime and Song confirm'd her sway. + + But who the coming changes can presage, + And mark the future periods of the Stage? 40 + Perhaps if skill could distant times explore, + New Behns,[1] new Durfeys, yet remain in store; + Perhaps where Lear has raved, and Hamlet died, + On flying cars new sorcerers may ride; + Perhaps (for who can guess the effects of chance?) + Here Hunt[2] may box, or Mahomet[3] may dance. + Hard is his lot that, here by Fortune placed, + Must watch the wild vicissitudes of Taste; + With every meteor of Caprice must play, + And chase the new-blown bubbles of the day. 50 + Ah! let not Censure term our fate our choice, + The Stage but echoes back the public voice; + The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give, + For we that live to please, must please to live. + + Then prompt no more the follies you decry, + As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die; + 'Tis yours, this night, to bid the reign commence + Of rescued Nature, and reviving Sense; + To chase the charms of Sound, the pomp of Show, + For useful Mirth and salutary Woe; 60 + Bid scenic Virtue form the rising age, + And Truth diffuse her radiance from Stage. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Behn:' Afra, a popular but obscure novelist and +play-wright.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Hunt:' a famous stage-boxer.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Mahomet:' a rope-dancer.] + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + SPOKEN BY MR GARRICK BEFORE THE 'MASQUE OF COMUS,' + ACTED FOR THE BENEFIT OF MILTON'S GRANDDAUGHTER. + + Ye patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame! + Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name, + Whose generous zeal, unbought by flattering rhymes, + Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times! + Immortal patrons of succeeding days, + Attend this prelude of perpetual praise; + Let Wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage + With close Malevolence, or Public Rage; + Let Study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore, + Behold this theatre, and grieve no more. 10 + This night, distinguish'd by your smiles, shall tell + That never Briton can in vain excel: + The slightest arts futurity shall trust, + And rising ages hasten to be just. + + At length our mighty bard's victorious lays + Fill the loud voice of universal praise; + And baffled Spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, + Yields to Renown the centuries to come; + With ardent haste each candidate of fame, + Ambitious, catches at his towering name; 20 + He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow + Those pageant honours which he scorn'd below. + While crowds aloft the laureate bust behold, + Or trace his form on circulating gold, + Unknown--unheeded, long his offspring lay, + And Want hung threatening o'er her slow decay. + What though she shine with no Miltonian fire, + No favouring Muse her morning dreams inspire? + Yet softer claims the melting heart engage, + Her youth laborious, and her blameless age; 30 + Hers the mild merits of domestic life, + The patient sufferer, and the faithful wife. + Thus graced with humble Virtue's native charms, + Her grandsire leaves her in Britannia's arms; + Secure with peace, with competence to dwell, + While tutelary nations guard her cell. + Yours is the charge, ye fair! ye wise! ye brave! + 'Tis yours to crown desert--beyond the grave. + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + TO GOLDSMITH'S COMEDY OF 'THE GOOD-NATURED MAN,' 1769. + + Press'd by the load of life, the weary mind + Surveys the general toil of human kind; + With cool submission joins the labouring train, + And social sorrow loses half its pain. + Our anxious bard without complaint may share + This bustling season's epidemic care; + Like Caesar's pilot, dignified by Fate, + Toss'd in one common storm with all the great; + Distress'd alike the statesman and the wit, + When one the borough courts, and one the pit. 10 + The busy candidates for power and fame + Have hopes, and fears, and wishes just the same; + Disabled both to combat, or to fly, + Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply. + Unchecked, on both loud rabbles vent their rage, + As mongrels bay the lion in a cage. + The offended burgess hoards his angry tale, + For that blest year when all that vote may rail. + Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss, + Till that glad night when all that hate may hiss. 20 + + 'This day the powder'd curls and golden coat,' + Says swelling Crispin, 'begg'd a cobbler's vote;' + 'This night our wit,' the pert apprentice cries, + 'Lies at my feet; I hiss him, and he dies.' + The great, 'tis true, can charm the electing tribe, + The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe. + Yet, judged by those whose voices ne'er were sold, + He feels no want of ill-persuading gold; + But confident of praise, if praise be due, + Trusts without fear to merit and to you. 30 + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + TO THE COMEDY OF 'A WORD TO THE WISE,' SPOKEN BY + MR HULL. + + This night presents a play which public rage, + Or right, or wrong, once hooted from the stage; + From zeal or malice now no more we dread, + For English vengeance wars not with the dead. + A generous foe regards with pitying eye + The man whom Fate has laid--where all must lie. + + To Wit, reviving from its author's dust, + Be kind, ye judges! or at least be just. + For no renew'd hostilities invade + The oblivious grave's inviolable shade. 10 + Let one great payment every claim appease, + And him who cannot hurt, allow to please; + To please by scenes unconscious of offence, + By harmless merriment, or useful sense. + Where aught of bright or fair the piece displays, + Approve it only--'tis too late to praise. + If want of skill, or want of care appear, + Forbear to hiss--the poet cannot hear. + By all like him must praise and blame be found, + At best a fleeting dream, or empty sound. 20 + Yet then shall calm Reflection bless the night + When liberal Pity dignified delight; + When Pleasure fired her torch at Virtue's flame, + And Mirth was Bounty with an humbler name. + + * * * * * + + + SPRING. + + 1 Stern Winter now, by Spring repress'd, + Forbears the long-continued strife; + And Nature, on her naked breast, + Delights to catch the gales of life. + + 2 Now o'er the rural kingdom roves + Soft Pleasure with her laughing train; + Love warbles in the vocal groves, + And Vegetation paints the plain. + + 3 Unhappy! whom to beds of pain + Arthritic tyranny consigns; + Whom smiling Nature courts in vain, + Though Rapture sings, and Beauty shines. + + 4 Yet though my limbs disease invades, + Her wings Imagination tries, + And bears me to the peaceful shades + Where ----'s humble turrets rise. + + 5 Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight, + Nor from the pleasing groves depart, + Where first great Nature charm'd my sight, + Where Wisdom first inform'd my heart. + + 6 Here let me through the vales pursue + A guide--a father--and a friend; + Once more great Nature's works renew, + Once more on Wisdom's voice attend. + + 7 From false caresses, causeless strife, + Wild hope, vain fear, alike removed, + Here let me learn the use of life, + When best enjoy'd--when most improved. + + 8 Teach me, thou venerable bower! + Cool Meditation's quiet seat, + The generous scorn of venal power, + The silent grandeur of retreat. + + 9 When pride by guilt to greatness climbs, + Or raging factions rush to war, + Here let me learn to shun the crimes + I can't prevent, and will not share. + + 10 But lest I fall by subtler foes, + Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art, + The swelling passions to compose, + And quell the rebels of the heart! + + * * * * * + + + MIDSUMMER. + + 1 O Phoebus! down the western sky, + Far hence diffuse thy burning ray; + Thy light to distant worlds supply, + And wake them to the cares of day. + + 2 Come, gentle Eve! the friend of Care, + Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night! + Refresh me with a cooling breeze, + And cheer me with a lambent light. + + 3 Lay me where, o'er the verdant ground, + Her living carpet Nature spreads; + Where the green bower, with roses crown'd, + In showers its fragrant foliage sheds. + + 4 Improve the peaceful hour with wine; + Let music die along the grove; + Around the bowl let myrtles twine, + And every strain be tuned to love. + + 5 Come, Stella, queen of all my heart! + Come, born to fill its vast desires! + Thy looks perpetual joys impart, + Thy voice perpetual love inspires. + + 6 While, all my wish and thine complete, + By turns we languish and we burn, + Let sighing gales our sighs repeat, + Our murmurs, murmuring brooks return. + 7 Let me, when Nature calls to rest, + And blushing skies the morn foretell, + Sink on the down of Stella's breast, + And bid the waking world farewell. + + * * * * * + + + AUTUMN. + + 1 Alas! with swift and silent pace, + Impatient Time rolls on the year; + The seasons change, and Nature's face + Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe. + + 2 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay; + Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; + The flowers of Spring are swept away, + And Summer fruits desert the bough. + + 3 The verdant leaves that play'd on high, + And wanton'd on the western breeze, + Now trod in dust neglected lie, + As Boreas strips the bending trees. + + 4 The fields, that waved with golden grain, + As russet heaths are wild and bare; + Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain, + Nor Health, nor Pleasure wanders there. + + 5 No more, while through the midnight shade, + Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray, + Soft pleasing woes my heart invade, + As Prognè[1] pours the melting lay. + + 6 From this capricious clime she soars, + Oh! would some god but wings supply! + To where each morn the Spring restores, + Companion of her flight, I'd fly. + + 7 Vain wish! me Fate compels to bear + The downward season's iron reign, + Compels to breathe polluted air, + And shiver on a blasted plain. + + 8 What bliss to life can Autumn yield, + If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail, + And Ceres flies the naked field, + And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail? + + 9 Oh! what remains, what lingers yet, + To cheer me in the darkening hour? + The grape remains! the friend of wit, + In love and mirth of mighty power. + + 10 Haste--press the clusters, fill the bowl; + Apollo! shoot thy parting ray: + This gives the sunshine of the soul, + This god of health, and verse, and day. + + 11 Still, still the jocund strain shall flow, + The pulse with vigorous rapture beat; + My Stella with new charms shall glow, + And every bliss in wine shall meet. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Prognè:' the nightingale.] + + * * * * * + + + EPIGRAM + + ON GEORGE II. AND COLLEY CIBBER, ESQ. + + Augustus still survives in Maro's strain, + And Spenser's verse prolongs Eliza's reign; + Great George's acts let tuneful Cibber sing, + For Nature form'd the poet for the king. + + * * * * * + + + STELLA IN MOURNING. + + When lately Stella's form display'd + The beauties of the gay brocade, + The nymphs, who found their power decline, + Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine. + 'Fate! snatch away the bright disguise, + And let the goddess trust her eyes.' + Thus blindly pray'd the fretful fair, + And Fate, malicious, heard the prayer; + But brighten'd by the sable dress, + As Virtue rises in distress, + Since Stella still extends her reign, + Ah! how shall Envy soothe her pain? + The adoring Youth and envious Fair, + Henceforth shall form one common prayer; + And Love and Hate alike implore + The skies--that Stella mourn no more. + + * * * * * + + + TO STELLA. + + 1 Not the soft sighs of vernal gales, + The fragrance of the flowery vales, + The murmurs of the crystal rill, + The vocal grove, the verdant hill; + Not all their charms, though all unite, + Can touch my bosom with delight. + + 2 Not all the gems on India's shore, + Not all Peru's unbounded store, + Not all the power, nor all the fame, + That heroes, kings, or poets claim; + Nor knowledge, which the learn'd approve, + To form one wish my soul can move. + + 3 Yet Nature's charms allure my eyes, + And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize; + Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain, + Nor seek I Nature's charms in vain-- + In lovely Stella all combine, + And, lovely Stella! thou art mine. + + * * * * * + + +VERSES + + WRITTEN AT THE BEQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN TO WHOM A + LADY HAD GIVEN A SPRIG OF MYRTLE. + + What hopes, what terrors, does this gift create, + Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate! + The myrtle (ensign of supreme command, + Consign'd to Venus by Melissa's hand), + Not less capricious than a reigning fair, + Oft favours, oft rejects a lover's prayer. + In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain, + In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain. + The myrtle crowns the happy lovers' heads, + The unhappy lovers' graves the myrtle spreads. + Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart, + And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart; + Soon must this sprig, as you shall fix its doom, + Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb. + + * * * * * + + + TO LADY FIREBRACE,[1] + + AT BURY ASSIZES. + + At length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain, + So long renown'd in B--n's deathless strain? + Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace! might inspire + Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; + For such thy beauteous mind and lovely face, + Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph! a Muse and Grace. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Lady Firebrace:' daughter of P. Bacon, Ipswich, married +three times--to Philip Evers, Esq., to Sir Corbell Firebrace, and to +William Campbell, uncle of the Duke of Argyle.] + + * * * * * + + + TO LYCE, + + AN ELDERLY LADY. + + 1 Ye Nymphs whom starry rays invest, + By flattering poets given, + Who shine, by lavish lovers dress'd, + In all the pomp of Heaven. + + 2 Engross not all the beams on high, + Which gild a lover's lays, + But, as your sister of the sky, + Let Lycè share the praise. + + 3 Her silver locks display the moon, + Her brows a cloudy show, + Striped rainbows round her eyes are seen, + And showers from either flow. + + 4 Her teeth the night with darkness dyes; + She's starr'd with pimples o'er; + Her tongue like nimble lightning plies, + And can with thunder roar, + + 5 But some Zelinda, while I sing, + Denies my Lycè shines; + And all the pens of Cupid's wing + Attack my gentle lines. + + 6 Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye, + And all her bards express, + My Lycè makes as good a sky, + And I but flatter less. + + * * * * * + + + ON THE DEATH OF MR ROBERT LEVETT, + + A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC. + + 1 Condemned to Hope's delusive mine, + As on we toil from day to day, + By sudden blasts, or slow decline, + Our social comforts drop away. + + 2 Well tried through many a varying year, + See Levett to the grave descend; + Officious, innocent, sincere, + Of every friendless name the friend. + + 3 Yet still he fills Affection's eye, + Obscurely wise and coarsely kind; + Nor, letter'd Arrogance, deny + Thy praise to merit unrefined. + + 4 When fainting Nature call'd for aid, + And hovering Death prepared the blow, + His vigorous remedy display'd + The power of Art without the show. + + 5 In Misery's darkest cavern known, + His useful care was ever nigh; + Where hopeless Anguish pour'd his groan, + And lonely Want retired to die. + + 6 No summons, mock'd by chill delay; + No petty gain, disdain'd by pride; + The modest wants of every day, + The toil of every day supplied. + + 7 His virtues walk'd their narrow round, + Nor made a pause, nor left a void; + And sure the Eternal Master found + The single talent well employ'd, + + 8 The busy day--the peaceful night, + Unfelt, unclouded, glided by; + His frame was firm--his powers were bright, + Though now his eightieth year was nigh. + + 9 Then with no fiery, throbbing pain, + No cold gradations of decay, + Death broke at once the vital chain, + And freed his soul the nearest way. + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH ON CLAUDE PHILLIPS,[1] + + AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN. + + Phillips! whose touch harmonious could remove + The pangs of guilty power and hapless love, + Rest here; distress'd by poverty no more, + Find here that calm thou gav'st so oft before; + Sleep undisturb'd within this peaceful shrine, + Till angels wake thee with a note like thine. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Claude Phillips:' a Welsh travelling fiddler, greatly +admired.] + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH + + ON SIR THOMAS HANMER, BART. + + Thou who survey'st these walls with curious eye, + Pause at this tomb where Hanmer's ashes lie; + His various worth through varied life attend, 3 + And learn his virtues while thou mourn'st his end. + + His force of genius burn'd in early youth, + With thirst of knowledge, and with love of truth; + His learning, join'd with each endearing art, + Charm'd every ear, and gain'd on every heart. + + Thus early wise, the endanger'd realm to aid, + His country call'd him from the studious shade; 10 + In life's first bloom his public toils began, + At once commenced the senator and man. + + In business dexterous, weighty in debate, + Thrice ten long years he labour'd for the state; + In every speech persuasive wisdom flow'd, + In every act refulgent virtue glow'd: + Suspended faction ceased from rage and strife, + To hear his eloquence, and praise his life. + + Resistless merit fix'd the senate's choice, + Who hail'd him Speaker with united voice. 20 + Illustrious age! how bright thy glories shone, + While Hanmer fill'd the chair--and Anne the throne! + + Then when dark arts obscured each fierce debate, + When mutual frauds perplex'd the maze of state, + The moderator firmly mild appear'd-- + Beheld with love, with veneration heard. + + This task perform'd--he sought no gainful post, + Nor wish'd to glitter at his country's cost; + Strict on the right he fix'd his steadfast eye, + With temperate zeal and wise anxiety; 30 + Nor e'er from Virtue's paths was lured aside, + To pluck the flowers of pleasure, or of pride; + Her gifts despised, Corruption blush'd and fled, + And Fame pursued him where Conviction led. + + Age call'd, at length, his active mind to rest, + With honour sated, and with cares oppress'd: + To letter'd ease retired, and honest mirth. + To rural grandeur, and domestic worth: + Delighted still to please mankind, or mend, + The patriot's fire yet sparkled in the friend. 40 + + Calm Conscience then his former life survey'd, + And recollected toils endear'd the shade, + Till Nature call'd him to her general doom, + And Virtue's sorrow dignified his tomb. + + * * * * * + + + ON THE DEATH OF STEPHEN GREY, F.R.S., + + THE ELECTRICIAN. + + Long hast thou borne the burden of the day; + Thy task is ended, venerable Grey! + No more shall Art thy dexterous hand require, + To break the sleep of elemental fire; + To rouse the power that actuates Nature's frame, + The momentaneous shock, the electric flame; + The flame which first, weak pupil to thy lore, + I saw, condemn'd, alas! to see no more. + + Now, hoary sage! pursue thy happy flight; + With swifter motion, haste to purer light, 10 + Where Bacon waits, with Newton and with Boyle, + To hail thy genius and applaud thy toil; + Where intuition breathes through time and space, + And mocks Experiment's successive race; + Sees tardy Science toil at Nature's laws, + And wonders how the effect obscures the cause. + + Yet not to deep research or happy guess, + Is show'd the life of hope, the death of peace; + Unbless'd the man whom philosophic rage + Shall tempt to lose the Christian in the Sage: 20 + Not Art, but Goodness, pour'd the sacred ray + That cheer'd the parting hours of humble Grey. + + * * * * * + + + TO MISS HICKMAN, + + PLAYING ON THE SPINNET. + + Bright Stella! form'd for universal reign, + Too well you know to keep the slaves you gain: + When in your eyes resistless lightnings play, + Awed into love our conquer'd hearts obey, + And yield reluctant to despotic sway: + But when your music soothes the raging pain, + We bid propitious Heaven prolong your reign, + We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain. + + When old Timotheus struck the vocal string, + Ambition's fury fired the Grecian king: 10 + Unbounded projects labouring in his mind, + He pants for room, in one poor world confined. + Thus waked to rage, by Music's dreadful power, + He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour. + Had Stella's gentler touches moved the lyre, + Soon had the monarch felt a nobler fire: + No more delighted with destructive war, + Ambitious only now to please the fair; + Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms, + And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms. 20 + + * * * * * + + + PARAPHRASE + + OF PROVERBS, CHAP. IV. VERSES 6-11. + + "Go to the ant, thou sluggard!" + + Turn on the prudent ant thy heedless eyes, + Observe her labours, sluggard! and be wise. + No stern command, no monitory voice + Prescribes her duties or directs her choice; + Yet, timely provident, she hastes away, + To snatch the blessings of a plenteous day; + When fruitful Summer loads the teeming plain, + She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain. + + How long shall Sloth usurp thy useless hours, + Unnerve thy vigour, and unchain thy powers? 10 + While artful shades thy downy couch inclose, + And soft solicitation courts repose, + Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight, + Year chases year with unremitted flight; + Till Want now following, fraudulent and slow, + Shall spring to seize thee like an ambush'd foe. + + * * * * * + + + HORACE, + + LIB. IV. ODE VII. TRANSLATED. + + The snow, dissolved, no more is seen, + The fields and woods, behold! are green. + The changing year renews the plain, + The rivers know their banks again; + The sprightly Nymph and naked Grace + The mazy dance together trace; + The changing year's successive plan + Proclaims mortality to man. + Rough Winter's blasts to Spring give way, + Spring yields to Summer's sovereign ray; 10 + Then Summer sinks in Autumn's reign, + And Winter chills the world again: + Her losses soon the moon supplies, + But wretched man, when once he lies + Where Priam and his sons are laid, + Is nought but ashes, and a shade. + Who knows if Jove, who counts our score, + Will toss us in a morning more? + What with your friend you nobly share, + At least you rescue from your heir. 20 + Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome, + When Minos once has fix'd your doom, + Or eloquence, or splendid birth, + Or virtue, shall restore to earth. + Hippolytus, unjustly slain, + Diana calls to life in vain; + Nor can the might of Theseus rend + The chains of Hell that hold his friend. + + * * * * * + + + ON SEEING A BUST OF MRS MONTAGUE. + + Had this fair figure which this frame displays, + Adorn'd in Roman time the brightest days, + In every dome, in every sacred place, + Her statue would have breathed an added grace, + And on its basis would have been enroll'd, + 'This is Minerva, cast in Virtue's mould.' + + * * * * * + + + ANACREON, ODE NINTH. + + Lovely courier of the sky! + Whence and whither dost thou fly? + Scattering, as thy pinions play, + Liquid fragrance all the way; + Is it business? is it love? + Tell me, tell me, gentle dove! + + Soft Anacreon's vows I bear, + Vows to Myrtalè the fair; + Graced with all that charms the heart, + Blushing nature, smiling art. 10 + Venus, courted by an ode, + On the bard her dove bestow'd: + Vested with a master's right, + Now Anacreon rules my flight; + His the letters that you see, + Weighty charge, consign'd to me: + Think not yet my service hard, + Joyless task without reward; + Smiling at my master's gates, + Freedom my return awaits; 20 + But the liberal grant in vain + Tempts me to be wild again. + Can a prudent dove decline + Blissful bondage such as mine? + Over hills and fields to roam, + Fortune's guest without a home; + Under leaves to hide one's head, + Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed: + Now my better lot bestows + Sweet repast, and soft repose: 30 + Now the generous bowl I sip, + As it leaves Anacreon's lip: + Void of care and free from dread, + From his fingers snatch his bread; + Then with luscious plenty gay, + Round his chamber dance and play; + Or from wine as courage springs, + O'er his face extend my wings; + And when feast and frolic tire, + Drop asleep upon his lyre. 40 + This is all, be quick and go, + More than all thou canst not know; + Let me now my pinions ply, + I have chatter'd like a pye. + + * * * * * + + + LINES + + WRITTEN IN RIDICULE OF CERTAIN POEMS PUBLISHED + IN 1777. + + Wheresoe'er I turn my view, + All is strange, yet nothing new; + Endless labour all along, + Endless labour to be wrong; + Phrase that time has flung away, + Uncouth words in disarray, + Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet, + Ode, and elegy, and sonnet. + + * * * * * + + + PARODY OF A TRANSLATION + + FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES. + + 1 Err shall they not, who resolute explore + Time's gloomy backward with judicious eyes; + And, scanning right the practices of yore, + Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise. + + 2 They to the dome where smoke with curling play + Announced the dinner to the regions round, + Summon'd the singer blithe, and harper gay, + And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound. + + 3 The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill, + By quivering string or modulated wind, + Trumpet or lyre--to their harsh bosoms chill, + Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find. + + 4 Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun, + Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around; + Where gloom-enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell, + And Murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound. + + 5 When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish, + And purple nectar glads the festive hour; + The guest, without a want, without a wish, + Can yield no room to music's soothing power. + + * * * * * + + + BURLESQUE + + ON THE MODERN VERSIFICATION OF ANCIENT LEGENDARY + TALES: AN IMPROMPTU. + + The tender infant, meek and mild, + Fell down upon the stone; + The nurse took up the squealing child, + But still the child squeal'd on. + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH FOR MR HOGARTH. + + The hand of him here torpid lies, + That drew the essential form of grace; + Here closed in death the attentive eyes, + That saw the manners in the face. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION + +OF THE TWO FIRST STANZAS OF THE SONG 'RIO VERDE, RIO VERDE,' PRINTED +IN BISHOP PERCY'S 'RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY:' AN IMPROMPTU. + + Glassy water, glassy water, + Down whose current, clear and strong, + Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter, + Moor and Christian, roll along. + + * * * * * + + + TO MRS THRALE, + + ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH YEAR. AN IMPROMPTU. + + Oft in danger, yet alive, + We are come to thirty-five; + Long may better years arrive, + Better years than thirty-five. + Could philosophers contrive + Life to stop at thirty-five, + Time his hours should never drive + O'er the bounds of thirty-five. + High to soar, and deep to dive, + Nature gives at thirty-five; 10 + Ladies, stock and tend your hive, + Trifle not at thirty-five; + For, howe'er we boast and strive, + Life declines from thirty-five; + He that ever hopes to thrive, + Must begin by thirty-five; + And all who wisely wish to wive + Must look on Thrale at thirty-five. + + * * * * * + + + IMPROMPTU TRANSLATION + +OF AN AIR IN THE 'CLEMENZA DE TITO' OF METASTASIO, BEGINNING, 'DEH! SE +PIACERMI VUOI.' + + Would you hope to gain my heart, + Bid your teasing doubts depart. + He who blindly trusts will find, + Faith from every generous mind; + He who still expects deceit, + Only teaches how to cheat. + + * * * * * + + + LINES + + WRITTEN UNDER A PRINT REPRESENTING PERSONS SKAITING. + + + O'er crackling ice, o'er gulfs profound, + With nimble glide the skaiters play; + O'er treacherous Pleasure's flowery ground + Thus lightly skim, and haste away. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION + +OF A SPEECH OF AQUILEIO IN THE 'ADRIANO' OF METASTASIO, BEGINNING, 'TU +CHE IN CORTE INVECCHIASTI.' + + Grown old in courts, thou art not surely one + Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour: + Well skill'd to soothe a foe with looks of kindness, + To sink the fatal precipice before him, + And then lament his fall with seeming friendship: + Open to all, true only to thyself, + Thou know'st those arts which blast with envious praise, + Which aggravate a fault with feign'd excuses, + And drive discountenanced Virtue from the throne + That leave the blame of rigour to the prince, 10 + And of his every gift usurp the merit; + That hide in seeming zeal a wicked purpose, + And only build upon each other's ruin. + + * * * * * + + + IMPROMPTU + +ON HEARING MISS THRALE CONSULTING WITH A FRIEND ABOUT A GOWN AND HAT +SHE WAS INCLINED TO WEAR. + + Wear the gown, and wear the hat, + Snatch thy pleasures while they last; + Hadst thou nine lives, like a cat, + Soon those nine lives would be past. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL. + + PASTORAL I. + + _Mileboeus_. Now, Tityrus, you supine and careless laid, + Play on your pipe beneath yon beechen shade; + While wretched we about the world must roam, + And leave our pleasing fields, and native home; + Here at your ease you sing your amorous flame, + And the wood rings with Amaryllis' name. + + _Tityrus_. Those blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd, + For I shall never think him less than god; + Oft on his altars shall my firstlings lie, + Their blood the consecrated stones shall dye: 10 + He gave my flocks to graze the flowery meads, + And me to tune at ease the unequal reeds. + + _Mileboeus._ My admiration only I express'd, + (No spark of envy harbours in my breast), + That when confusion o'er the country reigns, + To you alone this happy state remains. + Here I, though faint myself, must drive my goats, + Far from their ancient fields and humble cots. + This scarce I lead, who left on yonder rock + Two tender kids, the hopes of all the flock. 20 + Had we not been perverse and careless grown, + This dire event by omens was foreshown; + Our trees were blasted by the thunder stroke, + And left-hand crows, from an old hollow oak, + Foretold the coming evil by their dismal croak. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION OF HORACE. + + BOOK I. ODE XXII. + + 1 The man, my friend, whose conscious heart + With virtue's sacred ardour glows, + Nor taints with death the envenom'd dart, + Nor needs the guard of Moorish bows: + + 2 Though Scythia's icy cliffs he treads, + Or horrid Afric's faithless sands; + Or where the famed Hydaspes spreads + His liquid wealth o'er barbarous lands. + + 3 For while, by Chlöe's image charm'd, + Too far in Sabine woods I stray'd; + Me singing, careless and unarm'd, + A grisly wolf surprised, and fled. + + 4 No savage more portentous stain'd + Apulia's spacious wilds with gore; + None fiercer Juba's thirsty land, + Dire nurse of raging lions, bore. + + 5 Place me where no soft summer gale + Among the quivering branches sighs; + Where clouds condensed for ever veil + With horrid gloom the frowning skies: + + 6 Place me beneath the burning line, + A clime denied to human race; + I'll sing of Chlöe's charms divine, + Her heavenly voice, and beauteous face. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION OF HORACE. + + BOOK II. ODE IX. + + + 1 Clouds do not always veil the skies, + Nor showers immerse the verdant plain; + Nor do the billows always rise, + Or storms afflict the ruffled main. + + 2 Nor, Valgius, on the Armenian shores + Do the chain'd waters always freeze; + Not always furious Boreas roars, + Or bends with violent force the trees. + + 3 But you are ever drown'd in tears, + For Mystes dead you ever mourn; + No setting Sol can ease your cares, + But finds you sad at his return. + + 4 The wise, experienced Grecian sage + Mourn'd not Antilochus so long; + Nor did King Priam's hoary age + So much lament his slaughter'd son. + 5 Leave off, at length, these woman's sighs, + Augustus' numerous trophies sing; + Repeat that prince's victories, + To whom all nations tribute bring. + + 6 Niphates rolls an humbler wave, + At length the undaunted Scythian yields, + Content to live the Romans' slave, + And scarce forsakes his native fields. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION + +OF PART OF THE DIALOGUE BETWEEN HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.--FROM THE SIXTH +BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD. + + She ceased: then godlike Hector answer'd kind, + (His various plumage sporting in the wind): + That post, and all the rest, shall be my care; + But shall I then forsake the unfinish'd war? + How would the Trojans brand great Hector's name, + And one base action sully all my fame, + Acquired by wounds and battles bravely fought! + Oh! how my soul abhors so mean a thought! + Long have I learn'd to slight this fleeting breath, + And view with cheerful eyes approaching death. 10 + The inexorable Sisters have decreed + That Priam's house and Priam's self shall bleed: + The day shall come, in which proud Troy shall yield, + And spread its smoking ruins o'er the field; + Yet Hecuba's, nor Priam's hoary age, + Whose blood shall quench some Grecian's thirsty rage, + Nor my brave brothers that have bit the ground, + Their souls dismiss'd through many a ghastly wound, + Can in my bosom half that grief create, + As the sad thought of your impending fate; 20 + When some proud Grecian dame shall tasks impose, + Mimic your tears, and ridicule your woes: + Beneath Hyperia's waters shall you sweat, + And, fainting, scarce support the liquid weight: + Then shall some Argive loud insulting cry, + Behold the wife of Hector, guard of Troy! + Tears, at my name, shall drown those beauteous eyes, + And that fair bosom heave with rising sighs: + Before that day, by some brave hero's hand, + May I lie slain, and spurn the bloody sand! 30 + + * * * * * + + + TO MISS * * * * + +ON HER PLAYING UPON A HARPSICHORD IN A ROOM HUNG WITH FLOWER-PIECES OF +HER OWN PAINTING. + + When Stella strikes the tuneful string, + In scenes of imitated Spring, + Where beauty lavishes her powers + On beds of never-fading flowers, + And pleasure propagates around + Each charm of modulated sound; + Ah! think not, in the dangerous hour, + The nymph fictitious as the flower, + But shun, rash youth! the gay alcove, + Nor tempt the snares of wily love. 10 + + When charms thus press on every sense, + What thought of flight or of defence? + Deceitful hope or vain desire, + For ever flutter o'er her lyre, + Delighting, as the youth draws nigh, + To point the glances of her eye, + And forming, with unerring art, + New chains to hold the captive heart. + + But on those regions of delight + Might truth intrude with daring flight, 20 + Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young, + One moment hear the moral song, + Instruction with her flowers might spring, + And wisdom warble from her string. + + Mark, when, from thousand mingled dyes, + Thou seest one pleasing form arise, + How active light and thoughtful shade + In greater scenes each other aid; + Mark, when the different notes agree + In friendly contrariety, 30 + How passion's well accorded strife, + Gives all the harmony of life: + Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame, + Consistent still, though not the same; + Thy music teach the nobler art, + To tune the regulated heart. + + * * * * * + + + EVENING: AN ODE. + + TO STELLA. + + Evening now, from purple wings, + Sheds the grateful gifts she brings; + Brilliant drops bedeck the mead, + Cooling breezes shake the reed-- + Shake the reed, and curl the stream, + Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam; + Near, the chequer'd, lonely grove, + Hears, and keeps thy secrets, Love. + Stella, thither let us stray + Lightly o'er the dewy way! 10 + Phoebus drives his burning car, + Hence, my lovely Stella, far; + In his stead, the Queen of Night + Round us pours a lambent light; + Light that seems but just to show + Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow; + Let us now, in whisper'd joy, + Evening's silent hours employ, + Silence best, and conscious shades, + Please the hearts that love invades; 20 + Other pleasures give them pain, + Lovers all but love disdain. + + * * * * * + + + TO THE SAME. + + Whether Stella's eyes are found + Fix'd on earth, or glancing round, + If her face with pleasure glow, + If she sigh at others' woe, + If her easy air express + Conscious worth or soft distress, + Stella's eyes, and air, and face, + Charm with undiminish'd grace. + + If on her we see display'd + Pendent gems, and rich brocade, 10 + If her chintz with less expense + Flows in easy negligence; + Still she lights the conscious flame, + Still her charms appear the same; + If she strikes the vocal strings, + If she's silent, speaks, or sings, + If she sit, or if she move, + Still we love, and still approve. + + Vain the casual transient glance, + Which alone can please by chance-- 20 + Beauty, which depends on art, + Changing with the changing heart, + Which demands the toilet's aid, + Pendent gems, and rich brocade. + I those charms alone can prize + Which from constant Nature rise, + Which nor circumstance, nor dress, + E'er can make, or more, or less. + + * * * * * + + + TO A FRIEND. + + No more thus brooding o'er yon heap, + With Avarice painful vigils keep; + Still unenjoy'd the present store, + Still endless sighs are breathed for more. + Oh! quit the shadow, catch the prize, + Which not all India's treasure buys! + To purchase Heaven, has gold the power? + Can gold remove the mortal hour? + In life, can love be bought with gold? + Are friendship's pleasures to be sold? 10 + No; all that's worth a wish--a thought, + Fair Virtue gives unbribed, unbought. + Cease, then, on trash thy hopes to bind, + Let nobler views engage thy mind. + + With Science tread the wondrous way, + Or learn the Muse's moral lay; + In social hours indulge thy soul, + Where Mirth and Temperance mix the bowl; + To virtuous love resign thy breast, + And be, by blessing beauty, blest. 20 + + Thus taste the feast by Nature spread, + Ere youth and all its joys are fled; + Come, taste with me the balm of life, + Secure from pomp, and wealth, and strife! + I boast whate'er for man was meant, + In health, in Stella, and content; + And scorn, oh! let that scorn be thine, + Mere things of clay, that dig the mine! + + * * * * * + + + TO A YOUNG LADY, + + ON HER BIRTHDAY. + + This tributary verse receive, my fair, + Warm with an ardent lover's fondest prayer. + May this returning day for ever find + Thy form more lovely, more adorn'd thy mind; + All pains, all cares, may favouring Heaven remove, + All but the sweet solicitudes of love! + May powerful Nature join with grateful Art, + To point each glance, and force it to the heart! + Oh then, when conquer'd crowds confess thy sway, + When even proud Wealth and prouder Wit obey, 10 + My fair, be mindful of the mighty trust, + Alas! 'tis hard for beauty to be just! + Those sovereign charms with strictest care employ; + Nor give the generous pain, the worthless joy: + With his own form acquaint the forward fool, + Shown in the faithful glass of Ridicule; + Teach mimic Censure her own faults to find, + No more let coquettes to themselves be blind, + So shall Belinda's charms improve mankind. + + * * * * * + + + EPILOGUE + +INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY A LADY WHO WAS TO PERSONATE 'THE GHOST +OF HERMIONE.' + + Ye blooming train, who give despair or joy, + Bless with a smile, or with a frown destroy; + In whose fair cheeks destructive Cupids wait, + And with unerring shafts distribute fate; + Whose snowy breasts, whose animated eyes, + Each youth admires, though each admirer dies; + Whilst you deride their pangs in barbarous play, + Unpitying see them weep, and hear them pray, + And unrelenting sport ten thousand lives away: + For you, ye fair! I quit the gloomy plains, 10 + Where sable Night in all her horror reigns; + No fragrant bowers, no delightful glades, + Receive the unhappy ghosts of scornful maids. + For kind, for tender nymphs, the myrtle blooms, + And weaves her bending boughs in pleasing glooms; + Perennial roses deck each purple vale, + And scents ambrosial breathe in every gale; + Far hence are banish'd vapours, spleen, and tears, + Tea, scandal, ivory teeth, and languid airs; + No pug, nor favourite Cupid there enjoys 20 + The balmy kiss for which poor Thyrsis dies; + Form'd to delight, they use no foreign arms, + No torturing whalebones pinch them into charms; + No conscious blushes there their cheeks inflame, + For those who feel no guilt can know no shame; + Unfaded still their former charms they show, + Around them pleasures wait, and joys for ever new. + But cruel virgins meet severer fates; + Expell'd and exiled from the blissful seats, + To dismal realms, and regions void of peace, 30 + Where furies ever howl, and serpents hiss, + O'er the sad plains perpetual tempests sigh, + And poisonous vapours, blackening all the sky, + With livid hue the fairest face o'ercast, + And every beauty withers at the blast: + Where'er they fly, their lovers' ghosts pursue, + Inflicting all those ills which once they knew; + Vexation, fury, jealousy, despair, + Vex every eye, and every bosom tear; + Their foul deformities by all descried, 40 + No maid to flatter, and no paint to hide. + Then melt, ye fair, while crowds around you sigh, + Nor let disdain sit lowering in your eye; + With pity soften every awful grace, + And beauty smile auspicious in each face + To ease their pain exert your milder power; + So shall you guiltless reign, and all mankind adore. + + * * * * * + + + THE YOUNG AUTHOR. + + When first the peasant, long inclined to roam, + Forsakes his rural sports and peaceful home, + Pleased with the scene the smiling ocean yields, + He scorns the verdant meads and flowery fields: + Then dances jocund o'er the watery way, + While the breeze whispers, and the streamers play: + Unbounded prospects in his bosom roll, + And future millions lift his rising soul; + In blissful dreams he digs the golden mine, + And raptured sees the new-found ruby shine. 10 + Joys insincere! thick clouds invade the skies, + Loud roar the billows, high the waves arise; + Sickening with fear, he longs to view the shore, + And vows to trust the faithless deep no more. + So the young author, panting after fame, + And the long honours of a lasting name, + Intrusts his happiness to human kind, + More false, more cruel than the seas or wind! + + Toil on, dull crowd! in ecstasies he cries, + For wealth or title, perishable prize; 20 + While I those transitory blessings scorn, + Secure of praise from ages yet unborn. + This thought once form'd, all counsel comes too late, + He flies to press, and hurries on his fate; + Swiftly he sees the imagined laurels spread, + And feels the unfading wreath surround his head. + Warn'd by another's fate, vain youth be wise, + Those dreams were Settle's[1] once, and Ogilby's![2] + The pamphlet spreads, incessant hisses rise, + To some retreat the baffled writer flies, 30 + Where no sour critics snarl, no sneers molest, + Safe from the tart lampoon, and stinging jest; + There begs of Heaven a less distinguish'd lot-- + Glad to be hid, and proud to be forgot. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Settle;' see Life of Dryden.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Ogilby:' a poor translator.] + + * * * * * + + + FRIENDSHIP: AN ODE. + + PRINTED IN THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 1743. + + 1 Friendship, peculiar boon of Heaven, + The noble mind's delight and pride-- + To men and angels only given, + To all the lower world denied! + + 2 While love, unknown among the blest, + Parent of thousand wild desires, + The savage and the human breast + Torments alike with raging fires; + + 3 With bright, but oft destructive gleam, + Alike o'er all his lightnings fly; + Thy lambent glories only beam + Around the favourites of the sky. + + 4 Thy gentle flows of guiltless joys, + On fools and villains ne'er descend; + In vain for thee the tyrant sighs, + And hugs a flatterer for a friend. + + 5 Directress of the brave and just, + Oh, guide us through life's darksome way! + And let the tortures of mistrust + On selfish bosoms only prey. + + 6 Nor shall thine ardours cease to glow, + When souls to peaceful climes remove: + What raised our virtue here below, + Shall aid our happiness above. + + * * * * * + + + IMITATION OF THE STYLE OF[1] * * * + + 1 Hermit hoar, in solemn cell + Wearing out life's evening gray, + Strike thy bosom, sage, and tell + What is bliss, and which the way. + + 2 Thus I spoke, and speaking sigh'd, + Scarce repress'd the starting tear, + When the hoary sage replied, + 'Come, my lad, and drink some beer.' + + * * * * * + + + ONE AND TWENTY. + + 1 Long-expected one-and-twenty, + Lingering year, at length is flown: + Pride and pleasure, pomp and plenty, + Great * * *, are now your own. + + 2 Loosen'd from the minor's tether, + Free to mortgage or to sell, + Wild as wind, and light as feather, + Bid the sons of thrift farewell. + + 3 Call the Betsies, Kates, and Jennies, + All the names that banish care; + Lavish of your grandsire's guineas, + Show the spirit of an heir. + + 4 All that prey on vice and folly + Joy to see their quarry fly: + There the gamester, light and jolly; + There the lender, grave and sly. + + 5 Wealth, my lad, was made to wander, + Let it wander as it will; + Call the jockey, call the pander, + Bid them come and take their fill. + + 6 When the bonny blade carouses, + Pockets full, and spirits high-- + What are acres? what are houses? + Only dirt, or wet, or dry. + + 7 Should the guardian friend or mother + Tell the woes of wilful waste: + Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother, + You can hang or drown at last. + + +[Footnote 1: Supposed to be Percy.] + + * * * * * + +END OF JOHNSON'S POEMS. + + * * * * * + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +THOMAS PARNELL. + + + TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE + + ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD AND EARL MORTIMER. + + Such were the notes thy once-loved poet sung, + Till Death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue. + Oh, just beheld, and lost! admired, and mourn'd! + With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn'd, + Blest in each science, blest in every strain, + Dear to the Muse, to Harley dear--in vain! + + For him, thou oft hast bid the world attend, + Fond to forget the statesman in the friend; + For Swift and him, despised the farce of state, + The sober follies of the wise and great; + Dexterous the craving, fawning crowd to quit, + And pleased to 'scape from flattery to wit. + + Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear, + (A sigh the absent claims--the dead, a tear) + Recall those nights that closed thy toilsome days, + Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays: + Who careless, now, of interest, fame, or fate, + Perhaps forgets that Oxford e'er was great; + Or deeming meanest what we greatest call, + Beholds thee glorious only in thy fall. + + And sure if ought below the seats divine + Can touch immortals, 'tis a soul like thine: + A soul supreme, in each hard instance tried, + Above all pain, all anger, and all pride, + The rage of power, the blast of public breath, + The lust of lucre, and the dread of death. + + In vain to deserts thy retreat is made; + The Muse attends thee to the silent shade: + 'Tis hers, the brave man's latest steps to trace, + Re-judge his acts, and dignify disgrace. + When Interest calls off all her sneaking train, + When all the obliged desert, and all the vain, + She waits; or, to the scaffold, or the cell, + When the last lingering friend has bid farewell. + Even now she shades thy evening walk with bays, + (No hireling she, no prostitute to praise) + Even now, observant of the parting ray, + Eyes the calm sunset of thy various day, + Through fortune's cloud one truly great can see, + Nor fears to tell that MORTIMER is he. + + _September_ 25, 1721. A. POPE. + + +THE LIFE AND POETRY OF THOMAS PARNELL. + +Parnell is the third in a trio of poetical clergymen whose names have +immediately succeeded each other in this edition. Bowles, Churchill, +and Parnell were all clergymen, and all poets; but in other respects +differed materially from each other. In Bowles, the clerical and the +poetical characters were on the whole well attuned and harmonised. In +Churchill, they came to an open rupture. In Parnell, they were neither +ruptured nor reconciled, but maintained an ambiguous relation, till +his premature death settled the moot point for ever. + +The life of this poet has been written by Goldsmith, by Johnson, by +the Rev. John Mitford, and others; but, after all, very little is +known about him. Thomas Parnell was the descendant of an ancient +family, which had been settled for some hundreds of years at +Congleton, Cheshire. His father, whose name also was Thomas, took the +side of the Commonwealth, and at the Restoration went over to Ireland, +where he purchased a considerable property. This, along with his +estate in Cheshire, devolved to the poet. His father had a second son, +John, whose descendants were created baronets. The late Sir Henry +Parnell, for some years the respected member of Parliament for the +town of Dundee, where we now write, was the great-great-grandson of +the poet's father. Parnell was born in Dublin, in the year 1679. He +was sent to a school taught by one Dr Jones. Here he is said to have +distinguished himself by the readiness and retentiveness of his +memory; often performing the task allotted for days in a few hours, +and being able to repeat forty lines in any book of poems, after the +first reading. It is a proof of the prematurity of his powers, that he +entered Trinity College, Dublin, at the age of thirteen, where his +compositions attracted attention from the extent of classical lore +which they discovered. He took the degree of M.A. in 1700; and the +same year (through a dispensation on account of being under age) was +ordained deacon by the Bishop of Deny. Three years after, he was +ordained priest; and in 1705, he was made Archdeacon of Clogher, by +Sir George Ashe, bishop of that see. So soon as he received the +archdeanery, he married Miss Ann Minchin, who is described as a young +lady of great beauty, and of an amiable character, by whom he had two +sons, who died young, and a daughter, who long survived both +her parents. + +Up to the triumph of the Tories, at the end of Queen Anne's reign, +Parnell appears to have been, like his father, a keen Whig. He was at +that time, however, induced, for motives which his biographers call +obscure, but which to us seem obvious enough, on the well-known +principle of the popularity of the rising sun, to change his party; +and he was hailed by the Tories as a valuable accession to their +ranks. This proves that his talents were even then known; a fact +corroborated by Johnson's statement, that while he was waiting in the +outer-room at Lord Oxford's levee, the prime minister, when told he +was there, went out, at the persuasion of Swift, with his treasurer's +staff in his hand, and saluted him in the most flattering manner. He +became, either before or immediately after this, intimate with Pope, +Swift, Gay, and the rest of that brilliant set, who all appear to have +loved him for his social qualities, to have admired his genius, and to +have pitied his infirmities. He was a member of the Scriblerus Club, +and contributed some trifles to their transactions. He was, at the +same time, intimate with Addison and Steele, and wrote a few papers in +the "Spectator." To Pope, he was of essential service, assisting him +in his notes to the "Iliad," being, what Pope was not, a good Greek +scholar. He wrote a life of Homer, which was prefixed to the +Translation, although stiff in style, and fabulous in statement. He +gratified Pope's malicious spirit still more by writing, under the +guise of a "Life of Zoilus," a bitter attack on Dennis--the great +object of the poet's fear and mortal abhorrence. For these and other +services, Pope rewarded him, after his usual manner, with large +offerings of that sweet and suffocating incense, by which he +delighted, now to gain his enemies, and now to gratify his friends. +With Gay, also, Parnell was intimate; and the latter, himself +independent by his fortune, is said to have bestowed on this needy and +improvident genius the price of the copyright of his works. + +Parnell first visited London in 1706; and from that period till his +death, scarcely a year elapsed without his spending some time in the +metropolis. He seems to have had as intense a relish of London life as +Johnson and Boswell exhibited in the next age. So soon as he had +collected his rents, he hied to the capital, and there enjoyed himself +to the top of his bent. He jested with the Scriblerus Club. He quaffed +now and then with Lord Oxford. He varied his round of amusements by +occasional professional exhibitions in the pulpits of Southwark and +elsewhere,--made, we fear, more from a desire to display himself, than +to benefit his hearers. Still his sermons were popular; and he +entertained at one time the hope,--a hope blasted by the death of +Queen Anne,--of being preferred to a city charge. So soon as each +London furlough was expired, he returned to Ireland, jaded and +dispirited, and there took delight in nursing his melancholy; in +pining for the amusements of the metropolis; in shunning and sneering +at the society around him; and in abusing his native bogs and his +fellow-countrymen in verse. This was not manly, far less Christian +conduct. He ought to have drowned his recollections of London in +active duty, or in diligent study; and if he found society coarse or +corrupt, he should have set himself to refine and to purify it. But he +seems to have been a lazy, luxurious person--his life a round of +selfish rapture and selfish anguish,--in fact, ruined by his +independent fortune. Had he been a poorer, he had probably been a +happier man. He was not, moreover, of that self-contained cast of +character, which can live on its own resources, create its own world, +and say, "My mind to me a kingdom is." + +In 1712 he lost his wife, with whom he appears to have lived as +happily as his morbid temperament and mortified feelings would permit. +This blow deepened his melancholy, and drove him, it is said, to an +excessive and habitual use of wine. In the same year we find him in +London, brought out once more under the "special patronage" of Dean +Swift, who had quite a penchant for Parnell, and who wished, through +his side, to mortify certain persons in Ireland, who did not +appreciate, he says, the Archdeacon; and who, we suspect, besides, did +not thoroughly appreciate the Dean. Swift, partly in pity for the +"poor lad," as he calls him, whom he saw to be in such imminent danger +of losing caste and character, and partly in the true patronising +spirit, introduced Parnell to Lord Bolingbroke, who received him +kindly, entertained him at dinner, and encouraged him in his poetical +studies. The Dean's patronage, however, was of little avail in this +matter to the protégé; Bolingbroke, a man of many promises, and few +performances, did nothing for him. The consequences of dissipation +began, at this time, too, to appear in Parnell's constitution; and we +find Swift saying of him, "His head is out of order, like mine, but +more constant, poor boy." It was perhaps to this period that Pope +referred, when he told Spence, "Parnell is a great follower of drams, +and strangely open and scandalous in his debaucheries." If so, his bad +habits seem to have sprung as much from disappointment and discontent +as from taste. + +Yet Swift continued his friend, and it was at his instance that, in +1713, Archbishop King presented Parnell with a prebend. In 1714, his +hope of London promotion died with Queen Anne; but in 1716, the same +generous Archbishop bestowed on him the vicarage of Finglass, in the +diocese of Dublin, worth £400 a-year. This preferment, however, the +poet did not live long to enjoy,--dying at Chester, in July +1717, on his way to Ireland, aged thirty-eight years. His estates +passed to his nephew, Sir John Parnell. He had, in the course of his +life, composed a great deal of poetry; much of it, indeed, _invita_ +Minerva. After his death, Pope collected the best pieces, and +published them, with a dedication to Lord Oxford. Goldsmith, in his +edition, added two or three; and other editors, a good many poems, of +which we have only inserted one, deeming the rest unworthy of his +memory. In 1788 a volume was published, entitled, "The Posthumous +Works of Dr T. Parnell, containing poems moral and divine." These, +however, attracted little attention, being mostly rubbish. Johnson +says of them, "I know not whence they came, nor have ever inquired +whither they are going." It is said that the present representative of +the Parnell family preserves a mass of unpublished poems from the pen +of his relative. We trust that he will long and religiously refrain +from disturbing their MS. slumbers. + +The whole tenor of Parnell's history convinces us that he was an +easy-tempered, kind-hearted, yet querulous and self-indulgent man, who +had no higher motive or object than to gratify himself. His very +ambition aspired not to very lofty altitudes. His utmost wish was to +attain a metropolitan pulpit, where he could have added the reputation +of a popular preacher to that of being the _protégé_ of Swift, and the +pet of the Scriblerus Club. The character of his poetry is in keeping +with the temperament of the man. It is slipshod, easy, and pleasing. +If the distinguishing quality of poetry be to give pleasure, then +Parnell is a poet. You never thrill under his power, but you read him +with a quiet, constant, subdued gratification. If never eminently +original, he has the art of enunciating common-places with felicity and +grace. The stories he relates are almost all old, but his manner of +telling them is new. His thoughts and images are mostly selected from +his common-place book; but he utters them with such a natural ease of +manner, that you are tempted to think them his own. He knows the +compass of his poetical powers, and never attempts anything very lofty +or arduous. His "Allegory on Man,"--pronounced by Johnson his +best,--seems rather a laborious than a fortunate effusion. His "Hymn +to Contentment" is animated, as the subject required, by a kind of +sober rapture. His "Faery Tale" is a good imitation of that old style +of composition. His "Hesiod" catches the classical tone and spirit +with considerable success. His "Flies," and "Elegy to the Old Beauty," +are ingenious trifles. His "Nightpiece on Death" has fine touches, but +is slight for such a theme, and must not be named beside Blair's +"Grave," and Gray's "Elegy written in a Country Churchyard." His +translations we have, in accordance with the plan of this edition, +omitted--and, indeed, they are little loss. His "Bookworm," &c., are +adaptations from Beza and other foreign authors. By far his most +popular poem is the "Hermit." In it he tells a tale that had been told +in Arabic, French, and English, for the tenth time; and in that tenth +edition tells it so well, that the public have thanked him for it as +for an original work. Of course, the story not being Parnell's, it is +not his fault that it casts no light upon the dread problems of +Providence it professed to explain. But the incidents are recorded +with ease and liveliness; the characters are rapidly depicted, and +strikingly contrasted; and many touches of true poetry occur. +How vivid this couplet, for instance-- + + "Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, + And half he welcomes in the shivering pair!" + +How picturesque the following-- + + "A fresher green the smiling leaves display, + And, _glittering as they tremble_, cheer the day!" + +The description of the unveiled angel approaches the +sublime-- + + "Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; + Celestial odours breathe through purpled air; + And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, + Wide at his back, their gradual plumes display. + The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, + And moves in all the majesty of light." + +A passage of similar brilliance occurs in "Piety, or the +Vision"-- + + "A sudden splendour seem'd to kindle day; + A breeze came breathing in; a sweet perfume, + _Blown from eternal gardens_, fill'd the room, + And in a void of blue, that clouds invest, + Appear'd a daughter of the realms of rest." + +Such passages themselves are enough to prove Parnell a +true poet. + + * * * * * + +PARNELL'S POEMS. + + + HESIOD; OR, THE RISE OF WOMAN. + + What ancient times, those times we fancy wise, + Have left on long record of woman's rise, + What morals teach it, and what fables hide, + What author wrote it, how that author died,-- + All these I sing. In Greece they framed the tale; + (In Greece, 'twas thought a woman might be frail); + Ye modern beauties! where the poet drew + His softest pencil, think he dreamt of you; + And warn'd by him, ye wanton pens, beware + How Heaven's concern'd to vindicate the fair. 10 + The case was Hesiod's; he the fable writ-- + Some think with meaning--some, with idle wit: + Perhaps 'tis either, as the ladies please; + I waive the contest, and commence the lays. + + In days of yore, no matter where or when, + 'Twas ere the low creation swarm'd with men, + That one Prometheus, sprung of heavenly birth + (Our author's song can witness), lived on earth. + He carved the turf to mould a manly frame, + And stole from Jove his animating flame. 20 + The sly contrivance o'er Olympus ran, + When thus the Monarch of the Stars began: + 'Oh versed in arts! whose daring thoughts aspire + To kindle clay with never-dying fire! + Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine; + The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine: + And such a gift, a vengeance so design'd, + As suits the counsel of a God to find; + A pleasing bosom cheat, a specious ill, + Which, felt, they curse, yet covet still to feel.' 30 + + He said, and Vulcan straight the sire commands + To temper mortar with ethereal hands; + In such a shape to mould a rising fair, + As virgin-goddesses are proud to wear; + To make her eyes with diamond-water shine, + And form her organs for a voice divine. + 'Twas thus the sire ordain'd; the power obey'd; + And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made; + The fairest, softest, sweetest frame beneath, + Now made to seem, now more than seem, to breathe. 40 + + As Vulcan ends, the cheerful queen of charms + Clasp'd the new-panting creature in her arms; + From that embrace a fine complexion spread, + Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red. + Then in a kiss she breathed her various arts, + Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts; + A mind for love, but still a changing mind; + The lisp affected, and the glance design'd; + The sweet confusing blush, the secret wink, + The gentle-swimming walk, the courteous sink, 50 + The stare for strangeness fit, for scorn the frown, + For decent yielding, looks declining down, + The practised languish, where well-feign'd desire + Would own its melting in a mutual fire; + Gay smiles to comfort; April showers to move; + And all the nature, all the art, of love. + + Gold-sceptred Juno next exalts the fair; + Her touch endows her with imperious air, + Self-valuing fancy, highly-crested pride, + Strong sovereign will, and some desire to chide: 60 + For which an eloquence, that aims to vex, + With native tropes of anger arms the sex. + + Minerva, skilful goddess, train'd the maid + To twirl the spindle by the twisting thread, + To fix the loom, instruct the reeds to part, + Cross the long weft, and close the web with art: + An useful gift; but what profuse expense, + What world of fashions, took its rise from hence! + + Young Hermes next, a close-contriving god, + Her brows encircled with his serpent rod; 70 + Then plots, and fair excuses, fill'd her brain, + The views of breaking amorous vows for gain, + The price of favours, the designing arts + That aim at riches in contempt of hearts; + And for a comfort in the marriage life, + The little, pilfering temper of a wife. + + Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung, + And fond persuasion tipp'd her easy tongue; + He gave her words, where oily flattery lays + The pleasing colours of the art of praise; 80 + And wit, to scandal exquisitely prone, + Which frets another's spleen to cure its own. + + Those sacred virgins whom the bards revere, + Tuned all her voice, and shed a sweetness there, + To make her sense with double charms abound, + Or make her lively nonsense please by sound. + + To dress the maid, the decent Graces brought + A robe in all the dyes of beauty wrought, + And placed their boxes o'er a rich brocade + Where pictured loves on every cover play'd; 90 + Then spread those implements that Vulcan's art + Had framed to merit Cytherea's heart; + The wire to curl, the close-indented comb, + To call the locks that lightly wander, home; + And chief, the mirror, where the ravish'd maid + Beholds and loves her own reflected shade. + + Fair Flora lent her stores, the purpled hours + Confined her tresses with a wreath of flowers; + Within the wreath arose a radiant crown; + A veil pellucid hung depending down; 100 + Back roll'd her azure veil with serpent fold, + The purfled border deck'd the flower with gold. + Her robe (which, closely by the girdle braced, + Reveal'd the beauties of a slender waist) + Flow'd to the feet; to copy Venus' air, + When Venus' statues have a robe to wear. + + The new-sprung creature finish'd thus for harms, + Adjusts her habit, practises her charms, + With blushes glows, or shines with lively smiles, + Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles: 110 + Then conscious of her worth, with easy pace + Glides by the glass, and, turning, views her face. + + A finer flax than what they wrought before, + Through Time's deep cave the sister Fates explore, + Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave, + And thus their toil prophetic songs deceive: + + 'Flow from the rock, my flax! and swiftly flow, + Pursue thy thread, the spindle runs below. + A creature fond and changing, fair and vain, + The creature Woman, rises now to reign. 120 + New beauty blooms, a beauty form'd to fly; + New love begins, a love produced to die; + New parts distress the troubled scenes of life, + The fondling mistress, and the ruling wife. + Men, born to labour, all with pains provide; + Women have time to sacrifice to pride: + They want the care of man, their want they know, + And dress to please with heart-alluring show, + The show prevailing, for the sway contend, + And make a servant where they meet a friend. 130 + + Thus in a thousand wax-erected forts + A loitering race the painful bee supports, + From sun to sun, from bank to bank he flies, + With honey loads his bag, with wax his thighs, + Fly where he will, at home the race remain, + Prune the silk dress, and murmuring eat the gain. + + Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride, + Whose temper betters by the father's side; + Unlike the rest, that double human care, + Fond to relieve, or resolute to share: 140 + Happy the man whom thus his stars advance! + The curse is general, but the blessing chance.' + + Thus sung the Sisters, while the gods admire + Their beauteous creature, made for man, in ire; + The young Pandora she, whom all contend + To make too perfect not to gain her end: + Then bid the winds that fly to breathe the spring, + Return to bear her on a gentle wing; + With wafting airs the winds obsequious blow, + And land the shining vengeance safe below. 150 + A golden coffer in her hand she bore, + (The present treacherous, but the bearer more) + 'Twas fraught with pangs; for Jove ordain'd above, + That gold should aid, and pangs attend on love. + + Her gay descent the man perceived afar, + Wondering he ran to catch the falling star; + But so surprised, as none but he can tell, + Who loved so quickly, and who loved so well. + O'er all his veins the wandering passion burns, + He calls her nymph, and every nymph by turns. 160 + Her form to lovely Venus he prefers, + Or swears that Venus must be such as hers. + She, proud to rule, yet strangely framed to tease, + Neglects his offers while her airs she plays, + Shoots scornful glances from the bended frown, + In brisk disorder trips it up and down, + Then hums a careless tune to lay the storm, + And sits and blushes, smiles, and yields in form. + + 'Now take what Jove design'd, (she softly cried,) + This box thy portion, and myself thy bride:' 170 + Fired with the prospect of the double charms, + He snatch'd the box, and bride, with eager arms. + + Unhappy man! to whom so bright she shone, + The fatal gift, her tempting self, unknown! + The winds were silent, all the waves asleep, + And heaven was traced upon the flattering deep; + But whilst he looks, unmindful of a storm, + And thinks the water wears a stable form, + What dreadful din around his ears shall rise! + What frowns confuse his picture of the skies! 180 + + At first the creature Man was framed alone, + Lord of himself, and all the world his own. + For him the Nymphs in green forsook the woods, + For him the Nymphs in blue forsook the floods; + In vain the Satyrs rage, the Tritons rave; + They bore him heroes in the secret cave. + No care destroy'd, no sick disorder prey'd, + No bending age his sprightly form decay'd, + No wars were known, no females heard to rage, + And poets tell us, 'twas a golden age. 190 + + When woman came, those ills the box confined + Burst furious out, and poison'd all the wind, + + From point to point, from pole to pole they flew, + Spread as they went, and in the progress grew: + The Nymphs, regretting, left the mortal race, + And, altering Nature, wore a sickly face: + New terms of folly rose, new states of care; + New plagues to suffer, and to please, the fair! + The days of whining, and of wild intrigues, + Commenced, or finish'd, with the breach of leagues; 200 + The mean designs of well-dissembled love; + The sordid matches never join'd above; + Abroad, the labour, and at home the noise, + (Man's double sufferings for domestic joys) + The curse of jealousy; expense, and strife; + Divorce, the public brand of shameful life; + The rival's sword; the qualm that takes the fair; + Disdain for passion, passion in despair-- + These, and a thousand yet unnamed, we find; + Ah, fear the thousand yet unnamed behind! 210 + + Thus on Parnassus tuneful Hesiod sung, + The mountain echoed, and the valley rung, + The sacred groves a fix'd attention show, + The crystal Helicon forbore to flow, + The sky grew bright, and (if his verse be true) + The Muses came to give the laurel too. + But what avail'd the verdant prize of wit, + If Love swore vengeance for the tales he writ? + Ye fair offended, hear your friend relate + What heavy judgment proved the writer's fate, 220 + Though when it happen'd, no relation clears; + 'Tis thought in five, or five and twenty years. + + Where, dark and silent, with a twisted shade + The neighbouring woods a native arbour made, + There oft a tender pair for amorous play + Retiring, toy'd the ravish'd hours away; + A Locrian youth, the gentle Troilus he, + A fair Milesian, kind Evanthe she: + But swelling Nature, in a fatal hour, + Betray'd the secrets of the conscious bower; 230 + The dire disgrace her brothers count their own, + And track her steps, to make its author known. + + It chanced one evening, ('twas the lover's day) + Conceal'd in brakes the jealous kindred lay; + When Hesiod, wandering, mused along the plain, + And fix'd his seat where Love had fix'd the scene: + A strong suspicion straight possess'd their mind, + (For poets ever were a gentle kind.) + But when Evanthe near the passage stood, + Flung back a doubtful look, and shot the wood, 240 + 'Now take (at once they cry) thy due reward!' + And, urged with erring rage, assault the bard. + His corpse the sea received. The dolphins bore + ('Twas all the gods would do) the corpse to shore. + + Methinks I view the dead with pitying eyes, + And see the dreams of ancient wisdom rise; + I see the Muses round the body cry, + But hear a Cupid loudly laughing by; + He wheels his arrow with insulting hand, + And thus inscribes the moral on the sand: 250 + 'Here Hesiod lies: ye future bards beware + How far your moral tales incense the fair: + Unloved, unloving, 'twas his fate to bleed; + Without his quiver Cupid caused the deed: + He judged this turn of malice justly due, + And Hesiod died for joys he never knew.' + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 When thy beauty appears, + In its graces and airs, + All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky; + At distance I gaze, and am awed by my fears, + So strangely you dazzle my eye! + + 2 But when without art, + Your kind thoughts you impart, + When your love runs in blushes through every vein; + When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart, + Then I know you're a woman again. + + 3 There's a passion and pride + In our sex (she replied), + And thus (might I gratify both) I would do: + Still an angel appear to each lover beside, + But still be a woman to you. + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 Thyrsis, a young and amorous swain, + Saw two, the beauties of the plain; + Who both his heart subdue: + Gay Cælia's eyes were dazzling fair, + Sabina's easy shape and air + With softer magic drew. + + 2 He haunts the stream, he haunts the grove, + Lives in a fond romance of love, + And seems for each to die; + Till each, a little spiteful grown, + Sabina Cælia's shape ran down, + And she Sabina's eye. + + 3 Their envy made the shepherd find + Those eyes, which love could only blind; + So set the lover free: + No more he haunts the grove or stream, + Or with a true-love knot and name + Engraves a wounded tree. + + 4 Ah, Cælia! (sly Sabina cried) + Though neither love, we're both denied; + Now, to support the sex's pride, + Let either fix the dart. + Poor girl! (says Caelia) say no more; + For should the swain but one adore, + That spite which broke his chains before, + Would break the other's heart. + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 My days have been so wondrous free, + The little birds that fly + With careless ease from tree to tree, + Were but as bless'd as I. + + 2 Ask gliding waters, if a tear + Of mine increased their stream? + Or ask the flying gales, if e'er + I lent one sigh to them? + + 3 But now my former days retire, + And I'm by beauty caught, + The tender chains of sweet desire + Are fix'd upon my thought. + + 4 Ye nightingales! ye twisting pines! + Ye swains that haunt the grove! + Ye gentle echoes! breezy winds! + Ye close retreats of lore! + + 5 With all of Nature, all of Art, + Assist the dear design; + Oh teach a young, unpractised heart + To make my Nancy mine. + + 6 The very thought of change I hate, + As much as of despair; + Nor ever covet to be great, + Unless it be for her. + + 7 'Tis true, the passion in my mind + Is mix'd with soft distress; + Yet while the fair I love is kind, + I cannot wish it less. + + * * * * * + + + ANACREONTIC. + + When Spring came on with fresh delight, + To cheer the soul, and charm the sight, + While easy breezes, softer rain, + And warmer suns salute the plain; + 'Twas then, in yonder piny grove, + That Nature went to meet with Love. + + Green was her robe, and green her wreath, + Where'er she trod, 'twas green beneath; + Where'er she turn'd, the pulses beat + With new recruits of genial heat; 10 + And in her train the birds appear, + To match for all the coming year. + + Raised on a bank, where daisies grew, + And violets intermix'd a blue, + She finds the boy she went to find; + A thousand pleasures wait behind, + Aside a thousand arrows lie, + But all, unfeather'd, wait to fly. + + When they met, the dame and boy, + Dancing graces, idle joy, 20 + Wanton smiles, and airy play, + Conspired to make the scene be gay; + Love pair'd the birds through all the grove, + And Nature bid them sing to Love, + Sitting, hopping, fluttering sing, + And pay their tribute from the wing, + To fledge the shafts that idly lie, + And, yet unfeather'd, wait to fly. + + 'Tis thus, when Spring renews the blood, + They meet in every trembling wood, 30 + And thrice they make the plumes agree, + And every dart they mount with three, + And every dart can boast a kind, + Which suits each proper turn of mind. + + From the towering eagle's plume + The generous hearts accept their doom; + Shot by the peacock's painted eye + The vain and airy lovers die: + For careful dames and frugal men, + The shafts are speckled by the hen: 40 + The pies and parrots deck the darts, + When prattling wins the panting hearts: + When from the voice the passions spring, + The warbling finch affords a wing: + Together, by the sparrow stung, + Down fall the wanton and the young: + And fledged by geese the weapons fly, + When others love they know not why. + + All this (as late I chanced to rove) + I learn'd in yonder waving grove. 50 + And see, says Love, who call'd me near, + How much I deal with Nature here; + How both support a proper part, + She gives the feather, I the dart: + Then cease for souls averse to sigh, + If Nature cross ye, so do I; + My weapon there unfeather'd flies, + And shakes and shuffles through the skies. + But if the mutual charms I find + By which she links you, mind to mind, 60 + They wing my shafts, I poise the darts, + And strike from both, through both your hearts. + + * * * * * + + + ANACREONTIC. + + 1 Gay Bacchus liking Estcourt's[1] wine, + A noble meal bespoke us; + And for the guests that were to dine, + Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus. + + 2 The god near Cupid drew his chair, + Near Comus, Jocus placed; + For wine makes Love forget its care, + And Mirth exalts a feast. + + 3 The more to please the sprightly god, + Each sweet engaging Grace + Put on some clothes to come abroad, + And took a waiter's place. + + 4 Then Cupid named at every glass + A lady of the sky; + While Bacchus swore he'd drink the lass, + And did it bumper-high. + + 5 Fat Comus toss'd his brimmers o'er, + And always got the most; + Jocus took care to fill him more, + Whene'er he miss'd the toast. + + 6 They call'd, and drank at every touch; + He fill'd, and drank again; + And if the gods can take too much, + 'Tis said they did so then. + + 7 Gay Bacchus little Cupid stung, + By reckoning his deceits; + And Cupid mock'd his stammering tongue, + With all his staggering gaits: + + 8 And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways, + And tales without a jest; + While Comus call'd his witty plays + But waggeries at best. + + 9 Such talk soon set 'em all at odds; + And, had I Homer's pen, + I'd sing ye, how they drank like gods, + And how they fought like men. + + 10 To part the fray, the Graces fly, + Who make 'em soon agree; + Nay, had the Furies selves been nigh, + They still were three to three. + + 11 Bacchus appeased, raised Cupid up, + And gave him back his bow; + But kept some darts to stir the cup + Where sack and sugar flow. + + 12 Jocus took Comus' rosy crown, + And gaily wore the prize, + And thrice, in mirth, he push'd him down, + As thrice he strove to rise. + + 13 Then Cupid sought the myrtle grove, + Where Venus did recline; + And Venus close embracing Love, + They join'd to rail at wine. + + 14 And Comus loudly cursing wit, + Roll'd off to some retreat, + Where boon companions gravely sit + In fat unwieldy state. + + 15 Bacchus and Jocus, still behind, + For one fresh glass prepare; + They kiss, and are exceeding kind, + And vow to be sincere. + + 16 But part in time, whoever hear + This our instructive song; + For though such friendships may be dear, + They can't continue long. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Estcourt:' Dick, a comedian and keeper of the Bumper +Tavern--a companion of Addison, Steele, and the rest.] + + * * * * * + + + A FAIRY TALE, + + IN THE ANCIENT ENGLISH STYLE. + + 1 In Britain's isle and Arthur's days, + When midnight Faeries danced the maze, + Lived Edwin of the green; + Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth, + Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, + Though badly shaped he been. + + 2 His mountain back mote well be said + To measure heighth against his head, + And lift itself above: + Yet spite of all that Nature did + To make his uncouth form forbid, + This creature dared to love. + + 3 He felt the charms of Edith's eyes, + Nor wanted hope to gain the prize, + Could ladies look within; + But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art, + And, if a shape could win a heart, + He had a shape to win. + + 4 Edwin (if right I read my song) + With slighted passion paced along, + All in the moony light: + 'Twas near an old enchanted court, + Where sportive Faeries made resort + To revel out the night. + + 5 His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd, + 'Twas late, 'twas farr, the path was lost + That reach'd the neighbour-town; + With weary steps he quits the shades, + Resolved, the darkling dome he treads, + And drops his limbs adown. + + 6 But scant he lays him on the floor, + When hollow winds remove the door, + A trembling rocks the ground: + And (well I ween to count aright) + At once an hundred tapers light + On all the walls around. + + 7 Now sounding tongues assail his ear, + Now sounding feet approachen near, + And now the sounds increase: + And from the corner where he lay + He sees a train, profusely gay, + Come prankling o'er the place. + + 8 But trust me, gentles! never yet + Was dight a masquing half so neat, + Or half so rich before; + The country lent the sweet perfumes, + The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes, + The town its silken store. + + 9 Now whilst he gazed, a gallant dress'd + In flaunting robes above the rest, + With awful accent cried: + What mortal of a wretched mind, + Whose sighs infect the balmy wind, + Has here presumed to hide? + + 10 At this the swain, whose venturous soul + No fears of magic art control, + Advanced in open sight: + Nor have I cause of dread, he said, + Who view, by no presumption led, + Your revels of the night. + + 11 'Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love, + Which made my steps unweeting rove + Amid the nightly dew. + 'Tis well, the gallant cries again, + We Faeries never injure men + Who dare to tell us true. + + 12 Exalt thy love-dejected heart, + Be mine the task, or e'er we part, + To make thee grief resign; + Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce; + Whilst I with Mab my partner daunce, + Be little Mable thine. + + 13 He spoke, and all a-sudden there + Light music floats in wanton air; + The monarch leads the queen: + The rest their Faerie partners found, + And Mable trimly tripp'd the ground + With Edwin of the green. + + 14 The dauncing past, the board was laid, + And siker such a feast was made + As heart and lip desire; + Withouten hands the dishes fly, + The glasses--with a wish come nigh, + And with a wish retire. + + 15 But now, to please the Faerie King, + Full every deal, they laugh and sing, + And antic feats devise; + Some wind and tumble like an ape, + And other some transmute their shape + In Edwin's wondering eyes. + + 16 Till one at last that Robin bight, + (Renown'd for pinching maids by night) + Has hent him up aloof; + And full against the beam he flung, + Where by the back the youth he hung + To spraul unneath the roof. + + 17 From thence, Reverse my charm, he cries, + And let it fairly now suffice + The gambol has been shown. + But Oberon answers with a smile, + Content thee, Edwin, for a while, + The vantage is thine own. + + 18 Here ended all the phantom-play; + They smelt the fresh approach of day, + And heard a cock to crow; + The whirling wind that bore the crowd + Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud, + To warn them all to go. + + 19 Then screaming all at once they fly, + And all at once the tapers die, + Poor Edwin falls to floor; + Forlorn his state, and dark the place, + Was never wight in sike a case + Through all the land before. + + 20 But soon as Dan Apollo rose, + Full jolly creature home he goes, + He feels his back the less; + His honest tongue and steady mind + Had rid him of the lump behind + Which made him want success. + + 21 With lusty livelyhed he talks, + He seems a-dauncing as he walks, + His story soon took wind; + And beauteous Edith sees the youth, + Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, + Without a bunch behind. + + 22 The story told, Sir Topaz moved, + The youth of Edith erst approved, + To see the revel scene: + At close of eve he leaves his home, + And wends to find the ruin'd dome + All on the gloomy plain. + + 23 As there he bides, it so befell, + The wind came rustling down a dell, + A shaking seized the wall: + Up spring the tapers as before, + The Faeries bragly foot the floor, + And music fills the hall. + + 24 But, certes, sorely sunk with woe + Sir Topaz sees the elfin show, + His spirits in him die: + When Oberon cries, A man is near, + A mortal passion, clèeped fear, + Hang's flagging in the sky. + + 25 With that Sir Topaz, hapless youth! + In accents faltering aye for ruth, + Entreats them pity graunt; + For als he been a mister wight + Betray'd by wandering in the night + To tread the circled haunt. + + 26 Ah, losel vile! (at once they roar) + And little skill'd of Faerie lore, + Thy cause to come we know: + Now has thy kestrel courage fell; + And Faeries, since a lie you tell, + Are free to work thee woe. + + 27 Then Will, who bears the wispy fire, + To trail the swains among the mire, + The caitiff upward flung; + There like a tortoise in a shop + He dangled from the chamber-top, + Where whilom Edwin hung. + + 28 The revel now proceeds apace, + Deftly they frisk it o'er the place, + They sit, they drink, and eat; + The time with frolic mirth beguile, + And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while, + Till all the rout retreat. + + 29 By this the stars began to wink, + They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink, + And down ydrops the knight. + For never spell by Faerie laid + With strong enchantment bound a glade + Beyond the length of night. + + 30 Chill, dark, alone, adreed he lay, + Till up the welkin rose the day, + Then deem'd the dole was o'er; + But wot ye well his harder lot? + His seely back the bunch has got + Which Edwin lost afore. + + 31 This tale a Sybil-nurse aread; + She softly stroked my youngling head, + And when the tale was done, + Thus some are born, my son, (she cries,) + With base impediments to rise, + And some are born with none. + + 32 But virtue can itself advaunce + To what the favourite fools of chaunce + By fortune seem'd design'd; + Virtue can gain the odds of Fate, + And from itself shake off the weight + Upon the unworthy mind. + + * * * * * + + + TO MR POPE. + + To praise, yet still with due respect to praise, + A bard triumphant in immortal bays, + The learn'd to show, the sensible commend, + Yet still preserve the province of the friend, + What life, what vigour, must the lines require, + What music tune them, what affection fire! + + Oh! might thy genius in my bosom shine, + Thou shouldst not fail of numbers worthy thine; + The brightest ancients might at once agree + To sing within my lays, and sing of thee. 10 + + Horace himself would own thou dost excel + In candid arts, to play the critic well. + + Ovid himself might wish to sing the dame + Whom Windsor Forest sees a gliding stream; + On silver feet, with annual osier crown'd, + She runs for ever through poetic ground. + + How flame the glories of Belinda's hair, + Made by thy Muse the envy of the fair! + Less shone the tresses Egypt's princess[1] wore, + Which sweet Callimachus so sung before; 20 + Here courtly trifles set the world at odds, + Belles war with beaux, and whims descend for gods, + The new machines in names of ridicule, + Mock the grave frenzy of the chymic fool. + But know, ye fair, a point conceal'd with art, + The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a woman's heart: + The Graces stand in sight; a Satyr train + Peep o'er their heads, and laugh behind the scene. + + In Fame's fair temple, o'er the boldest wits + Enshrined on high the sacred Virgil sits, 30 + And sits in measures, such as Virgil's Muse + To place thee near him might be fond to choose. + How might he tune the alternate reed with thee, + Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he, + While some old Damon, o'er the vulgar wise, + Thinks he deserves, and thou deserv'st the prize! + Rapt with the thought, my fancy seeks the plains, + And turns me shepherd while I hear the strains. + Indulgent nurse of every tender gale, + Parent of flowerets, old Arcadia, hail! 40 + Here in the cool my limbs at ease I spread, + Here let thy poplars whisper o'er my head, + Still slide thy waters soft among the trees, + Thy aspens quiver in a breathing breeze, + Smile all thy valleys in eternal spring, + Be hush'd, ye winds! while Pope and Virgil sing. + + In English lays, and all sublimely great, + Thy Homer warms with all his ancient heat; + He shines in council, thunders in the fight, + And flames with every sense of great delight. 50 + Long has that poet reign'd, and long unknown, + Like monarchs sparkling on a distant throne, + In all the majesty of Greek retired, + Himself unknown, his mighty name admired; + His language failing, wrapp'd him round with night, + Thine, raised by thee, recalls the work to light. + So wealthy mines, that ages long before + Fed the large realms around with golden ore, + When choked by sinking banks, no more appear, + And shepherds only say, The mines were here: 60 + Should some rich youth (if Nature warm his heart, + And all his projects stand inform'd with Art) + Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein; + The mines, detected, flame with gold again. + + How vast, how copious are thy new designs! + How every music varies in thy lines! + Still as I read, I feel my bosom beat, + And rise in raptures by another's heat. + Thus in the wood, when summer dress'd the days, + When Windsor lent us tuneful hours of ease, 70 + Our ears the lark, the thrush, the turtle blest, + And Philomela sweetest o'er the rest: + The shades resound with song--oh softly tread! + While a whole season warbles round my head. + + This to my friend--and when a friend inspires, + My silent harp its master's hand requires, + Shakes off the dust, and makes these rocks resound; + For fortune placed me in unfertile ground, + Far from the joys that with my soul agree, + From wit, from learning--far, oh far from thee! 80 + Here moss-grown trees expand the smallest leaf, + Here half an acre's corn is half a sheaf; + Here hills with naked heads the tempest meet, + Rocks at their side, and torrents at their feet, + Or lazy lakes, unconscious of a flood, + Whose dull brown Naiads ever sleep in mud. + + Yet here Content can dwell, and Learned Ease, + A friend delight me, and an author please; + Even here I sing, while Pope supplies the theme, + Show my own love, though not increase his fame. 90 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Egypt's princess:' Cleopatra.] + + * * * * * + + + HEALTH: AN ECLOGUE. + + Now early shepherds o'er the meadow pass, + And print long footsteps in the glittering grass, + The cows neglectful of their pasture stand, + By turns obsequious to the milker's hand, + When Damon softly trode the shaven lawn, + Damon a youth from city cares withdrawn; + Long was the pleasing walk he wander'd through, + A cover'd arbour closed the distant view; + There rests the youth, and while the feather'd throng + Raise their wild music, thus contrives a song. 10 + + Here wafted o'er by mild Etesian air, + Thou country Goddess, beauteous Health, repair! + Here let my breast through quivering trees inhale + Thy rosy blessings with the morning gale. + What are the fields, or flowers, or all I see? + Ah! tasteless all, if not enjoy'd with thee. + + Joy to my soul! I feel the Goddess nigh, + The face of Nature cheers as well as I; + O'er the flat green refreshing breezes run, + The smiling daisies blow beneath the sun, 20 + The brooks run purling down with silver waves, + The planted lanes rejoice with dancing leaves, + The chirping birds from all the compass rove + To tempt the tuneful echoes of the grove: + High sunny summits, deeply shaded dales, + Thick mossy banks, and flowery winding vales, + With various prospect gratify the sight, + And scatter fix'd attention in delight. + + Come, country Goddess, come! nor thou suffice, + But bring thy mountain sister, Exercise! 30 + Call'd by thy lovely voice, she turns her pace, + Her winding horn proclaims the finish'd chase; + She mounts the rocks, she skims the level plain, + Dogs, hawks, and horses crowd her early train; + Her hardy face repels the tanning wind, + And lines and meshes loosely float behind. + All these as means of toil the feeble see, + But these are helps to pleasure join'd with thee. + + Let Sloth lie softening till high noon in down, + Or lolling fan her in the sultry town, 40 + Unnerved with rest, and turn her own disease, + Or foster others in luxurious ease: + I mount the courser, call the deep-mouth'd hounds; + The fox unkennell'd, flies to covert grounds; + I lead where stags through tangled thickets tread, + And shake the saplings with their branching head; + I make the falcons wing their airy way, + And soar to seize, or stooping strike their prey: + To snare the fish I fix the luring bait; + To wound the fowl I load the gun with fate. 50 + 'Tis thus through change of exercise I range, + And strength and pleasure rise from every change. + Here beauteous for all the year remain; + When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again. + + Oh come, thou Goddess of my rural song, + And bring thy daughter, calm Content, along! + Dame of the ruddy cheek and laughing eye, + From whose bright presence clouds of sorrow fly: + For her I mow my walks, I plait my bowers, + Clip my low hedges, and support my flowers; 60 + To welcome her, this summer seat I dress'd, + And here I court her when she comes to rest; + When she from exercise to learned ease + Shall change again, and teach the change to please. + + Now friends conversing my soft hours refine, + And Tully's Tusculum revives in mine: + Now to grave books I bid the mind retreat, + And such as make me rather good than great; + Or o'er the works of easy Fancy rove, + Where flutes and innocence amuse the grove: 70 + The native bard that on Sicilian plains + First sung the lowly manners of the swains; + Or Maro's Muse, that in the fairest light + Paints rural prospects and the charms of sight; + These soft amusements bring Content along, + And Fancy, void of sorrow, turns to song. + Here beauteous Health for all the year remain; + When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again. + + * * * * * + + + THE FLIES: AN ECLOGUE. + + When the river cows for coolness stand. + And sheep for breezes seek the lofty land, + A youth whom Æsop taught that every tree, + Each bird and insect, spoke as well as he, + Walk'd calmly musing in a shaded way, + Where flowering hawthorn broke the sunny ray, + And thus instructs his moral pen to draw + A scene that obvious in the field he saw. + + Near a low ditch, where shallow waters meet, + Which never learn'd to glide with liquid feet, 10 + Whose Naiads never prattle as they play, + But screen'd with hedges slumber out the day, + There stands a slender fern's aspiring shade, + Whose answering branches, regularly laid, + Put forth their answering boughs, and proudly rise + Three storeys upward in the nether skies. + + For shelter here, to shun the noonday heat, + An airy nation of the flies retreat; + Some in soft air their silken pinions ply, + And some from bough to bough delighted fly, 20 + Some rise, and circling light to perch again; + A pleasing murmur hums along the plain. + So, when a stage invites to pageant shows, + (If great and small are like) appear the beaux; + In boxes some with spruce pretension sit, + Some change from seat to seat within the pit, + Some roam the scenes, or turning cease to roam; + Preluding music fills the lofty dome. + When thus a fly (if what a fly can say + Deserves attention) raised the rural lay: + + Where late Amintor made a nymph a bride, 30 + Joyful I flew by young Favonia's side, + Who, mindless of the feasting, went to sip + The balmy pleasure of the shepherd's lip; + I saw the wanton where I stoop'd to sup, + And half resolved to drown me in the cup; + Till, brush'd by careless hands, she soar'd above: + Cease, beauty, cease to vex a tender love! + + Thus ends the youth, the buzzing meadow rung, + And thus the rival of his music sung: 40 + + When suns by thousands shone in orbs of dew, + I, wafted soft, with Zephyretta flew; + Saw the clean pail, and sought the milky cheer, + While little Daphnè seized my roving dear. + Wretch that I was! I might have warn'd the dame, + Yet sate indulging as the danger came, + But the kind huntress left her free to soar: + Ah! guard, ye lovers, guard a mistress more! + + Thus from the fern, whose high projecting arms, + The fleeting nation bent with dusky swarms, 50 + The swains their love in easy music breathe, + When tongues and tumult stun the field beneath, + Black ants in teams come darkening all the road; + Some call to march, and some to lift the load; + They strain, they labour with incessant pains, + Press'd by the cumbrous weight of single grains. + The flies, struck silent, gaze with wonder down: + The busy burghers reach their earthy town, + Where lay the burdens of a wintry store, + And thence, unwearied, part in search of more. 60 + Yet one grave sage a moment's space attends, + And the small city's loftiest point ascends, + Wipes the salt dew that trickles down his face, + And thus harangues them with the gravest grace + + Ye foolish nurslings of the summer air! + These gentle tunes and whining songs forbear, + Your trees and whispering breeze, your grove and love, + Your Cupid's quiver, and his mother's dove; + Let bards to business bend their vigorous wing, + And sing but seldom, if they love to sing: 70 + Else, when the flowerets of the season fail, + And this your ferny shade forsakes the vale, + Though one would save ye, not one grain of wheat + Should pay such songster's idling at my gate. + + He ceased: the flies, incorrigibly vain, + Heard the mayor's speech, and fell to sing again. + + * * * * * + + + AN ELEGY TO AN OLD BEAUTY. + + In vain, poor nymph, to please our youthful sight + You sleep in cream and frontlets all the night, + Your face with patches soil, with paint repair, + Dress with gay gowns, and shade with foreign hair. + If truth in spite of manners must be told, + Why, really, fifty-five is something old. + + Once you were young; or one, whose life's so long, + She might have borne my mother, tells me wrong. + And once, (since Envy's dead before you die) + The women own, you play'd a sparkling eye, 10 + Taught the light foot a modish little trip, + And pouted with the prettiest purple lip. + + To some new charmer are the roses fled, + Which blew, to damask all thy cheek with red; + Youth calls the graces there to fix their reign, + And airs by thousands fill their easy train. + So parting Summer bids her flowery prime + Attend the Sun to dress some foreign clime, + While withering seasons in succession, here, + Strip the gay gardens, and deform the Year. 20 + + But thou (since Nature bids) the world resign, + 'Tis now thy daughter's daughter's time to shine. + With more address, (or such as pleases more) + She runs her female exercises o'er, + Unfurls or closes, raps or turns the fan, + And smiles, or blushes at the creature Man. + With quicker life, as gilded coaches pass, + In sideling courtesy she drops the glass. + With better strength, on visit-days she bears + To mount her fifty flights of ample stairs. 30 + Her mien, her shape, her temper, eyes and tongue, + Are sure to conquer--for the rogue is young; + And all that's madly wild, or oddly gay, + We call it only pretty Fanny's way. + + Let Time that makes you homely, make you sage, + The sphere of wisdom is the sphere of age. + 'Tis true, when beauty dawns with early fire, + And hears the flattering tongues of soft desire, + If not from virtue, from its gravest ways + The soul with pleasing avocation strays. 40 + But beauty gone, 'tis easier to be wise; + As harpers better by the loss of eyes. + + Henceforth retire, reduce your roving airs, + Haunt less the plays, and more the public prayers, + Reject the Mechlin head, and gold brocade, + Go pray, in sober Norwich crape array'd. + Thy pendant diamonds let thy Fanny take, + Their trembling lustre shows how much you shake; + Or bid her wear thy necklace row'd with pearl, + You'll find your Fanny an obedient girl. 50 + So, for the rest, with less incumbrance hung, + You walk through life, unmingled with the young; + And view the shade and substance as you pass + With joint endeavour trifling at the glass, + Or Folly dress'd, and rambling all her days, + To meet her counterpart, and grow by praise: + Yet still sedate yourself, and gravely plain, + You neither fret, nor envy at the vain. + + 'Twas thus, if man with woman we compare, + The wise Athenian cross'd a glittering fair; 60 + Unmoved by tongues and sights, he walk'd the place, + Through tape, toys, tinsel, gimp, perfume, and lace; + Then bends from Mars's hill his awful eyes, + And 'What a world I never want!' he cries; + But cries unheard: for Folly will be free. + So parts the buzzing gaudy crowd, and he: + As careless he for them, as they for him; + He wrapt in wisdom, and they whirl'd by whim + + * * * * * + + + THE BOOK-WORM. + + Come hither, boy, we'll hunt to-day + The book-worm, ravening beast of prey! + Produced by parent Earth, at odds + (As Fame reports it) with the gods. + Him frantic Hunger wildly drives + Against a thousand authors' lives: + Through all the fields of Wit he flies; + Dreadful his head with clustering eyes, + With horns without, and tusks within, + And scales to serve him for a skin. 10 + Observe him nearly, lest he climb + To wound the bards of ancient time, + Or down the vale of Fancy go, + To tear some modern wretch below: + On every corner fix thine eye, + Or, ten to one, he slips thee by. + + See where his teeth a passage eat: + We'll rouse him from the deep retreat. + But who the shelter's forced to give? + 'Tis sacred Virgil, as I live! 20 + From leaf to leaf, from song to song, + He draws the tadpole form along, + He mounts the gilded edge before, + He's up, he scuds the cover o'er, + He turns, he doubles, there he pass'd, + And here we have him, caught at last. + + Insatiate brute, whose teeth abuse + The sweetest servants of the Muse! + --Nay, never offer to deny, + I took thee in the act to fly-- 30 + His roses nipp'd in every page, + My poor Anacreon mourns thy rage. + By thee my Ovid wounded lies; + By thee my Lesbia's sparrow dies: + Thy rabid teeth have half destroy'd + The work of love in Biddy Floyd; + They rent Belinda's locks away, + And spoil'd the Blouzelind of Gay. + For all, for every single deed, + Relentless Justice bids thee bleed. 40 + Then fall a victim to the Nine, + Myself the priest, my desk the shrine. + + Bring Homer, Virgil, Tasso near, + To pile a sacred altar here; + Hold, boy, thy hand outruns thy wit, + You reach'd the plays that Dennis writ; + You reach'd me Philips' rustic strain; + Pray take your mortal bards again. + + Come, bind the victim,--there he lies, + And here between his numerous eyes 50 + This venerable dust I lay, + From manuscripts just swept away. + + The goblet in my hand I take + (For the libation's yet to make), + A health to poets! all their days + May they have bread, as well as praise; + Sense may they seek, and less engage + In papers fill'd with party rage. + But if their riches spoil their vein, + Ye Muses! make them poor again. 60 + + Now bring the weapon, yonder blade, + With which my tuneful pens are made. + I strike the scales that arm thee round, + And twice and thrice I print the wound; + The sacred altar floats with red; + And now he dies, and now he's dead. + + How like the son of Jove I stand, + This Hydra stretch'd beneath my hand! + Lay bare the monster's entrails here, + To see what dangers threat the year: 70 + Ye gods! what sonnets on a wench! + What lean translations out of French! + 'Tis plain, this lobe is so unsound, + S-- prints before the months go round. + + But hold, before I close the scene, + The sacred altar should be clean. + Oh, had I Shadwell's[1] second bays, + Or, Tate![2] thy pert and humble lays! + (Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow + I never miss'd your works till now) + I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine, 80 + (That only way you please the Nine) + But since I chance to want these two, + I'll make the songs of Durfey[3] do. + + Rent from the corpse, on yonder pin + I hang the scales that braced it in; + I hang my studious morning gown, + And write my own inscription down. + + 'This trophy from the Python won, + This robe, in which the deed was done, 90 + These, Parnell glorying in the feat, + Hung on these shelves, the Muses' seat. + Here Ignorance and Hunger found + Large realms of wit to ravage round; + Here Ignorance and Hunger fell-- + Two foes in one I sent to hell. + Ye poets, who my labours see, + Come share the triumph all with me! + Ye critics, born to vex the Muse, + Go mourn the grand ally you lose!' 100 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Shadwell:' Dryden's rival.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Tate:' Nahum. See Life of Dryden.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Durfey:' the well-known wit of the time.] + + * * * * * + + + AN ALLEGORY ON MAN. + + A thoughtful being, long and spare, + Our race of mortals call him Care; + (Were Homer living, well he knew + What name the gods have call'd him too) + With fine mechanic genius wrought, + And loved to work, though no one bought. + + This being, by a model bred + In Jove's eternal sable head, + Contrived a shape, empower'd to breathe, + And be the worldling here beneath. 10 + + The Man rose staring, like a stake, + Wondering to see himself awake! + Then look'd so wise, before he knew + The business he was made to do, + That, pleased to see with what a grace + He gravely show'd his forward face, + Jove talk'd of breeding him on high, + An under-something of the sky. + + But e'er he gave the mighty nod, + Which ever binds a poet's god, 20 + (For which his curls ambrosial shake, + And mother Earth's obliged to quake:) + He saw old mother Earth arise, + She stood confess'd before his eyes; + But not with what we read she wore, + A castle for a crown, before; + Nor with long streets and longer roads + Dangling behind her, like commodes: + As yet with wreaths alone she dress'd, + And trail'd a landscape-painted vest. 30 + Then thrice she raised, (as Ovid said) + And thrice she bow'd her weighty head. + + Her honours made, Great Jove, she cried, + This thing was fashion'd from my side; + His hands, his heart, his head are mine; + Then what hast thou to call him thine? + + Nay, rather ask, the monarch said, + What boots his hand, his heart, his head? + Were what I gave removed away, + Thy parts an idle shape of clay. 40 + + Halves, more than halves! cried honest Care; + Your pleas would make your titles fair, + You claim the body, you the soul, + But I who join'd them, claim the whole. + + Thus with the gods debate began, + On such a trivial cause as Man. + And can celestial tempers rage? + (Quoth Virgil in a later age.) + + As thus they wrangled, Time came by; + (There's none that paint him such as I, 50 + For what the fabling ancients sung + Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.) + As yet his winters had not shed + Their silver honours on his head; + He just had got his pinions free + From his old sire Eternity. + A serpent girdled round he wore, + The tail within the mouth before; + By which our almanacs are clear + That learned Egypt meant the year. 60 + A staff he carried, where on high + A glass was fix'd to measure by, + As amber boxes made a show + For heads of canes an age ago. + His vest, for day and night, was pied, + A bending sickle arm'd his side, + And Spring's new months his train adorn; + The other Seasons were unborn. + + Known by the gods, as near he draws, + They make him umpire of the cause. 70 + O'er a low trunk his arm he laid, + (Where since his Hours a dial made;) + Then, leaning, heard the nice debate, + And thus pronounced the words of Fate: + + Since Body from the parent Earth, + And Soul from Jove received a birth, + Return they where they first began; + But since their union makes the Man, + Till Jove and Earth shall part these two, + To Care, who join'd them, Man is due. 80 + + He said, and sprung with swift career + To trace a circle for the year, + Where ever since the Seasons wheel, + And tread on one another's heel. + + 'Tis well, said Jove, and for consent + Thundering he shook the firmament; + Our umpire Time shall have his way, + With Care I let the creature stay: + Let business vex him, avarice blind, + Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind, 90 + Let error act, opinion speak, + And want afflict, and sickness break, + And anger burn, dejection chill, + And joy distract, and sorrow kill, + Till, arm'd by Care, and taught to mow, + Time draws the long destructive blow; + And wasted Man, whose quick decay, + Comes hurrying on before his day, + Shall only find, by this decree, + The Soul flies sooner back to me. 100 + + * * * * * + + + AN IMITATION OF SOME FRENCH VERSES. + + Relentless Time! destroying power + Whom stone and brass obey, + Who giv'st to every flying hour + To work some new decay; + Unheard, unheeded, and unseen, + Thy secret saps prevail, + And ruin Man, a nice machine + By Nature form'd to fail. + My change arrives; the change I meet, + Before I thought it nigh. 10 + My spring, my years of pleasure fleet, + And all their beauties die. + In age I search, and only find + A poor unfruitful gain, + Grave Wisdom stalking slow behind, + Oppress'd with loads of pain. + My ignorance could once beguile, + And fancied joys inspire; + My errors cherish'd hope to smile + On newly-born desire. 20 + But now experience shows the bliss, + For which I fondly sought, + Not worth the long impatient wish, + And ardour of the thought. + My youth met Fortune fair array'd; + In all her pomp she shone, + And might perhaps have well essay'd + To make her gifts my own: + But when I saw the blessings shower + On some unworthy mind, 30 + I left the chase, and own'd the power + Was justly painted blind. + I pass'd the glories which adorn + The splendid courts of kings, + And while the persons moved my scorn. + I rose to scorn the things. + My manhood felt a vigorous fire, + By love increased the more; + But years with coming years conspire + To break the chains I wore. 40 + In weakness safe, the sex I see + With idle lustre shine; + For what are all their joys to me, + Which cannot now be mine? + But hold--I feel my gout decrease, + My troubles laid to rest, + And truths which would disturb my peace, + Are painful truths at best. + Vainly the time I have to roll + In sad reflection flies; 50 + Ye fondling passions of my soul! + Ye sweet deceits! arise. + I wisely change the scene within, + To things that used to please; + In pain, philosophy is spleen, + In health, 'tis only ease. + + * * * * * + + + A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH. + + By the blue taper's trembling light, + No more I waste the wakeful night, + Intent with endless view to pore + The schoolmen and the sages o'er: + Their books from wisdom widely stray, + Or point at best the longest way. + I'll seek a readier path, and go + Where wisdom's surely taught below. + + How deep yon azure dyes the sky, + Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie, 10 + While through their ranks in silver pride + The nether crescent seems to glide! + The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, + The lake is smooth and clear beneath, + Where once again the spangled show + Descends to meet our eyes below. + The grounds which on the right aspire, + In dimness from the view retire: + The left presents a place of graves, + Whose wall the silent water laves. 20 + That steeple guides thy doubtful sight, + Among the livid gleams of night. + There pass, with melancholy state, + By all the solemn heaps of fate, + And think, as softly-sad you tread + Above the venerable dead, + 'Time was, like thee they life possess'd, + And time shall be, that thou shalt rest.' + + Those graves, with bending osier bound, + That nameless heave the crumbled ground, 30 + Quick to the glancing thought disclose + Where Toil and Poverty repose. + + The flat smooth stones that bear a name, + The chisel's slender help to fame, + Which, e'er our set of friends decay, + Their frequent steps may wear away, + A middle race of mortals own, + Men half-ambitious, all unknown. + + The marble tombs that rise on high, + Whose dead in vaulted arches lie, 40 + Whose pillars swell with sculptured stones, + Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones;-- + These (all the poor remains of state) + Adorn the rich, or praise the great; + Who while on earth in fame they live, + Are senseless of the fame they give. + + Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades, + The bursting earth unveils the shades! + All slow, and wan, and wrapp'd with shrouds, + They rise in visionary crowds, 50 + And all with sober accent cry, + 'Think, mortal, what it is to die!' + + Now from yon black and funeral yew, + That bathes the charnal-house with dew, + Methinks I hear a voice begin; + (Ye ravens, cease your croaking din, + Ye tolling clocks, no time resound + O'er the long lake and midnight ground!) + It sends a peal of hollow groans, + Thus speaking from among the bones: 60 + + 'When men my scythe and darts supply, + How great a king of fears am I! + They view me like the last of things: + They make, and then they dread, my stings. + Fools! if you less provoked your fears, + No more my spectre-form appears. + Death's but a path that must be trod, + If man would ever pass to God: + A port of calms, a state of ease + From the rough rage of swelling seas. 70 + + Why, then, thy flowing sable stoles, + Deep pendent cypress, mourning poles, + Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds, + Long palls, drawn hearses, cover'd steeds, + And plumes of black, that, as they tread, + Nod o'er the 'scutcheons of the dead? + + Nor can the parted body know, + Nor wants the soul these forms of woe: + As men who long in prison dwell, + With lamps that glimmer round the cell, 80 + Whene'er their suffering years are run, + Spring forth to greet the glittering sun: + Such joy, though far transcending sense, + Have pious souls at parting hence. + On earth, and in the body placed, + A few, and evil years, they waste: + But when their chains are cast aside, + See the glad scene unfolding wide, + Clap the glad wing and tower away, + And mingle with the blaze of day!' 90 + + * * * * * + + + A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT. + + Lovely, lasting peace of mind! + Sweet delight of human kind! + Heavenly born, and bred on high, + To crown the favourites of the sky + With more of happiness below, + Than victors in a triumph know! + Whither, oh! whither art thou fled, + To lay thy meek, contented head? + What happy region dost thou please + To make the seat of calm and ease? 10 + + Ambition searches all its sphere + Of pomp and state, to meet thee there. + Increasing Avarice would find + Thy presence in its gold enshrined. + The bold adventurer ploughs his way, + Through rocks amidst the foaming sea, + To gain thy love; and then perceives + Thou wert not in the rocks and waves. + The silent heart which grief assails, + Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales, 20 + Sees daisies open, rivers run, + And seeks (as I have vainly done) + Amusing thought; but learns to know + That Solitude's the nurse of Woe. + No real happiness is found + In trailing purple o'er the ground; + Or in a soul exalted high, + To range the circuit of the sky, + Converse with stars above, and know + All Nature in its forms below; 30 + The rest it seeks, in seeking dies, + And doubts at last for knowledge rise. + + Lovely, lasting peace appear! + This world itself, if thou art here, + Is once again with Eden bless'd, + And Man contains it in his breast. + + 'Twas thus, as under shade I stood, + I sung my wishes to the wood, + And, lost in thought, no more perceived + The branches whisper as they waved: 40 + It seem'd as all the quiet place + Confess'd the presence of the Grace, + When thus she spoke:--'Go, rule thy will; + Bid thy wild passions all be still; + Know God--and bring thy heart to know + The joys which from Religion flow: + Then every Grace shall prove its guest, + And I'll be there to crown the rest.' + + Oh! by yonder mossy seat, + In my hours of sweet retreat; 50 + Might I thus my soul employ, + With sense of gratitude and joy! + Raised as ancient prophets were, + In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer; + Pleasing all men, hurting none, + Pleased and bless'd with God alone: + Then, while the gardens take my sight + With all the colours of delight; + While silver waters glide along, + To please my ear, and court my song: 60 + I'll lift my voice, and tune my string, + And Thee, Great Source of Nature! sing. + + The sun, that walks his airy way, + To light the world, and give the day; + The moon, that shines with borrow'd light; + The stars, that gild the gloomy night; + The seas, that roll unnumber'd waves; + The wood, that spreads its shady leaves; + The field, whose ears conceal the grain, + The yellow treasure of the plain;-- 70 + All of these, and all I see, + Should be sung, and sung by me: + They speak their Maker as they can, + But want, and ask, the tongue of man. + + Go, search among your idle dreams, + Your busy, or your vain extremes; + And find a life of equal bliss, + Or own the next begun in this! + + * * * * * + + + THE HERMIT. + + Far in a wild, unknown to public view, + From youth to age a reverend hermit grew; + The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, + His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well: + Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days, + Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. + + A life so sacred, such serene repose, + Seem'd heaven itself, till one suggestion rose: + That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey, + This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway; 10 + His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, + And all the tenor of his soul is lost: + So when a smooth expanse receives impress'd + Calm Nature's image on its watery breast, + Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, + And skies beneath with answering colours glow: + But if a stone the gentle scene divide, + Swift ruffling circles curl on every side, + And glimmering fragments of a broken sun, + Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. 20 + + To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, + To find if books or swains report it right, + (For yet by swains alone the world he knew, + Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew) + He quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore, + And fix'd the scallop in his hat before; + Then with the sun a rising journey went, + Sedate to think, and watching each event. + + The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, + And long and lonesome was the wild to pass; 30 + But when the southern sun had warm'd the day, + A youth came posting o'er a crossing way; + His raiment decent, his complexion fair, + And soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair. + Then near approaching, 'Father, hail!' he cried, + 'And hail, my Son!' the reverend sire replied; + Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, + And talk of various kind deceived the road. + Till each with other pleased, and loth to part, + While in their age they differ, join in heart: 40 + Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, + Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. + + Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day + Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray; + Nature in silence bid the world repose; + When near the road a stately palace rose: + There by the moon through ranks of trees they pass, + Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass. + It chanced the noble master of the dome, + Still made his house the wandering stranger's home: 50 + Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, + Proved the vain flourish of expensive ease. + The pair arrive: the liveried servants wait; + Their lord receives them at the pompous gate; + The table groans with costly piles of food, + And all is more than hospitably good; + Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, + Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. + + At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day, + Along the wide canals the Zephyrs play; 60 + Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, + And shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep. + Up rise the guests, obedient to the call; + An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall; + Rich luscious wine a golden goblet graced, + Which the kind master forced the guests to taste. + Then pleased and thankful, from the porch they go, + And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe; + His cup was vanish'd--for in secret guise + The younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize. 70 + + As one who spies a serpent in his way, + Glistening and basking in the summer ray, + Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near, + Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear: + So seem'd the sire, when, far upon the road, + The shining spoil his wily partner show'd. + He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart, + And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part: + Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, + That generous actions meet a base reward. 80 + + While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, + The changing skies hang out their sable clouds; + A sound in air presaged approaching rain, + And beasts to cover scud across the plain. + Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, + To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat. + 'Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, + And strong, and large, and unimproved around; + Its owner's temper, timorous and severe, + Unkind and griping, caused a desert there. 90 + + As near the miser's heavy doors they drew, + Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew; + The nimble lightning, mix'd with showers, began, + And o'er their heads loud-rolling thunder ran. + Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, + Driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. + At length some pity warm'd the master's breast, + ('Twas then his threshold first received a guest) + Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, + And half he welcomes in the shivering pair; 100 + One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, + And Nature's fervour through their limbs recalls: + Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager[1] wine, + (Each hardly granted) served them both to dine; + And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, + A ready warning bid them part in peace. + + With still remark the pondering hermit view'd, + In one so rich, a life so poor and rude; + And why should such, (within himself he cried,) + Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside? 110 + But what new marks of wonder soon took place, + In every settling feature of his face, + When from his vest the young companion bore + That cup, the generous landlord own'd before, + And paid profusely with the precious bowl + The stinted kindness of this churlish soul! + + But now the clouds in airy tumult fly, + The sun emerging opes an azure sky; + A fresher green the smelling leaves display, + And glittering as they tremble, cheer the day: 120 + The weather courts them from the poor retreat, + And the glad master bolts the wary gate. + + While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought + With all the travail of uncertain thought; + His partner's acts without their cause appear, + 'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here: + Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, + Lost and confounded with the various shows. + + Now night's dim shades again involve the sky; + Again the wanderers want a place to lie, 130 + Again they search, and find a lodging nigh. + The soil improved around, the mansion neat, + And neither poorly low, nor idly great: + It seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind, + Content, and not for praise, but virtue kind. + + Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, + Then bliss the mansion, and the master greet: + Their greeting fair bestow'd, with modest guise, + The courteous master hears, and thus replies: + + 'Without a vain, without a grudging heart, 140 + To Him who gives us all, I yield a part; + From Him you come, for Him accept it here, + A frank and sober, more than costly cheer.' + + He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, + Then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed, + When the grave household round his hall repair, + Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. + + At length the world, renew'd by calm repose, + Was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose; + Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept, 150 + Near the closed cradle where an infant slept, + And writhed his neck: the landlord's little pride-- + Oh, strange return!--grew black, and gasp'd, and died. + Horror of horrors! what! his only son! + How look'd our hermit when the fact was done? + Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, + And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart. + + Confused, and struck with silence at the deed, + He flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with speed. + His steps the youth pursues; the country lay 160 + Perplex'd with roads, a servant show'd the way: + A river cross'd the path; the passage o'er + Was nice to find; the servant trode before; + Long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, + And deep the waves beneath the bending glide. + The youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin, + Approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in; + Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head, + Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. + + Wild sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, 170 + He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries: + 'Detested wretch!'--But scarce his speech began, + When the strange partner seem'd no longer man: + His youthful face grew more serenely sweet; + His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet; + Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; + Celestial odours breathe through purpled air; + And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, + Wide at his back their gradual plumes display; + The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, 180 + And moves in all the majesty of light. + + Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, + Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do; + Surprise in secret chains his word suspends, + And in a calm his settling temper ends. + But silence here the beauteous angel broke, + The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke: + + 'Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, + In sweet memorial rise before the throne: + These charms, success in our bright region find, 190 + And force an angel down, to calm thy mind; + For this commission'd, I forsook the sky-- + Nay, cease to kneel--thy fellow-servant I! + + 'Then know the truth of government divine, + And let these scruples be no longer thine. + + 'The Maker justly claims that world He made, + In this the right of Providence is laid; + Its sacred majesty through all depends + On using second means to work His ends: + 'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, 200 + The power exerts His attributes on high, + Your actions uses, not controls your will, + And bids the doubting sons of men "be still!" + + 'What strange events can strike with more surprise, + Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes? + Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty just, + And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust! + + 'The great, vain man, who fared on costly food, + Whose life was too luxurious to be good; + Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, 210 + And forced his guests to morning draughts of wine, + Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, + And still he welcomes, but with less of cost. + + 'The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door, + Ne'er moved in duty to the wandering poor; + With him I left the cup, to teach his mind + That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. + Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, + And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. + Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, 220 + With heaping coals of fire upon its head; + In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, + And, loose from dross, the silver runs below. + + 'Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, + But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God; + Child of his age, for him he lived in pain, + And measured back his steps to earth again. + To what excesses had his dotage run? + But God, to save the father, took the son. + To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go, 230 + And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow. + The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, + Now owns in tears the punishment was just. + + 'But how had all his fortune felt a wrack, + Had that false servant sped in safety back? + This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal, + And what a fund of charity would fail! + + 'Thus Heaven instructs thy mind: this trial o'er, + Depart in peace, resign'd, and sin no more.' + + On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew 240 + The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew. + Thus look'd Elisha, when, to mount on high, + His master took the chariot of the sky; + The fiery pomp ascending left the view; + The prophet gazed, and wish'd to follow too. + + The bending hermit here a prayer begun, + 'Lord! as in heaven, on earth Thy will be done.' + Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place, + And pass'd a life of piety and peace. + +[Footnote 1: 'Eager:' i. e., sharp and sour.] + + * * * * * + +END OF PARNELL'S POEMS. + + * * * * * + + + +THE LIFE AND POEMS + +OF + +THOMAS GRAY. + +How dearly, at one time, and how cheaply at another, does Genius +purchase immortal fame! Here a Milton + + "Scorns delights, and lives laborious days," + +that he may, through sufferings, sorrows, and the strainings of a long +life, pile up a large and lofty poem;--and there a Gray, in the +intervals of other studies, produces a few short but exquisite verses, +which become instantly and for ever popular, and render his name as +dear to many, if not dearer, than that of the sublimer bard; for there +are probably thousands who would prefer to have written the "Elegy +written in a Country Churchyard," instead of the "Paradise Lost." + +Thomas Gray was born in Cornhill, London, on the 26th December 1716. +His father was Mr Philip Gray, a respectable scrivener, and his +mother's name was Dorothy Antrobus. Gray was the fifth of twelve +children, and the only one that survived. His life was saved in +infancy by his mother, who, during a paroxysm which attacked her son, +opened a vein with her own hand. This, and many other acts of maternal +tenderness, rendered her memory unspeakably dear to the poet, who +seldom mentioned her, after her death, "without a sigh." He was sent +to study at Eton College, the happy days spent in which he has so +beautifully commemorated in his "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton +College." It added to his comfort here that his maternal uncle, Mr +Antrobus, was an assistant-teacher. From Eton he passed to Pembroke +College, Cambridge, where he was admitted as a pensioner in 1734, in +the nineteenth year of his age. He had at Eton become intimate with +Horace Walpole and with Richard West, a young man of high promise, who +died early. It is worth noticing that, during his residence both at +Eton and Cambridge, he was supported entirely out of the separate +industry of his mother, his father refusing him all aid. + +At Cambridge, Gray studied very hard, attending less to mathematics +than to classical literature, modern languages, history, and poetry. +He aspired to be a universally accomplished as well as a minutely +learned man. His compositions, from 1734 to 1738, were translations +from Italian into Latin and English, and one or two small pieces of +original verse. In September 1738, he returned to his father's house, +and remained there for six months, doing little except carrying on a +correspondence he had begun at Cambridge with West and other friends. +Correspondence, from the first and to the last, was the best OUTCOME +of Gray's mind--he felt himself most at home in it; and, next to +Cowper's, his letters are the most delightful in the English language. + +He had intended to study law, but was diverted from his purpose by +Horace Walpole, who invited him to take in his Company the "grand +tour." To no Briton, since Milton, could travel have been more +congenial or more instructive than to Gray. He that would travel to +advantage must first have travelled in mind all the countries he +visits, and must be learned in their literature, their politics, their +scenery, and their antiquities, ere ever he sets a foot upon their +shores. To Italy and France, Gray went as to favourite studies, not as +to relaxations; and spent his time in observing their famous scenes +with the eye of a poet--cataloguing their paintings in the spirit of a +connoisseur--perfecting his knowledge of their languages--examining +minutely the principles of their architecture and music--comparing +their present aspect with the old classical descriptions; and writing +home an elegant epistolary account of all his sights, and all +his speculations. He saw Paris--visited Geneva--passed to +Florence--hurried to Rome on the tidings of Pope Clement XII's death, +to see the installation of his successor--stood beside the cataracts +of Tivoli and Terni, and might have seen in both, emblems of his own +genius, which, like them, was beautiful and powerful, but +artificial--took a rapid run to Naples, and was charmed beyond +expression with its bay, its climate, and its fruitage--and was one of +the first English travellers to visit Herculaneum, discovered only the +year before (1739), and to wonder at that strange and solemn rehearsal +of the resurrection exhibited in its streets. From Naples he returned +to Florence, where he continued eleven months, and began a Latin poem, +"De Principiis Cogitandi." He then, on the 24th of April 1741, set off +with Walpole for Bologna and Reggio. At this latter place occurred the +celebrated quarrel between the two travellers. The causes and +circumstances of this are involved in considerable obscurity. +Dissimilarity of tastes and habits was probably at the bottom of it. +Gray was an enthusiastic scholar; Walpole was then a gay and giddy +voluptuary, although predestined to sour down into the most +cold-blooded and cynical of gossips. They parted at Reggio, to meet +only once afterwards at Strawberry Hill, where Gray long after visited +Walpole at his own invitation, but told him frankly he never could be +on the same terms of friendship again. Left now to pursue his journey +alone, he went to Venice, and thence came back through Padua and Milan +to France. On his way between Turin and Lyons, he turned aside to see +again the noble mountainous scenery surrounding the Grande Chartreuse +in Dauphiné; and in the album kept by the fathers wrote his Alcaic +Ode, testifying to his admiration of a scene where, he says, "every +precipice and cliff was pregnant, with religion and poetry." + +Two months after his return to England, his father died, somewhat +impoverished by improvidence. Gray, thinking himself too poor to study +the law, sent his mother and a maiden sister to reside at Stoke, near +Windsor, and retired to Peterhouse, Cambridge, where he resumed his +classical and poetical pursuits. To West, who by this time was +declining in health, he sent part of "Agrippina," a tragedy he had +commenced. West objected to the length and prosiness of Agrippina's +speeches. These were afterwards altered by Mason, in accordance with +West's suggestions; but Gray was discouraged, and has left "Agrippina" +a Torso. The subject was unpleasing. To have treated adequately the +character of Nero, would have required more than the genius of Gray; +and the language of the fragment is distinguished rather by rhetorical +burnish than by poetical spirit and heat. We have not thought it +necessary to reprint it, nor several besides of the fragmentary and +inferior productions of this poet, which Mason, too, thought proper +to omit. + +Gray now plunged into the _mare magnum_ of classical literature. With +greater energy and exclusiveness than before, he read Thucydides, +Theocritus, and Anacreon; he translated parts of Propertius, and he +wrote a heroic epistle in Latin, after the manner of Ovid, and a Greek +epigram. This last he communicated to West, who was now in +Hertfordshire, waiting the approach of the Angel of Death. To the same +dear friend he sent his "Ode to Spring," which he had written under +his mother's roof at Stoke. He was too late. West was dead before it +arrived. This amiable and gifted person, who was thought by many +superior in natural genius to his friend, and whose name is for ever +connected with that of Gray, expired on the 1st of June 1742, and now +reposes in the chancel of Hatfield Church. We strongly suspect that it +was he whom Gray had in his eye in the close of his "Elegy." + +Autumn has often been thought propitious to genius, especially when +its tender sun-light is still further sweetened and saddened by the +joy of grief. In the autumn of this year, Gray, who was peculiarly +susceptible to skiey influences, wrote some of his best poetry--his +"Hymn to Adversity," his "Distant Prospect of Eton College," and +commenced his "Elegy written in a Country Churchyard." A Sonnet in +English, and the Apostrophe which opens the fourth book of his "De +Principiis Cogitandi," bore testimony to his esteem for the character +and his regret for the premature loss of Richard West. + +To Cambridge Gray seems to have had little attachment; but partly from +the smallness of his income, and partly from the access he had to its +libraries, he was found there to the last, constantly complaining, and +always continuing, like the _statue_ of a murmurer. In the winter of +1742 he was admitted Bachelor of Civil Law; and in acknowledgment of +the honour of the admission, began an "Address to Ignorance," which it +is no great loss to his fame that he never finished. Hazlitt completed +what appears to have been Gray's design in that admirable and +searching paper of his, entitled, "The Ignorance of the Learned," in +which he shows how ill mere learning supplies the want of common sense +and practical knowledge, as well as of talent and genius. + +In 1744, through the intervention of a lady, the difference between +Walpole and Gray was so far made up, that they resumed their +correspondence, although never their intimacy. About this time he got +acquainted with Mason, then a scholar in St John's College, who became +a minor Boswell to a minor Johnson; although he used liberties with +Gray's correspondence and poetry, such as Boswell never durst have +attempted with his idol. Mason had first introduced himself to Gray by +showing him some MS. poetry. With the famous Dr Conyers Middleton, +too, he became intimate, and lived to lament his death. + +In 1747, Dodsley published for him his "Ode to Eton College," the +first of Gray's productions which appeared in print. It excited no +notice whatever. Walpole wished him to publish his poems in +conjunction with the remains of West; but this he declined, on account +of want of materials--perhaps also feeling the great superiority of +his own poetry. At Walpole's request, however, he wrote an ode on the +death of his favourite cat! + +Greek became now his constant study. He read its more recondite +authors, such as Pausanias, Athenaeus, Pindar, Lysias, and Æschylus, +with great care, and commenced the preparation of a Table of Greek +Chronology, on a very minute and elaborate scale. + +In 1749 he lost his aunt, Mrs Antrobus, and her death, which he felt +as a heavy affliction, led him to complete his "Elegy," which he sent +to Walpole, who handed it about in MS., to the great delight of those +who were privileged to peruse it. When published, it sold rapidly, and +continues still the most popular of his poems. + +In March 1753, his beloved and revered mother died, and he erected +over her dust a monument, with an inscription testifying to the +strength of his filial love and sorrow. In 1755 he finished his "Ode +on the Progress of Poetry," and in the same year began his "Bard." All +his poems, however short, were most laboriously composed, written and +rewritten, subjected, in whole or in part, to the criticism of his +friends, and, according to their verdict, either published, or left +fragments, or consigned to the flames. About this time he begins, in +his letters, to complain of depression of spirits, of severe attacks +of the gout, of sleepless nights, feverish mornings, and heavy days. +He was now, and during the rest of his life, to pay the penalty of a +lettered indolence and studious sloth, of a neglected body and an +over-cultivated mind. The accident, it is said, of seeing a blind +Welsh harper performing on a harp, excited him to finish his "Bard," +which in MS. appears to have divided the opinion of his friends, as it +still does that of the critics. + +In 1758 Gray left Peterhouse, owing to some real or imaginary offence, +and removed to Pembroke Hall, where he was surrounded by his old and +intimate friends. The next year he carried his two Odes to London, as +carefully as if they had been two Epics. Walpole says that he +"snatched them out of Dodsley's hands, and made them 'the first-fruits +of his own press at Strawberry Hill,' where a thousand copies were +printed. When published, they attracted much attention, but did not +gain universal applause. Obscurity was the principal charge brought +against them. Their friends, however, including Warburton, Hurd, +Mason, and Garrick, were vehement in their admiration, and loud in +their encomiums. In this year Colley Cibber, the laureate, died, and +the office was offered to Gray, with the peculiar and highly +honourable condition, that he was to hold it as a sinecure. The poet, +however, refused, on the ground, as he tells Mason, that the office +had 'hitherto humbled its possessor.'" + +In 1758, he composed, for his amusement, a "Catalogue of the +Antiquities, Houses, &c., in England and Wales," which was, after his +death, printed and distributed by Mason among his friends. + +The next year the British Museum was opened (15th January 1759), and +Gray went to London to read and transcribe the MSS. collected there +from the Harleian and Cottoman libraries. During his residence in the +capital, appeared two odes to "Obscurity" and "Oblivion," in ridicule +of his lyrics, from the pens of Colman and Lloyd, full of spirited +satire, which failed, however, to disturb the poet's equanimity. Like +many fastidious writers, he was more afraid of his own taste, and of +the strictures of good-natured friends, than of the attacks of foes. +In 1762 he applied for the Professorship of Modern History, vacant by +the death of Turner; but it was given to Brochet, the tutor of Sir +James Lowther. + +In 1765 he took a tour to Scotland, and saw many of its more +interesting points--Stirling, Loch Tay, the Pass of Killierankie, and +Glammis Castle, where he met Beattie. He wrote a very entertaining +account of the journey, in his letters to his friends. He was offered +an LL.D. by the College of Aberdeen; but out of respect to his own +University, declined the honour. In 1767 he added his "Imitations of +Welsh and Norwegian Poetry" to his other productions. Sir Walter Scott +tells us, that when Gray's poems reached the Orkney and Shetland +Isles, and when the "Fatal Sisters" was repeated by a clergyman to +some of the old inhabitants, they remembered having sung it all in its +native language to him years before. In 1768, the Professorship of +Modern History falling again vacant by Mr Brochet's death, the Duke of +Grafton instantly bestowed it on Gray, who, out of gratitude, wrote an +ode on the installation of his patron to the Chancellorship of +Cambridge University. He went from witnessing this ceremony to the +Lakes of Cumberland, and kept an interesting journal of his tour to +that then little known and most enchanting region. In 1770, he visited +Wales; but owing probably to poor health, has left no notes of his +journey. In May the next year, his health became worse, his spirits +more depressed, an incurable cough preyed on his lungs; he resigned +his Professorship, and shortly after removed to London. There he +rallied a little, and returned to Cambridge, where, on the 24th of +July, he was seized with a severe attack of gout in the stomach. Of +this he expired on the 30th, in the 55th year of his age, without any +apparent fear of death. He was buried by the side of his mother, in +the churchyard of Stoke. A monument was erected by Mason to his +memory, in Westminster Abbey. + +Gray was a brilliant bookworm. In private he was a quiet, abstracted, +dreaming scholar, although in the company of a few friends he could +become convivial and witty. His heart, however, was always in his +study. His portrait gives you the impression of great fastidiousness, +and almost feminine delicacy of face, as well as of considerable +self-esteem. His face has more of the critic than of the poet. His +learning and accomplishments have been equalled perhaps by no poet +since Milton. He knew the Classics, the Northern Scalds, the Italian +poets and historians, the French novelists, Architecture, Zoology, +Painting, Sculpture, Botany, Music, and Antiquities. But he liked +better, he said, to read than to write. You figure him always lounging +with a volume in his hand, on a sofa, and crying out, "Be mine to read +eternal novels of Marivaux and Crebillon." Against his moral character +there exists no imputation; and notwithstanding a sneering hint of +Walpole's, his religious creed seems to have been orthodox. + +With all his learning and genius, he has done little. His letters and +poems remind you of a few scattered leaves, surviving the +conflagration of the Alexandrian library. The very popularity of the +scraps which such a writer leaves, secures the torments of Tantalus to +his numerous admirers in all after ages. His letters, in their grace, +freedom, minuteness of detail, occasional playfulness, delicious +_asides_ of gossip, and easy vigour of description, are more worthy of +his powers, as a whole, than his poetry. The poetic fragments he has +left are rarely of such merit as to excite any wish that they had been +finished. His genius, although true and exquisite, was limited in its +range, and hidebound in its movements. You see his genius, like a +child, always casting a look of terror round on its older companion +and guardian--his taste. Like Campbell, "he often spreads his wings +grandly, but shrinks back timidly to his perch again, and seems afraid +of the shadow of his own fame." Within his own range, however, he is +as strong as he is delicate and refined. His two principal Odes have, +as we hinted, divided much the opinion of critics. Dr Johnson has +assailed them in his worst style of captious and word-catching +criticism. Now, that there is much smoke around their fire, we grant. +But we argue that there is genuine fire amidst their smoke,--first, +from the fact that so many of their lines, such as, + + "The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love;" + "The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye;" + "Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves;" + "Sailing with supreme dominion + Through the azure deep of air;" + "Beneath the good how far, but far above the great" + "High-born Hoel's harp, and soft Llewellyn's lay," + +are so often and admiringly quoted; and because, secondly, we can +trace the influence of the "Progress of Poetry," and of the "Bard," on +much of the higher song that has succeeded,--on the poetry of Bowles, +Coleridge, Wordsworth, Campbell, and Shelley. Gray was not a sun +shining in his strength, but he was the morning star, prognosticating +the coming of a warmer and brighter poetic day. + +He that can see no merit in the "Ode on the Distant Prospect of Eton +College," can surely never have been a boy. The boy's heart beats in +its every line, and yet all the experiences of boyhood are seen and +shown in the sober light of those + + "Years which bring the philosophic mind." + +Here lies the complex charm of the poem. The unthinking gaiety of +boyhood, its light sports, its airy gladness, its springy motions, the +"tears forgot as soon as shed," the "sunshine of the breast" of that +delightful period--are contrasted with the still and often sombre +reflection, the grave joys, the carking cares, the stern concentred +passions, the serious pastimes, the spare but sullen and burning +tears, the sad smiles of manhood; and contrasted by one who is +realising both with equal vividness and intensity--because he is in +age a man, and in memory and imagination an Eton schoolboy still. The +breezes of boyhood return and blow on a head on which gray hairs are +beginning "here and there" to whiten; and he cries-- + + "I feel the gales that from ye blow + A momentary bliss bestow, + As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, + My weary soul they seem to soothe, + And redolent of joy and youth, + To breathe a second spring." + +Dr Johnson makes a peculiarly poor and unworthy objection to the next +stanza of the poem. Speaking of the address to the Thames-- + + "Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen + Full many a sprightly race;" + +he says, "Father Thames has no better means of knowing than himself." +He should have left this objection to those wretched _mechanical_ +critics who abound in the present day. He forgot that in his own +"Rasselas" he had invoked the Nile, as the great "Father of waters," +to tell, if, in any of the provinces through which he rolled, he did +not hear the language of distress. Critics, like liars, should have +good memories. + +His remark that the "Prospect of Eton College" suggests nothing to +Gray which every beholder does not equally think and feel, is, in +reality, a compliment to the simplicity and naturalness of the strain. +Common thought and feeling crystalised, is the staple of much of our +best poetry. Gray says in a poetical way, what every one might have +thought and felt, but no one but he could have so beautifully +expressed. To the spirited translations from the Norse and Welsh, the +only objection urged by Dr Johnson is, that their "language is unlike +the language of other poets"--an objection which would tell still more +powerfully against Milton, Collins, and Young, not to speak of the +"chartered libertines" of our more modern song. But a running growl of +prejudice is heard in every sentence of Gray's Life by Johnson, and +tends far more to injure the critic than the poet. + +In his "Elegy written in a Country Churchyard," Gray has caught, +concentred, and turned into a fine essence, the substance of a +thousand meditations among the tombs. One of its highest points of +merit, conceded by Dr Johnson, is essentially the same with which he +had found fault in the "Ode to Eton College." "The poem abounds with +images which find a mirror in every mind, and with sentiments to which +every bosom returns an echo." Everything is in intense keeping. The +images are few, but striking; the language is severely simple; the +thought is at once obvious and original, at once clear and profound, +and many of the couplets seem carefully and consciously chiselled for +immortality, to become mottoes for every churchyard in the kingdom, +and to "teach the rustic moralist to die," while the country remains +beautiful, and while death continues to inspire fear. And with what +daring felicity of genius does the author introduce, ere the close, a +living but anonymous figure amidst the company of the silent dead, and +contrive to unite the interest of a personal story, the charm of a +mystery, and the solemnity of a moral meditation, into one fine whole! +We know of but one objection of much weight to this exquisite elegy. +There is scarcely the faintest or most faltering allusion to the +doctrine of the resurrection. Death has it all his own way in this +citadel of his power. The poet never points his finger to the distant +horizon, where life and immortality are beginning to colour the clouds +with the promise of the eternal morning. The elegy might almost have +been written by a Pagan. In this point, Beattie, in his "Hermit," has +much the advantage of his friend Gray; for _his_ eye is anointed to +behold a blessed vision, and his voice is strengthened thus to sing-- + + "On the pale cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, + And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." + +Nevertheless, had Gray been known, not for his scholarship, not for +his taste, not for his letters and minor poems, not for his reputed +powers and unrivalled accomplishments, but solely for this elegy--had +only it and his mere name survived, it alone would have entitled him +to rank with Britain's best poets. + + * * * * * + + +GRAY'S POEMS. + + ODES. + + I.--ON THE SPRING. + + 1. Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, + Fair Venus' train, appear, + Disclose the long-expecting flowers, + And wake the purple year! + The Attic warbler pours her throat + Responsive to the cuckoo's note, + The untaught harmony of Spring: + While, whispering pleasure as they fly, + Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky + Their gather'd fragrance fling. + + 2. Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch + A broader, browner shade. + Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech + O'ercanopies the glade, + Beside some water's rushy brink + With me the Muse shall sit, and think + (At ease reclined in rustic state) + How vain the ardour of the crowd, + How low, how little, are the proud, + How indigent the great! + + 3. Still is the toiling hand of Care; + The panting herds repose: + Yet hark! how through the peopled air + The busy murmur glows! + The insect youth are on the wing, + Eager to taste the honied spring, + And float amid the liquid noon; + Some lightly o'er the current skim, + Some show their gaily gilded trim, + Quick glancing to the sun. + + 4. To Contemplation's sober eye, + Such is the race of Man, + And they that creep, and they that fly, + Shall end where they began. + Alike the busy and the gay + But flutter through life's little day, + In Fortune's varying colours dress'd; + Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, + Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance + They leave, in dust to rest. + + 5. Methinks I hear, in accents low, + The sportive kind reply, + Poor Moralist! and what art thou? + A solitary fly! + Thy joys no glittering female meets, + No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, + No painted plumage to display: + On hasty wings thy youth is flown, + Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-- + We frolic while 'tis May. + + * * * * * + + + II.--ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, + + DROWNED IN A CHINA TUB OF GOLD FISHES. + + 1. 'Twas on a lofty vase's side, + Where China's gayest art had dyed + The azure flowers that blow, + Demurest of the tabby kind, + The pensive Selima, reclined, + Gazed on the lake below. + + 2. Her conscious tail her joy declared; + The fair round face, the snowy beard, + The velvet of her paws, + Her coat that with the tortoise vies, + Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, + She saw, and purr'd applause. + + 3. Still had she gazed, but,' midst the tide, + Two angel forms were seen to glide, + The Genii of the stream; + Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue, + Through richest purple, to the view + Betray'd a golden gleam. + + 4. The hapless nymph with wonder saw; + A whisker first, and then a claw, + With many an ardent wish, + She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize: + What female heart can gold despise? + What cat's averse to fish? + + 5. Presumptuous maid! with looks intent, + Again she stretch'd, again she bent, + Nor knew the gulf between: + (Maligant Fate sat by and smiled,) + The slippery verge her feet beguiled; + She tumbled headlong in. + + 6. Eight times emerging from the flood, + She mew'd to every watery god + Some speedy aid to send. + No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, + Nor cruel Tom or Susan heard: + A favourite has no friend! + + 7. From hence, ye beauties! undeceived, + Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, + And be with caution bold: + Not all that tempts your wandering eyes, + And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, + Nor all that glisters gold. + + * * * * * + + + III--ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. + + [Greek: Anthropos ikanae profasis eis to dustuchein] + + MENANDER. + + 1 Ye distant spires! ye antique towers! + That crown the watery glade + Where grateful Science still adores + Her Henry's (1) holy shade; + And ye that from the stately brow + Of Windsor's heights the expanse below + Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, + Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among + Wanders the hoary Thames along + His silver-winding way: + + 2 Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! + Ah, fields beloved in vain! + Where once my careless childhood stray'd, + A stranger yet to pain! + I feel the gales that from ye blow + A momentary bliss bestow, + As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, + My weary soul they seem to soothe, + And, redolent of joy and youth, + To breathe a second spring. + + 3 Say, father Thames! for thou hast seen + Full many a sprightly race, + Disporting on thy margent green, + The paths of pleasure trace, + Who foremost now delight to cleave + With pliant arm thy glassy wave? + The captive linnet which enthral? + What idle progeny succeed + To chase the rolling circle's speed, + Or urge the flying ball? + + 4 While some, on earnest business bent, + Their murmuring labours ply, + 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint, + To sweeten liberty: + Some bold adventurers disdain + The limits of their little reign, + And unknown regions dare descry; + Still as they run they look behind. + They hear a voice in every wind, + And snatch a fearful joy. + + 5 Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed, + Less pleasing when possess'd; + The tear forgot as soon as shed, + The sunshine of the breast; + Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, + Wild wit, invention ever new, + And lively cheer, of vigour born; + The thoughtless day, the easy night, + The spirits pure, the slumbers light, + That fly the approach of morn. + + 6 Alas! regardless of their doom, + The little victims play; + No sense have they of ills to come, + Nor care beyond to-day: + Yet see how all around them wait, + The ministers of human fate, + And black Misfortune's baleful train! + Ah! show them where in ambush stand, + To seize their prey, the murderous band! + Ah! tell them they are men! + + 7 These shall the fury Passions tear, + The vultures of the mind, + Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, + And Shame that skulks behind; + Or pining Love shall waste their youth, + Or Jealousy, with rankling teeth, + That inly gnaws the secret heart; + And Envy wan, and faded Care, + Grim-visaged, comfortless Despair, + And Sorrow's piercing dart. + + 8 Ambition this shall tempt to rise, + Then whirl the wretch from high, + To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, + And grinning infamy: + The stings of Falsehood those shall try, + And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, + That mocks the tear it forced to flow; + And keen Remorse, with blood defiled, + And moody Madness, laughing wild + Amid severest woe. + + 9 Lo! in the vale of years beneath, + A grisly troop are seen, + The painful family of Death, + More hideous than their queen: + This racks the joints, this fires the veins, + That every labouring sinew strains, + Those in the deeper vitals rage; + Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, + That numbs the soul with icy hand, + And slow-consuming Age. + + 10 To each his sufferings; all are men + Condemn'd alike to groan; + The tender for another's pain, + The unfeeling for his own. + Yet ah! why should they know their fate, + Since sorrow never comes too late, + And happiness too swiftly flies? + Thought would destroy their paradise-- + No more; where ignorance is bliss, + 'Tis folly to be wise. + + +[Footnote: (1) 'Henry:' King Henry VI., founder of the College.] + + * * * * * + + + IV.--HYMN TO ADVERSITY. + + [Greek: + + Zaena ... + Ton phronein brotous odosanta, to pathei mathos + phenta kurios echein. + + ÆSCH. AG. 167.] + + 1 Daughter of Jove, relentless Power, + Thou tamer of the human breast, + Whose iron scourge and torturing hour + The bad affright, afflict the best! + Bound in thy adamantine chain, + The proud are taught to taste of pain, + And purple tyrants vainly groan + With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. + + 2 When first thy Sire to send on earth, + Virtue, his darling child, design'd, + To thee he gave the heavenly birth, + And bade to form her infant mind: + Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore + With patience many a year she bore; + What sorrow was thou badest her know, + And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. + + 3 Scared at thy frown, terrific fly + Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, + Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, + And leave us leisure to be good. + Light they disperse; and with them go + The summer friend, the flattering foe; + By vain Prosperity received, + To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. + + 4 Wisdom, in sable garb array'd, + Immersed in rapturous thought profound, + And Melancholy, silent maid! + With leaden eye, that loves the ground, + Still on thy solemn steps attend; + Warm Charity, the general friend, + With Justice, to herself severe, + And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. + + 5 Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head, + Dread Goddess! lay thy chastening hand, + Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, + Nor circled with the vengeful band: + (As by the impious thou art seen), + With thundering voice and threatening mien, + With screaming Horror's funeral cry, + Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. + + 6 Thy form benign, O Goddess! wear, + Thy milder influence impart, + Thy philosophic train be there, + To soften, not to wound, my heart: + The generous spark extinct revive; + Teach me to love and to forgive; + Exact my own defects to scan; + What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. + + * * * * * + + + V.--THE PROGRESS OF POESY. + + PINDARIC. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--When the author first published this and the following +ode, he was advised, even by his friends, to subjoin some few +explanatory notes, but had too much respect for the understanding of +his readers to take that liberty. + + [Greek: + + Phonanta sunetoisin es + De to pan hermaeneon + Chatizei.-- + PINDAR, _Olymp._ ii.] + + I.--1. + + Awake, Aeolian lyre! awake, + And give to rapture all thy trembling strings; + From Helicon's harmonious springs + A thousand rills their mazy progress take; + The laughing flowers, that round them blow, + Drink life and fragrance as they flow. + Now the rich stream of music winds along, + Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, + Through verdant vales and Ceres' golden reign; + Now rolling down the steep amain, + Headlong, impetuous, see it pour; + The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. + + I.--2. + + Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul, + Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, + Enchanting Shell! the sullen Cares + And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. + On Thracia's hills the Lord of War + Has curb'd the fury of his car, + And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command: + Perching on the sceptred hand + Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king + With ruffled plumes and flagging wing: + Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie + The terror of his beak and lightnings of his eye. + + I.--3. + + Thee the voice, the dance obey, + Temper'd to thy warbled lay: + O'er India's velvet green + The rosy-crowned Loves are seen, + On Cytherea's day, + With antic Sports and blue-eyed Pleasures + Frisking light in frolic measures: + Now pursuing, now retreating, + Now in circling troops they meet; + To brisk notes in cadence beating, + Glance their many-twinkling feet. + Slow-melting strains their Queen's approach declare + Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay; + With arms sublime, that float upon the air, + In gliding state she wins her easy way: + O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move + The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. + + II.--1. + + Man's feeble race what life await! + Labour and Penury, the racks of Pain, + Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, + And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate! + The fond complaint, my Song! disprove, + And justify the laws of Jove. + Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? + Night and all her sickly dews, + Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, + He gives to range the dreary sky, + Till down the eastern cliffs afar + Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. + + II.--2. + + In climes beyond the Solar road, + Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, + The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom + To cheer the shivering native's dull abode; + And oft beneath the odorous shade + Of Chili's boundless forests laid, + She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, + In loose numbers, wildly sweet, + Their feather-cinctured chiefs and dusky loves. + Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, + Glory pursue, and generous Shame, + The unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame. + + II.--3. + + Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep, + Isles that crown the Ægean deep, + Fields that cool Ilissus laves, + Or where Meander's amber waves + In lingering labyrinths creep, I + How do your tuneful echoes languish, + Mute but to the voice of Anguish? + Where each old poetic mountain + Inspiration breathed around; + Every shade and hallow'd fountain + Murmur'd deep a solemn sound, + Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, + Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains: + Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power + And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. + When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, + They sought, O Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast. + + III.--1. + + Far from the sun and summer-gale, + In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid, + What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, + To him the mighty Mother did unveil + Her awful face; the dauntless child + Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. + This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear + Richly paint the vernal year; + Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! + This can unlock the gates of Joy, + Of Horror that, and thrilling Pears, + Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears. + + III.--2. + + Nor second He that rode sublime + Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy; + The secrets of the abyss to spy, + He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: + The living throne, the sapphire-blaze, + Where angels tremble while they gaze, + He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, + Closed his eyes in endless night. + Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car + Wide o'er the fields of glory bear + Two coursers[1] of ethereal race, + With necks in thunder clothed and long-resounding pace. + + III.--3. + + Hark! his hands the lyre explore! + Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, + Scatters from her pictured urn + Thoughts that breathe and words that burn; + But ah! 'tis heard no more. + O lyre divine! what dying spirit[2] + Wakes thee now? though he inherit + Nor the pride nor ample pinion + That the Theban eagle[3] bear, + Sailing with supreme dominion + Through the azure deep of air, + Yet oft before his infant eyes would run + Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray + With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun; + Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way + Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, + Beneath the good how far--but far above the great. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Coursers:' the heroic rhymes.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Dying spirit:' Cowley.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Theban eagle:' Pindar.] + + * * * * * + + + VI--THE BARD. + + PINDARIC. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--The following ode is founded on a tradition current in +Wales, that Edward I., when he completed the conquest of that country, +ordered all the bards that fell into his hands to be put to death. + + I.--1. + + 'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! + Confusion on thy banners wait; + Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, + They mock the air with idle state. + Helm nor hauberk's[1] twisted mail, + Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant! shall avail + To save thy secret soul from nightly fears; + From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!' + Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride + Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, + As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side + He wound with toilsome march his long array: + Stout Glo'ster[2] stood aghast in speechless trance: + To arms! cried Mortimer,[3] and couch'd his quivering lance. + + I.--2. + + On a rock, whose haughty brow + Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, + Robed in the sable garb of woe, + With haggard eyes the poet stood; + (Loose his beard and hoary hair, + Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) + And with a master's hand and prophet's fire + Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre: + 'Hark how each giant oak and desert cave + Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! + O'er thee, O King! their hundred arms they wave, + Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; + Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, + To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. + + I.--3. + + 'Cold is Cadwallo's tongue + That hush'd the stormy main; + Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: + Mountains! ye moan in vain + Modrid, whose magic song + Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd head. + On dreary Arvon's shore[4] they lie, + Smear'd with gore and ghastly pale; + Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail; + The famish'd eagle screams and passes by. + Dear lost companions of my tuneful art! + Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, + Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, + Ye died amidst your dying country's cries-- + No more I weep. They do not sleep: + On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, + I see them sit; they linger yet, + Avengers of their native land: + With me in dreadful harmony they join, + And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. + + II.--1. + + "Weave the warp and weave the woof, + The winding-sheet of Edward's race: + Give ample room and verge enough + The characters of Hell to trace. + Mark the year and mark the night + When Severn shall re-echo with affright + The shrieks of death through Berkley's roofs that ring, + Shrieks of an agonising king![5] + She-wolf of France,[6] with unrelenting fangs + That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, + From thee[7] be born who o'er thy country hangs + The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him wait! + Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, + And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. + + II.--2. + + "Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, + Low on his funeral couch[8] he lies! + No pitying heart, no eye afford + A tear to grace his obsequies! + Is the sable warrior[9] fled? + Thy son is gone; he rests among the dead. + The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born, + Gone to salute the rising morn: + Fair laughs the morn,[10] and soft the Zephyr blows, + While, proudly riding o'er the azure realm, + In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, + Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm, + Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, + That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey. + + II.--3. + + "Fill high the sparkling bowl,[11] + The rich repast prepare; + Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast. + Close by the regal chair + Fell Thirst and Famine scowl + A baleful smile upon the baffled guest. + Heard ye the din of battle bray,[12] + Lance to lance and horse to horse? + Long years of havoc urge their destined course, + And through the kindred squadrons mow their way; + Ye Towers of Julius![13] London's lasting shame, + With many a foul and midnight murder fed, + Revere his consort's[14] faith, his father's[15] fame, + And spare the meek usurper's[16] holy head. + Above, below, the Rose of snow,[17] + Twined with her blushing foe, we spread; + The bristled Boar[18] in infant gore + Wallows beneath the thorny shade; + Now, Brothers! bending o'er the accursed loom, + Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. + + III.--I. + + "Edward, lo! to sudden fate + (Weave we the woof; the thread is spun:) + Half of thy heart[19] we consecrate; + (The web is wove; the work is done.") + 'Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn + Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn, + In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, + They melt, they vanish from my eyes. + But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height, + Descending slow, their glittering skirts unroll! + Visions of glory! spare my aching sight! + Ye unborn ages crowd not on my soul! + No more our long-lost Arthur[20] we bewail: + All hail, ye genuine Kings![21] Britannia's issue, hail! + + III.--2. + + 'Girt with many a baron bold, + Sublime their starry fronts they rear; + And gorgeous dames and statesmen old + In bearded majesty appear; + In the midst a form divine, + Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line, + Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,[22] + Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. + What strings symphonious tremble in the air! + What strains of vocal transport round her play! + Hear from the grave, great Taliessin,[23] hear! + They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. + Bright Rapture calls, and, soaring as she sings, + Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings. + + III.--3. + + 'The verse adorn again, + Fierce War and faithful Love, + And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction dress'd. + In buskin'd measures move + Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, + With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. + A voice[24] as of the cherub-choir + Gales from blooming Eden bear, + And distant warblings[25] lessen on my ear, + That lost in long futurity expire. + Fond, impious man! think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, + Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? + To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, + And warms the nations with redoubled ray. + Enough for me: with joy I see + The different doom our Fates assign; + Be thine despair and sceptred care; + To triumph and to die are mine.' + He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height, + Deep in the roaring tide, he plunged to endless night. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Hauberk:' the hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets or +rings interwoven, forming a coat of mail that sat close to the body, +and adapted itself to every motion.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Stout Glo'ster:' Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the Red, +Earl of Gloucester and Hertford, son-in-law to King Edward.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Mortimer:' Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore. They +both were Lords Marchers, whose lands lay on the borders of Wales, and +probably accompanied the King in this expedition.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Arvon's shore:' the shores of Caernarvonshire, opposite +to the isle of Anglesey.] + +[Footnote 5: 'King:' Edward II., cruelly butchered in Berkley Castle.] + +[Footnote 6: 'She-wolf of France:' Isabel of France, Edward II.'s +adulterous queen.] + +[Footnote 7: 'From thee:' triumphs of Edward III. in France.] + +[Footnote 8: 'Funeral couch:' death of that king, abandoned by his +children, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and his +mistress.] + +[Footnote 9: 'Sable warrior:' Edward the Black Prince, dead some time +before his father.] + +[Footnote 10: 'Fair laughs the morn:' magnificence of Richard II.'s +reign; see Froissard, and other contemporary writers.] + +[Footnote 11: 'Sparkling bowl:' Richard II. was starved to death; the +story of his assassination by Sir Piers of Exon is of much +later date.] + +[Footnote 12: 'Battle bray:' ruinous civil wars of York and +Lancaster.] + +[Footnote 13: 'Towers of Julius:' Henry VI., George Duke of Clarence, +Edward V., Richard Duke of York, &c., believed to be murdered secretly +in the Tower of London; the oldest part of that structure is vulgarly +attributed to Julius Cæsar.] + +[Footnote 14: 'Consort:' Margaret of Anjou.] + +[Footnote 15: 'Father:' Henry V.] + +[Footnote 16: 'Usurper:' Henry VI., very near being canonised; the +line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance to the crown.] + +[Footnote 17: 'Rose of snow:' the White and Red Roses, devices of York +and Lancaster.] + +[Footnote 18: 'Boar:' the silver Boar was the badge of Richard III., +whence he was usually known in his own time by the name of The Boar.] + +[Footnote 19: 'Half of thy heart:' Eleanor of Castile, Edward's wife, +died a few years after the conquest of Wales.] + +[Footnote 20: 'Long-lost Arthur:' it was the common belief of the +Welsh nation, that King Arthur was still alive in Fairyland, and +should return again to reign over Britain.] + +[Footnote 21: 'Genuine kings:' both Merlin and Taliessin had +prophesied that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty over this +island, which seemed to be accomplished in the House of Tudor.] + +[Footnote 22; 'Awe-commanding face:' Queen Elizabeth.] + +[Footnote 23: 'Taliessin:' chief of the Bards, flourished in the sixth +century; his works are still preserved, and his memory held in high +veneration, among his countrymen.] + +[Footnote 24: 'A voice:' Milton.] + +[Footnote 25: 'Warblings:' the succession of poets after Milton's +time.] + + * * * * * + + + VII.--THE FATAL SISTERS. + + FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.[1] + + 'Vitt er orpit + Fyrir valfalli.' + +ADVERTISEMENT.--The author once had thoughts (in concert with a friend) +of giving a history of English poetry. In the introduction to it he +meant to have produced some specimens of the style that reigned in +ancient times among the neighbouring nations, or those who had subdued +the greater part of this island, and were our progenitors: the +following three imitations made a part of them. He afterwards dropped +his design; especially after he had heard that it was already in the +hands of a person[2] well qualified to do it justice both by his taste +and his researches into antiquity. + +PREFACE.--In the eleventh century, Sigurd, Earl of the Orkney Islands, +went with a fleet of ships, and a considerable body of troops, into +Ireland, to the assistance of Sigtryg with the Silken Beard, who was +then making war on his father-in-law, Brian, King of Dublin. The Earl +and all his forces were cut to pieces, and Sigtryg was in danger of a +total defeat; but the enemy had a greater loss by the death of Brian, +their king, who fell in the action. On Christmas-day (the day of the +battle) a native of Caithness, in Scotland, saw, at a distance, a +number of persons on horseback riding full speed towards a hill, and +seeming to enter into it. Curiosity led him to follow them, till, +looking through an opening in the rocks, he saw twelve gigantic +figures,[3] resembling women: they were all employed about a loom; and +as they wove they sung the following dreadful song, which, when they +had finished, they tore the web into twelve pieces, and each taking +her portion, galloped six to the north, and as many to the south. + + 1 Now the storm begins to lower, + (Haste, the loom of Hell prepare!) + Iron-sleet of arrowy shower + Hurtles in the darken'd air. + + 2 Glittering lances are the loom + Where the dusky warp we strain, + Weaving many a soldier's doom, + Orkney's woe and Randver's bane. + + 3 See the grisly texture grow, + ('Tis of human entrails made,) + And the weights that play below, + Each a gasping warrior's head. + + 4 Shafts for shuttles, dipp'd in gore, + Shoot the trembling cords along: + Sword, that once a monarch bore, + Keep the tissue close and strong. + + 5 Mista, black, terrific maid! + Sangrida and Hilda see, + Join the wayward work to aid: + 'Tis the woof of victory. + + 6 Ere the ruddy sun be set, + Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, + Blade with clattering buckler meet, + Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. + + 7 (Weave the crimson web of war) + Let us go, and let us fly, + Where our friends the conflict share, + Where they triumph, where they die. + + 8 As the paths of Fate we tread, + Wading through th' ensanguined field, + Gondula and Geira spread + O'er the youthful king your shield. + + 9 We the reins to Slaughter give, + Ours to kill and ours to spare: + Spite of danger he shall live; + (Weave the crimson web of war.) + + 10 They whom once the desert beach + Pent within its bleak domain, + Soon their ample sway shall stretch + O'er the plenty of the plain. + + 11 Low the dauntless earl is laid, + Gored with many a gaping wound: + Fate demands a nobler head; + Soon a king shall bite the ground. + + 12 Long his loss shall Eirin[4] weep, + Ne'er again his likeness see; + Long her strains in sorrow steep, + Strains of immortality! + + 13 Horror covers all the heath, + Clouds of carnage blot the sun: + Sisters! weave the web of death: + Sisters! cease; the work is done. + + 14 Hail the task and hail the hands! + Songs of joy and triumph sing! + Joy to the victorious bands, + Triumph to the younger king! + + 15 Mortal! thou that hear'st the tale, + Learn the tenor of our song; + Scotland! through each winding vale + Far and wide the notes prolong. + + 16 Sisters! hence with spurs of speed; + Each her thundering falchion wield; + Each bestride her sable steed: + Hurry, hurry, to the field. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Norse tongue:' to be found in the Orcades of Thormodus +Torfaeus, Hafniae, 1697, folio; and also in Bartholinus.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Person:' Percy, author of 'Reliques of Ancient English +Poetry.'] + +[Footnote 3: 'Figures:' the Valkyriur were female divinities, servants +of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name signifies +'Choosers of the Slain.' They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn +swords in their hands, and in the throng of battle selected such as +were destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, (the Hall +of Odin, or Paradise of the Brave), where they attended the banquet, +and served the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Eirin:' Ireland.] + + * * * * * + + + VIII.--THE DESCENT OF ODIN. + + FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.[1] + + 'Upreis Odinn + Allda gautr.' + + Uprose the King of Men with speed, + And saddled straight his coal-black steed; + Down the yawning steep he rode + That leads to Hela's[2] drear abode. + Him the Dog of Darkness spied; + His shaggy throat he open'd wide, + While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd, + Foam and human gore distill'd: + Hoarse he bays with hideous din, + Eyes that glow and fangs that grin, 10 + And long pursues with fruitless yell + The Father of the powerful spell. + Onward still his way he takes, + --The groaning earth beneath him shakes,-- + Till full before his fearless eyes + The portals nine of Hell arise. + Right against the eastern gate, + By the moss-grown pile he sate, + Where long of yore to sleep was laid + The dust of the prophetic maid. 20 + Facing to the northern clime, + Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme, + Thrice pronounced, in accents dread, + The thrilling verse that wakes the dead, + Till from out the hollow ground + Slowly breathed a sullen sound. + + _Proph._ What call unknown, what charms presume + To break the quiet of the tomb? + Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, + And drags me from the realms of Night? 30 + Long on these mouldering bones have beat + The winter's snow, the summer's heat, + The drenching dews and driving rain! + Let me, let me sleep again. + Who is he, with voice unblest, + That calls me from the bed of rest? + + _Odin._ A traveller, to thee unknown, + Is he that calls, a warrior's son. + Thou the deeds of light shalt know; + Tell me what is done below, 40 + For whom yon glittering board is spread; + Dress'd for whom yon golden bed? + + _Proph._ Mantling in the goblet see + The pure beverage of the bee, + O'er it hangs the shield of gold; + 'Tis the drink of Balder bold: + Balder's head to death is given; + Pain can reach the sons of Heaven! + Unwilling I my lips unclose; + Leave me, leave me to repose. 50 + + _Odin._ Once again my call obey: + Prophetess! arise, and say, + What dangers Odin's child await, + Who the author of his fate? + + _Proph._ In Hoder's hand the hero's doom; + His brother sends him to the tomb. + Now my weary lips I close; + Leave me, leave me to repose. + + _Odin._ Prophetess! my spell obey; + Once again arise, and say, 60 + Who the avenger of his guilt, + By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt? + + _Proph._ In the caverns of the west, + By Odin's fierce embrace compress'd, + A wondrous boy shall Rinda bear, + Who ne'er shall comb his raven hair, + Nor wash his visage in the stream, + Nor see the sun's departing beam, + Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile, + Flaming on the funeral pile. 70 + Now my weary lips I close; + Leave me, leave me to repose. + + _Odin._ Yet a while my call obey: + Prophetess! awake, and say, + What virgins these, in speechless woe, + That bend to earth their solemn brow, + That their flaxen tresses tear, + And snowy veils that float in air? + Tell we whence their sorrows rose, + Then I leave thee to repose. 80 + + _Proph._ Ha! no traveller art thou; + King of Men, I know thee now; + Mightiest of a mighty line-- + + _Odin._ No boding maid of skill divine + Art thou, no prophetess of good, + But mother of the giant-brood! + + _Proph._ Hie thee hence, and boast at home, + That never shall inquirer come + To break my iron-sleep again, + Till Lok[3] has burst his tenfold chain; 90 + Never till substantial Night + Has re-assumed her ancient right; + Till, wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd, + Sinks the fabric of the world. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Norse Tongue:' to be found in Bartholinus, De Causis +Contemnendae Mortis: Hafniae, 1689, quarto.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Hela:' Niflheimr, the hell of the Gothic nations, +consisted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all such as died of +sickness, old age, or by any other means than in battle: over it +presided Hela, the goddess of Death.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Lok:' is the evil being, who continues in chains till +the twilight of the gods approaches, when he shall break his bonds; +the human race, the stars, and sun, shall disappear, the earth sink in +the seas, and fire consume the skies: even Odin himself, and his +kindred deities, shall perish.] + + * * * * * + + + IX.--THE DEATH OF HOEL.[1] + + Had I but the torrent's might, + With headlong rage, and wild affright, + Upon Deïra's[2] squadrons hurl'd, + To rush and sweep them from the world! + Too, too secure in youthful pride, + By them my friend, my Hoel, died, + Great Cian's son; of Madoc old + He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold; + Alone in Nature's wealth array'd, + He ask'd and had the lovely maid. 10 + + To Cattraeth's[3] vale, in glittering row, + Twice two hundred warriors go; + Every warrior's manly neck + Chains of regal honour deck, + Wreath'd in many a golden link: + From the golden cup they drink + Nectar that the bees produce, + Or the grape's ecstatic juice. + Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn: + But none from Cattraeth's vale return, 20 + Save Aëron brave and Conan strong, + --Bursting through the bloody throng-- + And I, the meanest of them all, + That live to weep and sing their fall. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Hoel:' from the Welsh of Aneurim, styled 'The Monarch of +the Bards.' He flourished about the time of Taliessin, A.D. 570. This +ode is extracted from the Gododin.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Deïra:' a kingdom including the five northernmost +counties of England.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Cattraeth:' a great battle lost by the ancient Britons.] + + * * * * * + + +X.--THE TRIUMPH OF OWEN: + +A FRAGMENT FROM THE WELSH. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--Owen succeeded his father Griffin in the Principality +of North Wales, A.D. 1120: this battle was near forty years +afterwards. + + Owen's praise demands my song, + Owen swift, and Owen strong, + Fairest flower of Roderick's stem, + Gwyneth's[1] shield and Britain's gem. + He nor heaps his brooded stores, + Nor on all profusely pours; + Lord of every regal art, + Liberal hand and open heart. + + Big with hosts of mighty name, + Squadrons three against him came; 10 + This the force of Eirin hiding; + Side by side as proudly riding + On her shadow long and gay + Lochlin[2] ploughs the watery way; + There the Norman sails afar + Catch the winds and join the war; + Black and huge, along they sweep, + Burthens of the angry deep. + + Dauntless on his native sands + The Dragon son[3] of Mona stands; 20 + In glittering arms and glory dress'd, + High he rears his ruby crest; + There the thundering strokes begin, + There the press and there the din: + Talymalfra's rocky shore + Echoing to the battle's roar! + Check'd by the torrent-tide of blood, + Backward Meniai rolls his flood; + While, heap'd his master's feet around, + Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground. 30 + Where his glowing eye-balls turn, + Thousand banners round him burn; + Where he points his purple spear, + Hasty, hasty rout is there; + Marking, with indignant eye, + Fear to stop and Shame to fly: + There Confusion, Terror's child, + Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, + Agony, that pants for breath, + Despair and honourable Death. 40 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Gwyneth:' North Wales.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Lochlin:' Denmark.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Dragon son:' the Red Dragon is the device of +Cadwalladar, which all his descendants bore on their banners.] + + * * * * * + + + XI.--FOR MUSIC.[1] + + I. + + 'Hence, avaunt! ('tis holy ground,) + Comus and his midnight crew, + And Ignorance, with looks profound, + And dreaming Sloth, of pallid hue, + Mad Sedition's cry profane, + Servitude that hugs her chain, + Nor in these consecrated bowers, + Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers; + + CHORUS. + + Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, + Dare the Muse's walk to stain, 10 + While bright-eyed Science watches round: + Hence, away! 'tis holy ground.' + + II. + + From yonder realms of empyrean day + Bursts on my ear the indignant lay; + There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine, + The few whom Genius gave to shine + Through every unborn age and undiscover'd clime. + Rapt in celestial transport they, + Yet hither oft a glance from high + They send of tender sympathy, 20 + To bless the place where on their opening soul + First the genuine ardour stole. + 'Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell, + And, as the choral warblings round him swell, + Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime, + And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme. + + III. + + Ye brown o'er-arching groves! + That Contemplation loves, + Where willowy Camus lingers with delight; + Oft at the blush of dawn 30 + I trod your level lawn, + Oft wooed the gleam of Cynthia, silver-bright, + In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, + With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy. + + IV. + + But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth, + With solemn steps and slow, + High potentates, and dames of royal birth, + And mitred fathers, in long orders go: + Great Edward,[2] with the Lilies on his brow + From haughty Gallia torn, 40 + And sad Chatillon,[3] on her bridal morn, + That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare,[4] + And Anjou's heroine,[5] and the paler Rose,[6] + The rival of her crown, and of her woes, + And either Henry[7] there, + The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord + That broke the bonds of Rome,-- + (Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, + Their human passions now no more, + Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb,) 50 + All that on Granta's fruitful plain + Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd, + And bade those awful fanes and turrets rise, + To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come; + And thus they speak in soft accord + The liquid language of the skies: + + V. + + 'What is grandeur, what is power? + Heavier toil, superior pain, + What the bright reward we gain? + The grateful memory of the good. 60 + Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, + The bee's collected treasures sweet, + Sweet Music's melting fall, but sweeter yet + The still small voice of Gratitude.' + + VI. + + Foremost, and leaning from her golden cloud, + The venerable Margaret[8] see! + 'Welcome, my noble son!' she cries aloud, + 'To this thy kindred train, and me: + Pleased, in thy lineaments we trace + A Tudor's[9] fire, a Beaufort's grace. 70 + Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, + The flower unheeded shall descry, + And bid it round Heaven's altars shed + The fragrance of its blushing head; + Shall raise from earth the latent gem + To glitter on the diadem. + + VII. + + 'Lo! Granta waits to lead her blooming band; + Not obvious, not obtrusive, she + No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings; + Nor dares with courtly tongue refined 80 + Profane thy inborn royalty of mind: + She reveres herself and thee. + With modest pride, to grace thy youthful brow, + The laureate wreath[10] that Cecil wore she brings, + And to thy just, thy gentle hand + Submits the fasces of her sway; + While spirits blest above, and men below, + Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. + + VIII. + + 'Through the wild waves, as they roar, + With watchful eye, and dauntless mien, 90 + Thy steady course of honour keep, + Nor fear the rock, nor seek the shore: + The Star of Brunswick smiles serene, + And gilds the horrors of the deep.' + + +[Footnote 1: 'Music:' performed in the Senate-house, Cambridge, July +1, 1769, at the installation of his Grace, Augustus Henry Fitzroy, +Duke of Grafton, Chancellor of the University.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Great Edward.' Edward III., who added the Fleur-de-lis +of France to the arms of England. He founded Trinity College.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Chatillon:' Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke, +daughter of Guy de Chatillon, Comte de St Paul, in France, who lost +her husband on the day of his marriage. She was the foundress of +Pembroke College or Hall, under the name of Aula Marias de Valentia.] + +[Footnote 4; 'Clare:' Elizabeth de Burg, Countess of Clare, was wife +of John de Burg, son and heir of the Earl of Ulster, and daughter of +Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of +Edward I.; hence the poet gives her the epithet of 'princely.' She +founded Clare Hall.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Anjou's heroine:' Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI., +foundress of Queen's College.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Rose:' Elizabeth Widville, wife of Henry IV. She added +to the foundation of Margaret of Anjou.] + +[Footnote 7: 'Either Henry:' Henry VI. and Henry VII., the former the +founder of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor to +Trinity College.] + +[Footnote 8: 'Margaret:' Countess of Richmond and Derby, the mother of +Henry VII., foundress of St John's and Christ's Colleges.] + +[Footnote 9: 'Tudor:' the Countess was a Beaufort, and married to a +Tudor; hence the application of this line to the Duke of Grafton, who +claimed descent from both these families.] + +[Footnote 10: 'Wreath:' Lord Treasurer Burleigh was Chancellor of the +University in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.] + + * * * * * + + +MISCELLANEOUS. + + A LONG STORY. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--Gray's 'Elegy,' previous to its publication, was +handed about in MS., and had, amongst other admirers, the Lady Cobham, +who resided in the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis. The performance +inducing her to wish for the author's acquaintance, Lady Schaub and +Miss Speed, then at her house, undertook to introduce her to it. These +two ladies waited upon the author at his aunt's solitary habitation, +where he at that time resided, and not finding him at home, they left +a card behind them. Mr Gray, surprised at such a compliment, returned +the visit; and as the beginning of this intercourse bore some +appearance of romance, he gave the humorous and lively account of it +which the 'Long Story' contains. + + 1 In Britain's isle, no matter where, + An ancient pile of building[1] stands: + The Huntingdons and Hattons there + Employ'd the power of fairy hands, + + 2 To raise the ceiling's fretted height, + Each pannel in achievements clothing, + Rich windows that exclude the light, + And passages that lead to nothing. + + 3 Full oft within the spacious walls, + When he had fifty winters o'er him, + My grave Lord-Keeper[2] led the brawls: + The seal and maces danced before him. + + 4 His bushy beard and shoe-strings green, + His high-crown'd hat and satin doublet, + Moved the stout heart of England's Queen, + Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it. + + 5 What, in the very first beginning, + Shame of the versifying tribe! + Your history whither are you spinning? + Can you do nothing but describe? + + 6 A house there is (and that's enough) + From whence one fatal morning issues + A brace of warriors, not in buff, + But rustling in their silks and tissues. + + 7 The first came _cap-à -pie_ from France, + Her conquering destiny fulfilling, + Whom meaner beauties eye askance, + And vainly ape her art of killing. + + 8 The other Amazon kind Heaven + Had arm'd with spirit, wit, and satire; + But Cobham had the polish given, + And tipp'd her arrows with good nature. + + 9 To celebrate her eyes, her air-- + Coarse panegyrics would but tease her; + Melissa is her _nom de guerre;_ + Alas! who would not wish to please her! + + 10 With bonnet blue and capuchine, + And aprons long, they hid their armour; + And veil'd their weapons, bright and keen, + In pity to the country farmer. + + 11 Fame, in the shape of Mr P--t, + (By this time all the parish know it), + Had told that thereabouts there lurk'd + A wicked imp they call a Poet, + + 12 Who prowl'd the country far and near, + Bewitch'd the children of the peasants, + Dried up the cows, and lamed the deer, + And suck'd the eggs, and kill'd the pheasants. + + 13 My Lady heard their joint petition, + Swore by her coronet and ermine, + She'd issue out her high commission + To rid the manor of such vermin. + + 14 The heroines undertook the task; + Through lanes unknown, o'er stiles they ventured, + Rapp'd at the door, nor stay'd to ask, + But bounce into the parlour enter'd. + + 15 The trembling family they daunt; + They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle, + Rummage his mother, pinch his aunt, + And up-stairs in a whirlwind rattle. + + 16 Each hole and cupboard they explore, + Each creek and cranny of his chamber, + Run hurry-scurry round the floor, + And o'er the bed and tester clamber; + + 17 Into the drawers and china pry, + Papers and books, a huge imbroglio! + Under a tea-cup he might lie, + Or creased like dog's-ears in a folio! + + 18 On the first marching of the troops, + The Muses, hopeless of his pardon, + Convey'd him underneath their hoops + To a small closet in the garden. + + 19 So Rumour says; (who will believe?) + But that they left the door a-jar, + Where safe, and laughing in his sleeve, + He heard the distant din of war. + + 20 Short was his joy: he little knew + The power of magic was no fable; + Out of the window, whisk! they flew, + But left a spell upon the table. + + 21 The words too eager to unriddle, + The Poet felt a strange disorder; + Transparent birdlime form'd the middle, + And chains invisible the border. + + 22 So cunning was the apparatus, + The powerful pothooks did so move him, + That will-he, nill-he, to the great house + He went as if the devil drove him. + + 23 Yet on his way (no sign of grace, + For folks in fear are apt to pray) + To Phoebus he preferr'd his case, + And begg'd his aid that dreadful day. + + 24 The godhead would have back'd his quarrel: + But with a blush, on recollection, + Own'd that his quiver and his laurel + 'Gainst four such eyes were no protection. + + 25 The court was set, the culprit there; + Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping, + The Lady Janes and Joans repair, + And from the gallery stand peeping: + + 26 Such as in silence of the night + Come sweep along some winding entry, + (Styack[3] has often seen the sight) + Or at the chapel-door stand sentry; + + 27 In peaked hoods and mantles tarnish'd, + Sour visages enough to scare ye, + High dames of honour once that garnish'd + The drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary! + + 28 The peeress comes: the audience stare, + And doff their hats with due submission; + She curtsies, as she takes her chair, + To all the people of condition. + + 29 The Bard with many an artless fib + Had in imagination fenced him, + Disproved the arguments of Squib,[4] + And all that Grooms[5] could urge against him. + + 30 But soon his rhetoric forsook him, + When he the solemn hall had seen; + A sudden fit of ague shook him; + He stood as mute as poor Maclean.[6] + + 31 Yet something he was heard to mutter, + How in the park, beneath an old tree, + (Without design to hurt the butter, + Or any malice to the poultry,) + + 32 He once or twice had penn'd a sonnet, + Yet hoped that he might save his bacon; + Numbers would give their oaths upon it, + He ne'er was for a conjuror taken. + + 33 The ghostly prudes, with hagged[7] face, + Already had condemn'd the sinner: + My Lady rose, and with a grace-- + She smiled, and bid him come to dinner, + + 34 'Jesu-Maria! Madam Bridget, + Why, what can the Viscountess mean?' + Cried the square hoods, in woeful fidget; + 'The times are alter'd quite and clean! + + 35 'Decorum's turn'd to mere civility! + Her air and all her manners show it: + Commend me to her affability! + Speak to a commoner and poet!' + + [_Here 500 stanzas are lost._] + + 36 And so God save our noble king, + And guard us from long-winded lubbers, + That to eternity would sing, + And keep my lady from her rubbers. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Pile of building:' the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis, +then in the possession of Viscountess Cobham. The style of building +which we now call Queen Elizabeth's, is here admirably described, both +with regard to its beauties and defects; and the third and fourth +stanzas delineate the fantastic manners of her time with equal truth +and humour. The house formerly belonged to the Earls of Huntingdon and +the family of Hatton.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Lord-Keeper:' Sir Christopher Hatton, promoted by Queen +Elizabeth for his graceful person and fine dancing. Brawls were a sort +of a figure-dance then in vogue.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Styack:' the house-keeper.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Squib:' the steward.'] + +[Footnote 5: 'Grooms:' of the chamber.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Maclean:' a famous highwayman, hanged the week before.] + +[Footnote 7: 'Hagged:' i. e., the face of a witch or hag.] + + * * * * * + + +ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. + + 1 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, + The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, + The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, + And leaves the world to darkness and to me. + + 2 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, + And all the air a solemn stillness holds, + Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, + And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: + + 3 Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, + The moping owl does to the moon complain + Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, + Molest her ancient solitary reign. + + 4 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, + Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, + Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, + The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. + + 5 The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, + The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, + The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, + No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. + + 6 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, + Or busy housewife ply her evening care; + No children run to lisp their sire's return, + Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. + + 7 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, + Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; + How jocund did they drive their team afield! + How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! + + 8 Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, + Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; + Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile + The short and simple annals of the poor. + + 9 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, + And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, + Await alike the inevitable hour: + The paths of glory lead but to the grave. + + 10 Nor you, ye Proud! impute to these the fault, + If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, + Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, + The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. + + 11 Can storied urn or animated bust + Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? + Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, + Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? + + 12 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid + Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; + Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, + Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. + + 13 But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, + Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll; + Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, + And froze the genial current of the soul. + + 14 Full many a gem of purest ray serene + The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: + Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, + And waste its sweetness on the desert air. + + 15 Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast + The little tyrant of his fields withstood, + Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, + Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. + + 16 The applause of listening senates to command, + The threats of pain and ruin to despise, + To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, + And read their history in a nation's eyes, + + 17 Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed alone + Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; + Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, + And shut the gates of Mercy on mankind, + + 18 The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, + To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame, + Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride + With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. + + 19 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,[1] + Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; + Along the cool sequester'd vale of life + They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. + + 20 Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect, + Some frail memorial still erected nigh, + With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, + Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. + + 21 Their name, their years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse, + The place of fame and elegy supply, + And many a holy text around she strews, + That teach the rustic moralist to die. + + 22 For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, + This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd, + Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, + Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? + + 23 On some fond breast the parting soul relies, + Some pious drops the closing eye requires; + E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, + E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. + + 24 For thee, who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead, + Dost in those lines their artless tale relate, + If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, + Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, + + 25 Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, + 'Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, + Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, + To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. + + 26 'There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, + That wreathes its old fantastic root so high, + His listless length at noontide would he stretch, + And pore upon the brook that babbles by. + + 27 'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, + Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; + Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn, + Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. + + 28 'One morn I miss'd him on the accustom'd hill, + Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; + Another came, nor yet beside the rill, + Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he: + + 29 'The next, with dirges due, in sad array, + Slow through the churchway-path we saw him borne: + Approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay + Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn:'[2] + + THE EPITAPH. + + 30 Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, + A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown: + Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, + And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. + + 31 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; + Heaven did a recompense as largely send: + He gave to misery all he had--a tear; + He gain'd from Heaven--'twas all he wish'd--a friend. + + 32 No further seek his merits to disclose, + Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, + (There they alike in trembling hope repose) + The bosom of his Father and his God. + + +[Footnote 1: This part of the elegy differs from the first copy. The +following stanza was excluded with the other alterations:-- + + Hark! how the sacred calm, that breathes around, + Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease, + In still small accents whispering from the ground + A grateful earnest of eternal peace. ] + +[Footnote 2: In early editions, the following stanza occurred:-- + + There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year, + By hands unseen, are showers of violets found; + The redbreast loves to build and warble there, + And little footsteps lightly print the ground. ] + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH ON MRS JANE CLARKE.[1] + + Lo! where this silent marble weeps, + A friend, a wife, a mother sleeps; + A heart, within whose sacred cell + The peaceful Virtues loved to dwell: + Affection warm, and faith sincere, + And soft humanity were there. + In agony, in death resign'd, + She felt the wound she left behind. + Her infant image here below + Sits smiling on a father's woe: + Whom what awaits while yet he strays + Along the lonely vale of days? + A pang, to secret sorrow dear, + A sigh, an unavailing tear, + Till time shall every grief remove + With life, with memory, and with love. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Mrs Jane Clarke' this lady, the wife of Dr Clarke, +physician at Epsom, died April 27, 1757, and is buried in the church +of Beckenham, Kent.] + + * * * * * + + + STANZAS, + + SUGGESTED BY A VIEW OF THE SEAT AND RUINS AT + KINGSGATE, IN KENT, 1766. + + 1 Old, and abandon'd by each venal friend, + Here Holland took the pious resolution, + To smuggle a few years, and strive to mend + A broken character and constitution. + + 2 On this congenial spot he fix'd his choice; + Earl Goodwin trembled for his neighbouring sand; + Here sea-gulls scream, and cormorants rejoice, + And mariners, though shipwreck'd, fear to land. + + 3 Here reign the blustering North, and blasting East, + No tree is heard to whisper, bird to sing; + Yet Nature could not furnish out the feast, + Art he invokes new terrors still to bring. + + 4 Now mouldering fanes and battlements arise, + Turrets and arches nodding to their fall, + Unpeopled monasteries delude our eyes, + And mimic desolation covers all. + + 5 'Ah!' said the sighing peer, 'had Bute been true, + Nor C--'s, nor B--d's promises been vain, + Far other scenes than this had graced our view, + And realised the horrors which we feign. + + 6 'Purged by the sword, and purified by fire, + Then had we seen proud London's hated walls: + Owls should have hooted in St Peter's choir, + And foxes stunk and litter'd in St Paul's.' + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION FROM STATIUS. + + Third in the labours of the disc came on, + With sturdy step and slow, Hippomedon; + Artful and strong he poised the well-known weight, + By Phlegyas warn'd, and fired by Mnestheus' fate, + That to avoid and this to emulate. + His vigorous arm he tried before he flung, + Braced all his nerves, and every sinew strung, + Then with a tempest's whirl and wary eye + Pursued his cast, and hurl'd the orb on high; + The orb on high, tenacious of its course, 10 + True to the mighty arm that gave it force, + Far overleaps all bound, and joys to see + Its ancient lord secure of victory: + The theatre's green height and woody wall + Tremble ere it precipitates its fall; + The ponderous mass sinks in the cleaving ground, + While vales and woods and echoing hills rebound. + As when, from Aetna's smoking summit broke, + The eyeless Cyclops heaved the craggy rock, + Where Ocean frets beneath the dashing oar, 20 + And parting surges round the vessel roar; + 'Twas there he aim'd the meditated harm, + And scarce Ulysses 'scaped his giant arm. + A tiger's pride the victor bore away, + With native spots and artful labour gay, + A shining border round the margin roll'd, + And calm'd the terrors of his claws in gold. + + CAMBRIDGE, _May_ 8, 1736. + + * * * * * + + + GRAY ON HIMSELF. + + Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, + He had not the method of making a fortune; + Could love and could hate, so was thought something odd; + No very great wit, he believed in a God; + A post or a pension he did not desire, + But left church and state to Charles Townshend and Squire. + + * * * * * + +END OF GRAY'S POEMS. + + * * * * * + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +TOBIAS SMOLLETT. + + +THE + +LIFE OF TOBIAS SMOLLETT. + +The combination of a great writer and a small poet, in one and the +same person, is not uncommon. With not a few, while other, and severer +branches of study are the laborious task of the day, poetry is the +slipshod amusement of the evening. Dr Parr calls Johnson _probabilis +poeta_--words which seem to convey the notion that the author of "The +Rambler," who was great on other fields, was in that of poetry only +respectable. This term is more applicable to Smollett, whose poems +discover only in part those keen, vigorous, and original powers which +enabled him to indite "Roderick Random" and "Humphrey Clinker." Yet +the author of "Independence," and "The Tears of Scotland," must not be +excluded from the list of British poets--an honour to which much even +of his prose has richly entitled him. + +The incidents in Smollett's history are not very numerous, and some of +them are narrated, under faint disguises, with inimitable vivacity and +_vraisemblance_ in his own fictions. Tobias George Smollett was born +in Dalquhurn House, near the village of Renton, Dumbartonshire, in +1721. His father, a younger son of Sir James Smollett of Bonhill, +having died early, the education of the poet devolved on his +grandfather. The scenery of his native place was well calculated to +inspire his early genius. It is one of the most beautiful regions in +Scotland. A fine hollow vale, pervaded by the river Leven, and +surrounded by rich woodlands and bold hills, stretches up from +Dumbarton, with its double peaks and ancient castle, to the +magnificent Loch Lomond; and in one of the loops of this winding vale +was the great novelist born and bred. He called his native region, in +"Humphrey Clinker," the "Arcadia of Scotland," and has sung the Leven +in one of his small poems. He was sent to the Grammar School of +Dumbarton, and thence to Glasgow College. He was subsequently placed +apprentice to one M. Gordon, a medical practitioner in Glasgow; and +from thence, according to some of his biographers, he proceeded to +study medicine in Edinburgh. When he was about nineteen years of age, +his grandfather expired, without having made any provision for him; +and he was compelled, in 1739, to repair to London, carrying with him +a tragedy entitled "The Regicide,"--the subject being the +assassination of James the First of Scotland,--which he had written +the year before, and which he in vain sought to get presented at the +theatres. He had letters of introduction to some eminent literary +characters, who, however, either could not or would not do anything +for him; and he found no better situation than that of surgeon's mate +in an eighty-gun ship. He continued in the navy for six or seven +years, and was present at the disastrous siege of Carthagena, in 1741, +which he has described in a Compendium of Voyages he compiled in 1756, +and with still more vigour in "Roderick Random." His long acquaintance +with the sea furnished ample materials for his genius, although it did +not improve his opinion of human nature. Disgusted with the service, +he quitted it in the West Indies, and lived for some time in Jamaica. +Here he became acquainted with Miss Lascelles, a beautiful lady whom +he afterwards married. She sat for the portrait of Narcissa, in +"Roderick Random." + +In 1746 he returned to England. He found the country ringing with +indignation at the cruelties inflicted by Cumberland on the Highland +rebels, and he caught and crystalised the prevalent emotion in his +spirited lyric, "The Tears of Scotland." He published the same year +his "Advice,"--a satirical poem upon things in general, and the public +men of the day in particular. He wrote also an opera entitled +"Alceste" for Covent Garden; but owing to a dispute with the manager, +it was neither acted nor printed. In 1747 he produced "Reproof," the +second part of "Advice,"--a poem which breathes the same manly +indignation at the abuses, evils, and public charlatans of the day. +This year also he married Miss Lascelles, by whom he expected a +fortune of three thousand pounds. This sum, however, was never fully +realised; and his generous housekeeping, and the expenses of a +litigation to which he was compelled, in connection with Miss +Lascelles' money, embarrassed his circumstances, and, much to the +advantage of the world, drove him to literature. In 1748, he gave to +the world his novel of "Roderick Random,"--counted by many the +masterpiece of his genius. It brought him in both fame and emolument. +In 1749 he published, by subscription, his unfortunate tragedy, "The +Regicide." In 1750 he went to Paris, and shortly after wrote his +"Adventures of Peregrine Pickle," including the memoirs of the +notorious Lady Vane--the substance of which he got from herself, and +which added greatly to the popularity of the work. Notwithstanding the +success he met with as a novelist, he was anxious to prosecute his +original profession of medicine; and having procured from a foreign +university the degree of M.D., he commenced to practise physic in +Chelsea, but without success. He wrote, however, an essay "On the +External Use of Water," in which he seems to have partly anticipated +the method of the cold-water cure. In 1753 he published his +"Adventures of Count Fathom;" and, two years later, encouraged by a +liberal subscription, he issued a translation of "Don Quixote," in two +quarto volumes. While this work was printing, he went down to +Scotland, visited his old scenes and old companions, and was received +everywhere with enthusiasm. The most striking incident, however, in +this journey was his interview with his mother, then residing in +Scotston, near Peebles. He was introduced to her as a stranger +gentleman from the West Indies; and, in order to retain his incognita, +he endeavoured to maintain a serious and frowning countenance. While +his mother, however, continued to regard him steadfastly, he could not +forbear smiling; and she instantly sprang from her seat, threw her +arms round his neck, and cried out, "Ah, my son, I have found you at +last! Your old roguish smile has betrayed you." + +Returning to England, he resumed his literary avocations. He became +the editor of the _Critical Review_--an office, of all others, least +fitted to his testy and irritable temperament. This was in 1756. He +next published the "Compendium of Voyages," in seven volumes, 12mo. In +1757 he wrote a popular afterpiece, entitled "The Reprisals; or, the +Tars of England;" and in 1758 appeared his "Complete History of +England," in four volumes, quarto,--a work said to have been compiled +in the almost incredibly short time of fourteen months. It became +instantly popular, although distinguished by no real historical +quality, except a clear and lively style. + +An attack on Admiral Knowles in the _Critical Review_ greatly incensed +the Admiral; and when he prosecuted the journal, Smollett stepped +forward and avowed himself the author. He was sentenced to a fine of +£100, and to three months' imprisonment. During his confinement in +King's Bench, he composed the "Adventures of Sir Lancelot Greaves," +which appeared first in detached numbers of the _British Magazine_, +and was afterwards published separately in 1762. About this time, his +busy pen was also occupied with histories of France, Italy, Germany, +&c., and a continuation of his English History--all compilations--and +some of them exceedingly unworthy of his genius. He became an ardent +friend and supporter of Lord Bute, and started _The Briton_, a weekly +paper, in his defence; which gave rise to the _North Briton_, by +Wilkes. In our Life of Churchill, we have recounted his quarrel with +that poet, and the chastisement inflicted on Smollett in "The Apology +to the Critical Reviewers." + +In 1763 he lost his only daughter, a girl of fifteen. This event threw +him into deep despondency, and seriously affected his health. He went +to France and Italy for two years; and on his return, in 1766, +published two volumes of Travels--full of querulous and captious +remarks--for which Sterne satirised him, under the name of Smelfungus. +The same year he again visited Scotland. In 1767 he published his +"Adventures of an Atom,"--a political romance, displaying, under +Japanese names, the different parties of Great Britain. A recurrence +of ill health drove him back to Italy in 1770. At Monte Nuovo, near +Leghorn, he wrote his delightful "Humphrey Clinker." This was his last +work. He died at Leghorn on the 21st October 1771, in the fifty-first +year of his age. His widow erected a plain monument to his memory, +with an inscription by Dr Armstrong. In 1774 a Tuscan monument was +erected on the banks of the Leven by his cousin, James Smollett, Esq., +of Bonhill. As his wife was left in poor circumstances, the tragedy of +"Venice Preserved" was acted at Edinburgh for her benefit, and the +money remitted to Italy. + +Smollett, for variety of powers, and indefatigable industry, has +seldom been surpassed. He was a politician, a poet, a physician, a +historian, a translator, a writer of travels, a dramatist, a novelist, +a writer on medical subjects, and a miscellaneous author. It is only, +however, as a novelist and a poet that he has any claims to the +admiration of posterity. His history survives solely because it is +usually bound up with Hume's. His translation of "Don Quixote" has +been eclipsed by after and more accurate versions. His "Tour to Italy" +is a succession of asthmatic gasps and groans. His "Regicide", and +other plays, are entirely forgotten. So also are his critical, +medical, political, and miscellaneous effusions. + +In fiction he is undoubtedly a great original. He had no model, and +has had no imitator. His qualities as a novel-writer are rapidity of +narrative, variety of incident, ease of style, graphic description, +and an exquisite eye for the humours, peculiarities, and absurdities +of character and life. In language he is generally careless, but +whenever a great occasion occurs, he rises to meet it, and writes with +dignity, correctness, and power. His sea-characters, such as Bowling, +and his characters of low-life, such as Strap, have never been +excelled. His tone of morals is always low, and often offensively +coarse. In wit, constructiveness, and general style, he is inferior to +Fielding; but surpasses him in interest, ease, variety, and humour, +"Roderick Random" is the most popular and bustling of his tales. +"Peregrine Pickle" is the filthiest and least agreeable; its humours +are forced and exaggerated, and the sea-characters seem caricatures of +those in "Roderick Random;" just as Norna of the Fitful Head, and +Magdalene Graeme, are caricatures of Meg Merriless. "Sir Lancelot +Greaves" is a tissue of trash, redeemed only here and there by traits +of humour. "The Adventures of an Atom" we never read. "Humphrey +Clinker" is the most delightful novel, with the exception of the +Waverley series, in the English language. "Ferdinand, Count Fathom," +contains much that is disgusting, but parts of it surpass all the rest +in originality and profundity. We refer especially to the description +of the pretended English Squire in Paris, who _bubbles_ the great +_bubbler_ of the tale; to Count Fathom's address to Britain, when he +reaches her shores,--a piece of exquisite mock-heroic irony; to the +narrative of the seduction in the west of England; and to the +matchless robber-scene in the forest,--a passage in which one knows +not whether more to admire the thrilling interest of the incidents, or +the eloquence and power of the language. It is a scene which Scott has +never surpassed, nor, except in the cliff-scene in the "Antiquary," +and, perhaps, the barn-scene in the "Heart of Midlothian," +ever equalled. + +Smollett's poetry need not detain us long. In his twin satires, +"Advice" and "Reproof," you see rather the will to wound than the +power to strike. There are neither the burnished compression, and +polished, pointed malice of Pope, nor the gigantic force and vehement +fury of Churchill. His "Tears of Scotland" is not thoroughly finished, +but has some delicate and beautiful strokes. "Leven Water" is sweet +and murmuring as that stream itself. His "Ode to Independence," as we +have said elsewhere, "should have been written by Burns. How that +poet's lips must have watered, as he repeated the line-- + +'Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye,' + +and remembered he was not their author! He said he would +have given ten pounds to have written 'Donochthead'--he +would have given ten times ten, if, poor fellow! he had had +them, to have written the 'Ode to Independence'--although, +in his 'Vision of Liberty,' he has matched Smollett on his +own ground." Grander lines than the one we have quoted above, +and than the following-- + +"A goddess violated brought thee forth," + +are not to be found in literature. Round this last one, the whole ode +seems to turn as on a pivot, and it alone had been sufficient to stamp +Smollett a man of lofty poetic genius. + + +SMOLLETT'S POEMS + + ADVICE: A SATIRE. + + ----Sed podice levi + Caeduntur tumidæ, medico ridente, mariscæ. + O proceres! censore opus est, an haruspice nobis? + + JUVENAL. + + ----Nam quis + Peccandi finem posuit sibi? quando recepit + Ejectum semel atteritâ de fronte ruborem? + + _Ibid._ + + POET. + + Enough, enough; all this we knew before; + 'Tis infamous, I grant it, to be poor: + And who, so much to sense and glory lost, + Will hug the curse that not one joy can boast? + From the pale hag, oh! could I once break loose, + Divorced, all hell should not re-tie the noose! + Not with more care shall H-- avoid his wife, + Nor Cope[1] fly swifter, lashing for his life, + Than I to leave the meagre fiend behind. + + FRIEND. + + Exert your talents; Nature, ever kind, 10 + Enough for happiness bestows on all; + 'Tis Sloth or Pride that finds her gifts too small. + Why sleeps the Muse?--is there no room for praise, + When such bright constellations blaze? + When sage Newcastle[2], abstinently great, + Neglects his food to cater for the state; + And Grafton[3], towering Atlas of the throne, + So well rewards a genius like his own: + Granville and Bath[4] illustrious, need I name, + For sober dignity, and spotless fame; 20 + Or Pitt, the unshaken Abdiel yet unsung: + Thy candour, Chomdeley! and thy truth, O Younge! + + POET. + + The advice is good; the question only, whether + These names and virtues ever dwelt together? + But what of that? the more the bard shall claim, + Who can create as well as cherish fame. + But one thing more,--how loud must I repeat, + To rouse the engaged attention of the + great,--Amused, perhaps, with C--'s prolific hum[5], + Or rapt amidst the transports of a drum;[6] 30 + While the grim porter watches every door, + Stern foe to tradesmen, poets, and the poor, + The Hesperian dragon not more fierce and fell, + Nor the gaunt growling janitor of Hell? + Even Atticus (so wills the voice of Fate) + Enshrines in clouded majesty his state; + Nor to the adoring crowd vouchsafes regard, + Though priests adore, and every priest a bard. + Shall I then follow with the venal tribe, + And on the threshold the base mongrel bribe? 40 + Bribe him to feast my mute imploring eye + With some proud lord, who smiles a gracious lie! + A lie to captivate my heedless youth, + Degrade my talents, and debauch my truth; + While, fool'd with hope, revolves my joyless day, + And friends, and fame, and fortune, fleet away; + Till, scandal, indigence, and scorn my lot, + The dreary jail entombs me, where I rot! + Is there, ye varnish'd ruffians of the state! + Not one among the millions whom ye cheat, 50 + Who, while he totters on the brink of woe, + Dares, ere he falls, attempt the avenging + blow,--A steady blow, his languid soul to feast, + And rid his country of one curse at least? + + FRIEND. + + What! turn assassin? + + POET. + + Let the assassin bleed: + My fearless verse shall justify the deed. + 'Tis he who lures the unpractised mind astray, + Then leaves the wretch, to misery a prey; + Perverts the race of Virtue just begun, + And stabs the Public in her ruin'd son. 60 + + FRIEND. + + Heavens! how you rail; the man's consumed by spite! + If Lockman's fate[7] attends you when you write, + Let prudence more propitious arts inspire; + The lower still you crawl, you'll climb the higher. + Go then, with every supple virtue stored, + And thrive, the favour'd valet of my lord. + Is that denied? a boon more humble crave. + And minister to him who serves a slave; + Be sure you fasten on promotion's scale, + Even if you seize some footman by the tail: 70 + The ascent is easy, and the prospect clear, + From the smirch'd scullion to the embroider'd peer. + The ambitious drudge preferr'd, postilion rides, + Advanced again, the chair benighted guides; + Here doom'd, if Nature strung his sinewy frame, + The slave, perhaps, of some insatiate dame; + But if, exempted from the Herculean toil, + A fairer field awaits him, rich with spoil, + There shall he shine, with mingling honours bright, + His master's pathic, pimp, and parasite; 80 + Then strut a captain, if his wish be war, + And grasp, in hope, a truncheon and a star: + Or if the sweets of peace his soul allure, + Bask at his ease, in some warm sinecure; + His fate in consul, clerk, or agent vary, + Or cross the seas, an envoy's secretary; + Composed of falsehood, ignorance, and pride, + A prostrate sycophant shall rise a Lloyd; + And, won from kennels to the impure embrace, + Accomplish'd Warren triumph o'er disgrace. 90 + + POET. + + Eternal infamy his name surround, + Who planted first that vice on British ground! + A vice that, spite of sense and nature, reigns, + And poisons genial love, and manhood stains! + Pollio! the pride of science and its shame, + The Muse weeps o'er thee, while she brands thy name! + Abhorrent views that prostituted groom, + The indecent grotto, or polluted dome! + There only may the spurious passion glow, + Where not one laurel decks the caitiff's brow, 100 + Obscene with crimes avow'd, of every dye, + Corruption, lust, oppression, perjury. + Let Chardin[8], with a chaplet round his head, + The taste of Maro and Anacreon plead, + 'Sir, Flaccus knew to live as well as write, + And kept, like me, two boys array'd in white;' + Worthy to feel that appetence of fame + Which rivals Horace only in his shame! + Let Isis[9] wail in murmurs as she runs, + Her tempting fathers, and her yielding sons; 110 + While dulness screens the failings of the Church, + Nor leaves one sliding Rabbi in the lurch: + Far other raptures let the breast contain, + Where heaven-born taste and emulation reign. + + FRIEND. + + Shall not a thousand virtues, then, atone us + In thy strict censure for the breach of one? + If Bubo keeps a catamite or whore, + His bounty feeds the beggar at his door: + And though no mortal credits Curio's word, + A score of lacqueys fatten at his board: 120 + To Christian meekness sacrifice thy spleen, + And strive thy neighbour's weaknesses to screen. + + POET. + + Scorn'd be the bard, and wither'd all his fame, + Who wounds a brother weeping o'er his shame! + But if an impious wretch, with frantic pride, + Throws honour, truth, and decency aside; + If not by reason awed, nor check'd by fears, + He counts his glories from the stains he bears, + The indignant Muse to Virtue's aid shall rise, + And fix the brand of infamy on vice. 130 + What if, aroused at his imperious call, + An hundred footsteps echo through his hall, + And, on high columns rear'd, his lofty dome + Proclaims the united art of Greece and Rome. + What though whole hecatombs his crew regale, + And each dependant slumbers o'er his ale, + While the remains, through mouths unnumber'd pass'd, + Indulge the beggar and the dogs at last: + Say, friend, is it benevolence of soul, + Or pompous vanity, that prompts the whole? 140 + These sons of sloth, who by profusion thrive, + His pride inveigled from the public hive: + And numbers pine in solitary woe, + Who furnish'd out this phantasy of show. + When silent misery assail'd his eyes, + Did e'er his throbbing bosom sympathise? + Or his extensive charity pervade + To those who languish in the barren shade, + Where oft, by want and modesty suppress'd, + The bootless talent warms the lonely breast? 150 + No! petrified by dulness and disdain, + Beyond the feeling of another's pain, + The tear of pity ne'er bedew d his eye, + Nor his lewd bosom felt the social sigh! + + FRIEND. + + Alike to thee his virtue or his vice, + If his hand liberal owns thy merit's price. + + POET. + + Sooner in hopeless anguish would I mourn, + Than owe my fortune to the man I scorn! + What new resource? + + FRIEND. + + A thousand yet remain, + That bloom with honours, or that teem with gain: 160 + These arts--are they beneath--beyond thy care? + Devote thy studies to the auspicious fair: + Of truth divested, let thy tongue supply + The hinted slander, and the whisper'd lie; + All merit mock, all qualities depress, + Save those that grace the excelling patroness; + Trophies to her on others' follies raise, + And, heard with joy, by defamation praise; + To this collect each faculty of face, + And every feat perform of sly grimace; 170 + Let the grave sneer sarcastic speak thee shrewd; + The smutty joke ridiculously lewd; + And the loud laugh, through all its changes rung, + Applaud the abortive sallies of her tongue; + Enroll'd a member in the sacred list, + Soon shalt thou sharp in company at whist; + Her midnight rites and revels regulate, + Priest of her love, and demon of her hate. + + POET. + + But say, what recompense for all this waste + Of honour, truth, attention, time, and taste? 180 + To shine, confess'd, her zany and her tool, + And fall by what I rose--low ridicule? + Again shall Handel raise his laurell'd brow, + Again shall harmony with rapture glow; + The spells dissolve, the combination breaks, + And Punch no longer Frasi's rival squeaks: + Lo! Russell[10] falls a sacrifice to whim, + And starts amazed, in Newgate, from his dream: + With trembling hands implores their promised aid, + And sees their favour like a vision fade! 190 + Is this, ye faithless Syrens!--this the joy + To which your smiles the unwary wretch decoy? + Naked and shackled, on the pavement prone, + His mangled flesh devouring from the bone; + Rage in his heart, distraction in his eye, + Behold, inhuman hags! your minion lie! + Behold his gay career to ruin run, + By you seduced, abandon'd, and undone! + Rather in garret pent, secure from harm, + My Muse with murders shall the town alarm; 200 + Or plunge in politics with patriot zeal, + And snarl like Guthrie[11] for the public weal, + Than crawl an insect in a beldame's power, + And dread the crush of caprice every hour! + + FRIEND. + + 'Tis well; enjoy that petulance of style, + And, like the envious adder, lick the file: + What, though success will not attend on all? + Who bravely dares must sometimes risk a fall. + Behold the bounteous board of Fortune spread; + Each weakness, vice, and folly yields thee bread, 210 + Would'st thou with prudent condescension strive + On the long settled terms of life to thrive. + + POET. + + What! join the crew that pilfer one another, + Betray my friend, and persecute my brother; + Turn usurer, o'er cent. per cent. to brood, + Or quack, to feed like fleas on human blood? + + FRIEND. + + Or if thy soul can brook the gilded curse, + Some changeling heiress steal-- + + POET. + + Why not a purse? + Two things I dread--my conscience and the law. + + FRIEND. + + How? dread a mumbling bear without a claw? 220 + Nor this, nor that, is standard right or wrong, + Till minted by the mercenary tongue; + And what is conscience but a fiend of strife, + That chills the joys, and damps the scenes of life, + The wayward child of Vanity and Fear, + The peevish dam of Poverty and Care? + Unnumber'd woes engender in the breast + That entertains the rude, ungrateful guest. + + POET. + + Hail, sacred power! my glory and my guide! + Fair source of mental peace, whate'er betide! 230 + Safe in thy shelter, let disaster roll + Eternal hurricanes around my soul: + My soul serene amidst the storms shall reign, + And smile to see their fury burst in vain! + + FRIEND. + + Too coy to flatter, and too proud to serve, + Thine be the joyless dignity to starve. + + POET. + + No;--thanks to discord, war shall be my friend; + And mortal rage heroic courage lend + To pierce the gleaming squadron of the foe, + And win renown by some distinguish'd blow. 240 + + FRIEND. + + Renown! ay, do--unkennel the whole pack + Of military cowards on thy back. + What difference, say, 'twixt him who bravely stood, + And him who sought the bosom of the wood?[12] + Envenom'd calumny the first shall brand; + The last enjoy a ribbon and command. + + POET. + + If such be life, its wretches I deplore, + And long to quit the inhospitable shore. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Cope': a general famous for an expeditious retreat, +though not quite so deliberate as that of the ten thousand Greeks from +Persia; having unfortunately forgot to bring his army along with him.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Newcastle:' alluding to the philosophical contempt which +this great personage manifested for the sensual delights of +the stomach.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Grafton': this noble peer, remarkable for sublimity of +parts, by virtue of his office (Lord Chamberlain) conferred the +laureate on Colley Cibber, Esq., a delectable bard, whose character +has already employed, together with his own, the greatest pens of +the age.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Granville and Bath': two noblemen famous in their day +for nothing more than their fortitude in bearing the scorn and +reproach of their country.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Prolific hum': this alludes to a phenomenon, not more +strange than true,--the person here meant having actually laid upwards +of forty eggs, as several physicians and fellows of the Royal Society +can attest: one of whom, we hear, has undertaken the incubation, and +will no doubt favour the world with an account of his success.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Drum': this is a riotous assembly of fashionable people, +of both sexes, at a private house, consisting of some hundreds: not +unaptly styled a drum, from the noise and emptiness of the +entertainment. There are also drum-major, rout, tempest, and +hurricane, differing only in degrees of multitude and uproar, as the +significant name of each declares.] + +[Footnote 7: 'Lockman's fate': to be little read, and less approved.] + +[Footnote 8: 'Chardin': this genial knight wore at his own banquet a +garland of flowers, in imitation of the ancients; and kept two rosy +boys robed in white, for the entertainment of his guests.] + +[Footnote 9: 'Isis': in allusion to the unnatural orgies said to be +solemnised on the banks of this river; particularly at one place, +where a much greater sanctity of morals and taste might be expected.] + +[Footnote 10: 'Russell:' a famous mimic and singer, ruined by the +patronage of certain ladies of quality.] + +[Footnote 11: 'Guthrie:' a scribbler of all work in that age.] + +[Footnote 12: 'Bosom of the wood:' this last line relates to the +behaviour of the Hanoverian general in the battle of Dettingen.] + + * * * * * + + + REPROOF: A SATIRE. + + POET. + + Howe'er I turn, or wheresoe'er I tread, + This giddy world still rattles round my head! + I pant for silence e'en in this retreat-- + Good Heaven! what demon thunders at the gate? + + FRIEND. + + In vain you strive, in this sequester'd nook, + To shroud you from an injured friend's rebuke. + + POET. + + An injured friend! who challenges the name? + If you, what title justifies the claim? + Did e'er your heart o'er my affliction grieve, + Your interest prop me, or your praise relieve? 10 + Or could my wants my soul so far subdue, + That in distress she crawl'd for aid to you? + But let us grant the indulgence e'er so strong; + Display without reserve the imagined wrong: + Among your kindred have I kindled strife, + Deflower'd your daughter, or debauch'd your wife; + Traduced your credit, bubbled you at game; + Or soil'd with infamous reproach your name? + + FRIEND. + + No: but your cynic vanity (you'll own) + Exposed my private counsel to the town. 20 + + POET. + + Such fair advice 'twere pity sure to lose: + I grant I printed it for public use. + + FRIEND. + + Yes, season'd with your own remarks between, + Inflamed with so much virulence of spleen + That the mild town (to give the devil his due) + Ascribed the whole performance to a Jew. + + POET. + + Jews, Turks, or Pagans--hallow'd be the mouth + That teems with moral zeal and dauntless truth! + Prove that my partial strain adopts one lie, + No penitent more mortified than I; 30 + Not e'en the wretch in shackles doom'd to groan, + Beneath the inhuman scoffs of Williamson.[1] + + FRIEND. + + Hold--let us see this boasted self-denial-- + The vanquish'd knight[2] has triumph'd in his trial. + + POET. + + What then? + + FRIEND. + + Your own sarcastic verse unsay, + That brands him as a trembling runaway. + + POET. + + With all my soul;--the imputed charge rehearse; + I'll own my error and expunge my verse. + Come, come, howe'er the day was lost or won, + The world allows the race was fairly run. 40 + But, lest the truth too naked should appear, + A robe of fable shall the goddess wear: + When sheep were subject to the lion's reign, + E'er man acquired dominion o'er the plain, + Voracious wolves, fierce rushing from the rocks, + Devour'd without control the unguarded flocks; + The sufferers, crowding round the royal cave, + Their monarch's pity and protection crave: + Not that they wanted valour, force, or arms, + To shield their lambs from danger and alarms; 50 + A thousand rams, the champions of the fold, + In strength of horn and patriot virtue bold, + Engaged in firm association stood, + Their lives devoted to the public good: + A warlike chieftain was their sole request, + To marshal, guide, instruct, and rule the rest. + Their prayer was heard, and, by consent of all, + A courtier ape appointed general. + He went, he led; arranged the battle stood, + The savage foe came pouring like a flood; 60 + Then Pug, aghast, fled swifter than the wind, + Nor deign'd in threescore miles to look behind, + While every band fled orders bleat in vain, + And fall in slaughter'd heaps upon the plain. + The scared baboon, (to cut the matter short) + With all his speed, could not outrun report; + And, to appease the clamours of the nation, + 'Twas fit his case should stand examination. + + The board was named--each worthy took his place, + All senior members of the horned race; 70 + The wedder, goat, ram, elk, and ox were there, + And a grave hoary stag possess'd the chair. + The inquiry past, each in his turn began + The culprit's conduct variously to scan. + At length the sage uprear'd his awful crest, + And, pausing, thus his fellow chiefs address'd: + 'If age, that from this head its honours stole, + Hath not impair'd the functions of my soul, + But sacred wisdom, with experience bought, + While this weak frame decays, matures my thought, 80 + The important issue of this grand debate + May furnish precedent for your own fate, + Should ever fortune call you to repel + The shaggy foe, so desperate and fell. + 'Tis plain, you say, his excellence Sir Ape + From the dire field accomplish'd an escape; + Alas! our fellow subjects ne'er had bled, + If every ram that fell like him had fled; + Certes, those sheep were rather mad than brave, + Which scorn'd the example their wise leader gave. 90 + Let us then every vulgar hint disdain, + And from our brother's laurel wash the stain.' + The admiring court applauds the president, + And Pug was clear'd by general consent. + + FRIEND. + + There needs no magic to divine your scope, + Mark'd, as you are, a flagrant misanthrope: + Sworn foe to good and bad, to great and small, + Thy rankling pen produces nought but gall: + Let virtue struggle, or let glory shine, + Thy verse affords not one approving line. 100 + + POET. + + Hail, sacred themes! the Muse's chief delight! + Oh, bring the darling objects to my sight! + My breast with elevated thought shall glow, + My fancy brighten, and my numbers flow! + The Aonian grove with rapture would I tread, + To crop unfading wreaths for William's head, + But that my strain, unheard amidst the throng, + Must yield to Lockman's ode, and Hambury's song. + Nor would the enamour'd Muse neglect to pay + To Stanhope's[3] worth the tributary lay, 110 + The soul unstain'd, the sense sublime to paint, + A people's patron, pride, and ornament, + Did not his virtues eternised remain + The boasted theme of Pope's immortal strain. + Not e'en the pleasing task is left to raise + A grateful monument to Barnard's praise, + Else should the venerable patriot stand + The unshaken pillar of a sinking land. + The gladdening prospect let me still pursue, + And bring fair Virtue's triumph to the view; 120 + Alike to me, by fortune blest or not, + From soaring Cobham to the melting Scot.[4] + But, lo! a swarm of harpies intervene, + To ravage, mangle, and pollute the scene! + Gorged with our plunder, yet still gaunt for spoil, + Rapacious Gideon fastens on our isle; + Insatiate Lascelles, and the fiend Vaneck, + Rise on our ruins, and enjoy the wreck; + While griping Jasper glories in his prize, + Wrung from the widow's tears and orphan's cries. 130 + + FRIEND. + + Relapsed again! strange tendency to rail! + I fear'd this meekness would not long prevail. + + POET. + + You deem it rancour, then? Look round and see + What vices flourish still unpruned by me: + Corruption, roll'd in a triumphant car, + Displays his burnish'd front and glittering star, + Nor heeds the public scorn, or transient curse, + Unknown alike to honour and remorse. + Behold the leering belle, caress'd by all, + Adorn each private feast and public ball, 140 + Where peers attentive listen and adore, + And not one matron shuns the titled whore. + At Peter's obsequies[5] I sung no dirge; + Nor has my satire yet supplied a scourge + For the vile tribes of usurers and bites, + Who sneak at Jonathan's, and swear at White's. + Each low pursuit, and slighter folly, bred + Within the selfish heart and hollow head, + Thrives uncontroll'd, and blossoms o'er the land, + Nor feels the rigour of my chastening hand. 150 + While Codrus shivers o'er his bags of gold, + By famine wither'd, and benumb'd by cold, + I mark his haggard eyes with frenzy roll, + And feast upon the terrors of his soul; + The wrecks of war, the perils of the deep, + That curse with hideous dreams the caitiff's sleep; + Insolvent debtors, thieves, and civil strife, + Which daily persecute his wretched life, + With all the horrors of prophetic dread, + That rack his bosom while the mail is read. 160 + Safe from the road, untainted by the school, + A judge by birth, by destiny a fool, + While the young lordling struts in native pride, + His party-colour'd tutor by his side, + Pleased, let me own the pious mother's care, + Who to the brawny sire commits her heir. + Fraught with the spirit of a Gothic monk, + Let Rich, with dulness and devotion drunk, + Enjoy the peal so barbarous and loud, + While his brain spews new monsters to the crowd; 170 + I see with joy the vaticide deplore + A hell-denouncing priest and ... whore; + Let every polish'd dame and genial lord, + Employ the social chair and venal board; + Debauch'd from sense, let doubtful meanings run, + The vague conundrum, and the prurient pun, + While the vain fop, with apish grin, regards + The giggling minx half-choked behind her cards: + These, and a thousand idle pranks, I deem + The motley spawn of Ignorance and Whim. 180 + Let Pride conceive, and Folly propagate, + The fashion still adopts the spurious brat: + Nothing so strange that fashion cannot tame; + By this, dishonour ceases to be shame: + This weans from blushes lewd Tyrawley's face, + Gives Hawley[6] praise, and Ingoldsby disgrace, + From Mead to Thomson shifts the palm at once, + A meddling, prating, blundering, busy dunce! + And may, should taste a little more decline, + Transform the nation to a herd of swine. 190 + + FRIEND. + + The fatal period hastens on apace. + Nor will thy verse the obscene event disgrace; + Thy flowers of poetry, that smell so strong, + The keenest appetites have loathed the song, + Condemn'd by Clark, Banks, Barrowby, and Chitty, + And all the crop-ear'd critics of the city: + While sagely neutral sits thy silent friend, + Alike averse to censure or commend. + + POET. + + Peace to the gentle soul that could deny + His invocated voice to fill the cry! 200 + And let me still the sentiment disdain + Of him who never speaks but to arraign, + The sneering son of Calumny and Scorn, + Whom neither arts, nor sense, nor soul adorn; + Or his, who, to maintain a critic's rank, + Though conscious of his own internal blank, + His want of taste unwilling to betray, + 'Twixt sense and nonsense hesitates all day, + With brow contracted hears each passage read, + And often hums, and shakes his empty head, 210 + Until some oracle adored pronounce + The passive bard a poet or a dunce; + Then in loud clamour echoes back the word, + 'Tis bold, insipid--soaring, or absurd. + These, and the unnumber'd shoals of smaller fry, + That nibble round, I pity and defy. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Williamson:' governor of the Tower.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Vanquished knight:' Sir John Cope.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Stanhope:' the Earl of Chesterfield.] + +[Footnote 4; 'Scot, Gideon,' &c.: forgotten contractors, +money-lenders, &c.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Peter's obsequies:' Peter Waters, Esq.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Hawley:' discomfited at Falkirk in 1746.] + + * * * * * + + + THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND. + + WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1746. + + 1 Mourn, hapless Caledonia! mourn + Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn! + Thy sons, for valour long renown'd, + Lie slaughter'd on their native ground; + Thy hospitable roofs no more + Invite the stranger to the door; + In smoky ruins sunk they lie, + The monuments of cruelty. + + 2 The wretched owner sees afar + His all become the prey of war; + Bethinks him of his babes and wife, + Then smites his breast, and curses life. + Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks, + Where once they fed their wanton flocks: + Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain; + Thy infants perish on the plain. + + 3 What boots it, then, in every clime, + Through the wide-spreading waste of Time, + Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, + Still shone with undiminish'd blaze? + Thy towering spirit now is broke, + Thy neck is bended to the yoke. + What foreign arms could never quell, + By civil rage and rancour fell. + + 4 The rural pipe and merry lay + No more shall cheer the happy day: + No social scenes of gay delight + Beguile the dreary winter night. + No strains but those of sorrow flow, + And nought be heard but sounds of woe, + While the pale phantoms of the slain + Glide nightly o'er the silent plain. + + 5 Oh! baneful cause, oh! fatal morn, + Accursed to ages yet unborn! + The sons against their father stood, + The parent shed his children's blood. + Yet, when the rage of battle ceased, + The victor's soul was not appeased: + The naked and forlorn must feel + Devouring flames, and murdering steel! + + 6 The pious mother, doom'd to death, + Forsaken wanders o'er the heath, + The bleak wind whistles round her head, + Her helpless orphans cry for bread; + Bereft of shelter, food, and friend, + She views the shades of night descend, + And, stretch'd beneath the inclement skies, + Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies. + + 7 While the warm blood bedews my veins, + And unimpair'd remembrance reigns, + Resentment of my country's fate, + Within my filial breast shall beat; + And, spite of her insulting foe, + My sympathising verse shall flow: + Mourn, hapless Caledonia! mourn + Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn! + + * * * * * + + + VERSES ON A YOUNG LADY + + PLAYING ON A HARPSICHORD AND SINGING. + + 1 When Sappho struck the quivering wire, + The throbbing breast was all on fire; + And when she raised the vocal lay, + The captive soul was charm'd away! + + 2 But had the nymph possess'd with these + Thy softer, chaster power to please, + Thy beauteous air of sprightly youth, + Thy native smiles of artless truth-- + + 3 The worm of grief had never prey'd + On the forsaken love-sick maid; + Nor had she mourn'd a hapless flame, + Nor dash'd on rocks her tender frame. + + * * * * * + + + LOVE ELEGY. + + IN IMITATION OF TIBULLUS. + + 1 Where now are all my flattering dreams of joy? + Monimia, give my soul her wonted rest; + Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye, + Heart-gnawing cares corrode my pensive breast. + + 2 Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call, + With festive songs beguile the fleeting hour; + Lead beauty through the mazes of the ball, + Or press her, wanton, in Love's roseate bower. + + 3 For me, no more I'll range the empurpled mead, + Where shepherds pipe, and virgins dance around, + Nor wander through the woodbine's fragrant shade, + To hear the music of the grove resound. + + 4 I'll seek some lonely church, or dreary hall, + Where fancy paints the glimmering taper blue, + Where damps hang mouldering on the ivied wall, + And sheeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew: + + 5 There, leagued with hopeless anguish and despair, + A while in silence o'er my fate repine: + Then with a long farewell to love and care, + To kindred dust my weary limbs consign. + + 6 Wilt thou, Monimia, shed a gracious tear + On the cold grave where all my sorrows rest? + Strew vernal flowers, applaud my love sincere, + And bid the turf lie easy on my breast? + + * * * * * + + + BURLESQUE ODE.[1] + + Where wast thou, wittol Ward, when hapless fate + From these weak arms mine aged grannam tore? + These pious arms essay'd too late + To drive the dismal phantom from the door. + Could not thy healing drop, illustrious quack, + Could not thy salutary pill prolong her days, + For whom so oft to Marybone, alack! + Thy sorrels dragg'd thee, through the worst of ways? + Oil-dropping Twickenham did not then detain + Thy steps, though tended by the Cambrian maids; 10 + Nor the sweet environs of Drury Lane; + Nor dusty Pimlico's embowering shades; + Nor Whitehall, by the river's bank, + Beset with rowers dank; + Nor where the Exchange pours forth its tawny sons; + Nor where, to mix with offal, soil, and blood, + Steep Snowhill rolls the sable flood; + Nor where the Mint's contamined kennel runs: + Ill doth it now beseem, + That thou should'st doze and dream, 20 + When Death in mortal armour came, + And struck with ruthless dart the gentle dame. + Her liberal hand and sympathising breast + The brute creation kindly bless'd; + Where'er she trod, grimalkin purr'd around, + The squeaking pigs her bounty own'd; + Nor to the waddling duck or gabbling goose + Did she glad sustenance refuse; + The strutting cock she daily fed, + And turkey with his snout so red; 30 + Of chickens careful as the pious hen, + Nor did she overlook the tom-tit or the wren, + While red-breast hopp'd before her in the hall, + As if she common mother were of all. + + For my distracted mind, + What comfort can I find; + O best of grannams! thou art dead and gone, + And I am left behind to weep and moan, + To sing thy dirge in sad and funeral lay, + Oh! woe is me! alack! and well a-day! 40 + + +[Footnote 1: Smollett, imagining himself ill-treated by Lord +Lyttelton, wrote the above burlesque on that nobleman's Monody on the +death of his lady.] + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO MIRTH. + + Parent of joy! heart-easing Mirth! + Whether of Venus or Aurora born, + Yet Goddess sure of heavenly birth, + Visit benign a son of grief forlorn: + Thy glittering colours gay, + Around him, Mirth, display, + And o'er his raptured sense + Diffuse thy living influence: + So shall each hill, in purer green array'd, + And flower adorn'd in new-born beauty glow, 10 + The grove shall smooth the horrors of the shade, + And streams in murmurs shall forget to flow. + Shine, Goddess! shine with unremitted ray, + And gild (a second sun) with brighter beam our day. + Labour with thee forgets his pain, + And aged Poverty can smile with thee; + If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain, + And weak the uplifted arm of Tyranny. + The morning opes on high + His universal eye, 20 + And on the world doth pour + His glories in a golden shower; + Lo! Darkness trembling 'fore the hostile ray, + Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn: + The brood obscene that own her gloomy sway + Troop in her rear, and fly the approaching morn; + Pale shivering ghosts that dread the all-cheering light, + Quick as the lightning's flash glide to sepulchral night. + But whence the gladdening beam + That pours his purple stream 30 + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO SLEEP. + + Soft Sleep, profoundly pleasing power, + Sweet patron of the peaceful hour! + Oh, listen from thy calm abode, + And hither wave thy magic rod; + Extend thy silent, soothing sway, + And charm the canker care away: + Whether thou lov'st to glide along, + Attended by an airy throng + Of gentle dreams and smiles of joy, + Such as adorn the wanton boy; 10 + Or to the monarch's fancy bring + Delights that better suit a king, + The glittering host, the groaning plain, + The clang of arms, and victor's train; + Or should a milder vision please, + Present the happy scenes of peace, + Plump Autumn, blushing all around, + Rich Industry, with toil embrown'd, + Content, with brow serenely gay, + And genial Art's refulgent ray. 20 + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO LEVEN WATER. + + On Leven's banks, while free to rove, + And tune the rural pipe to love, + I envied not the happiest swain + That ever trod the Arcadian plain. + + Pure stream, in whose transparent wave + My youthful limbs I wont to lave, + No torrents stain thy limpid source; + No rocks impede thy dimpling course, + That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, + With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread; 10 + While, lightly poised, the scaly brood + In myriads cleave thy crystal flood; + The springing trout, in speckled pride, + The salmon, monarch of the tide, + The ruthless pike, intent on war, + The silver eel, and mottled par. + Devolving from thy parent lake, + A charming maze thy waters make, + By bowers of birch, and groves of pine, + And edges flower'd with eglantine. 20 + + Still on thy banks, so gaily green, + May numerous herds and flocks be seen, + And lasses, chanting o'er the pail, + And shepherds, piping in the dale, + And ancient faith, that knows no guile, + And Industry, embrown'd with toil, + And hearts resolved, and hands prepared, + The blessings they enjoy to guard. + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO BLUE-EYED ANN. + + 1 When the rough north forgets to howl, + And ocean's billows cease to roll; + When Lybian sands are bound in frost, + And cold to Nova-Zembla's lost; + When heavenly bodies cease to move, + My blue-eyed Ann I'll cease to love! + + 2 No more shall flowers the meads adorn, + Nor sweetness deck the rosy thorn, + Nor swelling buds proclaim the spring, + Nor parching heats the dog-star bring, + Nor laughing lilies paint the grove, + When blue-eyed Ann I cease to love. + + 3 No more shall joy in hope be found, + Nor pleasures dance their frolic round, + Nor love's light god inhabit earth, + Nor beauty give the passion birth, + Nor heat to summer sunshine cleave, + When blue-eyed Nanny I deceive. + + 4 When rolling seasons cease to change, + Inconstancy forgets to range; + When lavish May no more shall bloom, + Nor gardens yield a rich perfume; + When Nature from her sphere shall start, + I'll tear my Nanny from my heart. + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO INDEPENDENCE. + + STROPHE. + + Thy spirit, Independence! let me share, + Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye; + Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, + Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky. + Deep in the frozen regions of the north, + A goddess violated brought thee forth, + Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime, + Hath bleach'd the tyrant's cheek in every varying clime. + What time the iron-hearted Gaul, + With frantic Superstition for his guide, 10 + Arm'd with the dagger and the pall, + The sons of Woden to the field defied; + The ruthless hag, by Weser's flood, + In Heaven's name urged the infernal blow, + And red the stream began to flow: + The vanquished were baptised with blood![1] + + ANTISTROPHE. + + The Saxon prince in horror fled + From altars stain'd with human gore; + And Liberty his routed legions led + In safety to the bleak Norwegian shore. 20 + There in a cave asleep she lay, + Lull'd by the hoarse resounding main; + When a bold savage pass'd that way, + Impell'd by destiny, his name Disdain. + + Of ample front the portly chief appear'd: + The hunted bear supplied a shaggy vest; + The drifted snow hung on his yellow beard, + And his broad shoulders braved the furious blast. + He stopp'd; he gazed; his bosom glow'd, + And deeply felt the impression of her charms; 30 + He seized the advantage Fate allow'd, + And straight compress'd her in his vigorous arms. + + STROPHE. + + The curlew scream'd, the Tritons blew + Their shells to celebrate the ravish'd rite; + Old Time exulted as he flew, + And Independence saw the light; + The light he saw in Albion's happy plains, + Where, under cover of a flowering thorn, + While Philomel renew'd her warbled strains, + The auspicious fruit of stolen embrace was born. 40 + The mountain Dyriads seized with joy + The smiling infant to their charge consign'd; + The Doric Muse caress'd the favourite boy; + The hermit Wisdom stored his opening mind: + As rolling years matured his age, + He flourish'd bold and sinewy as his sire; + While the mild passions in his breast assuage + The fiercer flames of his maternal fire. + + ANTISTROPHE. + + Accomplish'd thus he wing'd his way, + And zealous roved from pole to pole, 50 + The rolls of right eternal to display, + And warm with patriot thoughts the aspiring soul; + On desert isles 'twas he that raised + Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave,[2] + Where Tyranny beheld, amazed, + Fair Freedom's temple where he mark'd her grave: + He steel'd the blunt Batavian's arms + To burst the Iberian's double chain; + And cities rear'd, and planted farms, + Won from the skirts of Neptune's wide domain.[3] 60 + He with the generous rustics sate + On Uri's rocks[4] in close divan; + And wing'd that arrow sure as fate, + Which ascertain'd the sacred rights of man. + + STROPHE. + + Arabia's scorching sands he cross'd, + Where blasted Nature pants supine, + Conductor of her tribes adust + To Freedom's adamantine shrine; + And many a Tartar horde forlorn, aghast, + He snatch'd from under fell Oppression's wing, 70 + And taught amidst the dreary waste + The all-cheering hymns of liberty to sing. + He virtue finds, like precious ore, + Diffused through every baser mould; + E'en now he stands on Calvi's rocky shore,[5] + And turns the dross of Corsica to gold. + He, guardian Genius! taught my youth + Pomp's tinsel livery to despise; + My lips, by him chastised to truth, + Ne'er paid that homage which my heart denies. 80 + + ANTISTROPHE. + + Those sculptured halls my feet shall never tread, + Where varnish'd Vice and Vanity, combined + To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread, + And forge vile shackles for the freeborn mind; + While Insolence his wrinkled front uprears, + And all the flowers of spurious Fancy blow; + And Title his ill-woven chaplet wears, + Full often wreath'd around the miscreant's brow; + Where ever-dimpling Falsehood, pert and vain, + Presents her cup of stale Profession's froth; 90 + And pale Disease, with all his bloated train, + Torments the sons of gluttony and sloth. + + STROPHE. + + In Fortune's car behold that minion ride, + With either India's glittering spoils oppress'd; + So moves the sumpter-mule in harness'd pride, + That bears the treasure which he cannot taste. + For him let venal bards disgrace the bay, + And hireling minstrels wake the tinkling string; + Her sensual snares let faithless Pleasure lay; + And jingling bells fantastic Folly ring; 100 + Disquiet, doubt, and dread shall intervene, + And Nature, still to all her feelings just, + In vengeance hang a damp on every scene, + Shook from the baneful pinions of Disgust. + + ANTISTROPHE. + + Nature I'll court in her sequester'd haunts, + By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or cell, + Where the poised lark his evening ditty chaunts, + And Health, and Peace, and Contemplation dwell. + There Study shall with Solitude recline, + And Friendship pledge me to his fellow swains, 110 + And Toil and Temperance sedately twine + The slender cord that fluttering life sustains; + And fearless Poverty shall guard the door, + And Taste unspoil'd the frugal table spread, + And Industry supply the humble store, + And Sleep unbribed his dews refreshing shed; + White-mantled Innocence, ethereal sprite! + Shall chase far off the goblins of the night, + And Independence o'er the day preside, + Propitious power! my patron and my pride! 120 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Baptised with blood:' Charlemagne obliged four thousand +Saxon prisoners to embrace the Christian religion, and immediately +after they were baptized, ordered their throats to be cut. Their +prince, Vitikind, fled for shelter to Gotrick, king of Denmark.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Adriatic wave:' although Venice was built a considerable +time before the era here assigned for the birth of Independence, the +republic had not yet attained to any great degree of power and +splendour.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Neptune's wide domain:' the Low Countries, and their +revolt from Spain, are here alluded to.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Uri's rocks:' alluding to the known story of William +Tell and his associates.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Calvi's rocky shore:' the noble stand made by Paschal +Paoli, and his associates, against the usurpations of the +French king.] + + * * * * * + + +SONG. + + 1 While with fond rapture and amaze, + On thy transcendent charms I gaze, + My cautious soul essays in vain + Her peace and freedom to maintain: + Yet let that blooming form divine, + Where grace and harmony combine, + Those eyes, like genial orbs that move, + Dispensing gladness, joy, and love, + In all their pomp assail my view, + Intent my bosom to subdue, + My breast, by wary maxims steel'd, + Not all those charms shall force to yield. + + 2 But when, invoked to Beauty's aid, + I see the enlighten'd soul display'd; + That soul so sensibly sedate + Amid the storms of froward fate, + Thy genius active, strong, and clear, + Thy wit sublime, though not severe, + The social ardour, void of art, + That glows within thy candid heart; + My spirits, sense, and strength decay, + My resolution dies away, + And, every faculty oppress'd, + Almighty Love invades my breast! + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 To fix her!--'twere a task as vain + To count the April drops of rain, + To sow in Afric's barren soil, + Or tempests hold within a toil. + + 2 I know it, friend, she's light as air, + False as the fowler's artful snare, + Inconstant as the passing wind, + As winter's dreary frost unkind. + + 3 She's such a miser, too, in love, + Its joys she'll neither share nor prove, + Though hundreds of gallants await + From her victorious eyes their fate. + + 4 Blushing at such inglorious reign, + I sometimes strive to break her chain, + My reason summon to my aid, + Resolved no more to be betray'd. + + 5 Ah! friend, 'tis but a short-lived trance, + Dispell'd by one enchanting glance; + She need but look, and, I confess, + Those looks completely curse or bless. + + 6 So soft, so elegant, so fair, + Sure something more than human's there; + I must submit, for strife is vain, + 'Twas Destiny that forged the chain. + + * * * * * + + SONG. + + 1 Let the nymph still avoid and be deaf to the swain, + Who in transports of passion affects to complain; + For his rage, not his love, in that frenzy is shown, + And the blast that blows loudest is soon overblown. + + 2 But the shepherd whom Cupid has pierced to the heart, + Will submissive adore, and rejoice in the smart; + Or in plaintive, soft murmurs his bosom-felt woe, + Like the smooth-gliding current of rivers, will flow. + + 3 Though silent his tongue, he will plead with his eyes, + And his heart own your sway in a tribute of sighs: + But when he accosts you in meadow or grove, + His tale is all tenderness, rapture, and love. + + * * * * * + + SONG. + + 1 From the man whom I love though my heart I disguise, + I will freely describe the wretch I despise; + And if he has sense but to balance a straw, + He will sure take the hint from the picture I draw. + + 2 A wit without sense, without fancy a beau, + Like a parrot he chatters, and struts like a crow; + A peacock in pride, in grimace a baboon, + In courage a hind, in conceit a Gascon. + + 3 As a vulture rapacious, in falsehood a fox, + Inconstant as waves, and unfeeling as rocks; + As a tiger ferocious, perverse as a hog, + In mischief an ape, and in fawning a dog. + + 4 In a word, to sum up all his talents together, + His heart is of lead, and his brain is of feather; + Yet, if he has sense but to balance a straw, + He will sure take the hint from the picture I draw. + + * * * * * + + SONG. + + 1 Come listen, ye students of every degree; + I sing of a wit and a tutor _perdie,_ + A statesman profound, a critic immense, + In short, a mere jumble of learning and sense; + And yet of his talents though laudably vain, + His own family arts he could never attain. + + 2 His father, intending his fortune to build, + In his youth would have taught him the trowel to wield. + But the mortar of discipline never would stick, + For his skull was secured by a facing of brick; + And with all his endeavours of patience and pain, + The skill of his sire he could never attain. + + 3 His mother, a housewife, neat, artful, and wise, + Renown'd for her delicate biscuit and pies, + Soon alter'd his studies, by flattering his taste, + From the raising of wall to the rearing of paste; + But all her instructions were fruitless and vain, + The pye-making mystery he could ne'er attain. + + 4 Yet, true to his race, in his labours were seen + A jumble of both their professions, I ween; + For when his own genius he ventured to trust, + His pies seem'd of brick, and his houses of crust; + Then, good Mr Tutor, pray be not so vain, + Since your family arts you could never attain. + + +END OF SMOLLETT'S POEMS. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, +Gray, and Smollett, by Samuel Johnson, Thomas Parnell, Thomas Gray, and Tobias Smollett + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11254 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f89658d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #11254 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11254) diff --git a/old/11254-8.txt b/old/11254-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..08c7420 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11254-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9263 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, +and Smollett, by Samuel Johnson, Thomas Parnell, Thomas Gray, and Tobias Smollett + +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: Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, and Smollett + With Memoirs, Critical Dissertations, and Explanatory Notes + +Author: Samuel Johnson, Thomas Parnell, Thomas Gray, and Tobias Smollett + +Release Date: February 24, 2004 [EBook #11254] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +THE + +POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +JOHNSON, PARNELL, GRAY, + +AND + +SMOLLETT. + + + + +With Memoirs, Critical Dissertations, and +Explanatory Notes + +BY THE +REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. +EDINBURGH + + +M.DCCC.LV. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +JOHNSON'S POEMS. + + The Life of Samuel Johnson + London: a Poem in imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal, 1738 + The Vanity of Human Wishes. In imitation of the Tenth Satire of + Juvenal + +PROLOGUES:-- + Prologue Spoken by Mr Garrick, at the Opening of the Theatre-Royal, + Drury-Lane, 1747 + Prologue Spoken by Mr Garrick before the 'Masque of Comus', acted + for the benefit of Milton's Grand-daughter + Prologue to Goldsmith's Comedy of 'The Good-Natured Man', 1769 + Prologue to the Comedy of 'A Word to the Wise,' spoken by Mr Hull + +ODES:-- + Spring + Midsummer + Autumn + Winter + +MISCELLANEOUS:-- + The Winter's Walk + To Miss ***** on her giving the Author a Gold and Silk Network + Purse of her own Weaving + Epigram on George II. and Colley Cibber, Esq. + Stella in Mourning + To Stella + Verses Written at the Request of a Gentleman to whom a Lady had + given a Sprig of Myrtle + To Lady Firebrace, at Bury Assizes + To Lycè, an Elderly Lady + On the Death of Mr Robert Levett, a Practiser in Physic + Epitaph on Claude Phillips, an Itinerant Musician + Epitaph on Sir Thomas Hanmer, Bart. + On the Death of Stephen Grey, F.R.S., the Electrician + To Miss Hickman, Playing on the Spinnet + Paraphrase of Proverbs, chap. iv. verses 6-11 + Horace, Lib. iv. Ode vii. Translated + On Seeing a Bust of Mrs Montague + Anacreon, Ode Ninth + Lines Written in Ridicule of certain Poems published in 1777 + Parody of a Translation from the 'Medea' of Euripides + Burlesque on the Modern Versification of Ancient Legendary Tales: + an Impromptu + Epitaph for Mr Hogarth + Translation of the Two First Stanzas of the Song 'Rio Verde, + Rio Verde', printed in Bishop Percy's 'Reliques of Ancient + English Poetry': an Impromptu + To Mrs Thrale, on her Completing her Thirty-Fifth Year: a + Impromptu + Impromptu Translation of an Air in the 'Clemenza de Tito' of + Metastasia, beginning 'Deh! se Piacermi Vuoi' + Lines Written under a Print representing Persons Skaiting + Translation of a Speech of Aquileio in the 'Adriano' of Metastasio, + beginning, 'Tu Che in Corte Invecchiasti' + Impromptu on Hearing Miss Thrale Consulting with a Friend about a + Gown and Hat she was inclined to Wear + Translation of Virgil, Pastoral I + Translation of Horace, Book i. Ode xxii. + Translation of Horace, Book ii. Ode ix. + Translation of part of the Dialogue between Hector and + Andromache.--From the Sixth Book of Homer's Iliad + To Miss * * * * on her Playing upon a Harpsichord in a Room hung + with Flower-Pieces of her own Painting + Evening: an Ode. To Stella + To the Same + To a Friend + To a Young Lady, on her Birthday + Epilogue intended to have been Spoken by a Lady who was to + personate 'The Ghost of Hermione' + The Young Author + Friendship: an Ode. Printed in the Gentleman's Magazine, 1743 + Imitation of the Style of Percy + One and Twenty + +PARNELL'S POEMS. + + The Life and Poetry of Thomas Parnell + Hesiod; or, the Rise of Woman + Song + Song + Song + Anacreontic + Anacreontic + A Fairy Tale, in the Ancient English Style + To Mr Pope + Health: an Eclogue + The Flies: an Eclogue + An Elegy to an Old Beauty + The Book-Worm + An Allegory on Man + An Imitation of some French Verses + A Night-Piece on Death + A Hymn to Contentment + The Hermit + +GRAY'S POEMS. + +The Life and Poetry of Thomas Gray + +ODES:-- + I. On the Spring + II. On the Death of a Favorite Cat + III. On a distant Prospect of Eton College + IV. To Adversity + V. The Progress of Poesy + VI. The Bard + VII. The Fatal Sisters + VIII. The Descent of Odin + IX. The Death of Hoel + X. The Triumph of Owen + XI. For Music + +MISCELLANEOUS:-- + A Long Story + Elegy written in a Country Churchyard + Epitaph on Mrs Jane Clarke + Stanzas, suggested by a View of the Seat and Ruins at Kingsgate, + in Kent, 1766 + Translation from Statius + Gray on himself + +SMOLLETT'S POEMS. + + The Life of Tobias Smollett + Advice: a Satire + Reproof: a Satire + The Tears of Scotland. Written in the year 1746 + Verses on a Young Lady playing on a Harpsichord and Singing + Love Elegy, in imitation of Tibullus + Burlesque Ode + Ode to Mirth + Ode to Sleep + Ode to Leven Water + Ode to Blue-Eyed Ann + Ode to Independence + Songs + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +SAMUEL JOHNSON. + + +THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. + +We feel considerable trepidation in beginning a life of Johnson, not +so much on account of the magnitude of the man--for in Milton, and one +or two others, we have already met his match--but on account of the +fact that the field has been so thoroughly exhausted by former +writers. It is in the shadow of Boswell, the best of all biographers, +and not in that of Johnson, that we feel ourselves at present +cowering. Yet we must try to give a rapid account of the leading +incidents in Johnson's life, as well as a short estimate of his vast, +rugged genius. + +Samuel Johnson was born at Lichfield, Staffordshire, on the 18th of +September 1709, and was baptized the same day. His father was Michael +Johnson, a bookseller and stationer, and his mother, Sarah Ford. +Samuel was the first-born of the family. Nathaniel, who died in his +twenty-fifth year, was the second and the last. Johnson very early +began to manifest both his peculiar prejudices and his peculiar +powers. When a mere child, we see him in Lichfield Cathedral, perched +on his father's shoulders, gazing at Sacheverel, the famous Tory +preacher. We hear him, about the same time, roaring to his mother, who +had given him, a minute before, a collect in the Common Prayer-Book to +get by heart as his day's task,--"Mother, I can say it already!" His +first teacher, Dame Oliver, a widow, thought him, as she well might, +the best scholar she ever had. From her he passed into the hands of +one Tom Brown, an original, who once published a spelling-book, and +dedicated it "to the Universe!"--without permission, we presume. He +began to learn Latin first with a Mr Hawkins, and then with a Mr +Hunter, head-master of Lichfield,--a petty tyrant, although a good +scholar, under whom, to use Gay's language, Johnson was + +"Lash'd into Latin by the tingling rod." + +At the age of fifteen, he was transferred to Stourbridge school, and +to the care of a Mr Wentworth, who "taught him a great deal." There +he remained twelve months, at the close of which he returned home, and +for two years lived in his father's house, in comparative idleness, +loitering in the fields, and reading much, but desultorily. In 1728, +being flattered with some promises of aid from a Shropshire gentleman, +named Corbet, which were never fulfilled, he went to Oxford, and was +entered as a commoner in Pembroke College. His father accompanied and +introduced him to Dr Adams, and to Jorden, who became his tutor, +recommending his son as a good scholar and a poet. Under Jorden's +care, however, he did little except translate Pope's "Messiah" into +Latin verse,--a task which he performed with great rapidity, and so +well, that Pope warmly commended it when he saw it printed in a +miscellany of poems. About this time, the hypochondriac affection, +which rendered Johnson's long life a long disease, began to manifest +itself. In the vacation of 1729, he was seized with the darkest +despondency, which he tried to alleviate by violent exercise and other +means, but in vain. It seems to have left him during a fit of +indignation at Dr Swinfen (a physician at Lichfield, who, struck by +the elegant Latinity of an account of his malady, which the sufferer +had put into his hands, showed it in all directions), but continued to +recur at frequent intervals till the close of his life. His malady was +undoubtedly of a maniacal cast, resembling Cowper's, but subdued by +superior strength of will--a Bucephalus, which it required all the +power of a Johnson to back and bridle. In his early days, he had been +piously inclined, but after his ninth year, fell into a state of +indifference to religion. This continued till he met, at Oxford, Law's +"Serious Call," which, he says, "overmatched" and compelled him to +consider the subject with earnestness. And whatever, in after years, +were the errors of his life, he never, from that hour, ceased to have +a solemn sense of the verities of the Christian religion. + +At Oxford, he paid little attention to his regular tasks, but read, or +rather devoured, all the books he could lay his hands on, and began to +display his unrivalled conversational powers, being often seen +"lounging about the college gates, with a circle of young students +around him, whom he was entertaining with wit, keeping from their +studies, and sometimes rousing to rebellion against the college +discipline." He was, at this time, so miserably poor, that his shoes +were worn to tatters, and his feet appeared through them, to the +scandal of the Christ-Church men, when he occasionally visited their +college. Some compassionate individual laid a new pair at his door, +which he tossed away with indignation. At last,--his debts increasing, +his supplies diminishing, and his father becoming bankrupt,--he was, +in autumn 1731, compelled to leave college without a degree. In the +December of the same year his father died. + +Perhaps there was not now in broad Britain a person apparently more +helpless and hopeless than this tall, half-blind, half-mad, and wholly +miserable lad, with ragged shoes, and no degree, left suddenly +fatherless in Lichfield. But he had a number of warm friends in his +native place, such as Captain Garrick, father of the actor, and +Gilbert Walmsley, Registrar of the Ecclesiastical Court, who would not +suffer him to starve outright. He had learning and genius; and he had, +moreover, under all his indolence and all his melancholy, an +indomitable resolution, which needed only to be roused to make all +obstacles melt before it. He knew that he was great and strong, and +would yet struggle into recognition. At first, however, nothing +offered save the post of usher in a school at Market-Bosworth, which +he occupied long enough to learn to loathe the occupation with all his +heart and soul, and mind and strength, but which he soon resigned, and +was again idle. He was invited next to spend some time with Mr +Hector, an early friend, who was residing in Birmingham. Here he +became acquainted with one Porter, a mercer, whose widow he afterwards +married. Here, too, he executed his first literary work,--a +translation of Lobo's "Voyage to Abyssinia," which was published in +1735, and for which he received the munificent sum of five guineas! He +had previously, without success, issued proposals for an edition of +the Latin poems of Politian; and, with a similar result, offered the +service of his pen to Edward Cave, the editor and publisher of the +_Gentleman's Magazine_, to which he afterwards became a leading +contributor. + +Shortly after this, Porter dying, Johnson married the widow--a lady +more distinguished for sense, and particularly for _the_ sense to +appreciate his talents, than for personal charms, and who was twice +her husband's age. It does not seem to have been a very happy match, +although, probably, both parties loved each other better than they +imagined. He was now assisted by his wife's portion, which amounted to +£800, and opened a private academy at Echal, near Lichfield, but +obtained only three pupils,--a Mr Offely, who died early, the +celebrated David Garrick, and his brother George. At the end of a year +and a half, disgusted alike with the duties of the office, and with +his want of success in their discharge, Johnson left for London, with +David Garrick for his companion, and reached it with one letter of +introduction from Gilbert Walmsley, three acts of the tragedy of +"Irene," and (according to his fellow-traveller) threepence-halfpenny +in his pocket! + +To London he had probably looked as to the great mart of genius, but +at first he met with mortifying disappointment. He made one +influential friend, however, in an officer named Henry Hervey, of whom +he said, "He was a vicious man, but very kind to me; were you to call +a dog Hervey, I shall love him." In summer he came back to Lichfield, +where he stayed three months, and finished his tragedy. He returned to +London in autumn, along with his wife, and tried, but in vain, to get +"Irene" presented on the stage. This did not happen till 1749, when +his old pupil David Garrick had become manager of Drury Lane Theatre. + +In March 1738, he began to contribute to the _Gentleman's Magazine_, a +magazine he had long admired, and the original printing-place of +which--St John's Gate--he "beheld with reverence" when he first passed +it. Amidst the variety of his contributions, the most remarkable were +his "Debates in the Senate of Lilliput"--vigorous paraphrases of the +parliamentary discussions--of which Johnson finding the mere skeleton +given him by the reporters, was at the pains of clothing it with the +flesh and blood of his own powerful diction. In May of the same year +appeared his noble imitation of Juvenal, "London," which at once made +him famous. After it had been rejected by several publishers, it was +bought by Dodsley for ten guineas. It came out the same morning with +Pope's satire, entitled "1738," and excited a much greater sensation. +The buzzing question ran, "What great unknown genius can this be?" The +poem went to a second edition in a week; and Pope himself, who had +read it with pleasure, when told that its author was an obscure man +named Johnson, replied, "He will soon be _déterré_." + +Famous as he had now become, he continued poor; and tired to death of +slaving for the booksellers, he applied, through the influence of Pope +and Lord Gower, to procure a degree from Dublin, that it might aid him +in his application for a school at Appleby, in Leicestershire. In +this, however, he failed, and had to persevere for many years more in +the ill-paid drudgery of authorship--meditating a translation of +"Father Paul's History," which was never executed--writing in the +_Gentleman's Magazine_ lives of Böerhaave and Father Paul, &c., &c., +&c.--and published separately "Marmor Norfolciense," a disguised +invective against Sir Robert Walpole, the obnoxious premier of the +day. About this time he became intimate with the notorious Richard +Savage, and with him spent too many of his private hours. Both were +poor, both proud, both patriotic, both at that time lovers of +pleasure, and they became for a season inseparable; often +perambulating the streets all night, engaged now, we fear, in low +revels, and now in high talk, and sometimes determined to stand by +their country when they could stand by nothing else. Yet, if Savage +for a season corrupted Johnson, he also communicated to him much +information, and at last left himself in legacy, as one of the best +subjects to one of the greatest masters of moral anatomy. In 1744, +Johnson rolled off from his powerful pen, with as much ease as a thick +oak a thunder-shower, the sounding sentences which compose the "Life +of Savage," and which shall for ever perpetuate the memory and the +tale of that "unlucky rascal." It is a wasp preserved in the richest +amber. The whole reads like one sentence, and is generally read at one +sitting. Sir Joshua Reynolds, meeting it in a country inn, began to +read it while standing with his arm leaning on a chimney-piece, and +was not able to lay it aside till he had finished it, when he found +his arm totally benumbed. In 1745, Johnson issued proposals for a new +edition of Shakspeare, but laid them aside for a time, owing to the +great expectations entertained of the edition then promised by +Warburton. + +For several years, except a few trifles in the _Gentleman's Magazine_, +and his famous "Prologue delivered at the Opening of Drury Lane +Theatre," he seems to have written nothing. But in 1745 appeared the +prospectus of his most laborious undertaking, the "English +Dictionary." This continued his principal occupation for some years, +and, as Boswell truly observes, "served to relieve his constitutional +melancholy by the steady, yet not oppressive, employment it secured +him." In its unity, too, and gigantic size, the task seemed fitted for +the powers of so strong a man; and although he says he dismissed it at +last with "frigid tranquillity," he had no doubt felt its influence +during the time to be at once that of a protecting guardian and of an +inspiring genius. In 1749, he published his "Vanity of Human Wishes," +for which he received the sum of fifteen guineas,--a miserable +recompense for a poem which Byron pronounces "sublime," and which is +as true as it is magnificent in thought, and terse in language. In the +same year, Garrick had "Irene" acted, but it was "damned" the first +night, although it dragged on heavily for eight nights more. When the +author was asked how he felt at its ill-success, he replied, "Like the +Monument!" How different from Addison, walking restlessly, and +perspiring with anxiety behind the scenes, while the fate of "Cato" +was hanging in the balance! + +In 1750 he began his "Rambler," and carried it on with only tolerable +success till 1752. The world has long ago made up its mind on the +merits and defects of this periodical, its masculine thought and +energetic diction, alternating with disguised common-place and (as he +would have said himself) "turgescent tameness"--its critical and +fictitious papers, often so rich in fancy, and felicitous in +expression, mixed with others which exhibit "bulk without spirit +vast," and are chiefly remarkable for their bold, bad innovations on +that English tongue of which the author was piling up the standard +Dictionary. Many have dwelt severely on Johnson's inequalities, +without attending to their cause; that was unquestionably the "body of +death" which hung so heavily upon his system, and rendered writing at +times a positive torment. Let his fastidious critics remember that he +never spent a single day, of which he could say that he was entirely +well, and free from pain, and that his spirits were often so +depressed, that he was more than once seen on his knees, praying God +to preserve his understanding. + +A great calamity now visited his household. This was the death of his +wife. She expired on the 17th of March 1752. She had been married to +him sixteen years; and notwithstanding the difference of age, and +other causes of disagreement, he seems to have loved her with +sincerity, and to have lamented her death with deep and long-continued +sorrow. He relaxed not, however, an instant in his literary labours, +continued the preparation of his Dictionary, and contributed a few +lively and vigorous papers to the "Adventurer"--a paper, edited by Dr +Hawkesworth, a writer of some talent, who did his best to tower up to +the measure and stature of the "Rambler." + +During this time Johnson was filling his house with a colony of poor +dependants,--such as Mrs Anna Williams, a soured female poetaster; and +Levet, a tenth-rate medical peripatetic, who, as well as Hodge, the +great lexicographer's cat, and Francis Barber, his black servant, now +share in his immortality,--besides becoming acquainted with such men +of eminence as Reynolds, the inimitable painter; Bennet Langton, the +amiable and excellent country-gentleman; and Beauclerk, the smart and +witty "man about town." In 1755 (exactly a hundred years ago), Johnson +chastised Lord Chesterfield for his mean, finessing conduct to him +about his Dictionary, in a letter unparalleled, unless in "Junius," +for its noble and condensed scorn,--a scorn which "burns frore," cold +performing the effect of fire--and which reached that callous Lord, +under the sevenfold shield of his conceit and conventionalism; visited +Oxford, and was presented by acclamation with that degree of M.A. +which he had left twenty-four years before without receiving; and, in +fine, issued his Dictionary, the work of eight years, and which, +undoubtedly, is the truest monument of his talent, industry, and +general capacity, if not of the richness of his invention, or of the +strength of his genius. He had obtained for it only the sum of £1575, +which was all spent in the progress of the work; and he was compelled +again to become a contributor to the periodical press, writing +copiously and characteristically to the _Gentleman's Magazine_, the +_Universal Visitor_, and the _Literary Magazine_. In 1756, he was +arrested for a debt of £5, 18s., but was relieved by Richardson, the +novelist. In the same year he resumed his intention of an edition of +Shakspeare, of which he issued proposals, and which he promised to +finish in little more than a year, although nine years were to elapse +ere it saw the light. In 1758, he began the "Idler," which reached the +103d No., and was considered lighter and more agreeable than the +"Rambler." He has seldom written anything so powerful as his fable of +"The Vultures." In 1759, his mother died, at the age of ninety,--an +event which deeply affected him. Soon after this, and to defray the +expenses of her funeral, he wrote his brilliant tale of "Rasselas," in +the evenings of a single week,--a rare feat of readiness and rapid +power, reminding one of Byron writing the "Corsair" in a fortnight, +and of Sir Walter Scott finishing "Guy Mannering" in three weeks. +There are perhaps more invention and more fancy in "Rasselas" than in +any of his works, although a gloom, partly the shadow of his mother's +death, and partly springing from his own temperament, rests too +heavily on its pages. He received one hundred guineas for the +copyright. In 1762, the Earl of Bute, both as a reward for past +services, and as a prepayment of future, bestowed on him a pension of +£300 for life. This raised a clamour against him, which he treated +with silent contempt. + +In 1763 occurred what was really a most important event in Johnson's +life,--his acquaintance with Boswell,--who attached himself to him +with a devotion reminding one more of the canine species than of man, +sacrificed to him much of his time, his feelings, his very +individuality, and became qualified to write a biography, in which +fulness, interest, minute detail, and dramatic skill have never been +equalled or approached. In 1764, Johnson founded the celebrated +"Literary Club,"--perhaps the most remarkable cluster of distinguished +men that ever existed; and in 1765 he was created LL.D. by Trinity +College, Dublin. In 1765, too, he published his "Shakspeare;" and he +became intimate with the Thrales,--the husband being a great brewer in +Southwark; the wife, a lady of literary tastes, better known as Madame +Piozzi, the author of "Anecdotes of Dr Johnson;" both distinguished +for their attachment to him. He was often domesticated in their house +for months together. In 1767 he had an interview with George III., in +the library of the Queen's house; which, because Johnson preserved his +self-possession, and talked with his usual precision and power, has +been recounted by Boswell as if it had been a conversation with an +apostle or an angel. In 1770 he did some work for his pension in a +pamphlet entitled the "False Alarm," defending the conduct of the +Ministry in the case of the Middlesex election. In 1771 he wrote +another political pamphlet, entitled "Thoughts on the late +Transactions respecting Falklands' Islands;" and five years later +appeared "Taxation no Tyranny,"--an elaborate defence of the American +war. Johnson was too dogmatic, and too fiercely passionate for a good +political writer; and these productions added nothing to his fame, and +increased the number of his enemies. + +In 1773 he fulfilled his long-cherished purpose of visiting Scotland +and the Hebrides, the story of which trip he told afterwards in his +usual rotund and massive style, and which was recounted with far more +liveliness and verisimilitude by Boswell. In 1774 he lost Goldsmith, +who had long been his friend, whom he had counselled, rebuked, +assisted, loved, and laughed at, and at whose death he was deeply +grieved. In 1775, the publication of his "Tour to the Hebrides" +brought him in collision with the _perfervidum ingenium Scotorum_, and +especially with James Macpherson, to whom Johnson sent a letter which +crushed him like a catapult. Macpherson, as well as Rob Roy, was only +strong on his native heath, and off it was no match for old Sam, whose +prejudices, passions, and gigantic powers, combined to make him +altogether irresistible in a literary duel. The same year, the +University of Oxford conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Laws; +and in the close of it, he paid a visit, along with the Thrales, +to Paris. + +In 1776 nothing remarkable occurred in his history, unless it were the +interview which Boswell so admirably manoeuvred to bring about between +him and Jack Wilkes. Everybody remembers how well the bear and the +monkey for the time agreed, and how both turned round to snub the +spaniel, who had been the medium of their introduction to each other. + +In 1777 he was requested by the London booksellers to prefix prefaces +to the "English Poets," part of which was issued the next year, and +the rest in 1780 and 1781, as the "Lives of English Poets." This work +has generally been regarded as Johnson's masterpiece. It nowhere, +indeed, displays so much of the creative, the inventive, the poetical, +as his "Rasselas," and many of his smaller tales and fictions. Its +judgments, too, have been often and justly controverted. The book is, +undoubtedly, a storehouse of his prejudices, as well as of his wisdom. +Its treatment of Milton, the man, for instance, is insufferably +insolent, although ample justice is done to Milton, the poet of the +"Paradise Lost." Some poetasters he has overpraised, and some true but +minor poets he has thrust down too far in the scale. But the work, as +a whole, is full of inextinguishable life, and has passages verging on +the eloquence and power of genius. A piece of stern, sober, yet broad +and animated composition, rather careless in dates, and rather cursory +in many of its criticisms, it displays unequalled force of thought, +and pointed vigour of style, and when taken in connexion with the age +of the author (seventy), is altogether marvellous. Truly there were +"giants in those days," and this was a Briareus. + +For the details of his later life, his conversations, growing +weakness, little journeys, unconquerable love of literature, &c., we +must refer our readers to Boswell's teeming narrative. In 1783, he had +a stroke of palsy, which deprived him for a time of speech. That +returned to him, however, but a complication of complaints, including +asthma, sciatica, and dropsy, began gradually to undermine his +powerful frame. He continued to the last to cherish the prospect of a +tour to Italy, but never accomplished his purpose. Death had all along +been his great object of dread, and its fast approaches were regarded +with unmitigated terror. "Cut deeper," he cried to the physicians who +were operating on his limbs; "cut deeper; I don't care for pain, but I +fear death." He fixed all his dying hope upon the Cross, and +recommended Clarke's Sermons as fullest on the doctrine of a +Propitiation. He spoke of the Bible and of the Sabbath with the +warmest feelings of belief and respect. At last, on the 13th day of +December 1784, in the seventy-fifth year of his age, this great, good +man, whose fears had subsided, and who had become as a little child, +fell asleep in Jesus. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, on Monday, +December 20th, and his funeral was attended by the most distinguished +men of the day. + +Perhaps no literary man ever exerted, during his lifetime, the same +personal influence as Samuel Johnson. Shelley used to call Byron the +"Byronic Energy," from a sense of his exceeding power. The author of +"Rasselas" was the "Johnsonian Energy;" and the demon within him, if +not so ethereal and terrible as Byron's, was far more massive, equally +strong, and in conversation, at least, much more ready to do his work. +First-rate conversation generally springs from a desire to shine, or +from the effort of a full mind to relieve itself, or from exuberant +animal spirits, or from deep-seated misery. In Johnson it sprang from +a combination of all these causes. He went to conversation as to an +arena--his mind was richly-stored, even to overflowing--in company his +spirits uniformly rose--and yet there was always at his heart a burden +of wretchedness, seeking solace, not in silence, but in speech. Hence, +with the exception of Burke, no one ever matched him in talk; and +Burke, we imagine, although profounder in thought, more varied in +learning, and more brilliant in imagination, seldom fairly pitted +himself against Johnson. He was a younger man, and held the sage in +too much reverence to encounter him often with any deliberate and +determined purpose of contest. He frequently touched the shield of the +general challenger, not with the sharp, but with the butt-end of his +lance. He said, on one occasion, when asked why he had not talked more +in Johnson's company, "Oh! it is enough for me to have rung the +bell to him!" + +In all Johnson's works you see the traces of the triumphant +conversationalist--of one who has met with few to contradict, and +scarcely one to rival him. Hence the dogmatic strength and certainty, +and hence, too, the one-sidedness and limitation of much of his +writings. He does not "allow for the wind." He seems to anticipate no +reply, and to defy all criticism. One is tempted to quote the words of +Solomon, "He that is first in his own cause seemeth just, but his +neighbour cometh and searcheth him." No such searching seems ever to +have entered into Johnson's apprehensions. His sentences roll forth +like the laws of the Medes and Persians; his praise alights with the +authoritativeness of a sun-burst on a mountain; summit; and when he +blames, he seems to add, like an ancient doomster, the words, "I +pronounce for doom." With Burke, it was very different. Accustomed to +parliamentary debate in its vicissitudes and interchange--gifted, too, +with a prophetic insight into coming objections, which "cast their +shadows before," and with an almost diseased subtlety of thinking, he +binds up his answers to opponents with every thesis he propounds; and +his paragraphs sometimes remind you of the plan of generals in great +emergencies, putting foot soldiers on the same saddles with +cavalry--they seem to _ride double_. + +This is not the place, nor have we room, to dilate on Johnson's +obvious merits and faults--his straight-forward sincerity--his strong +manly sense--the masterly force with which he grasps all his +subjects--the measured fervour of his style--the precision and +vivacity of his shorter sentences--the grand swell and sonorousness of +his longer; on his frequent monotony--his _sesguipedalia verba_--the +"timorous meaning" which sometimes lurks under his "boldest words;" or +on the deep _chiaroscuro_ which discolours all his pictures of man, +nature, society, and human life. We have now only to speak of his +poetry. That is, unfortunately, small in amount, although its quality +is so excellent as to excite keen regret that he had not, as he once +intended, written many more pieces in the style of "London," and the +"Vanity of Human Wishes." In these, the model of his mere manner is +Pope, although coloured by Juvenal, his Latin original; but the matter +and spirit are intensely his own. In "London," satire seems swelling +out of itself into something stronger and statelier--it is the +apotheosis of that kind of poetry. You see in it a mind purer and +sterner than Dryden's, or Pope's, or Churchill's, or even Juvenal's; +"doing well to be angry" with a degenerate age, and a false, cowardly +country, of which he deems himself unworthy to be a citizen. If there +is rather too much of the _saeva indignatio_, which Swift speaks of as +lacerating his heart, it is a nobler and less selfish ire than his, +and the language and verse which it inspires are full of the very soul +of dignity. In the "Vanity of Human Wishes," he becomes one of those +"hunters whose game is man" (to use the language of Soame Jenyns, in +that essay on "The Origin of Evil," which Johnson, in the _Literary +Review_, so mercilessly lashed); and from assailing premiers, +parliaments, and the vices of London and England, he passes, in a very +solemn spirit, to expose the vain hopes, wishes, and efforts of +humanity at large. Parts of this poem are written more in sorrow than +in anger, and parts more in anger than in sorrow. The portraits of +Wolsey, Bacon, and Charles the Twelfth, are admirable in their +execution, and in their adaptation to the argument of the piece; and +the last paragraph, for truth and masculine energy is unsurpassed, we +believe, in the whole compass of ethical poetry. We are far from +assenting to the statement we once heard ably and elaborately +advocated, "that there had been no _strong_ poetry in Britain since +the two satires of Johnson;" and we are still further from classing +their author with the Shakspeares, Miltons, Wordsworths, and +Coleridges of song; but we are nevertheless prepared, not only for the +sake of these two satires, of his prologue, and of some other pieces +in verse, but on account of the general spirit of much of his prose, +to pronounce him potentially, if not actually, a great poet. + + * * * * * + +JOHNSON'S POEMS. + + +LONDON: + + A POEM IN IMITATION OF THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL, 1738. + + "--Quis ineptæ + Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus ut teneat se?" + + --JUVENAL. + + Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel + When injured Thales[1] bids the town farewell, + Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice commend; + I praise the hermit, but regret the friend; + Resolved, at length, from vice and London far, + To breathe in distant fields a purer air, + And, fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore, + Give to St David one true Briton more. + + For who would leave, unbribed, Hibernia's land, + Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand? 10 + There none are swept by sudden fate away, + But all whom hunger spares, with age decay: + Here malice, rapine, accident, conspire, + And now a rabble rages, now a fire; + Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay, + And here the fell attorney prowls for prey; + Here falling houses thunder on your head, + And here a female atheist talks you dead. + + While Thales waits the wherry that contains + Of dissipated wealth the small remains, 20 + On Thames's bank in silent thought we stood, + Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood; + Struck with the seat that gave Eliza[2] birth, + We kneel and kiss the consecrated earth; + In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew, + And call Britannia's glories back to view; + Behold her cross triumphant on the main, + The guard of commerce, and the dread of Spain; + Ere masquerades debauch'd, excise oppress'd, + Or English honour grew a standing jest. 30 + + A transient calm the happy scenes bestow, + And for a moment lull the sense of woe. + At length awaking, with contemptuous frown, + Indignant Thales eyes the neighbouring town. + Since worth, he cries, in these degenerate days, + Wants e'en the cheap reward of empty praise; + In those cursed walls, devote to vice and gain, + Since unrewarded science toils in vain; + Since hope but soothes to double my distress, + And every moment leaves my little less; 40 + While yet my steady steps no staff sustains, + And life, still vigorous, revels in my veins, + Grant me, kind Heaven! to find some happier place, + Where honesty and sense are no disgrace; + Some pleasing bank, where verdant osiers play, + Some peaceful vale, with Nature's paintings gay, + Where once the harass'd Briton found repose, + And, safe in poverty, defied his foes: + Some secret cell, ye Powers indulgent! give; + Let--live here, for--has learn'd to live. 50 + Here let those reign whom pensions can incite + To vote a patriot black, a courtier white; + Explain their country's dear-bought rights away, + And plead for pirates[3] in the face of day; + With slavish tenets taint our poison'd youth, + And lend a lie the confidence of truth. + Let such raise palaces, and manors buy, + Collect a tax, or farm a lottery; + With warbling eunuchs fill our silenced stage, + And lull to servitude a thoughtless age. 60 + Heroes, proceed! what bounds your pride shall hold? + What check restrain your thirst of power and gold? + Behold rebellious virtue quite o'erthrown; + Behold our fame, our wealth, our lives your own! + + To such the plunder of a land is given, + When public crimes inflame the wrath of Heaven. + But what, my friend, what hope remains for me, + Who start at theft, and blush at perjury, + Who scarce forbear, though Britain's court he sing, + To pluck a titled poet's borrow'd wing; 70 + A statesman's logic unconvinced can hear, + And dare to slumber o'er the Gazetteer;[4] + Despise a fool in half his pension dress'd, + And strive in vain to laugh at Clodio's jest? + + Others, with softer smiles, and subtler art, + Can sap the principles, or taint the heart; + With more address a lover's note convey, + Or bribe a virgin's innocence away. + Well may they rise, while I, whose rustic tongue + Ne'er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong, 80 + Spurn'd as a beggar, dreaded as a spy, + Live unregarded, unlamented die. + + For what but social guilt the friend endears? + Who shares Orgilio's crimes, his fortune shares. + But thou, should tempting villany present + All Marlborough hoarded, or all Villiers spent, + Turn from the glittering bribe thy scornful eye, + Nor sell for gold what gold could never buy-- + The peaceful slumber, self-approving day, + Unsullied fame, and conscience ever gay. 90 + + The cheated nation's happy favourites see! + Mark whom the great caress, who frown on me! + London, the needy villain's general home, + The common-sewer of Paris and of Rome, + With eager thirst, by folly or by fate, + Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state. + Forgive my transports on a theme like this-- + I cannot bear a French metropolis. + + Illustrious Edward! from the realms of day, + The land of heroes and of saints survey; 100 + Nor hope the British lineaments to trace, + The rustic grandeur, or the surly grace; + But lost in thoughtless ease and empty show, + Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau; + Sense, freedom, piety, refin'd away, + Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey! + + All that at home no more can beg or steal, + Or like a gibbet better than a wheel; + Hiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the court, + Their air, their dress, their politics import; 110 + Obsequious, artful, voluble, and gay, + On Britain's fond credulity they prey. + No gainful trade their industry can 'scape. + They sing, they dance, clean shoes, or cure a clap: + All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows, + And bid him go to hell, to hell he goes. + Ah! what avails it that, from slavery far, + I drew the breath of life in English air; + Was early taught a Briton's right to prize, + And lisp the tale of Henry's victories; 120 + If the gull'd conqueror receives the chain, + And flattery prevails, when arms are vain? + + Studious to please, and ready to submit, + The supple Gaul was born a parasite: + Still to his interest true where'er he goes, + Wit, bravery, worth, his lavish tongue bestows; + In every face a thousand graces shine, + From every tongue flows harmony divine. + These arts in vain our rugged natives try, + Strain out, with faltering diffidence, a lie, 130 + And get a kick for awkward flattery. + + Besides, with justice, this discerning age + Admires their wondrous talents for the stage: + Well may they venture on the mimic's art, + Who play from morn to night a borrow'd part; + Practised their master's notions to embrace, + Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face; + With every wild absurdity comply, + And view its object with another's eye; + To shake with laughter ere the jest they hear, 140 + To pour at will the counterfeited tear; + And as their patron hints the cold or heat, + To shake in dog-days, in December sweat. + + How, when competitors like these contend, + Can surly Virtue hope to fix a friend? + Slaves that with serious impudence beguile, + And lie without a blush, without a smile, + Exalt each trifle, every vice adore, + Your taste in snuff, your judgment in a whore, + Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear 150 + He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air. + + For arts like these preferr'd, admired, caress'd, + They first invade your table, then your breast; + Explore your secrets with insidious art, + Watch the weak hour, and ransack all the heart; + Then soon your ill-placed confidence repay, + Commence your lords, and govern or betray. + + By numbers here from shame and censure free, + All crimes are safe, but hated poverty. + This, only this, the rigid law pursues, 160 + This, only this, provokes the snarling Muse; + The sober trader, at a tatter'd cloak, + Wakes from his dream, and labours for a joke; + With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze, + And turn the various taunt a thousand ways. + Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd, + Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest; + Fate never wounds more deep the generous heart, + Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart. + + Has Heaven reserved, in pity to the poor, 170 + No pathless waste or undiscover'd shore; + No secret island in the boundless main; + No peaceful desert yet unclaim'd by Spain?[5] + Quick let us rise, the happy seats explore, + And bear Oppression's insolence no more. + This mournful truth is every where confess'd, + SLOW RISES WORTH, BY POVERTY DEPRESS'D: + But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold, + Where looks are merchandise, and smiles are sold; + Where, won by bribes, by flatteries implored, 180 + The groom retails the favours of his lord. + + But hark! the affrighted crowd's tumultuous cries + Roll through the streets, and thunder to the skies: + Raised from some pleasing dream of wealth and power, + Some pompous palace, or some blissful bower, + Aghast you start, and scarce with aching sight + Sustain the approaching fire's tremendous light; + Swift from pursuing horrors take your way, + And leave your little ALL to flames a prey; + Then through the world a wretched vagrant roam, 190 + For where can starving merit find a home? + In vain your mournful narrative disclose, + While all neglect, and most insult your woes. + Should Heaven's just bolts Orgilio's wealth confound, + And spread his flaming palace on the ground, + Swift o'er the land the dismal rumour flies, + And public mournings pacify the skies; + The laureate tribe in venal verse relate, + How Virtue wars with persecuting Fate; + With well-feign'd gratitude the pension'd band 200 + Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land. + See! while he builds, the gaudy vassals come, + And crowd with sudden wealth the rising dome; + The price of boroughs and of souls restore, + And raise his treasures higher than before: + Now bless'd with all the baubles of the great, + The polish'd marble, and the shining plate, + Orgilio sees the golden pile aspire, + And hopes from angry Heaven another fire. + + Could'st thou resign the park and play, content, 210 + For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent, + There might'st thou find some elegant retreat, + Some hireling senator's deserted seat; + And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling land, + For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand; + There prune thy walks, support thy drooping flowers, + Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bowers; + And, while thy grounds a cheap repast afford, + Despise the dainties of a venal lord: + There every bush with Nature's music rings, 220 + There every breeze bears health upon its wings; + On all thy hours Security shall smile, + And bless thine evening walk and morning toil. + + Prepare for death, if here at night you roam, + And sign your will before you sup from home. + Some fiery fop, with new commission vain, + Who sleeps on brambles till he kills his man; + Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast, + Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest. + Yet e'en these heroes, mischievously gay, 230 + Lords of the street, and terrors of the way; + Flush'd as they are with folly, youth, and wine, + Their prudent insults to the poor confine; + Afar they mark the flambeaux's bright approach, + And shun the shining train, and golden coach. + + In vain, these dangers past, your doors you close, + And hope the balmy blessings of repose: + Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair, + The midnight murderer bursts the faithless bar; + Invades the sacred hour of silent rest, 240 + And leaves, unseen, a dagger in your breast. + + Scarce can our fields, such crowds at Tyburn die, + With hemp the gallows and the fleet supply. + Propose your schemes, ye senatorian band! + Whose ways and means support the sinking land, + Lest ropes be wanting in the tempting spring + To rig another convoy for the king.[6] + + A single jail, in Alfred's golden reign, + Could half the nation's criminals contain; + Fair Justice then, without constraint adored, 250 + Held high the steady scale, but sheathed the sword; + No spies were paid, no special juries known, + Blest age! but, ah! how different from our own! + + Much could I add--but see the boat at hand, + The tide retiring, calls me from the land: + Farewell!--When, youth, and health, and fortune spent + Thou fliest for refuge to the wilds of Kent; + And, tired like me with follies and with crimes, + In angry numbers warn'st succeeding times, + Then shall thy friend, nor thou refuse his aid, 260 + Still foe to vice, forsake his Cambrian shade; + In Virtue's cause once more exert his rage, + Thy satire point, and animate thy page. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Thales:' supposed to refer to Savage, who intended to +retire to Wales about this time, and who accomplished his purpose +soon after.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Eliza:' Queen Elizabeth.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Pirates:' the piracies of the Spaniards were openly +defended in Parliament.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Gazetteer:' the then ministerial paper.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Unclaimed by Spain:' Spain was said then to be claiming +some of our American provinces.] + +[Footnote 6: 'The king:' the nation was discontented at the visits +made by the king to Hanover.] + + * * * * * + + +THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. + + IN IMITATION OF THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. + + Let Observation, with extensive view, + Survey mankind from China to Peru; + Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, + And watch the busy scenes of crowded life; + Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate, + O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate, + Where wavering man, betray'd by venturous pride, + To tread the dreary paths without a guide, + As treacherous phantoms in the mist delude, + Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good; 10 + How rarely Reason guides the stubborn choice, + Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice; + How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd, + When Vengeance listens to the fool's request; + Fate wings with every wish the afflictive dart, + Each gift of Nature, and each grace of Art, + With fatal heat impetuous courage glows, + With fatal sweetness elocution flows, + Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful breath, + And restless fire precipitates on death! 20 + + But, scarce observed, the knowing and the bold + Fall in the general massacre of gold; + Wide-wasting pest! that rages unconfined, + And crowds with crimes the records of mankind + For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws, + For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws; + Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth, nor safety buys, + The dangers gather as the treasures rise. + + Let history tell, where rival kings command, + And dubious title shakes the madded land, 30 + When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, + How much more safe the vassal than the lord: + Low skulks the hind beneath the reach of power, + And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower; + Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound, + Though Confiscation's vultures hover round. + + The needy traveller, serene and gay, + Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away. + Does envy seize thee? Crush the upbraiding joy, + Increase his riches, and his peace destroy-- 40 + Now fears in dire vicissitude invade, + The rustling brake alarms, and quivering shade; + Nor light nor darkness brings his pain relief, + One shows the plunder, and one hides the thief. + Yet still one general cry the sky assails, + And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales; + Few know the toiling statesman's fear or care, + The insidious rival, and the gaping heir. + + Once more, Democritus! arise on earth, + With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth; 50 + See motley life in modern trappings dress'd, + And feed with varied fools the eternal jest: + Thou who could'st laugh where want enchain'd caprice, + Toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a piece: + Where wealth, unloved, without a mourner died; + And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride; + Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate, + Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state; + Where change of favourites made no change of laws, + And senates heard before they judged a cause; 60 + How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish tribe, + Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe! + Attentive, truth and nature to descry, + And pierce each scene with philosophic eye, + To thee were solemn toys or empty show + The robes of pleasure, and the veils of woe: + All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain, + Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are vain. + + Such was the scorn that fill'd the sage's mind, + Renew'd at every glance on human kind. 70 + How just that scorn, e'er yet thy voice declare, + Search every state, and canvass every prayer. + + Unnumber'd suppliants crowd Preferment's gate, + Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great; + Delusive Fortune hears the incessant call, + They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall. + On every stage the foes of peace attend, + Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks their end. + Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's door + Pours in the morning worshipper no more; 80 + For growing names the weekly scribbler lies, + To growing wealth the dedicator flies; + From every room descends the painted face, + That hung the bright Palladium of the place; + And smoked in kitchens, or in auctions sold, + To better features yields the frame of gold; + For now no more we trace in every line + Heroic worth, benevolence divine: + The form distorted justifies the fall, + And detestation rids the indignant wall. 90 + + But will not Britain hear the last appeal, + Sign her foes' doom, or guard her favourites' zeal? + Through Freedom's sons no more remonstrance rings, + Degrading nobles, and controlling kings; + Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats, + And ask no questions, but the price of votes; + With weekly libels and septennial ale, + Their wish is full to riot and to rail. + + In full-blown dignity see Wolsey stand, + Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand! 100 + To him the church, the realm, their powers consign, + Through him the rays of regal bounty shine; + Turn'd by his nod, the stream of honour flows, + His smile alone security bestows: + Still to new heights his restless wishes tower; + Claim leads to claim, and power advances power; + Till conquest unresisted ceased to please, + And rights submitted, left him none to seize. + At length his sovereign frowns--the train of state + Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate; 110 + Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye, + His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly; + Now drops at once the pride of awful state, + The golden canopy, the glittering plate, + The regal palace, the luxurious board, + The liveried army, and the menial lord. + With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd, + He seeks the refuge of monastic rest. + Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings, + And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. 120 + + Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace repine, + Shall Wolsey's wealth, with Wolsey's end, be thine? + Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content, + The wisest justice on the banks of Trent? + For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of Fate, + On weak foundations raise the enormous weight? + Why but to sink beneath Misfortune's blow, + With louder ruin, to the gulphs below! + What gave great Villiers to the assassin's knife, + And fix'd disease on Harley's closing life? 130 + What murder'd Wentworth, and what exiled Hyde, + By kings protected, and to kings allied? + What but their wish indulged, in courts to shine, + And power too great to keep, or to resign! + + When first the college rolls receive his name, + The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame; + Resistless burns the fever of renown, + Caught from the strong contagion of the gown: + O'er Bodley's dome his future labours spread, + And Bacon's[1] mansion trembles o'er his head. 140 + Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious youth, + And Virtue guard thee to the throne of Truth! + Yet, should thy soul indulge the generous heat, + Till captive Science yields her last retreat; + Should Reason guide thee with her brightest ray, + And pour on misty Doubt resistless day; + Should no false kindness lure to loose delight, + Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright; + Should tempting Novelty thy cell refrain, + And Sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain; 150 + Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart, + Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart; + Should no disease thy torpid veins invade, + Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade; + Yet hope not life from grief or danger free, + Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee: + Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, + And pause a while from learning, to be wise; + There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, + Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. 160 + See nations, slowly wise, and meanly just, + To buried merit raise the tardy bust. + If dreams yet flatter, once again attend, + Hear Lydiat's[2] life, and Galileo's end. + + Nor deem, when Learning her last prize bestows, + The glittering eminence exempt from foes; + See, when the vulgar 'scapes, despised or awed, + Rebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud. + From meaner minds though smaller fines content, + The plunder'd palace, or sequester'd rent, 170 + Mark'd out by dangerous parts he meets the shock, + And fatal Learning leads him to the block: + Around his tomb let Art and Genius weep, + But hear his death, ye blockheads! hear and sleep. + + The festal blazes, the triumphal show, + The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe, + The senate's thanks, the Gazette's pompous tale, + With force resistless o'er the brave prevail. + Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd; + For such the steady Romans shook the world; 180 + For such in distant lands the Britons shine, + And stain with blood the Danube or the Rhine; + This power has praise, that virtue scarce can warm, + Till Fame supplies the universal charm. + Yet Reason frowns on War's unequal game, + Where wasted nations raise a single name, + And mortgaged 'states their grandsires' wreaths regret, + From age to age in everlasting debt; + Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right convey + To rust on medals, or on stones decay. 190 + + On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, + How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide; + A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, + No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; + O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, + Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain; + No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, + War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; + Behold surrounding kings their powers combine, + And one capitulate, and one resign; 200 + Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain: + 'Think nothing gain'd,' he cries, 'till nought remain, + On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, + And all be mine beneath the polar sky.' + The march begins in military state, + And nations on his eye suspended wait; + Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, + And Winter barricades the realms of Frost; + He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay; + Hide, blushing Glory! hide Pultowa's day: 210 + The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, + And shows his miseries in distant lands; + Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, + While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. + But did not Chance at length her error mend? + Did no subverted empire mark his end? + Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound, + Or hostile millions press him to the ground? + His fall was destined to a barren strand, + A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; 220 + He left the name at which the world grew pale, + To point a moral, or adorn a tale. + + All times their scenes of pompous woe afford, + From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord. + In gay hostility, and barbarous pride, + With half mankind embattled at his side, + Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey, + And starves exhausted regions in his way; + Attendant Flattery counts his myriads o'er, + Till counted myriads soothe his pride no more; 230 + Fresh praise is tried, till madness fires his mind, + The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind; + New powers are claim'd, new powers are still bestow'd, + Till rude resistance lops the spreading god; + The daring Greeks deride the martial show, + And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; + The insulted sea with humbler thoughts he gains, + A single skiff to speed his flight remains; + The encumber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded coast + Through purple billows and a floating host. 240 + The bold Bavarian,[3] in a luckless hour, + Tries the dread summits of Cæsarean power, + With unexpected legions bursts away, + And sees defenceless realms receive his sway: + Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful charms, + The Queen, the Beauty, sets the world in arms; + From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze + Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise; + The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar, + With all the sons of ravage, crowd the war; 250 + The baffled prince, in Honour's flattering bloom, + Of hasty greatness finds the fatal doom, + His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame, + And steals to death from anguish and from shame. + + Enlarge my life with multitude of days,-- + In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays, + Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know + That life protracted is protracted woe. + Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, + And shuts up all the passages of joy: 260 + In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, + The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flower; + With listless eyes the dotard views the store-- + He views, and wonders that they please no more. + Now pall the tasteless meats and joyless wines, + And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns. + Approach, ye minstrels! try the soothing strain, + Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain: + No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious ear, + Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near: 270 + Nor lute nor lyre his feeble powers attend, + Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend; + But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, + Perversely grave, or positively wrong; + The still returning tale, and lingering jest, + Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest; + While growing hopes scarce awe the gathering sneer, + And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear; + The watchful guests still hint the last offence, + The daughter's petulance, the son's expense, 280 + Improve his heady rage with treacherous skill, + And mould his passions till they make his will. + + Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade, + Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade; + But unextinguish'd Avarice still remains, + And dreaded losses aggravate his pains; + He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands, + His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands; + Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes, + Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies. 290 + + But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime + Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime-- + An age that melts with unperceived decay, + And glides in modest innocence away, + Whose peaceful day Benevolence endears, + Whose night congratulating Conscience cheers; + The general favourite as the general friend: + Such age there is, and who shall wish its end? + + Yet e'en on this her load Misfortune flings, + To press the weary minutes' flagging wings; 300 + New sorrow rises as the day returns, + A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. + Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier, + Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear; + Year chases year, decay pursues decay, + Still drops some joy from withering life away; + New forms arise, and different views engage, + Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage, + Till pitying Nature signs the last release, + And bids afflicted worth retire to peace. 310 + + But few there are whom hours like these await, + Who set unclouded in the gulphs of Fate. + From Lydia's monarch[4] should the search descend, + By Solon caution'd to regard his end, + In life's last scene what prodigies surprise, + Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise! + From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage flow, + And Swift expires a driveller and a show. + + The teeming mother, anxious for her race, + Begs for each birth the fortune of a face: 320 + Yet Vane[5] could tell what ills from beauty spring; + And Sedley[6] cursed the form that pleased a king. + Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes, + Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise, + Whom joys with soft varieties invite, + By day the frolic, and the dance by night, + Who frown with vanity, who smile with art, + And ask the latest fashion of the heart; + What care, what rules your heedless charms shall save, + Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave? + The rival batters, and the lover mines. + With distant voice neglected Virtue calls, + Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls; + Tired with contempt, she quits the slippery reign, + And Pride and Prudence take her seat in vain; + In crowd at once, where none the pass defend, + The harmless freedom and the private friend. + The guardians yield, by force superior plied-- + To Interest, Prudence; and to Flattery, Pride. 340 + Here Beauty falls betray'd, despised, distress'd, + And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest. + + Where, then, shall Hope and Fear their objects find? + Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? + Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, + Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? + Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, + No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? + Inquirer, cease! petitions yet remain, + Which Heaven may hear, nor deem Religion vain. 350 + Still raise for good the supplicating voice, + But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice; + Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar + The secret ambush of a specious prayer, + Implore His aid, in His decisions rest, + Secure whate'er He gives, He gives the best. + Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires, + And strong devotion to the skies aspires, + Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, + Obedient passions, and a will resign'd; 360 + For love, which scarce collective man can fill; + For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill; + For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, + Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat: + These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain, + These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain; + With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, + And makes the happiness she does not find. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Bacon:' Friar, whose study was to fall when a wiser man +than he entered it] + +[Footnote 2: 'Lydiat:' a learned divine, who spent many of his days in +prison for debt; he lived in Charles the First's time.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Bavarian:' Charles Albert, who aspired to the empire of +Austria against Maria Theresa--but was baffled.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Lydia's monarch:' Croesus.] + +[Footnote 5: Vane: 'Lady Vane, a celebrated courtezan; her memoirs are +in 'Peregrine Pickle.'] + +[Footnote 6: 'Sedley:' mistress of James II.] + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + SPOKEN BY MR GARRICK, AT THE OPENING OF THE + THEATRE-ROYAL DRURY-LANE, 1747. + + When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes + First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose; + Each change of many-colour'd life he drew, + Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new: + Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, + And panting Time toil'd after him in vain; + His powerful strokes presiding Truth impress'd, + And unresisted Passion storm'd the breast. + + Then Jonson came, instructed from the school, + To please in method, and invent by rule; 10 + His studious patience and laborious art, + By regular approach essay'd the heart: + Cold Approbation gave the lingering bays, + For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise; + A mortal born, he met the general doom, + But left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb. + + The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame, + Nor wish'd for Jonson's art, or Shakspeare's flame. + Themselves they studied; as they felt, they writ: + Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit. 20 + Vice always found a sympathetic friend; + They pleased their age, and did not aim to mend. + Yet bards like these aspired to lasting praise, + And proudly hoped to pimp in future days. + Their cause was general, their supports were strong; + Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long: + Till Shame regain'd the post that Sense betray'd, + And Virtue call'd Oblivion to her aid. + + Then crush'd by rules, and weaken'd as refined, + For years the power of Tragedy declined; 30 + From bard to bard the frigid caution crept, + Till Declamation roar'd, whilst Passion slept; + Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread, + Philosophy remain'd though Nature fled. + But forced, at length, her ancient reign to quit, + She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of Wit; + Exulting Folly hail'd the joyous day, + And Pantomime and Song confirm'd her sway. + + But who the coming changes can presage, + And mark the future periods of the Stage? 40 + Perhaps if skill could distant times explore, + New Behns,[1] new Durfeys, yet remain in store; + Perhaps where Lear has raved, and Hamlet died, + On flying cars new sorcerers may ride; + Perhaps (for who can guess the effects of chance?) + Here Hunt[2] may box, or Mahomet[3] may dance. + Hard is his lot that, here by Fortune placed, + Must watch the wild vicissitudes of Taste; + With every meteor of Caprice must play, + And chase the new-blown bubbles of the day. 50 + Ah! let not Censure term our fate our choice, + The Stage but echoes back the public voice; + The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give, + For we that live to please, must please to live. + + Then prompt no more the follies you decry, + As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die; + 'Tis yours, this night, to bid the reign commence + Of rescued Nature, and reviving Sense; + To chase the charms of Sound, the pomp of Show, + For useful Mirth and salutary Woe; 60 + Bid scenic Virtue form the rising age, + And Truth diffuse her radiance from Stage. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Behn:' Afra, a popular but obscure novelist and +play-wright.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Hunt:' a famous stage-boxer.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Mahomet:' a rope-dancer.] + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + SPOKEN BY MR GARRICK BEFORE THE 'MASQUE OF COMUS,' + ACTED FOR THE BENEFIT OF MILTON'S GRANDDAUGHTER. + + Ye patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame! + Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name, + Whose generous zeal, unbought by flattering rhymes, + Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times! + Immortal patrons of succeeding days, + Attend this prelude of perpetual praise; + Let Wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage + With close Malevolence, or Public Rage; + Let Study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore, + Behold this theatre, and grieve no more. 10 + This night, distinguish'd by your smiles, shall tell + That never Briton can in vain excel: + The slightest arts futurity shall trust, + And rising ages hasten to be just. + + At length our mighty bard's victorious lays + Fill the loud voice of universal praise; + And baffled Spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, + Yields to Renown the centuries to come; + With ardent haste each candidate of fame, + Ambitious, catches at his towering name; 20 + He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow + Those pageant honours which he scorn'd below. + While crowds aloft the laureate bust behold, + Or trace his form on circulating gold, + Unknown--unheeded, long his offspring lay, + And Want hung threatening o'er her slow decay. + What though she shine with no Miltonian fire, + No favouring Muse her morning dreams inspire? + Yet softer claims the melting heart engage, + Her youth laborious, and her blameless age; 30 + Hers the mild merits of domestic life, + The patient sufferer, and the faithful wife. + Thus graced with humble Virtue's native charms, + Her grandsire leaves her in Britannia's arms; + Secure with peace, with competence to dwell, + While tutelary nations guard her cell. + Yours is the charge, ye fair! ye wise! ye brave! + 'Tis yours to crown desert--beyond the grave. + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + TO GOLDSMITH'S COMEDY OF 'THE GOOD-NATURED MAN,' 1769. + + Press'd by the load of life, the weary mind + Surveys the general toil of human kind; + With cool submission joins the labouring train, + And social sorrow loses half its pain. + Our anxious bard without complaint may share + This bustling season's epidemic care; + Like Caesar's pilot, dignified by Fate, + Toss'd in one common storm with all the great; + Distress'd alike the statesman and the wit, + When one the borough courts, and one the pit. 10 + The busy candidates for power and fame + Have hopes, and fears, and wishes just the same; + Disabled both to combat, or to fly, + Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply. + Unchecked, on both loud rabbles vent their rage, + As mongrels bay the lion in a cage. + The offended burgess hoards his angry tale, + For that blest year when all that vote may rail. + Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss, + Till that glad night when all that hate may hiss. 20 + + 'This day the powder'd curls and golden coat,' + Says swelling Crispin, 'begg'd a cobbler's vote;' + 'This night our wit,' the pert apprentice cries, + 'Lies at my feet; I hiss him, and he dies.' + The great, 'tis true, can charm the electing tribe, + The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe. + Yet, judged by those whose voices ne'er were sold, + He feels no want of ill-persuading gold; + But confident of praise, if praise be due, + Trusts without fear to merit and to you. 30 + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + TO THE COMEDY OF 'A WORD TO THE WISE,' SPOKEN BY + MR HULL. + + This night presents a play which public rage, + Or right, or wrong, once hooted from the stage; + From zeal or malice now no more we dread, + For English vengeance wars not with the dead. + A generous foe regards with pitying eye + The man whom Fate has laid--where all must lie. + + To Wit, reviving from its author's dust, + Be kind, ye judges! or at least be just. + For no renew'd hostilities invade + The oblivious grave's inviolable shade. 10 + Let one great payment every claim appease, + And him who cannot hurt, allow to please; + To please by scenes unconscious of offence, + By harmless merriment, or useful sense. + Where aught of bright or fair the piece displays, + Approve it only--'tis too late to praise. + If want of skill, or want of care appear, + Forbear to hiss--the poet cannot hear. + By all like him must praise and blame be found, + At best a fleeting dream, or empty sound. 20 + Yet then shall calm Reflection bless the night + When liberal Pity dignified delight; + When Pleasure fired her torch at Virtue's flame, + And Mirth was Bounty with an humbler name. + + * * * * * + + + SPRING. + + 1 Stern Winter now, by Spring repress'd, + Forbears the long-continued strife; + And Nature, on her naked breast, + Delights to catch the gales of life. + + 2 Now o'er the rural kingdom roves + Soft Pleasure with her laughing train; + Love warbles in the vocal groves, + And Vegetation paints the plain. + + 3 Unhappy! whom to beds of pain + Arthritic tyranny consigns; + Whom smiling Nature courts in vain, + Though Rapture sings, and Beauty shines. + + 4 Yet though my limbs disease invades, + Her wings Imagination tries, + And bears me to the peaceful shades + Where ----'s humble turrets rise. + + 5 Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight, + Nor from the pleasing groves depart, + Where first great Nature charm'd my sight, + Where Wisdom first inform'd my heart. + + 6 Here let me through the vales pursue + A guide--a father--and a friend; + Once more great Nature's works renew, + Once more on Wisdom's voice attend. + + 7 From false caresses, causeless strife, + Wild hope, vain fear, alike removed, + Here let me learn the use of life, + When best enjoy'd--when most improved. + + 8 Teach me, thou venerable bower! + Cool Meditation's quiet seat, + The generous scorn of venal power, + The silent grandeur of retreat. + + 9 When pride by guilt to greatness climbs, + Or raging factions rush to war, + Here let me learn to shun the crimes + I can't prevent, and will not share. + + 10 But lest I fall by subtler foes, + Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art, + The swelling passions to compose, + And quell the rebels of the heart! + + * * * * * + + + MIDSUMMER. + + 1 O Phoebus! down the western sky, + Far hence diffuse thy burning ray; + Thy light to distant worlds supply, + And wake them to the cares of day. + + 2 Come, gentle Eve! the friend of Care, + Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night! + Refresh me with a cooling breeze, + And cheer me with a lambent light. + + 3 Lay me where, o'er the verdant ground, + Her living carpet Nature spreads; + Where the green bower, with roses crown'd, + In showers its fragrant foliage sheds. + + 4 Improve the peaceful hour with wine; + Let music die along the grove; + Around the bowl let myrtles twine, + And every strain be tuned to love. + + 5 Come, Stella, queen of all my heart! + Come, born to fill its vast desires! + Thy looks perpetual joys impart, + Thy voice perpetual love inspires. + + 6 While, all my wish and thine complete, + By turns we languish and we burn, + Let sighing gales our sighs repeat, + Our murmurs, murmuring brooks return. + 7 Let me, when Nature calls to rest, + And blushing skies the morn foretell, + Sink on the down of Stella's breast, + And bid the waking world farewell. + + * * * * * + + + AUTUMN. + + 1 Alas! with swift and silent pace, + Impatient Time rolls on the year; + The seasons change, and Nature's face + Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe. + + 2 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay; + Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; + The flowers of Spring are swept away, + And Summer fruits desert the bough. + + 3 The verdant leaves that play'd on high, + And wanton'd on the western breeze, + Now trod in dust neglected lie, + As Boreas strips the bending trees. + + 4 The fields, that waved with golden grain, + As russet heaths are wild and bare; + Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain, + Nor Health, nor Pleasure wanders there. + + 5 No more, while through the midnight shade, + Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray, + Soft pleasing woes my heart invade, + As Prognè[1] pours the melting lay. + + 6 From this capricious clime she soars, + Oh! would some god but wings supply! + To where each morn the Spring restores, + Companion of her flight, I'd fly. + + 7 Vain wish! me Fate compels to bear + The downward season's iron reign, + Compels to breathe polluted air, + And shiver on a blasted plain. + + 8 What bliss to life can Autumn yield, + If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail, + And Ceres flies the naked field, + And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail? + + 9 Oh! what remains, what lingers yet, + To cheer me in the darkening hour? + The grape remains! the friend of wit, + In love and mirth of mighty power. + + 10 Haste--press the clusters, fill the bowl; + Apollo! shoot thy parting ray: + This gives the sunshine of the soul, + This god of health, and verse, and day. + + 11 Still, still the jocund strain shall flow, + The pulse with vigorous rapture beat; + My Stella with new charms shall glow, + And every bliss in wine shall meet. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Prognè:' the nightingale.] + + * * * * * + + + EPIGRAM + + ON GEORGE II. AND COLLEY CIBBER, ESQ. + + Augustus still survives in Maro's strain, + And Spenser's verse prolongs Eliza's reign; + Great George's acts let tuneful Cibber sing, + For Nature form'd the poet for the king. + + * * * * * + + + STELLA IN MOURNING. + + When lately Stella's form display'd + The beauties of the gay brocade, + The nymphs, who found their power decline, + Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine. + 'Fate! snatch away the bright disguise, + And let the goddess trust her eyes.' + Thus blindly pray'd the fretful fair, + And Fate, malicious, heard the prayer; + But brighten'd by the sable dress, + As Virtue rises in distress, + Since Stella still extends her reign, + Ah! how shall Envy soothe her pain? + The adoring Youth and envious Fair, + Henceforth shall form one common prayer; + And Love and Hate alike implore + The skies--that Stella mourn no more. + + * * * * * + + + TO STELLA. + + 1 Not the soft sighs of vernal gales, + The fragrance of the flowery vales, + The murmurs of the crystal rill, + The vocal grove, the verdant hill; + Not all their charms, though all unite, + Can touch my bosom with delight. + + 2 Not all the gems on India's shore, + Not all Peru's unbounded store, + Not all the power, nor all the fame, + That heroes, kings, or poets claim; + Nor knowledge, which the learn'd approve, + To form one wish my soul can move. + + 3 Yet Nature's charms allure my eyes, + And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize; + Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain, + Nor seek I Nature's charms in vain-- + In lovely Stella all combine, + And, lovely Stella! thou art mine. + + * * * * * + + +VERSES + + WRITTEN AT THE BEQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN TO WHOM A + LADY HAD GIVEN A SPRIG OF MYRTLE. + + What hopes, what terrors, does this gift create, + Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate! + The myrtle (ensign of supreme command, + Consign'd to Venus by Melissa's hand), + Not less capricious than a reigning fair, + Oft favours, oft rejects a lover's prayer. + In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain, + In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain. + The myrtle crowns the happy lovers' heads, + The unhappy lovers' graves the myrtle spreads. + Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart, + And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart; + Soon must this sprig, as you shall fix its doom, + Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb. + + * * * * * + + + TO LADY FIREBRACE,[1] + + AT BURY ASSIZES. + + At length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain, + So long renown'd in B--n's deathless strain? + Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace! might inspire + Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; + For such thy beauteous mind and lovely face, + Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph! a Muse and Grace. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Lady Firebrace:' daughter of P. Bacon, Ipswich, married +three times--to Philip Evers, Esq., to Sir Corbell Firebrace, and to +William Campbell, uncle of the Duke of Argyle.] + + * * * * * + + + TO LYCE, + + AN ELDERLY LADY. + + 1 Ye Nymphs whom starry rays invest, + By flattering poets given, + Who shine, by lavish lovers dress'd, + In all the pomp of Heaven. + + 2 Engross not all the beams on high, + Which gild a lover's lays, + But, as your sister of the sky, + Let Lycè share the praise. + + 3 Her silver locks display the moon, + Her brows a cloudy show, + Striped rainbows round her eyes are seen, + And showers from either flow. + + 4 Her teeth the night with darkness dyes; + She's starr'd with pimples o'er; + Her tongue like nimble lightning plies, + And can with thunder roar, + + 5 But some Zelinda, while I sing, + Denies my Lycè shines; + And all the pens of Cupid's wing + Attack my gentle lines. + + 6 Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye, + And all her bards express, + My Lycè makes as good a sky, + And I but flatter less. + + * * * * * + + + ON THE DEATH OF MR ROBERT LEVETT, + + A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC. + + 1 Condemned to Hope's delusive mine, + As on we toil from day to day, + By sudden blasts, or slow decline, + Our social comforts drop away. + + 2 Well tried through many a varying year, + See Levett to the grave descend; + Officious, innocent, sincere, + Of every friendless name the friend. + + 3 Yet still he fills Affection's eye, + Obscurely wise and coarsely kind; + Nor, letter'd Arrogance, deny + Thy praise to merit unrefined. + + 4 When fainting Nature call'd for aid, + And hovering Death prepared the blow, + His vigorous remedy display'd + The power of Art without the show. + + 5 In Misery's darkest cavern known, + His useful care was ever nigh; + Where hopeless Anguish pour'd his groan, + And lonely Want retired to die. + + 6 No summons, mock'd by chill delay; + No petty gain, disdain'd by pride; + The modest wants of every day, + The toil of every day supplied. + + 7 His virtues walk'd their narrow round, + Nor made a pause, nor left a void; + And sure the Eternal Master found + The single talent well employ'd, + + 8 The busy day--the peaceful night, + Unfelt, unclouded, glided by; + His frame was firm--his powers were bright, + Though now his eightieth year was nigh. + + 9 Then with no fiery, throbbing pain, + No cold gradations of decay, + Death broke at once the vital chain, + And freed his soul the nearest way. + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH ON CLAUDE PHILLIPS,[1] + + AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN. + + Phillips! whose touch harmonious could remove + The pangs of guilty power and hapless love, + Rest here; distress'd by poverty no more, + Find here that calm thou gav'st so oft before; + Sleep undisturb'd within this peaceful shrine, + Till angels wake thee with a note like thine. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Claude Phillips:' a Welsh travelling fiddler, greatly +admired.] + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH + + ON SIR THOMAS HANMER, BART. + + Thou who survey'st these walls with curious eye, + Pause at this tomb where Hanmer's ashes lie; + His various worth through varied life attend, 3 + And learn his virtues while thou mourn'st his end. + + His force of genius burn'd in early youth, + With thirst of knowledge, and with love of truth; + His learning, join'd with each endearing art, + Charm'd every ear, and gain'd on every heart. + + Thus early wise, the endanger'd realm to aid, + His country call'd him from the studious shade; 10 + In life's first bloom his public toils began, + At once commenced the senator and man. + + In business dexterous, weighty in debate, + Thrice ten long years he labour'd for the state; + In every speech persuasive wisdom flow'd, + In every act refulgent virtue glow'd: + Suspended faction ceased from rage and strife, + To hear his eloquence, and praise his life. + + Resistless merit fix'd the senate's choice, + Who hail'd him Speaker with united voice. 20 + Illustrious age! how bright thy glories shone, + While Hanmer fill'd the chair--and Anne the throne! + + Then when dark arts obscured each fierce debate, + When mutual frauds perplex'd the maze of state, + The moderator firmly mild appear'd-- + Beheld with love, with veneration heard. + + This task perform'd--he sought no gainful post, + Nor wish'd to glitter at his country's cost; + Strict on the right he fix'd his steadfast eye, + With temperate zeal and wise anxiety; 30 + Nor e'er from Virtue's paths was lured aside, + To pluck the flowers of pleasure, or of pride; + Her gifts despised, Corruption blush'd and fled, + And Fame pursued him where Conviction led. + + Age call'd, at length, his active mind to rest, + With honour sated, and with cares oppress'd: + To letter'd ease retired, and honest mirth. + To rural grandeur, and domestic worth: + Delighted still to please mankind, or mend, + The patriot's fire yet sparkled in the friend. 40 + + Calm Conscience then his former life survey'd, + And recollected toils endear'd the shade, + Till Nature call'd him to her general doom, + And Virtue's sorrow dignified his tomb. + + * * * * * + + + ON THE DEATH OF STEPHEN GREY, F.R.S., + + THE ELECTRICIAN. + + Long hast thou borne the burden of the day; + Thy task is ended, venerable Grey! + No more shall Art thy dexterous hand require, + To break the sleep of elemental fire; + To rouse the power that actuates Nature's frame, + The momentaneous shock, the electric flame; + The flame which first, weak pupil to thy lore, + I saw, condemn'd, alas! to see no more. + + Now, hoary sage! pursue thy happy flight; + With swifter motion, haste to purer light, 10 + Where Bacon waits, with Newton and with Boyle, + To hail thy genius and applaud thy toil; + Where intuition breathes through time and space, + And mocks Experiment's successive race; + Sees tardy Science toil at Nature's laws, + And wonders how the effect obscures the cause. + + Yet not to deep research or happy guess, + Is show'd the life of hope, the death of peace; + Unbless'd the man whom philosophic rage + Shall tempt to lose the Christian in the Sage: 20 + Not Art, but Goodness, pour'd the sacred ray + That cheer'd the parting hours of humble Grey. + + * * * * * + + + TO MISS HICKMAN, + + PLAYING ON THE SPINNET. + + Bright Stella! form'd for universal reign, + Too well you know to keep the slaves you gain: + When in your eyes resistless lightnings play, + Awed into love our conquer'd hearts obey, + And yield reluctant to despotic sway: + But when your music soothes the raging pain, + We bid propitious Heaven prolong your reign, + We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain. + + When old Timotheus struck the vocal string, + Ambition's fury fired the Grecian king: 10 + Unbounded projects labouring in his mind, + He pants for room, in one poor world confined. + Thus waked to rage, by Music's dreadful power, + He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour. + Had Stella's gentler touches moved the lyre, + Soon had the monarch felt a nobler fire: + No more delighted with destructive war, + Ambitious only now to please the fair; + Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms, + And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms. 20 + + * * * * * + + + PARAPHRASE + + OF PROVERBS, CHAP. IV. VERSES 6-11. + + "Go to the ant, thou sluggard!" + + Turn on the prudent ant thy heedless eyes, + Observe her labours, sluggard! and be wise. + No stern command, no monitory voice + Prescribes her duties or directs her choice; + Yet, timely provident, she hastes away, + To snatch the blessings of a plenteous day; + When fruitful Summer loads the teeming plain, + She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain. + + How long shall Sloth usurp thy useless hours, + Unnerve thy vigour, and unchain thy powers? 10 + While artful shades thy downy couch inclose, + And soft solicitation courts repose, + Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight, + Year chases year with unremitted flight; + Till Want now following, fraudulent and slow, + Shall spring to seize thee like an ambush'd foe. + + * * * * * + + + HORACE, + + LIB. IV. ODE VII. TRANSLATED. + + The snow, dissolved, no more is seen, + The fields and woods, behold! are green. + The changing year renews the plain, + The rivers know their banks again; + The sprightly Nymph and naked Grace + The mazy dance together trace; + The changing year's successive plan + Proclaims mortality to man. + Rough Winter's blasts to Spring give way, + Spring yields to Summer's sovereign ray; 10 + Then Summer sinks in Autumn's reign, + And Winter chills the world again: + Her losses soon the moon supplies, + But wretched man, when once he lies + Where Priam and his sons are laid, + Is nought but ashes, and a shade. + Who knows if Jove, who counts our score, + Will toss us in a morning more? + What with your friend you nobly share, + At least you rescue from your heir. 20 + Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome, + When Minos once has fix'd your doom, + Or eloquence, or splendid birth, + Or virtue, shall restore to earth. + Hippolytus, unjustly slain, + Diana calls to life in vain; + Nor can the might of Theseus rend + The chains of Hell that hold his friend. + + * * * * * + + + ON SEEING A BUST OF MRS MONTAGUE. + + Had this fair figure which this frame displays, + Adorn'd in Roman time the brightest days, + In every dome, in every sacred place, + Her statue would have breathed an added grace, + And on its basis would have been enroll'd, + 'This is Minerva, cast in Virtue's mould.' + + * * * * * + + + ANACREON, ODE NINTH. + + Lovely courier of the sky! + Whence and whither dost thou fly? + Scattering, as thy pinions play, + Liquid fragrance all the way; + Is it business? is it love? + Tell me, tell me, gentle dove! + + Soft Anacreon's vows I bear, + Vows to Myrtalè the fair; + Graced with all that charms the heart, + Blushing nature, smiling art. 10 + Venus, courted by an ode, + On the bard her dove bestow'd: + Vested with a master's right, + Now Anacreon rules my flight; + His the letters that you see, + Weighty charge, consign'd to me: + Think not yet my service hard, + Joyless task without reward; + Smiling at my master's gates, + Freedom my return awaits; 20 + But the liberal grant in vain + Tempts me to be wild again. + Can a prudent dove decline + Blissful bondage such as mine? + Over hills and fields to roam, + Fortune's guest without a home; + Under leaves to hide one's head, + Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed: + Now my better lot bestows + Sweet repast, and soft repose: 30 + Now the generous bowl I sip, + As it leaves Anacreon's lip: + Void of care and free from dread, + From his fingers snatch his bread; + Then with luscious plenty gay, + Round his chamber dance and play; + Or from wine as courage springs, + O'er his face extend my wings; + And when feast and frolic tire, + Drop asleep upon his lyre. 40 + This is all, be quick and go, + More than all thou canst not know; + Let me now my pinions ply, + I have chatter'd like a pye. + + * * * * * + + + LINES + + WRITTEN IN RIDICULE OF CERTAIN POEMS PUBLISHED + IN 1777. + + Wheresoe'er I turn my view, + All is strange, yet nothing new; + Endless labour all along, + Endless labour to be wrong; + Phrase that time has flung away, + Uncouth words in disarray, + Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet, + Ode, and elegy, and sonnet. + + * * * * * + + + PARODY OF A TRANSLATION + + FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES. + + 1 Err shall they not, who resolute explore + Time's gloomy backward with judicious eyes; + And, scanning right the practices of yore, + Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise. + + 2 They to the dome where smoke with curling play + Announced the dinner to the regions round, + Summon'd the singer blithe, and harper gay, + And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound. + + 3 The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill, + By quivering string or modulated wind, + Trumpet or lyre--to their harsh bosoms chill, + Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find. + + 4 Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun, + Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around; + Where gloom-enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell, + And Murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound. + + 5 When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish, + And purple nectar glads the festive hour; + The guest, without a want, without a wish, + Can yield no room to music's soothing power. + + * * * * * + + + BURLESQUE + + ON THE MODERN VERSIFICATION OF ANCIENT LEGENDARY + TALES: AN IMPROMPTU. + + The tender infant, meek and mild, + Fell down upon the stone; + The nurse took up the squealing child, + But still the child squeal'd on. + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH FOR MR HOGARTH. + + The hand of him here torpid lies, + That drew the essential form of grace; + Here closed in death the attentive eyes, + That saw the manners in the face. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION + +OF THE TWO FIRST STANZAS OF THE SONG 'RIO VERDE, RIO VERDE,' PRINTED +IN BISHOP PERCY'S 'RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY:' AN IMPROMPTU. + + Glassy water, glassy water, + Down whose current, clear and strong, + Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter, + Moor and Christian, roll along. + + * * * * * + + + TO MRS THRALE, + + ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH YEAR. AN IMPROMPTU. + + Oft in danger, yet alive, + We are come to thirty-five; + Long may better years arrive, + Better years than thirty-five. + Could philosophers contrive + Life to stop at thirty-five, + Time his hours should never drive + O'er the bounds of thirty-five. + High to soar, and deep to dive, + Nature gives at thirty-five; 10 + Ladies, stock and tend your hive, + Trifle not at thirty-five; + For, howe'er we boast and strive, + Life declines from thirty-five; + He that ever hopes to thrive, + Must begin by thirty-five; + And all who wisely wish to wive + Must look on Thrale at thirty-five. + + * * * * * + + + IMPROMPTU TRANSLATION + +OF AN AIR IN THE 'CLEMENZA DE TITO' OF METASTASIO, BEGINNING, 'DEH! SE +PIACERMI VUOI.' + + Would you hope to gain my heart, + Bid your teasing doubts depart. + He who blindly trusts will find, + Faith from every generous mind; + He who still expects deceit, + Only teaches how to cheat. + + * * * * * + + + LINES + + WRITTEN UNDER A PRINT REPRESENTING PERSONS SKAITING. + + + O'er crackling ice, o'er gulfs profound, + With nimble glide the skaiters play; + O'er treacherous Pleasure's flowery ground + Thus lightly skim, and haste away. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION + +OF A SPEECH OF AQUILEIO IN THE 'ADRIANO' OF METASTASIO, BEGINNING, 'TU +CHE IN CORTE INVECCHIASTI.' + + Grown old in courts, thou art not surely one + Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour: + Well skill'd to soothe a foe with looks of kindness, + To sink the fatal precipice before him, + And then lament his fall with seeming friendship: + Open to all, true only to thyself, + Thou know'st those arts which blast with envious praise, + Which aggravate a fault with feign'd excuses, + And drive discountenanced Virtue from the throne + That leave the blame of rigour to the prince, 10 + And of his every gift usurp the merit; + That hide in seeming zeal a wicked purpose, + And only build upon each other's ruin. + + * * * * * + + + IMPROMPTU + +ON HEARING MISS THRALE CONSULTING WITH A FRIEND ABOUT A GOWN AND HAT +SHE WAS INCLINED TO WEAR. + + Wear the gown, and wear the hat, + Snatch thy pleasures while they last; + Hadst thou nine lives, like a cat, + Soon those nine lives would be past. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL. + + PASTORAL I. + + _Mileboeus_. Now, Tityrus, you supine and careless laid, + Play on your pipe beneath yon beechen shade; + While wretched we about the world must roam, + And leave our pleasing fields, and native home; + Here at your ease you sing your amorous flame, + And the wood rings with Amaryllis' name. + + _Tityrus_. Those blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd, + For I shall never think him less than god; + Oft on his altars shall my firstlings lie, + Their blood the consecrated stones shall dye: 10 + He gave my flocks to graze the flowery meads, + And me to tune at ease the unequal reeds. + + _Mileboeus._ My admiration only I express'd, + (No spark of envy harbours in my breast), + That when confusion o'er the country reigns, + To you alone this happy state remains. + Here I, though faint myself, must drive my goats, + Far from their ancient fields and humble cots. + This scarce I lead, who left on yonder rock + Two tender kids, the hopes of all the flock. 20 + Had we not been perverse and careless grown, + This dire event by omens was foreshown; + Our trees were blasted by the thunder stroke, + And left-hand crows, from an old hollow oak, + Foretold the coming evil by their dismal croak. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION OF HORACE. + + BOOK I. ODE XXII. + + 1 The man, my friend, whose conscious heart + With virtue's sacred ardour glows, + Nor taints with death the envenom'd dart, + Nor needs the guard of Moorish bows: + + 2 Though Scythia's icy cliffs he treads, + Or horrid Afric's faithless sands; + Or where the famed Hydaspes spreads + His liquid wealth o'er barbarous lands. + + 3 For while, by Chlöe's image charm'd, + Too far in Sabine woods I stray'd; + Me singing, careless and unarm'd, + A grisly wolf surprised, and fled. + + 4 No savage more portentous stain'd + Apulia's spacious wilds with gore; + None fiercer Juba's thirsty land, + Dire nurse of raging lions, bore. + + 5 Place me where no soft summer gale + Among the quivering branches sighs; + Where clouds condensed for ever veil + With horrid gloom the frowning skies: + + 6 Place me beneath the burning line, + A clime denied to human race; + I'll sing of Chlöe's charms divine, + Her heavenly voice, and beauteous face. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION OF HORACE. + + BOOK II. ODE IX. + + + 1 Clouds do not always veil the skies, + Nor showers immerse the verdant plain; + Nor do the billows always rise, + Or storms afflict the ruffled main. + + 2 Nor, Valgius, on the Armenian shores + Do the chain'd waters always freeze; + Not always furious Boreas roars, + Or bends with violent force the trees. + + 3 But you are ever drown'd in tears, + For Mystes dead you ever mourn; + No setting Sol can ease your cares, + But finds you sad at his return. + + 4 The wise, experienced Grecian sage + Mourn'd not Antilochus so long; + Nor did King Priam's hoary age + So much lament his slaughter'd son. + 5 Leave off, at length, these woman's sighs, + Augustus' numerous trophies sing; + Repeat that prince's victories, + To whom all nations tribute bring. + + 6 Niphates rolls an humbler wave, + At length the undaunted Scythian yields, + Content to live the Romans' slave, + And scarce forsakes his native fields. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION + +OF PART OF THE DIALOGUE BETWEEN HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.--FROM THE SIXTH +BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD. + + She ceased: then godlike Hector answer'd kind, + (His various plumage sporting in the wind): + That post, and all the rest, shall be my care; + But shall I then forsake the unfinish'd war? + How would the Trojans brand great Hector's name, + And one base action sully all my fame, + Acquired by wounds and battles bravely fought! + Oh! how my soul abhors so mean a thought! + Long have I learn'd to slight this fleeting breath, + And view with cheerful eyes approaching death. 10 + The inexorable Sisters have decreed + That Priam's house and Priam's self shall bleed: + The day shall come, in which proud Troy shall yield, + And spread its smoking ruins o'er the field; + Yet Hecuba's, nor Priam's hoary age, + Whose blood shall quench some Grecian's thirsty rage, + Nor my brave brothers that have bit the ground, + Their souls dismiss'd through many a ghastly wound, + Can in my bosom half that grief create, + As the sad thought of your impending fate; 20 + When some proud Grecian dame shall tasks impose, + Mimic your tears, and ridicule your woes: + Beneath Hyperia's waters shall you sweat, + And, fainting, scarce support the liquid weight: + Then shall some Argive loud insulting cry, + Behold the wife of Hector, guard of Troy! + Tears, at my name, shall drown those beauteous eyes, + And that fair bosom heave with rising sighs: + Before that day, by some brave hero's hand, + May I lie slain, and spurn the bloody sand! 30 + + * * * * * + + + TO MISS * * * * + +ON HER PLAYING UPON A HARPSICHORD IN A ROOM HUNG WITH FLOWER-PIECES OF +HER OWN PAINTING. + + When Stella strikes the tuneful string, + In scenes of imitated Spring, + Where beauty lavishes her powers + On beds of never-fading flowers, + And pleasure propagates around + Each charm of modulated sound; + Ah! think not, in the dangerous hour, + The nymph fictitious as the flower, + But shun, rash youth! the gay alcove, + Nor tempt the snares of wily love. 10 + + When charms thus press on every sense, + What thought of flight or of defence? + Deceitful hope or vain desire, + For ever flutter o'er her lyre, + Delighting, as the youth draws nigh, + To point the glances of her eye, + And forming, with unerring art, + New chains to hold the captive heart. + + But on those regions of delight + Might truth intrude with daring flight, 20 + Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young, + One moment hear the moral song, + Instruction with her flowers might spring, + And wisdom warble from her string. + + Mark, when, from thousand mingled dyes, + Thou seest one pleasing form arise, + How active light and thoughtful shade + In greater scenes each other aid; + Mark, when the different notes agree + In friendly contrariety, 30 + How passion's well accorded strife, + Gives all the harmony of life: + Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame, + Consistent still, though not the same; + Thy music teach the nobler art, + To tune the regulated heart. + + * * * * * + + + EVENING: AN ODE. + + TO STELLA. + + Evening now, from purple wings, + Sheds the grateful gifts she brings; + Brilliant drops bedeck the mead, + Cooling breezes shake the reed-- + Shake the reed, and curl the stream, + Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam; + Near, the chequer'd, lonely grove, + Hears, and keeps thy secrets, Love. + Stella, thither let us stray + Lightly o'er the dewy way! 10 + Phoebus drives his burning car, + Hence, my lovely Stella, far; + In his stead, the Queen of Night + Round us pours a lambent light; + Light that seems but just to show + Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow; + Let us now, in whisper'd joy, + Evening's silent hours employ, + Silence best, and conscious shades, + Please the hearts that love invades; 20 + Other pleasures give them pain, + Lovers all but love disdain. + + * * * * * + + + TO THE SAME. + + Whether Stella's eyes are found + Fix'd on earth, or glancing round, + If her face with pleasure glow, + If she sigh at others' woe, + If her easy air express + Conscious worth or soft distress, + Stella's eyes, and air, and face, + Charm with undiminish'd grace. + + If on her we see display'd + Pendent gems, and rich brocade, 10 + If her chintz with less expense + Flows in easy negligence; + Still she lights the conscious flame, + Still her charms appear the same; + If she strikes the vocal strings, + If she's silent, speaks, or sings, + If she sit, or if she move, + Still we love, and still approve. + + Vain the casual transient glance, + Which alone can please by chance-- 20 + Beauty, which depends on art, + Changing with the changing heart, + Which demands the toilet's aid, + Pendent gems, and rich brocade. + I those charms alone can prize + Which from constant Nature rise, + Which nor circumstance, nor dress, + E'er can make, or more, or less. + + * * * * * + + + TO A FRIEND. + + No more thus brooding o'er yon heap, + With Avarice painful vigils keep; + Still unenjoy'd the present store, + Still endless sighs are breathed for more. + Oh! quit the shadow, catch the prize, + Which not all India's treasure buys! + To purchase Heaven, has gold the power? + Can gold remove the mortal hour? + In life, can love be bought with gold? + Are friendship's pleasures to be sold? 10 + No; all that's worth a wish--a thought, + Fair Virtue gives unbribed, unbought. + Cease, then, on trash thy hopes to bind, + Let nobler views engage thy mind. + + With Science tread the wondrous way, + Or learn the Muse's moral lay; + In social hours indulge thy soul, + Where Mirth and Temperance mix the bowl; + To virtuous love resign thy breast, + And be, by blessing beauty, blest. 20 + + Thus taste the feast by Nature spread, + Ere youth and all its joys are fled; + Come, taste with me the balm of life, + Secure from pomp, and wealth, and strife! + I boast whate'er for man was meant, + In health, in Stella, and content; + And scorn, oh! let that scorn be thine, + Mere things of clay, that dig the mine! + + * * * * * + + + TO A YOUNG LADY, + + ON HER BIRTHDAY. + + This tributary verse receive, my fair, + Warm with an ardent lover's fondest prayer. + May this returning day for ever find + Thy form more lovely, more adorn'd thy mind; + All pains, all cares, may favouring Heaven remove, + All but the sweet solicitudes of love! + May powerful Nature join with grateful Art, + To point each glance, and force it to the heart! + Oh then, when conquer'd crowds confess thy sway, + When even proud Wealth and prouder Wit obey, 10 + My fair, be mindful of the mighty trust, + Alas! 'tis hard for beauty to be just! + Those sovereign charms with strictest care employ; + Nor give the generous pain, the worthless joy: + With his own form acquaint the forward fool, + Shown in the faithful glass of Ridicule; + Teach mimic Censure her own faults to find, + No more let coquettes to themselves be blind, + So shall Belinda's charms improve mankind. + + * * * * * + + + EPILOGUE + +INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY A LADY WHO WAS TO PERSONATE 'THE GHOST +OF HERMIONE.' + + Ye blooming train, who give despair or joy, + Bless with a smile, or with a frown destroy; + In whose fair cheeks destructive Cupids wait, + And with unerring shafts distribute fate; + Whose snowy breasts, whose animated eyes, + Each youth admires, though each admirer dies; + Whilst you deride their pangs in barbarous play, + Unpitying see them weep, and hear them pray, + And unrelenting sport ten thousand lives away: + For you, ye fair! I quit the gloomy plains, 10 + Where sable Night in all her horror reigns; + No fragrant bowers, no delightful glades, + Receive the unhappy ghosts of scornful maids. + For kind, for tender nymphs, the myrtle blooms, + And weaves her bending boughs in pleasing glooms; + Perennial roses deck each purple vale, + And scents ambrosial breathe in every gale; + Far hence are banish'd vapours, spleen, and tears, + Tea, scandal, ivory teeth, and languid airs; + No pug, nor favourite Cupid there enjoys 20 + The balmy kiss for which poor Thyrsis dies; + Form'd to delight, they use no foreign arms, + No torturing whalebones pinch them into charms; + No conscious blushes there their cheeks inflame, + For those who feel no guilt can know no shame; + Unfaded still their former charms they show, + Around them pleasures wait, and joys for ever new. + But cruel virgins meet severer fates; + Expell'd and exiled from the blissful seats, + To dismal realms, and regions void of peace, 30 + Where furies ever howl, and serpents hiss, + O'er the sad plains perpetual tempests sigh, + And poisonous vapours, blackening all the sky, + With livid hue the fairest face o'ercast, + And every beauty withers at the blast: + Where'er they fly, their lovers' ghosts pursue, + Inflicting all those ills which once they knew; + Vexation, fury, jealousy, despair, + Vex every eye, and every bosom tear; + Their foul deformities by all descried, 40 + No maid to flatter, and no paint to hide. + Then melt, ye fair, while crowds around you sigh, + Nor let disdain sit lowering in your eye; + With pity soften every awful grace, + And beauty smile auspicious in each face + To ease their pain exert your milder power; + So shall you guiltless reign, and all mankind adore. + + * * * * * + + + THE YOUNG AUTHOR. + + When first the peasant, long inclined to roam, + Forsakes his rural sports and peaceful home, + Pleased with the scene the smiling ocean yields, + He scorns the verdant meads and flowery fields: + Then dances jocund o'er the watery way, + While the breeze whispers, and the streamers play: + Unbounded prospects in his bosom roll, + And future millions lift his rising soul; + In blissful dreams he digs the golden mine, + And raptured sees the new-found ruby shine. 10 + Joys insincere! thick clouds invade the skies, + Loud roar the billows, high the waves arise; + Sickening with fear, he longs to view the shore, + And vows to trust the faithless deep no more. + So the young author, panting after fame, + And the long honours of a lasting name, + Intrusts his happiness to human kind, + More false, more cruel than the seas or wind! + + Toil on, dull crowd! in ecstasies he cries, + For wealth or title, perishable prize; 20 + While I those transitory blessings scorn, + Secure of praise from ages yet unborn. + This thought once form'd, all counsel comes too late, + He flies to press, and hurries on his fate; + Swiftly he sees the imagined laurels spread, + And feels the unfading wreath surround his head. + Warn'd by another's fate, vain youth be wise, + Those dreams were Settle's[1] once, and Ogilby's![2] + The pamphlet spreads, incessant hisses rise, + To some retreat the baffled writer flies, 30 + Where no sour critics snarl, no sneers molest, + Safe from the tart lampoon, and stinging jest; + There begs of Heaven a less distinguish'd lot-- + Glad to be hid, and proud to be forgot. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Settle;' see Life of Dryden.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Ogilby:' a poor translator.] + + * * * * * + + + FRIENDSHIP: AN ODE. + + PRINTED IN THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 1743. + + 1 Friendship, peculiar boon of Heaven, + The noble mind's delight and pride-- + To men and angels only given, + To all the lower world denied! + + 2 While love, unknown among the blest, + Parent of thousand wild desires, + The savage and the human breast + Torments alike with raging fires; + + 3 With bright, but oft destructive gleam, + Alike o'er all his lightnings fly; + Thy lambent glories only beam + Around the favourites of the sky. + + 4 Thy gentle flows of guiltless joys, + On fools and villains ne'er descend; + In vain for thee the tyrant sighs, + And hugs a flatterer for a friend. + + 5 Directress of the brave and just, + Oh, guide us through life's darksome way! + And let the tortures of mistrust + On selfish bosoms only prey. + + 6 Nor shall thine ardours cease to glow, + When souls to peaceful climes remove: + What raised our virtue here below, + Shall aid our happiness above. + + * * * * * + + + IMITATION OF THE STYLE OF[1] * * * + + 1 Hermit hoar, in solemn cell + Wearing out life's evening gray, + Strike thy bosom, sage, and tell + What is bliss, and which the way. + + 2 Thus I spoke, and speaking sigh'd, + Scarce repress'd the starting tear, + When the hoary sage replied, + 'Come, my lad, and drink some beer.' + + * * * * * + + + ONE AND TWENTY. + + 1 Long-expected one-and-twenty, + Lingering year, at length is flown: + Pride and pleasure, pomp and plenty, + Great * * *, are now your own. + + 2 Loosen'd from the minor's tether, + Free to mortgage or to sell, + Wild as wind, and light as feather, + Bid the sons of thrift farewell. + + 3 Call the Betsies, Kates, and Jennies, + All the names that banish care; + Lavish of your grandsire's guineas, + Show the spirit of an heir. + + 4 All that prey on vice and folly + Joy to see their quarry fly: + There the gamester, light and jolly; + There the lender, grave and sly. + + 5 Wealth, my lad, was made to wander, + Let it wander as it will; + Call the jockey, call the pander, + Bid them come and take their fill. + + 6 When the bonny blade carouses, + Pockets full, and spirits high-- + What are acres? what are houses? + Only dirt, or wet, or dry. + + 7 Should the guardian friend or mother + Tell the woes of wilful waste: + Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother, + You can hang or drown at last. + + +[Footnote 1: Supposed to be Percy.] + + * * * * * + +END OF JOHNSON'S POEMS. + + * * * * * + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +THOMAS PARNELL. + + + TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE + + ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD AND EARL MORTIMER. + + Such were the notes thy once-loved poet sung, + Till Death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue. + Oh, just beheld, and lost! admired, and mourn'd! + With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn'd, + Blest in each science, blest in every strain, + Dear to the Muse, to Harley dear--in vain! + + For him, thou oft hast bid the world attend, + Fond to forget the statesman in the friend; + For Swift and him, despised the farce of state, + The sober follies of the wise and great; + Dexterous the craving, fawning crowd to quit, + And pleased to 'scape from flattery to wit. + + Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear, + (A sigh the absent claims--the dead, a tear) + Recall those nights that closed thy toilsome days, + Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays: + Who careless, now, of interest, fame, or fate, + Perhaps forgets that Oxford e'er was great; + Or deeming meanest what we greatest call, + Beholds thee glorious only in thy fall. + + And sure if ought below the seats divine + Can touch immortals, 'tis a soul like thine: + A soul supreme, in each hard instance tried, + Above all pain, all anger, and all pride, + The rage of power, the blast of public breath, + The lust of lucre, and the dread of death. + + In vain to deserts thy retreat is made; + The Muse attends thee to the silent shade: + 'Tis hers, the brave man's latest steps to trace, + Re-judge his acts, and dignify disgrace. + When Interest calls off all her sneaking train, + When all the obliged desert, and all the vain, + She waits; or, to the scaffold, or the cell, + When the last lingering friend has bid farewell. + Even now she shades thy evening walk with bays, + (No hireling she, no prostitute to praise) + Even now, observant of the parting ray, + Eyes the calm sunset of thy various day, + Through fortune's cloud one truly great can see, + Nor fears to tell that MORTIMER is he. + + _September_ 25, 1721. A. POPE. + + +THE LIFE AND POETRY OF THOMAS PARNELL. + +Parnell is the third in a trio of poetical clergymen whose names have +immediately succeeded each other in this edition. Bowles, Churchill, +and Parnell were all clergymen, and all poets; but in other respects +differed materially from each other. In Bowles, the clerical and the +poetical characters were on the whole well attuned and harmonised. In +Churchill, they came to an open rupture. In Parnell, they were neither +ruptured nor reconciled, but maintained an ambiguous relation, till +his premature death settled the moot point for ever. + +The life of this poet has been written by Goldsmith, by Johnson, by +the Rev. John Mitford, and others; but, after all, very little is +known about him. Thomas Parnell was the descendant of an ancient +family, which had been settled for some hundreds of years at +Congleton, Cheshire. His father, whose name also was Thomas, took the +side of the Commonwealth, and at the Restoration went over to Ireland, +where he purchased a considerable property. This, along with his +estate in Cheshire, devolved to the poet. His father had a second son, +John, whose descendants were created baronets. The late Sir Henry +Parnell, for some years the respected member of Parliament for the +town of Dundee, where we now write, was the great-great-grandson of +the poet's father. Parnell was born in Dublin, in the year 1679. He +was sent to a school taught by one Dr Jones. Here he is said to have +distinguished himself by the readiness and retentiveness of his +memory; often performing the task allotted for days in a few hours, +and being able to repeat forty lines in any book of poems, after the +first reading. It is a proof of the prematurity of his powers, that he +entered Trinity College, Dublin, at the age of thirteen, where his +compositions attracted attention from the extent of classical lore +which they discovered. He took the degree of M.A. in 1700; and the +same year (through a dispensation on account of being under age) was +ordained deacon by the Bishop of Deny. Three years after, he was +ordained priest; and in 1705, he was made Archdeacon of Clogher, by +Sir George Ashe, bishop of that see. So soon as he received the +archdeanery, he married Miss Ann Minchin, who is described as a young +lady of great beauty, and of an amiable character, by whom he had two +sons, who died young, and a daughter, who long survived both +her parents. + +Up to the triumph of the Tories, at the end of Queen Anne's reign, +Parnell appears to have been, like his father, a keen Whig. He was at +that time, however, induced, for motives which his biographers call +obscure, but which to us seem obvious enough, on the well-known +principle of the popularity of the rising sun, to change his party; +and he was hailed by the Tories as a valuable accession to their +ranks. This proves that his talents were even then known; a fact +corroborated by Johnson's statement, that while he was waiting in the +outer-room at Lord Oxford's levee, the prime minister, when told he +was there, went out, at the persuasion of Swift, with his treasurer's +staff in his hand, and saluted him in the most flattering manner. He +became, either before or immediately after this, intimate with Pope, +Swift, Gay, and the rest of that brilliant set, who all appear to have +loved him for his social qualities, to have admired his genius, and to +have pitied his infirmities. He was a member of the Scriblerus Club, +and contributed some trifles to their transactions. He was, at the +same time, intimate with Addison and Steele, and wrote a few papers in +the "Spectator." To Pope, he was of essential service, assisting him +in his notes to the "Iliad," being, what Pope was not, a good Greek +scholar. He wrote a life of Homer, which was prefixed to the +Translation, although stiff in style, and fabulous in statement. He +gratified Pope's malicious spirit still more by writing, under the +guise of a "Life of Zoilus," a bitter attack on Dennis--the great +object of the poet's fear and mortal abhorrence. For these and other +services, Pope rewarded him, after his usual manner, with large +offerings of that sweet and suffocating incense, by which he +delighted, now to gain his enemies, and now to gratify his friends. +With Gay, also, Parnell was intimate; and the latter, himself +independent by his fortune, is said to have bestowed on this needy and +improvident genius the price of the copyright of his works. + +Parnell first visited London in 1706; and from that period till his +death, scarcely a year elapsed without his spending some time in the +metropolis. He seems to have had as intense a relish of London life as +Johnson and Boswell exhibited in the next age. So soon as he had +collected his rents, he hied to the capital, and there enjoyed himself +to the top of his bent. He jested with the Scriblerus Club. He quaffed +now and then with Lord Oxford. He varied his round of amusements by +occasional professional exhibitions in the pulpits of Southwark and +elsewhere,--made, we fear, more from a desire to display himself, than +to benefit his hearers. Still his sermons were popular; and he +entertained at one time the hope,--a hope blasted by the death of +Queen Anne,--of being preferred to a city charge. So soon as each +London furlough was expired, he returned to Ireland, jaded and +dispirited, and there took delight in nursing his melancholy; in +pining for the amusements of the metropolis; in shunning and sneering +at the society around him; and in abusing his native bogs and his +fellow-countrymen in verse. This was not manly, far less Christian +conduct. He ought to have drowned his recollections of London in +active duty, or in diligent study; and if he found society coarse or +corrupt, he should have set himself to refine and to purify it. But he +seems to have been a lazy, luxurious person--his life a round of +selfish rapture and selfish anguish,--in fact, ruined by his +independent fortune. Had he been a poorer, he had probably been a +happier man. He was not, moreover, of that self-contained cast of +character, which can live on its own resources, create its own world, +and say, "My mind to me a kingdom is." + +In 1712 he lost his wife, with whom he appears to have lived as +happily as his morbid temperament and mortified feelings would permit. +This blow deepened his melancholy, and drove him, it is said, to an +excessive and habitual use of wine. In the same year we find him in +London, brought out once more under the "special patronage" of Dean +Swift, who had quite a penchant for Parnell, and who wished, through +his side, to mortify certain persons in Ireland, who did not +appreciate, he says, the Archdeacon; and who, we suspect, besides, did +not thoroughly appreciate the Dean. Swift, partly in pity for the +"poor lad," as he calls him, whom he saw to be in such imminent danger +of losing caste and character, and partly in the true patronising +spirit, introduced Parnell to Lord Bolingbroke, who received him +kindly, entertained him at dinner, and encouraged him in his poetical +studies. The Dean's patronage, however, was of little avail in this +matter to the protégé; Bolingbroke, a man of many promises, and few +performances, did nothing for him. The consequences of dissipation +began, at this time, too, to appear in Parnell's constitution; and we +find Swift saying of him, "His head is out of order, like mine, but +more constant, poor boy." It was perhaps to this period that Pope +referred, when he told Spence, "Parnell is a great follower of drams, +and strangely open and scandalous in his debaucheries." If so, his bad +habits seem to have sprung as much from disappointment and discontent +as from taste. + +Yet Swift continued his friend, and it was at his instance that, in +1713, Archbishop King presented Parnell with a prebend. In 1714, his +hope of London promotion died with Queen Anne; but in 1716, the same +generous Archbishop bestowed on him the vicarage of Finglass, in the +diocese of Dublin, worth £400 a-year. This preferment, however, the +poet did not live long to enjoy,--dying at Chester, in July +1717, on his way to Ireland, aged thirty-eight years. His estates +passed to his nephew, Sir John Parnell. He had, in the course of his +life, composed a great deal of poetry; much of it, indeed, _invita_ +Minerva. After his death, Pope collected the best pieces, and +published them, with a dedication to Lord Oxford. Goldsmith, in his +edition, added two or three; and other editors, a good many poems, of +which we have only inserted one, deeming the rest unworthy of his +memory. In 1788 a volume was published, entitled, "The Posthumous +Works of Dr T. Parnell, containing poems moral and divine." These, +however, attracted little attention, being mostly rubbish. Johnson +says of them, "I know not whence they came, nor have ever inquired +whither they are going." It is said that the present representative of +the Parnell family preserves a mass of unpublished poems from the pen +of his relative. We trust that he will long and religiously refrain +from disturbing their MS. slumbers. + +The whole tenor of Parnell's history convinces us that he was an +easy-tempered, kind-hearted, yet querulous and self-indulgent man, who +had no higher motive or object than to gratify himself. His very +ambition aspired not to very lofty altitudes. His utmost wish was to +attain a metropolitan pulpit, where he could have added the reputation +of a popular preacher to that of being the _protégé_ of Swift, and the +pet of the Scriblerus Club. The character of his poetry is in keeping +with the temperament of the man. It is slipshod, easy, and pleasing. +If the distinguishing quality of poetry be to give pleasure, then +Parnell is a poet. You never thrill under his power, but you read him +with a quiet, constant, subdued gratification. If never eminently +original, he has the art of enunciating common-places with felicity and +grace. The stories he relates are almost all old, but his manner of +telling them is new. His thoughts and images are mostly selected from +his common-place book; but he utters them with such a natural ease of +manner, that you are tempted to think them his own. He knows the +compass of his poetical powers, and never attempts anything very lofty +or arduous. His "Allegory on Man,"--pronounced by Johnson his +best,--seems rather a laborious than a fortunate effusion. His "Hymn +to Contentment" is animated, as the subject required, by a kind of +sober rapture. His "Faery Tale" is a good imitation of that old style +of composition. His "Hesiod" catches the classical tone and spirit +with considerable success. His "Flies," and "Elegy to the Old Beauty," +are ingenious trifles. His "Nightpiece on Death" has fine touches, but +is slight for such a theme, and must not be named beside Blair's +"Grave," and Gray's "Elegy written in a Country Churchyard." His +translations we have, in accordance with the plan of this edition, +omitted--and, indeed, they are little loss. His "Bookworm," &c., are +adaptations from Beza and other foreign authors. By far his most +popular poem is the "Hermit." In it he tells a tale that had been told +in Arabic, French, and English, for the tenth time; and in that tenth +edition tells it so well, that the public have thanked him for it as +for an original work. Of course, the story not being Parnell's, it is +not his fault that it casts no light upon the dread problems of +Providence it professed to explain. But the incidents are recorded +with ease and liveliness; the characters are rapidly depicted, and +strikingly contrasted; and many touches of true poetry occur. +How vivid this couplet, for instance-- + + "Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, + And half he welcomes in the shivering pair!" + +How picturesque the following-- + + "A fresher green the smiling leaves display, + And, _glittering as they tremble_, cheer the day!" + +The description of the unveiled angel approaches the +sublime-- + + "Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; + Celestial odours breathe through purpled air; + And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, + Wide at his back, their gradual plumes display. + The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, + And moves in all the majesty of light." + +A passage of similar brilliance occurs in "Piety, or the +Vision"-- + + "A sudden splendour seem'd to kindle day; + A breeze came breathing in; a sweet perfume, + _Blown from eternal gardens_, fill'd the room, + And in a void of blue, that clouds invest, + Appear'd a daughter of the realms of rest." + +Such passages themselves are enough to prove Parnell a +true poet. + + * * * * * + +PARNELL'S POEMS. + + + HESIOD; OR, THE RISE OF WOMAN. + + What ancient times, those times we fancy wise, + Have left on long record of woman's rise, + What morals teach it, and what fables hide, + What author wrote it, how that author died,-- + All these I sing. In Greece they framed the tale; + (In Greece, 'twas thought a woman might be frail); + Ye modern beauties! where the poet drew + His softest pencil, think he dreamt of you; + And warn'd by him, ye wanton pens, beware + How Heaven's concern'd to vindicate the fair. 10 + The case was Hesiod's; he the fable writ-- + Some think with meaning--some, with idle wit: + Perhaps 'tis either, as the ladies please; + I waive the contest, and commence the lays. + + In days of yore, no matter where or when, + 'Twas ere the low creation swarm'd with men, + That one Prometheus, sprung of heavenly birth + (Our author's song can witness), lived on earth. + He carved the turf to mould a manly frame, + And stole from Jove his animating flame. 20 + The sly contrivance o'er Olympus ran, + When thus the Monarch of the Stars began: + 'Oh versed in arts! whose daring thoughts aspire + To kindle clay with never-dying fire! + Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine; + The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine: + And such a gift, a vengeance so design'd, + As suits the counsel of a God to find; + A pleasing bosom cheat, a specious ill, + Which, felt, they curse, yet covet still to feel.' 30 + + He said, and Vulcan straight the sire commands + To temper mortar with ethereal hands; + In such a shape to mould a rising fair, + As virgin-goddesses are proud to wear; + To make her eyes with diamond-water shine, + And form her organs for a voice divine. + 'Twas thus the sire ordain'd; the power obey'd; + And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made; + The fairest, softest, sweetest frame beneath, + Now made to seem, now more than seem, to breathe. 40 + + As Vulcan ends, the cheerful queen of charms + Clasp'd the new-panting creature in her arms; + From that embrace a fine complexion spread, + Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red. + Then in a kiss she breathed her various arts, + Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts; + A mind for love, but still a changing mind; + The lisp affected, and the glance design'd; + The sweet confusing blush, the secret wink, + The gentle-swimming walk, the courteous sink, 50 + The stare for strangeness fit, for scorn the frown, + For decent yielding, looks declining down, + The practised languish, where well-feign'd desire + Would own its melting in a mutual fire; + Gay smiles to comfort; April showers to move; + And all the nature, all the art, of love. + + Gold-sceptred Juno next exalts the fair; + Her touch endows her with imperious air, + Self-valuing fancy, highly-crested pride, + Strong sovereign will, and some desire to chide: 60 + For which an eloquence, that aims to vex, + With native tropes of anger arms the sex. + + Minerva, skilful goddess, train'd the maid + To twirl the spindle by the twisting thread, + To fix the loom, instruct the reeds to part, + Cross the long weft, and close the web with art: + An useful gift; but what profuse expense, + What world of fashions, took its rise from hence! + + Young Hermes next, a close-contriving god, + Her brows encircled with his serpent rod; 70 + Then plots, and fair excuses, fill'd her brain, + The views of breaking amorous vows for gain, + The price of favours, the designing arts + That aim at riches in contempt of hearts; + And for a comfort in the marriage life, + The little, pilfering temper of a wife. + + Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung, + And fond persuasion tipp'd her easy tongue; + He gave her words, where oily flattery lays + The pleasing colours of the art of praise; 80 + And wit, to scandal exquisitely prone, + Which frets another's spleen to cure its own. + + Those sacred virgins whom the bards revere, + Tuned all her voice, and shed a sweetness there, + To make her sense with double charms abound, + Or make her lively nonsense please by sound. + + To dress the maid, the decent Graces brought + A robe in all the dyes of beauty wrought, + And placed their boxes o'er a rich brocade + Where pictured loves on every cover play'd; 90 + Then spread those implements that Vulcan's art + Had framed to merit Cytherea's heart; + The wire to curl, the close-indented comb, + To call the locks that lightly wander, home; + And chief, the mirror, where the ravish'd maid + Beholds and loves her own reflected shade. + + Fair Flora lent her stores, the purpled hours + Confined her tresses with a wreath of flowers; + Within the wreath arose a radiant crown; + A veil pellucid hung depending down; 100 + Back roll'd her azure veil with serpent fold, + The purfled border deck'd the flower with gold. + Her robe (which, closely by the girdle braced, + Reveal'd the beauties of a slender waist) + Flow'd to the feet; to copy Venus' air, + When Venus' statues have a robe to wear. + + The new-sprung creature finish'd thus for harms, + Adjusts her habit, practises her charms, + With blushes glows, or shines with lively smiles, + Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles: 110 + Then conscious of her worth, with easy pace + Glides by the glass, and, turning, views her face. + + A finer flax than what they wrought before, + Through Time's deep cave the sister Fates explore, + Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave, + And thus their toil prophetic songs deceive: + + 'Flow from the rock, my flax! and swiftly flow, + Pursue thy thread, the spindle runs below. + A creature fond and changing, fair and vain, + The creature Woman, rises now to reign. 120 + New beauty blooms, a beauty form'd to fly; + New love begins, a love produced to die; + New parts distress the troubled scenes of life, + The fondling mistress, and the ruling wife. + Men, born to labour, all with pains provide; + Women have time to sacrifice to pride: + They want the care of man, their want they know, + And dress to please with heart-alluring show, + The show prevailing, for the sway contend, + And make a servant where they meet a friend. 130 + + Thus in a thousand wax-erected forts + A loitering race the painful bee supports, + From sun to sun, from bank to bank he flies, + With honey loads his bag, with wax his thighs, + Fly where he will, at home the race remain, + Prune the silk dress, and murmuring eat the gain. + + Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride, + Whose temper betters by the father's side; + Unlike the rest, that double human care, + Fond to relieve, or resolute to share: 140 + Happy the man whom thus his stars advance! + The curse is general, but the blessing chance.' + + Thus sung the Sisters, while the gods admire + Their beauteous creature, made for man, in ire; + The young Pandora she, whom all contend + To make too perfect not to gain her end: + Then bid the winds that fly to breathe the spring, + Return to bear her on a gentle wing; + With wafting airs the winds obsequious blow, + And land the shining vengeance safe below. 150 + A golden coffer in her hand she bore, + (The present treacherous, but the bearer more) + 'Twas fraught with pangs; for Jove ordain'd above, + That gold should aid, and pangs attend on love. + + Her gay descent the man perceived afar, + Wondering he ran to catch the falling star; + But so surprised, as none but he can tell, + Who loved so quickly, and who loved so well. + O'er all his veins the wandering passion burns, + He calls her nymph, and every nymph by turns. 160 + Her form to lovely Venus he prefers, + Or swears that Venus must be such as hers. + She, proud to rule, yet strangely framed to tease, + Neglects his offers while her airs she plays, + Shoots scornful glances from the bended frown, + In brisk disorder trips it up and down, + Then hums a careless tune to lay the storm, + And sits and blushes, smiles, and yields in form. + + 'Now take what Jove design'd, (she softly cried,) + This box thy portion, and myself thy bride:' 170 + Fired with the prospect of the double charms, + He snatch'd the box, and bride, with eager arms. + + Unhappy man! to whom so bright she shone, + The fatal gift, her tempting self, unknown! + The winds were silent, all the waves asleep, + And heaven was traced upon the flattering deep; + But whilst he looks, unmindful of a storm, + And thinks the water wears a stable form, + What dreadful din around his ears shall rise! + What frowns confuse his picture of the skies! 180 + + At first the creature Man was framed alone, + Lord of himself, and all the world his own. + For him the Nymphs in green forsook the woods, + For him the Nymphs in blue forsook the floods; + In vain the Satyrs rage, the Tritons rave; + They bore him heroes in the secret cave. + No care destroy'd, no sick disorder prey'd, + No bending age his sprightly form decay'd, + No wars were known, no females heard to rage, + And poets tell us, 'twas a golden age. 190 + + When woman came, those ills the box confined + Burst furious out, and poison'd all the wind, + + From point to point, from pole to pole they flew, + Spread as they went, and in the progress grew: + The Nymphs, regretting, left the mortal race, + And, altering Nature, wore a sickly face: + New terms of folly rose, new states of care; + New plagues to suffer, and to please, the fair! + The days of whining, and of wild intrigues, + Commenced, or finish'd, with the breach of leagues; 200 + The mean designs of well-dissembled love; + The sordid matches never join'd above; + Abroad, the labour, and at home the noise, + (Man's double sufferings for domestic joys) + The curse of jealousy; expense, and strife; + Divorce, the public brand of shameful life; + The rival's sword; the qualm that takes the fair; + Disdain for passion, passion in despair-- + These, and a thousand yet unnamed, we find; + Ah, fear the thousand yet unnamed behind! 210 + + Thus on Parnassus tuneful Hesiod sung, + The mountain echoed, and the valley rung, + The sacred groves a fix'd attention show, + The crystal Helicon forbore to flow, + The sky grew bright, and (if his verse be true) + The Muses came to give the laurel too. + But what avail'd the verdant prize of wit, + If Love swore vengeance for the tales he writ? + Ye fair offended, hear your friend relate + What heavy judgment proved the writer's fate, 220 + Though when it happen'd, no relation clears; + 'Tis thought in five, or five and twenty years. + + Where, dark and silent, with a twisted shade + The neighbouring woods a native arbour made, + There oft a tender pair for amorous play + Retiring, toy'd the ravish'd hours away; + A Locrian youth, the gentle Troilus he, + A fair Milesian, kind Evanthe she: + But swelling Nature, in a fatal hour, + Betray'd the secrets of the conscious bower; 230 + The dire disgrace her brothers count their own, + And track her steps, to make its author known. + + It chanced one evening, ('twas the lover's day) + Conceal'd in brakes the jealous kindred lay; + When Hesiod, wandering, mused along the plain, + And fix'd his seat where Love had fix'd the scene: + A strong suspicion straight possess'd their mind, + (For poets ever were a gentle kind.) + But when Evanthe near the passage stood, + Flung back a doubtful look, and shot the wood, 240 + 'Now take (at once they cry) thy due reward!' + And, urged with erring rage, assault the bard. + His corpse the sea received. The dolphins bore + ('Twas all the gods would do) the corpse to shore. + + Methinks I view the dead with pitying eyes, + And see the dreams of ancient wisdom rise; + I see the Muses round the body cry, + But hear a Cupid loudly laughing by; + He wheels his arrow with insulting hand, + And thus inscribes the moral on the sand: 250 + 'Here Hesiod lies: ye future bards beware + How far your moral tales incense the fair: + Unloved, unloving, 'twas his fate to bleed; + Without his quiver Cupid caused the deed: + He judged this turn of malice justly due, + And Hesiod died for joys he never knew.' + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 When thy beauty appears, + In its graces and airs, + All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky; + At distance I gaze, and am awed by my fears, + So strangely you dazzle my eye! + + 2 But when without art, + Your kind thoughts you impart, + When your love runs in blushes through every vein; + When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart, + Then I know you're a woman again. + + 3 There's a passion and pride + In our sex (she replied), + And thus (might I gratify both) I would do: + Still an angel appear to each lover beside, + But still be a woman to you. + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 Thyrsis, a young and amorous swain, + Saw two, the beauties of the plain; + Who both his heart subdue: + Gay Cælia's eyes were dazzling fair, + Sabina's easy shape and air + With softer magic drew. + + 2 He haunts the stream, he haunts the grove, + Lives in a fond romance of love, + And seems for each to die; + Till each, a little spiteful grown, + Sabina Cælia's shape ran down, + And she Sabina's eye. + + 3 Their envy made the shepherd find + Those eyes, which love could only blind; + So set the lover free: + No more he haunts the grove or stream, + Or with a true-love knot and name + Engraves a wounded tree. + + 4 Ah, Cælia! (sly Sabina cried) + Though neither love, we're both denied; + Now, to support the sex's pride, + Let either fix the dart. + Poor girl! (says Caelia) say no more; + For should the swain but one adore, + That spite which broke his chains before, + Would break the other's heart. + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 My days have been so wondrous free, + The little birds that fly + With careless ease from tree to tree, + Were but as bless'd as I. + + 2 Ask gliding waters, if a tear + Of mine increased their stream? + Or ask the flying gales, if e'er + I lent one sigh to them? + + 3 But now my former days retire, + And I'm by beauty caught, + The tender chains of sweet desire + Are fix'd upon my thought. + + 4 Ye nightingales! ye twisting pines! + Ye swains that haunt the grove! + Ye gentle echoes! breezy winds! + Ye close retreats of lore! + + 5 With all of Nature, all of Art, + Assist the dear design; + Oh teach a young, unpractised heart + To make my Nancy mine. + + 6 The very thought of change I hate, + As much as of despair; + Nor ever covet to be great, + Unless it be for her. + + 7 'Tis true, the passion in my mind + Is mix'd with soft distress; + Yet while the fair I love is kind, + I cannot wish it less. + + * * * * * + + + ANACREONTIC. + + When Spring came on with fresh delight, + To cheer the soul, and charm the sight, + While easy breezes, softer rain, + And warmer suns salute the plain; + 'Twas then, in yonder piny grove, + That Nature went to meet with Love. + + Green was her robe, and green her wreath, + Where'er she trod, 'twas green beneath; + Where'er she turn'd, the pulses beat + With new recruits of genial heat; 10 + And in her train the birds appear, + To match for all the coming year. + + Raised on a bank, where daisies grew, + And violets intermix'd a blue, + She finds the boy she went to find; + A thousand pleasures wait behind, + Aside a thousand arrows lie, + But all, unfeather'd, wait to fly. + + When they met, the dame and boy, + Dancing graces, idle joy, 20 + Wanton smiles, and airy play, + Conspired to make the scene be gay; + Love pair'd the birds through all the grove, + And Nature bid them sing to Love, + Sitting, hopping, fluttering sing, + And pay their tribute from the wing, + To fledge the shafts that idly lie, + And, yet unfeather'd, wait to fly. + + 'Tis thus, when Spring renews the blood, + They meet in every trembling wood, 30 + And thrice they make the plumes agree, + And every dart they mount with three, + And every dart can boast a kind, + Which suits each proper turn of mind. + + From the towering eagle's plume + The generous hearts accept their doom; + Shot by the peacock's painted eye + The vain and airy lovers die: + For careful dames and frugal men, + The shafts are speckled by the hen: 40 + The pies and parrots deck the darts, + When prattling wins the panting hearts: + When from the voice the passions spring, + The warbling finch affords a wing: + Together, by the sparrow stung, + Down fall the wanton and the young: + And fledged by geese the weapons fly, + When others love they know not why. + + All this (as late I chanced to rove) + I learn'd in yonder waving grove. 50 + And see, says Love, who call'd me near, + How much I deal with Nature here; + How both support a proper part, + She gives the feather, I the dart: + Then cease for souls averse to sigh, + If Nature cross ye, so do I; + My weapon there unfeather'd flies, + And shakes and shuffles through the skies. + But if the mutual charms I find + By which she links you, mind to mind, 60 + They wing my shafts, I poise the darts, + And strike from both, through both your hearts. + + * * * * * + + + ANACREONTIC. + + 1 Gay Bacchus liking Estcourt's[1] wine, + A noble meal bespoke us; + And for the guests that were to dine, + Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus. + + 2 The god near Cupid drew his chair, + Near Comus, Jocus placed; + For wine makes Love forget its care, + And Mirth exalts a feast. + + 3 The more to please the sprightly god, + Each sweet engaging Grace + Put on some clothes to come abroad, + And took a waiter's place. + + 4 Then Cupid named at every glass + A lady of the sky; + While Bacchus swore he'd drink the lass, + And did it bumper-high. + + 5 Fat Comus toss'd his brimmers o'er, + And always got the most; + Jocus took care to fill him more, + Whene'er he miss'd the toast. + + 6 They call'd, and drank at every touch; + He fill'd, and drank again; + And if the gods can take too much, + 'Tis said they did so then. + + 7 Gay Bacchus little Cupid stung, + By reckoning his deceits; + And Cupid mock'd his stammering tongue, + With all his staggering gaits: + + 8 And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways, + And tales without a jest; + While Comus call'd his witty plays + But waggeries at best. + + 9 Such talk soon set 'em all at odds; + And, had I Homer's pen, + I'd sing ye, how they drank like gods, + And how they fought like men. + + 10 To part the fray, the Graces fly, + Who make 'em soon agree; + Nay, had the Furies selves been nigh, + They still were three to three. + + 11 Bacchus appeased, raised Cupid up, + And gave him back his bow; + But kept some darts to stir the cup + Where sack and sugar flow. + + 12 Jocus took Comus' rosy crown, + And gaily wore the prize, + And thrice, in mirth, he push'd him down, + As thrice he strove to rise. + + 13 Then Cupid sought the myrtle grove, + Where Venus did recline; + And Venus close embracing Love, + They join'd to rail at wine. + + 14 And Comus loudly cursing wit, + Roll'd off to some retreat, + Where boon companions gravely sit + In fat unwieldy state. + + 15 Bacchus and Jocus, still behind, + For one fresh glass prepare; + They kiss, and are exceeding kind, + And vow to be sincere. + + 16 But part in time, whoever hear + This our instructive song; + For though such friendships may be dear, + They can't continue long. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Estcourt:' Dick, a comedian and keeper of the Bumper +Tavern--a companion of Addison, Steele, and the rest.] + + * * * * * + + + A FAIRY TALE, + + IN THE ANCIENT ENGLISH STYLE. + + 1 In Britain's isle and Arthur's days, + When midnight Faeries danced the maze, + Lived Edwin of the green; + Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth, + Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, + Though badly shaped he been. + + 2 His mountain back mote well be said + To measure heighth against his head, + And lift itself above: + Yet spite of all that Nature did + To make his uncouth form forbid, + This creature dared to love. + + 3 He felt the charms of Edith's eyes, + Nor wanted hope to gain the prize, + Could ladies look within; + But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art, + And, if a shape could win a heart, + He had a shape to win. + + 4 Edwin (if right I read my song) + With slighted passion paced along, + All in the moony light: + 'Twas near an old enchanted court, + Where sportive Faeries made resort + To revel out the night. + + 5 His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd, + 'Twas late, 'twas farr, the path was lost + That reach'd the neighbour-town; + With weary steps he quits the shades, + Resolved, the darkling dome he treads, + And drops his limbs adown. + + 6 But scant he lays him on the floor, + When hollow winds remove the door, + A trembling rocks the ground: + And (well I ween to count aright) + At once an hundred tapers light + On all the walls around. + + 7 Now sounding tongues assail his ear, + Now sounding feet approachen near, + And now the sounds increase: + And from the corner where he lay + He sees a train, profusely gay, + Come prankling o'er the place. + + 8 But trust me, gentles! never yet + Was dight a masquing half so neat, + Or half so rich before; + The country lent the sweet perfumes, + The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes, + The town its silken store. + + 9 Now whilst he gazed, a gallant dress'd + In flaunting robes above the rest, + With awful accent cried: + What mortal of a wretched mind, + Whose sighs infect the balmy wind, + Has here presumed to hide? + + 10 At this the swain, whose venturous soul + No fears of magic art control, + Advanced in open sight: + Nor have I cause of dread, he said, + Who view, by no presumption led, + Your revels of the night. + + 11 'Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love, + Which made my steps unweeting rove + Amid the nightly dew. + 'Tis well, the gallant cries again, + We Faeries never injure men + Who dare to tell us true. + + 12 Exalt thy love-dejected heart, + Be mine the task, or e'er we part, + To make thee grief resign; + Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce; + Whilst I with Mab my partner daunce, + Be little Mable thine. + + 13 He spoke, and all a-sudden there + Light music floats in wanton air; + The monarch leads the queen: + The rest their Faerie partners found, + And Mable trimly tripp'd the ground + With Edwin of the green. + + 14 The dauncing past, the board was laid, + And siker such a feast was made + As heart and lip desire; + Withouten hands the dishes fly, + The glasses--with a wish come nigh, + And with a wish retire. + + 15 But now, to please the Faerie King, + Full every deal, they laugh and sing, + And antic feats devise; + Some wind and tumble like an ape, + And other some transmute their shape + In Edwin's wondering eyes. + + 16 Till one at last that Robin bight, + (Renown'd for pinching maids by night) + Has hent him up aloof; + And full against the beam he flung, + Where by the back the youth he hung + To spraul unneath the roof. + + 17 From thence, Reverse my charm, he cries, + And let it fairly now suffice + The gambol has been shown. + But Oberon answers with a smile, + Content thee, Edwin, for a while, + The vantage is thine own. + + 18 Here ended all the phantom-play; + They smelt the fresh approach of day, + And heard a cock to crow; + The whirling wind that bore the crowd + Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud, + To warn them all to go. + + 19 Then screaming all at once they fly, + And all at once the tapers die, + Poor Edwin falls to floor; + Forlorn his state, and dark the place, + Was never wight in sike a case + Through all the land before. + + 20 But soon as Dan Apollo rose, + Full jolly creature home he goes, + He feels his back the less; + His honest tongue and steady mind + Had rid him of the lump behind + Which made him want success. + + 21 With lusty livelyhed he talks, + He seems a-dauncing as he walks, + His story soon took wind; + And beauteous Edith sees the youth, + Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, + Without a bunch behind. + + 22 The story told, Sir Topaz moved, + The youth of Edith erst approved, + To see the revel scene: + At close of eve he leaves his home, + And wends to find the ruin'd dome + All on the gloomy plain. + + 23 As there he bides, it so befell, + The wind came rustling down a dell, + A shaking seized the wall: + Up spring the tapers as before, + The Faeries bragly foot the floor, + And music fills the hall. + + 24 But, certes, sorely sunk with woe + Sir Topaz sees the elfin show, + His spirits in him die: + When Oberon cries, A man is near, + A mortal passion, clèeped fear, + Hang's flagging in the sky. + + 25 With that Sir Topaz, hapless youth! + In accents faltering aye for ruth, + Entreats them pity graunt; + For als he been a mister wight + Betray'd by wandering in the night + To tread the circled haunt. + + 26 Ah, losel vile! (at once they roar) + And little skill'd of Faerie lore, + Thy cause to come we know: + Now has thy kestrel courage fell; + And Faeries, since a lie you tell, + Are free to work thee woe. + + 27 Then Will, who bears the wispy fire, + To trail the swains among the mire, + The caitiff upward flung; + There like a tortoise in a shop + He dangled from the chamber-top, + Where whilom Edwin hung. + + 28 The revel now proceeds apace, + Deftly they frisk it o'er the place, + They sit, they drink, and eat; + The time with frolic mirth beguile, + And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while, + Till all the rout retreat. + + 29 By this the stars began to wink, + They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink, + And down ydrops the knight. + For never spell by Faerie laid + With strong enchantment bound a glade + Beyond the length of night. + + 30 Chill, dark, alone, adreed he lay, + Till up the welkin rose the day, + Then deem'd the dole was o'er; + But wot ye well his harder lot? + His seely back the bunch has got + Which Edwin lost afore. + + 31 This tale a Sybil-nurse aread; + She softly stroked my youngling head, + And when the tale was done, + Thus some are born, my son, (she cries,) + With base impediments to rise, + And some are born with none. + + 32 But virtue can itself advaunce + To what the favourite fools of chaunce + By fortune seem'd design'd; + Virtue can gain the odds of Fate, + And from itself shake off the weight + Upon the unworthy mind. + + * * * * * + + + TO MR POPE. + + To praise, yet still with due respect to praise, + A bard triumphant in immortal bays, + The learn'd to show, the sensible commend, + Yet still preserve the province of the friend, + What life, what vigour, must the lines require, + What music tune them, what affection fire! + + Oh! might thy genius in my bosom shine, + Thou shouldst not fail of numbers worthy thine; + The brightest ancients might at once agree + To sing within my lays, and sing of thee. 10 + + Horace himself would own thou dost excel + In candid arts, to play the critic well. + + Ovid himself might wish to sing the dame + Whom Windsor Forest sees a gliding stream; + On silver feet, with annual osier crown'd, + She runs for ever through poetic ground. + + How flame the glories of Belinda's hair, + Made by thy Muse the envy of the fair! + Less shone the tresses Egypt's princess[1] wore, + Which sweet Callimachus so sung before; 20 + Here courtly trifles set the world at odds, + Belles war with beaux, and whims descend for gods, + The new machines in names of ridicule, + Mock the grave frenzy of the chymic fool. + But know, ye fair, a point conceal'd with art, + The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a woman's heart: + The Graces stand in sight; a Satyr train + Peep o'er their heads, and laugh behind the scene. + + In Fame's fair temple, o'er the boldest wits + Enshrined on high the sacred Virgil sits, 30 + And sits in measures, such as Virgil's Muse + To place thee near him might be fond to choose. + How might he tune the alternate reed with thee, + Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he, + While some old Damon, o'er the vulgar wise, + Thinks he deserves, and thou deserv'st the prize! + Rapt with the thought, my fancy seeks the plains, + And turns me shepherd while I hear the strains. + Indulgent nurse of every tender gale, + Parent of flowerets, old Arcadia, hail! 40 + Here in the cool my limbs at ease I spread, + Here let thy poplars whisper o'er my head, + Still slide thy waters soft among the trees, + Thy aspens quiver in a breathing breeze, + Smile all thy valleys in eternal spring, + Be hush'd, ye winds! while Pope and Virgil sing. + + In English lays, and all sublimely great, + Thy Homer warms with all his ancient heat; + He shines in council, thunders in the fight, + And flames with every sense of great delight. 50 + Long has that poet reign'd, and long unknown, + Like monarchs sparkling on a distant throne, + In all the majesty of Greek retired, + Himself unknown, his mighty name admired; + His language failing, wrapp'd him round with night, + Thine, raised by thee, recalls the work to light. + So wealthy mines, that ages long before + Fed the large realms around with golden ore, + When choked by sinking banks, no more appear, + And shepherds only say, The mines were here: 60 + Should some rich youth (if Nature warm his heart, + And all his projects stand inform'd with Art) + Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein; + The mines, detected, flame with gold again. + + How vast, how copious are thy new designs! + How every music varies in thy lines! + Still as I read, I feel my bosom beat, + And rise in raptures by another's heat. + Thus in the wood, when summer dress'd the days, + When Windsor lent us tuneful hours of ease, 70 + Our ears the lark, the thrush, the turtle blest, + And Philomela sweetest o'er the rest: + The shades resound with song--oh softly tread! + While a whole season warbles round my head. + + This to my friend--and when a friend inspires, + My silent harp its master's hand requires, + Shakes off the dust, and makes these rocks resound; + For fortune placed me in unfertile ground, + Far from the joys that with my soul agree, + From wit, from learning--far, oh far from thee! 80 + Here moss-grown trees expand the smallest leaf, + Here half an acre's corn is half a sheaf; + Here hills with naked heads the tempest meet, + Rocks at their side, and torrents at their feet, + Or lazy lakes, unconscious of a flood, + Whose dull brown Naiads ever sleep in mud. + + Yet here Content can dwell, and Learned Ease, + A friend delight me, and an author please; + Even here I sing, while Pope supplies the theme, + Show my own love, though not increase his fame. 90 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Egypt's princess:' Cleopatra.] + + * * * * * + + + HEALTH: AN ECLOGUE. + + Now early shepherds o'er the meadow pass, + And print long footsteps in the glittering grass, + The cows neglectful of their pasture stand, + By turns obsequious to the milker's hand, + When Damon softly trode the shaven lawn, + Damon a youth from city cares withdrawn; + Long was the pleasing walk he wander'd through, + A cover'd arbour closed the distant view; + There rests the youth, and while the feather'd throng + Raise their wild music, thus contrives a song. 10 + + Here wafted o'er by mild Etesian air, + Thou country Goddess, beauteous Health, repair! + Here let my breast through quivering trees inhale + Thy rosy blessings with the morning gale. + What are the fields, or flowers, or all I see? + Ah! tasteless all, if not enjoy'd with thee. + + Joy to my soul! I feel the Goddess nigh, + The face of Nature cheers as well as I; + O'er the flat green refreshing breezes run, + The smiling daisies blow beneath the sun, 20 + The brooks run purling down with silver waves, + The planted lanes rejoice with dancing leaves, + The chirping birds from all the compass rove + To tempt the tuneful echoes of the grove: + High sunny summits, deeply shaded dales, + Thick mossy banks, and flowery winding vales, + With various prospect gratify the sight, + And scatter fix'd attention in delight. + + Come, country Goddess, come! nor thou suffice, + But bring thy mountain sister, Exercise! 30 + Call'd by thy lovely voice, she turns her pace, + Her winding horn proclaims the finish'd chase; + She mounts the rocks, she skims the level plain, + Dogs, hawks, and horses crowd her early train; + Her hardy face repels the tanning wind, + And lines and meshes loosely float behind. + All these as means of toil the feeble see, + But these are helps to pleasure join'd with thee. + + Let Sloth lie softening till high noon in down, + Or lolling fan her in the sultry town, 40 + Unnerved with rest, and turn her own disease, + Or foster others in luxurious ease: + I mount the courser, call the deep-mouth'd hounds; + The fox unkennell'd, flies to covert grounds; + I lead where stags through tangled thickets tread, + And shake the saplings with their branching head; + I make the falcons wing their airy way, + And soar to seize, or stooping strike their prey: + To snare the fish I fix the luring bait; + To wound the fowl I load the gun with fate. 50 + 'Tis thus through change of exercise I range, + And strength and pleasure rise from every change. + Here beauteous for all the year remain; + When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again. + + Oh come, thou Goddess of my rural song, + And bring thy daughter, calm Content, along! + Dame of the ruddy cheek and laughing eye, + From whose bright presence clouds of sorrow fly: + For her I mow my walks, I plait my bowers, + Clip my low hedges, and support my flowers; 60 + To welcome her, this summer seat I dress'd, + And here I court her when she comes to rest; + When she from exercise to learned ease + Shall change again, and teach the change to please. + + Now friends conversing my soft hours refine, + And Tully's Tusculum revives in mine: + Now to grave books I bid the mind retreat, + And such as make me rather good than great; + Or o'er the works of easy Fancy rove, + Where flutes and innocence amuse the grove: 70 + The native bard that on Sicilian plains + First sung the lowly manners of the swains; + Or Maro's Muse, that in the fairest light + Paints rural prospects and the charms of sight; + These soft amusements bring Content along, + And Fancy, void of sorrow, turns to song. + Here beauteous Health for all the year remain; + When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again. + + * * * * * + + + THE FLIES: AN ECLOGUE. + + When the river cows for coolness stand. + And sheep for breezes seek the lofty land, + A youth whom Æsop taught that every tree, + Each bird and insect, spoke as well as he, + Walk'd calmly musing in a shaded way, + Where flowering hawthorn broke the sunny ray, + And thus instructs his moral pen to draw + A scene that obvious in the field he saw. + + Near a low ditch, where shallow waters meet, + Which never learn'd to glide with liquid feet, 10 + Whose Naiads never prattle as they play, + But screen'd with hedges slumber out the day, + There stands a slender fern's aspiring shade, + Whose answering branches, regularly laid, + Put forth their answering boughs, and proudly rise + Three storeys upward in the nether skies. + + For shelter here, to shun the noonday heat, + An airy nation of the flies retreat; + Some in soft air their silken pinions ply, + And some from bough to bough delighted fly, 20 + Some rise, and circling light to perch again; + A pleasing murmur hums along the plain. + So, when a stage invites to pageant shows, + (If great and small are like) appear the beaux; + In boxes some with spruce pretension sit, + Some change from seat to seat within the pit, + Some roam the scenes, or turning cease to roam; + Preluding music fills the lofty dome. + When thus a fly (if what a fly can say + Deserves attention) raised the rural lay: + + Where late Amintor made a nymph a bride, 30 + Joyful I flew by young Favonia's side, + Who, mindless of the feasting, went to sip + The balmy pleasure of the shepherd's lip; + I saw the wanton where I stoop'd to sup, + And half resolved to drown me in the cup; + Till, brush'd by careless hands, she soar'd above: + Cease, beauty, cease to vex a tender love! + + Thus ends the youth, the buzzing meadow rung, + And thus the rival of his music sung: 40 + + When suns by thousands shone in orbs of dew, + I, wafted soft, with Zephyretta flew; + Saw the clean pail, and sought the milky cheer, + While little Daphnè seized my roving dear. + Wretch that I was! I might have warn'd the dame, + Yet sate indulging as the danger came, + But the kind huntress left her free to soar: + Ah! guard, ye lovers, guard a mistress more! + + Thus from the fern, whose high projecting arms, + The fleeting nation bent with dusky swarms, 50 + The swains their love in easy music breathe, + When tongues and tumult stun the field beneath, + Black ants in teams come darkening all the road; + Some call to march, and some to lift the load; + They strain, they labour with incessant pains, + Press'd by the cumbrous weight of single grains. + The flies, struck silent, gaze with wonder down: + The busy burghers reach their earthy town, + Where lay the burdens of a wintry store, + And thence, unwearied, part in search of more. 60 + Yet one grave sage a moment's space attends, + And the small city's loftiest point ascends, + Wipes the salt dew that trickles down his face, + And thus harangues them with the gravest grace + + Ye foolish nurslings of the summer air! + These gentle tunes and whining songs forbear, + Your trees and whispering breeze, your grove and love, + Your Cupid's quiver, and his mother's dove; + Let bards to business bend their vigorous wing, + And sing but seldom, if they love to sing: 70 + Else, when the flowerets of the season fail, + And this your ferny shade forsakes the vale, + Though one would save ye, not one grain of wheat + Should pay such songster's idling at my gate. + + He ceased: the flies, incorrigibly vain, + Heard the mayor's speech, and fell to sing again. + + * * * * * + + + AN ELEGY TO AN OLD BEAUTY. + + In vain, poor nymph, to please our youthful sight + You sleep in cream and frontlets all the night, + Your face with patches soil, with paint repair, + Dress with gay gowns, and shade with foreign hair. + If truth in spite of manners must be told, + Why, really, fifty-five is something old. + + Once you were young; or one, whose life's so long, + She might have borne my mother, tells me wrong. + And once, (since Envy's dead before you die) + The women own, you play'd a sparkling eye, 10 + Taught the light foot a modish little trip, + And pouted with the prettiest purple lip. + + To some new charmer are the roses fled, + Which blew, to damask all thy cheek with red; + Youth calls the graces there to fix their reign, + And airs by thousands fill their easy train. + So parting Summer bids her flowery prime + Attend the Sun to dress some foreign clime, + While withering seasons in succession, here, + Strip the gay gardens, and deform the Year. 20 + + But thou (since Nature bids) the world resign, + 'Tis now thy daughter's daughter's time to shine. + With more address, (or such as pleases more) + She runs her female exercises o'er, + Unfurls or closes, raps or turns the fan, + And smiles, or blushes at the creature Man. + With quicker life, as gilded coaches pass, + In sideling courtesy she drops the glass. + With better strength, on visit-days she bears + To mount her fifty flights of ample stairs. 30 + Her mien, her shape, her temper, eyes and tongue, + Are sure to conquer--for the rogue is young; + And all that's madly wild, or oddly gay, + We call it only pretty Fanny's way. + + Let Time that makes you homely, make you sage, + The sphere of wisdom is the sphere of age. + 'Tis true, when beauty dawns with early fire, + And hears the flattering tongues of soft desire, + If not from virtue, from its gravest ways + The soul with pleasing avocation strays. 40 + But beauty gone, 'tis easier to be wise; + As harpers better by the loss of eyes. + + Henceforth retire, reduce your roving airs, + Haunt less the plays, and more the public prayers, + Reject the Mechlin head, and gold brocade, + Go pray, in sober Norwich crape array'd. + Thy pendant diamonds let thy Fanny take, + Their trembling lustre shows how much you shake; + Or bid her wear thy necklace row'd with pearl, + You'll find your Fanny an obedient girl. 50 + So, for the rest, with less incumbrance hung, + You walk through life, unmingled with the young; + And view the shade and substance as you pass + With joint endeavour trifling at the glass, + Or Folly dress'd, and rambling all her days, + To meet her counterpart, and grow by praise: + Yet still sedate yourself, and gravely plain, + You neither fret, nor envy at the vain. + + 'Twas thus, if man with woman we compare, + The wise Athenian cross'd a glittering fair; 60 + Unmoved by tongues and sights, he walk'd the place, + Through tape, toys, tinsel, gimp, perfume, and lace; + Then bends from Mars's hill his awful eyes, + And 'What a world I never want!' he cries; + But cries unheard: for Folly will be free. + So parts the buzzing gaudy crowd, and he: + As careless he for them, as they for him; + He wrapt in wisdom, and they whirl'd by whim + + * * * * * + + + THE BOOK-WORM. + + Come hither, boy, we'll hunt to-day + The book-worm, ravening beast of prey! + Produced by parent Earth, at odds + (As Fame reports it) with the gods. + Him frantic Hunger wildly drives + Against a thousand authors' lives: + Through all the fields of Wit he flies; + Dreadful his head with clustering eyes, + With horns without, and tusks within, + And scales to serve him for a skin. 10 + Observe him nearly, lest he climb + To wound the bards of ancient time, + Or down the vale of Fancy go, + To tear some modern wretch below: + On every corner fix thine eye, + Or, ten to one, he slips thee by. + + See where his teeth a passage eat: + We'll rouse him from the deep retreat. + But who the shelter's forced to give? + 'Tis sacred Virgil, as I live! 20 + From leaf to leaf, from song to song, + He draws the tadpole form along, + He mounts the gilded edge before, + He's up, he scuds the cover o'er, + He turns, he doubles, there he pass'd, + And here we have him, caught at last. + + Insatiate brute, whose teeth abuse + The sweetest servants of the Muse! + --Nay, never offer to deny, + I took thee in the act to fly-- 30 + His roses nipp'd in every page, + My poor Anacreon mourns thy rage. + By thee my Ovid wounded lies; + By thee my Lesbia's sparrow dies: + Thy rabid teeth have half destroy'd + The work of love in Biddy Floyd; + They rent Belinda's locks away, + And spoil'd the Blouzelind of Gay. + For all, for every single deed, + Relentless Justice bids thee bleed. 40 + Then fall a victim to the Nine, + Myself the priest, my desk the shrine. + + Bring Homer, Virgil, Tasso near, + To pile a sacred altar here; + Hold, boy, thy hand outruns thy wit, + You reach'd the plays that Dennis writ; + You reach'd me Philips' rustic strain; + Pray take your mortal bards again. + + Come, bind the victim,--there he lies, + And here between his numerous eyes 50 + This venerable dust I lay, + From manuscripts just swept away. + + The goblet in my hand I take + (For the libation's yet to make), + A health to poets! all their days + May they have bread, as well as praise; + Sense may they seek, and less engage + In papers fill'd with party rage. + But if their riches spoil their vein, + Ye Muses! make them poor again. 60 + + Now bring the weapon, yonder blade, + With which my tuneful pens are made. + I strike the scales that arm thee round, + And twice and thrice I print the wound; + The sacred altar floats with red; + And now he dies, and now he's dead. + + How like the son of Jove I stand, + This Hydra stretch'd beneath my hand! + Lay bare the monster's entrails here, + To see what dangers threat the year: 70 + Ye gods! what sonnets on a wench! + What lean translations out of French! + 'Tis plain, this lobe is so unsound, + S-- prints before the months go round. + + But hold, before I close the scene, + The sacred altar should be clean. + Oh, had I Shadwell's[1] second bays, + Or, Tate![2] thy pert and humble lays! + (Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow + I never miss'd your works till now) + I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine, 80 + (That only way you please the Nine) + But since I chance to want these two, + I'll make the songs of Durfey[3] do. + + Rent from the corpse, on yonder pin + I hang the scales that braced it in; + I hang my studious morning gown, + And write my own inscription down. + + 'This trophy from the Python won, + This robe, in which the deed was done, 90 + These, Parnell glorying in the feat, + Hung on these shelves, the Muses' seat. + Here Ignorance and Hunger found + Large realms of wit to ravage round; + Here Ignorance and Hunger fell-- + Two foes in one I sent to hell. + Ye poets, who my labours see, + Come share the triumph all with me! + Ye critics, born to vex the Muse, + Go mourn the grand ally you lose!' 100 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Shadwell:' Dryden's rival.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Tate:' Nahum. See Life of Dryden.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Durfey:' the well-known wit of the time.] + + * * * * * + + + AN ALLEGORY ON MAN. + + A thoughtful being, long and spare, + Our race of mortals call him Care; + (Were Homer living, well he knew + What name the gods have call'd him too) + With fine mechanic genius wrought, + And loved to work, though no one bought. + + This being, by a model bred + In Jove's eternal sable head, + Contrived a shape, empower'd to breathe, + And be the worldling here beneath. 10 + + The Man rose staring, like a stake, + Wondering to see himself awake! + Then look'd so wise, before he knew + The business he was made to do, + That, pleased to see with what a grace + He gravely show'd his forward face, + Jove talk'd of breeding him on high, + An under-something of the sky. + + But e'er he gave the mighty nod, + Which ever binds a poet's god, 20 + (For which his curls ambrosial shake, + And mother Earth's obliged to quake:) + He saw old mother Earth arise, + She stood confess'd before his eyes; + But not with what we read she wore, + A castle for a crown, before; + Nor with long streets and longer roads + Dangling behind her, like commodes: + As yet with wreaths alone she dress'd, + And trail'd a landscape-painted vest. 30 + Then thrice she raised, (as Ovid said) + And thrice she bow'd her weighty head. + + Her honours made, Great Jove, she cried, + This thing was fashion'd from my side; + His hands, his heart, his head are mine; + Then what hast thou to call him thine? + + Nay, rather ask, the monarch said, + What boots his hand, his heart, his head? + Were what I gave removed away, + Thy parts an idle shape of clay. 40 + + Halves, more than halves! cried honest Care; + Your pleas would make your titles fair, + You claim the body, you the soul, + But I who join'd them, claim the whole. + + Thus with the gods debate began, + On such a trivial cause as Man. + And can celestial tempers rage? + (Quoth Virgil in a later age.) + + As thus they wrangled, Time came by; + (There's none that paint him such as I, 50 + For what the fabling ancients sung + Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.) + As yet his winters had not shed + Their silver honours on his head; + He just had got his pinions free + From his old sire Eternity. + A serpent girdled round he wore, + The tail within the mouth before; + By which our almanacs are clear + That learned Egypt meant the year. 60 + A staff he carried, where on high + A glass was fix'd to measure by, + As amber boxes made a show + For heads of canes an age ago. + His vest, for day and night, was pied, + A bending sickle arm'd his side, + And Spring's new months his train adorn; + The other Seasons were unborn. + + Known by the gods, as near he draws, + They make him umpire of the cause. 70 + O'er a low trunk his arm he laid, + (Where since his Hours a dial made;) + Then, leaning, heard the nice debate, + And thus pronounced the words of Fate: + + Since Body from the parent Earth, + And Soul from Jove received a birth, + Return they where they first began; + But since their union makes the Man, + Till Jove and Earth shall part these two, + To Care, who join'd them, Man is due. 80 + + He said, and sprung with swift career + To trace a circle for the year, + Where ever since the Seasons wheel, + And tread on one another's heel. + + 'Tis well, said Jove, and for consent + Thundering he shook the firmament; + Our umpire Time shall have his way, + With Care I let the creature stay: + Let business vex him, avarice blind, + Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind, 90 + Let error act, opinion speak, + And want afflict, and sickness break, + And anger burn, dejection chill, + And joy distract, and sorrow kill, + Till, arm'd by Care, and taught to mow, + Time draws the long destructive blow; + And wasted Man, whose quick decay, + Comes hurrying on before his day, + Shall only find, by this decree, + The Soul flies sooner back to me. 100 + + * * * * * + + + AN IMITATION OF SOME FRENCH VERSES. + + Relentless Time! destroying power + Whom stone and brass obey, + Who giv'st to every flying hour + To work some new decay; + Unheard, unheeded, and unseen, + Thy secret saps prevail, + And ruin Man, a nice machine + By Nature form'd to fail. + My change arrives; the change I meet, + Before I thought it nigh. 10 + My spring, my years of pleasure fleet, + And all their beauties die. + In age I search, and only find + A poor unfruitful gain, + Grave Wisdom stalking slow behind, + Oppress'd with loads of pain. + My ignorance could once beguile, + And fancied joys inspire; + My errors cherish'd hope to smile + On newly-born desire. 20 + But now experience shows the bliss, + For which I fondly sought, + Not worth the long impatient wish, + And ardour of the thought. + My youth met Fortune fair array'd; + In all her pomp she shone, + And might perhaps have well essay'd + To make her gifts my own: + But when I saw the blessings shower + On some unworthy mind, 30 + I left the chase, and own'd the power + Was justly painted blind. + I pass'd the glories which adorn + The splendid courts of kings, + And while the persons moved my scorn. + I rose to scorn the things. + My manhood felt a vigorous fire, + By love increased the more; + But years with coming years conspire + To break the chains I wore. 40 + In weakness safe, the sex I see + With idle lustre shine; + For what are all their joys to me, + Which cannot now be mine? + But hold--I feel my gout decrease, + My troubles laid to rest, + And truths which would disturb my peace, + Are painful truths at best. + Vainly the time I have to roll + In sad reflection flies; 50 + Ye fondling passions of my soul! + Ye sweet deceits! arise. + I wisely change the scene within, + To things that used to please; + In pain, philosophy is spleen, + In health, 'tis only ease. + + * * * * * + + + A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH. + + By the blue taper's trembling light, + No more I waste the wakeful night, + Intent with endless view to pore + The schoolmen and the sages o'er: + Their books from wisdom widely stray, + Or point at best the longest way. + I'll seek a readier path, and go + Where wisdom's surely taught below. + + How deep yon azure dyes the sky, + Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie, 10 + While through their ranks in silver pride + The nether crescent seems to glide! + The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, + The lake is smooth and clear beneath, + Where once again the spangled show + Descends to meet our eyes below. + The grounds which on the right aspire, + In dimness from the view retire: + The left presents a place of graves, + Whose wall the silent water laves. 20 + That steeple guides thy doubtful sight, + Among the livid gleams of night. + There pass, with melancholy state, + By all the solemn heaps of fate, + And think, as softly-sad you tread + Above the venerable dead, + 'Time was, like thee they life possess'd, + And time shall be, that thou shalt rest.' + + Those graves, with bending osier bound, + That nameless heave the crumbled ground, 30 + Quick to the glancing thought disclose + Where Toil and Poverty repose. + + The flat smooth stones that bear a name, + The chisel's slender help to fame, + Which, e'er our set of friends decay, + Their frequent steps may wear away, + A middle race of mortals own, + Men half-ambitious, all unknown. + + The marble tombs that rise on high, + Whose dead in vaulted arches lie, 40 + Whose pillars swell with sculptured stones, + Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones;-- + These (all the poor remains of state) + Adorn the rich, or praise the great; + Who while on earth in fame they live, + Are senseless of the fame they give. + + Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades, + The bursting earth unveils the shades! + All slow, and wan, and wrapp'd with shrouds, + They rise in visionary crowds, 50 + And all with sober accent cry, + 'Think, mortal, what it is to die!' + + Now from yon black and funeral yew, + That bathes the charnal-house with dew, + Methinks I hear a voice begin; + (Ye ravens, cease your croaking din, + Ye tolling clocks, no time resound + O'er the long lake and midnight ground!) + It sends a peal of hollow groans, + Thus speaking from among the bones: 60 + + 'When men my scythe and darts supply, + How great a king of fears am I! + They view me like the last of things: + They make, and then they dread, my stings. + Fools! if you less provoked your fears, + No more my spectre-form appears. + Death's but a path that must be trod, + If man would ever pass to God: + A port of calms, a state of ease + From the rough rage of swelling seas. 70 + + Why, then, thy flowing sable stoles, + Deep pendent cypress, mourning poles, + Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds, + Long palls, drawn hearses, cover'd steeds, + And plumes of black, that, as they tread, + Nod o'er the 'scutcheons of the dead? + + Nor can the parted body know, + Nor wants the soul these forms of woe: + As men who long in prison dwell, + With lamps that glimmer round the cell, 80 + Whene'er their suffering years are run, + Spring forth to greet the glittering sun: + Such joy, though far transcending sense, + Have pious souls at parting hence. + On earth, and in the body placed, + A few, and evil years, they waste: + But when their chains are cast aside, + See the glad scene unfolding wide, + Clap the glad wing and tower away, + And mingle with the blaze of day!' 90 + + * * * * * + + + A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT. + + Lovely, lasting peace of mind! + Sweet delight of human kind! + Heavenly born, and bred on high, + To crown the favourites of the sky + With more of happiness below, + Than victors in a triumph know! + Whither, oh! whither art thou fled, + To lay thy meek, contented head? + What happy region dost thou please + To make the seat of calm and ease? 10 + + Ambition searches all its sphere + Of pomp and state, to meet thee there. + Increasing Avarice would find + Thy presence in its gold enshrined. + The bold adventurer ploughs his way, + Through rocks amidst the foaming sea, + To gain thy love; and then perceives + Thou wert not in the rocks and waves. + The silent heart which grief assails, + Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales, 20 + Sees daisies open, rivers run, + And seeks (as I have vainly done) + Amusing thought; but learns to know + That Solitude's the nurse of Woe. + No real happiness is found + In trailing purple o'er the ground; + Or in a soul exalted high, + To range the circuit of the sky, + Converse with stars above, and know + All Nature in its forms below; 30 + The rest it seeks, in seeking dies, + And doubts at last for knowledge rise. + + Lovely, lasting peace appear! + This world itself, if thou art here, + Is once again with Eden bless'd, + And Man contains it in his breast. + + 'Twas thus, as under shade I stood, + I sung my wishes to the wood, + And, lost in thought, no more perceived + The branches whisper as they waved: 40 + It seem'd as all the quiet place + Confess'd the presence of the Grace, + When thus she spoke:--'Go, rule thy will; + Bid thy wild passions all be still; + Know God--and bring thy heart to know + The joys which from Religion flow: + Then every Grace shall prove its guest, + And I'll be there to crown the rest.' + + Oh! by yonder mossy seat, + In my hours of sweet retreat; 50 + Might I thus my soul employ, + With sense of gratitude and joy! + Raised as ancient prophets were, + In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer; + Pleasing all men, hurting none, + Pleased and bless'd with God alone: + Then, while the gardens take my sight + With all the colours of delight; + While silver waters glide along, + To please my ear, and court my song: 60 + I'll lift my voice, and tune my string, + And Thee, Great Source of Nature! sing. + + The sun, that walks his airy way, + To light the world, and give the day; + The moon, that shines with borrow'd light; + The stars, that gild the gloomy night; + The seas, that roll unnumber'd waves; + The wood, that spreads its shady leaves; + The field, whose ears conceal the grain, + The yellow treasure of the plain;-- 70 + All of these, and all I see, + Should be sung, and sung by me: + They speak their Maker as they can, + But want, and ask, the tongue of man. + + Go, search among your idle dreams, + Your busy, or your vain extremes; + And find a life of equal bliss, + Or own the next begun in this! + + * * * * * + + + THE HERMIT. + + Far in a wild, unknown to public view, + From youth to age a reverend hermit grew; + The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, + His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well: + Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days, + Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. + + A life so sacred, such serene repose, + Seem'd heaven itself, till one suggestion rose: + That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey, + This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway; 10 + His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, + And all the tenor of his soul is lost: + So when a smooth expanse receives impress'd + Calm Nature's image on its watery breast, + Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, + And skies beneath with answering colours glow: + But if a stone the gentle scene divide, + Swift ruffling circles curl on every side, + And glimmering fragments of a broken sun, + Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. 20 + + To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, + To find if books or swains report it right, + (For yet by swains alone the world he knew, + Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew) + He quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore, + And fix'd the scallop in his hat before; + Then with the sun a rising journey went, + Sedate to think, and watching each event. + + The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, + And long and lonesome was the wild to pass; 30 + But when the southern sun had warm'd the day, + A youth came posting o'er a crossing way; + His raiment decent, his complexion fair, + And soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair. + Then near approaching, 'Father, hail!' he cried, + 'And hail, my Son!' the reverend sire replied; + Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, + And talk of various kind deceived the road. + Till each with other pleased, and loth to part, + While in their age they differ, join in heart: 40 + Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, + Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. + + Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day + Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray; + Nature in silence bid the world repose; + When near the road a stately palace rose: + There by the moon through ranks of trees they pass, + Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass. + It chanced the noble master of the dome, + Still made his house the wandering stranger's home: 50 + Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, + Proved the vain flourish of expensive ease. + The pair arrive: the liveried servants wait; + Their lord receives them at the pompous gate; + The table groans with costly piles of food, + And all is more than hospitably good; + Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, + Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. + + At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day, + Along the wide canals the Zephyrs play; 60 + Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, + And shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep. + Up rise the guests, obedient to the call; + An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall; + Rich luscious wine a golden goblet graced, + Which the kind master forced the guests to taste. + Then pleased and thankful, from the porch they go, + And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe; + His cup was vanish'd--for in secret guise + The younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize. 70 + + As one who spies a serpent in his way, + Glistening and basking in the summer ray, + Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near, + Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear: + So seem'd the sire, when, far upon the road, + The shining spoil his wily partner show'd. + He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart, + And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part: + Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, + That generous actions meet a base reward. 80 + + While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, + The changing skies hang out their sable clouds; + A sound in air presaged approaching rain, + And beasts to cover scud across the plain. + Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, + To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat. + 'Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, + And strong, and large, and unimproved around; + Its owner's temper, timorous and severe, + Unkind and griping, caused a desert there. 90 + + As near the miser's heavy doors they drew, + Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew; + The nimble lightning, mix'd with showers, began, + And o'er their heads loud-rolling thunder ran. + Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, + Driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. + At length some pity warm'd the master's breast, + ('Twas then his threshold first received a guest) + Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, + And half he welcomes in the shivering pair; 100 + One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, + And Nature's fervour through their limbs recalls: + Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager[1] wine, + (Each hardly granted) served them both to dine; + And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, + A ready warning bid them part in peace. + + With still remark the pondering hermit view'd, + In one so rich, a life so poor and rude; + And why should such, (within himself he cried,) + Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside? 110 + But what new marks of wonder soon took place, + In every settling feature of his face, + When from his vest the young companion bore + That cup, the generous landlord own'd before, + And paid profusely with the precious bowl + The stinted kindness of this churlish soul! + + But now the clouds in airy tumult fly, + The sun emerging opes an azure sky; + A fresher green the smelling leaves display, + And glittering as they tremble, cheer the day: 120 + The weather courts them from the poor retreat, + And the glad master bolts the wary gate. + + While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought + With all the travail of uncertain thought; + His partner's acts without their cause appear, + 'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here: + Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, + Lost and confounded with the various shows. + + Now night's dim shades again involve the sky; + Again the wanderers want a place to lie, 130 + Again they search, and find a lodging nigh. + The soil improved around, the mansion neat, + And neither poorly low, nor idly great: + It seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind, + Content, and not for praise, but virtue kind. + + Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, + Then bliss the mansion, and the master greet: + Their greeting fair bestow'd, with modest guise, + The courteous master hears, and thus replies: + + 'Without a vain, without a grudging heart, 140 + To Him who gives us all, I yield a part; + From Him you come, for Him accept it here, + A frank and sober, more than costly cheer.' + + He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, + Then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed, + When the grave household round his hall repair, + Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. + + At length the world, renew'd by calm repose, + Was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose; + Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept, 150 + Near the closed cradle where an infant slept, + And writhed his neck: the landlord's little pride-- + Oh, strange return!--grew black, and gasp'd, and died. + Horror of horrors! what! his only son! + How look'd our hermit when the fact was done? + Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, + And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart. + + Confused, and struck with silence at the deed, + He flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with speed. + His steps the youth pursues; the country lay 160 + Perplex'd with roads, a servant show'd the way: + A river cross'd the path; the passage o'er + Was nice to find; the servant trode before; + Long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, + And deep the waves beneath the bending glide. + The youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin, + Approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in; + Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head, + Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. + + Wild sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, 170 + He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries: + 'Detested wretch!'--But scarce his speech began, + When the strange partner seem'd no longer man: + His youthful face grew more serenely sweet; + His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet; + Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; + Celestial odours breathe through purpled air; + And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, + Wide at his back their gradual plumes display; + The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, 180 + And moves in all the majesty of light. + + Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, + Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do; + Surprise in secret chains his word suspends, + And in a calm his settling temper ends. + But silence here the beauteous angel broke, + The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke: + + 'Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, + In sweet memorial rise before the throne: + These charms, success in our bright region find, 190 + And force an angel down, to calm thy mind; + For this commission'd, I forsook the sky-- + Nay, cease to kneel--thy fellow-servant I! + + 'Then know the truth of government divine, + And let these scruples be no longer thine. + + 'The Maker justly claims that world He made, + In this the right of Providence is laid; + Its sacred majesty through all depends + On using second means to work His ends: + 'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, 200 + The power exerts His attributes on high, + Your actions uses, not controls your will, + And bids the doubting sons of men "be still!" + + 'What strange events can strike with more surprise, + Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes? + Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty just, + And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust! + + 'The great, vain man, who fared on costly food, + Whose life was too luxurious to be good; + Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, 210 + And forced his guests to morning draughts of wine, + Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, + And still he welcomes, but with less of cost. + + 'The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door, + Ne'er moved in duty to the wandering poor; + With him I left the cup, to teach his mind + That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. + Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, + And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. + Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, 220 + With heaping coals of fire upon its head; + In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, + And, loose from dross, the silver runs below. + + 'Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, + But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God; + Child of his age, for him he lived in pain, + And measured back his steps to earth again. + To what excesses had his dotage run? + But God, to save the father, took the son. + To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go, 230 + And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow. + The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, + Now owns in tears the punishment was just. + + 'But how had all his fortune felt a wrack, + Had that false servant sped in safety back? + This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal, + And what a fund of charity would fail! + + 'Thus Heaven instructs thy mind: this trial o'er, + Depart in peace, resign'd, and sin no more.' + + On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew 240 + The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew. + Thus look'd Elisha, when, to mount on high, + His master took the chariot of the sky; + The fiery pomp ascending left the view; + The prophet gazed, and wish'd to follow too. + + The bending hermit here a prayer begun, + 'Lord! as in heaven, on earth Thy will be done.' + Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place, + And pass'd a life of piety and peace. + +[Footnote 1: 'Eager:' i. e., sharp and sour.] + + * * * * * + +END OF PARNELL'S POEMS. + + * * * * * + + + +THE LIFE AND POEMS + +OF + +THOMAS GRAY. + +How dearly, at one time, and how cheaply at another, does Genius +purchase immortal fame! Here a Milton + + "Scorns delights, and lives laborious days," + +that he may, through sufferings, sorrows, and the strainings of a long +life, pile up a large and lofty poem;--and there a Gray, in the +intervals of other studies, produces a few short but exquisite verses, +which become instantly and for ever popular, and render his name as +dear to many, if not dearer, than that of the sublimer bard; for there +are probably thousands who would prefer to have written the "Elegy +written in a Country Churchyard," instead of the "Paradise Lost." + +Thomas Gray was born in Cornhill, London, on the 26th December 1716. +His father was Mr Philip Gray, a respectable scrivener, and his +mother's name was Dorothy Antrobus. Gray was the fifth of twelve +children, and the only one that survived. His life was saved in +infancy by his mother, who, during a paroxysm which attacked her son, +opened a vein with her own hand. This, and many other acts of maternal +tenderness, rendered her memory unspeakably dear to the poet, who +seldom mentioned her, after her death, "without a sigh." He was sent +to study at Eton College, the happy days spent in which he has so +beautifully commemorated in his "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton +College." It added to his comfort here that his maternal uncle, Mr +Antrobus, was an assistant-teacher. From Eton he passed to Pembroke +College, Cambridge, where he was admitted as a pensioner in 1734, in +the nineteenth year of his age. He had at Eton become intimate with +Horace Walpole and with Richard West, a young man of high promise, who +died early. It is worth noticing that, during his residence both at +Eton and Cambridge, he was supported entirely out of the separate +industry of his mother, his father refusing him all aid. + +At Cambridge, Gray studied very hard, attending less to mathematics +than to classical literature, modern languages, history, and poetry. +He aspired to be a universally accomplished as well as a minutely +learned man. His compositions, from 1734 to 1738, were translations +from Italian into Latin and English, and one or two small pieces of +original verse. In September 1738, he returned to his father's house, +and remained there for six months, doing little except carrying on a +correspondence he had begun at Cambridge with West and other friends. +Correspondence, from the first and to the last, was the best OUTCOME +of Gray's mind--he felt himself most at home in it; and, next to +Cowper's, his letters are the most delightful in the English language. + +He had intended to study law, but was diverted from his purpose by +Horace Walpole, who invited him to take in his Company the "grand +tour." To no Briton, since Milton, could travel have been more +congenial or more instructive than to Gray. He that would travel to +advantage must first have travelled in mind all the countries he +visits, and must be learned in their literature, their politics, their +scenery, and their antiquities, ere ever he sets a foot upon their +shores. To Italy and France, Gray went as to favourite studies, not as +to relaxations; and spent his time in observing their famous scenes +with the eye of a poet--cataloguing their paintings in the spirit of a +connoisseur--perfecting his knowledge of their languages--examining +minutely the principles of their architecture and music--comparing +their present aspect with the old classical descriptions; and writing +home an elegant epistolary account of all his sights, and all +his speculations. He saw Paris--visited Geneva--passed to +Florence--hurried to Rome on the tidings of Pope Clement XII's death, +to see the installation of his successor--stood beside the cataracts +of Tivoli and Terni, and might have seen in both, emblems of his own +genius, which, like them, was beautiful and powerful, but +artificial--took a rapid run to Naples, and was charmed beyond +expression with its bay, its climate, and its fruitage--and was one of +the first English travellers to visit Herculaneum, discovered only the +year before (1739), and to wonder at that strange and solemn rehearsal +of the resurrection exhibited in its streets. From Naples he returned +to Florence, where he continued eleven months, and began a Latin poem, +"De Principiis Cogitandi." He then, on the 24th of April 1741, set off +with Walpole for Bologna and Reggio. At this latter place occurred the +celebrated quarrel between the two travellers. The causes and +circumstances of this are involved in considerable obscurity. +Dissimilarity of tastes and habits was probably at the bottom of it. +Gray was an enthusiastic scholar; Walpole was then a gay and giddy +voluptuary, although predestined to sour down into the most +cold-blooded and cynical of gossips. They parted at Reggio, to meet +only once afterwards at Strawberry Hill, where Gray long after visited +Walpole at his own invitation, but told him frankly he never could be +on the same terms of friendship again. Left now to pursue his journey +alone, he went to Venice, and thence came back through Padua and Milan +to France. On his way between Turin and Lyons, he turned aside to see +again the noble mountainous scenery surrounding the Grande Chartreuse +in Dauphiné; and in the album kept by the fathers wrote his Alcaic +Ode, testifying to his admiration of a scene where, he says, "every +precipice and cliff was pregnant, with religion and poetry." + +Two months after his return to England, his father died, somewhat +impoverished by improvidence. Gray, thinking himself too poor to study +the law, sent his mother and a maiden sister to reside at Stoke, near +Windsor, and retired to Peterhouse, Cambridge, where he resumed his +classical and poetical pursuits. To West, who by this time was +declining in health, he sent part of "Agrippina," a tragedy he had +commenced. West objected to the length and prosiness of Agrippina's +speeches. These were afterwards altered by Mason, in accordance with +West's suggestions; but Gray was discouraged, and has left "Agrippina" +a Torso. The subject was unpleasing. To have treated adequately the +character of Nero, would have required more than the genius of Gray; +and the language of the fragment is distinguished rather by rhetorical +burnish than by poetical spirit and heat. We have not thought it +necessary to reprint it, nor several besides of the fragmentary and +inferior productions of this poet, which Mason, too, thought proper +to omit. + +Gray now plunged into the _mare magnum_ of classical literature. With +greater energy and exclusiveness than before, he read Thucydides, +Theocritus, and Anacreon; he translated parts of Propertius, and he +wrote a heroic epistle in Latin, after the manner of Ovid, and a Greek +epigram. This last he communicated to West, who was now in +Hertfordshire, waiting the approach of the Angel of Death. To the same +dear friend he sent his "Ode to Spring," which he had written under +his mother's roof at Stoke. He was too late. West was dead before it +arrived. This amiable and gifted person, who was thought by many +superior in natural genius to his friend, and whose name is for ever +connected with that of Gray, expired on the 1st of June 1742, and now +reposes in the chancel of Hatfield Church. We strongly suspect that it +was he whom Gray had in his eye in the close of his "Elegy." + +Autumn has often been thought propitious to genius, especially when +its tender sun-light is still further sweetened and saddened by the +joy of grief. In the autumn of this year, Gray, who was peculiarly +susceptible to skiey influences, wrote some of his best poetry--his +"Hymn to Adversity," his "Distant Prospect of Eton College," and +commenced his "Elegy written in a Country Churchyard." A Sonnet in +English, and the Apostrophe which opens the fourth book of his "De +Principiis Cogitandi," bore testimony to his esteem for the character +and his regret for the premature loss of Richard West. + +To Cambridge Gray seems to have had little attachment; but partly from +the smallness of his income, and partly from the access he had to its +libraries, he was found there to the last, constantly complaining, and +always continuing, like the _statue_ of a murmurer. In the winter of +1742 he was admitted Bachelor of Civil Law; and in acknowledgment of +the honour of the admission, began an "Address to Ignorance," which it +is no great loss to his fame that he never finished. Hazlitt completed +what appears to have been Gray's design in that admirable and +searching paper of his, entitled, "The Ignorance of the Learned," in +which he shows how ill mere learning supplies the want of common sense +and practical knowledge, as well as of talent and genius. + +In 1744, through the intervention of a lady, the difference between +Walpole and Gray was so far made up, that they resumed their +correspondence, although never their intimacy. About this time he got +acquainted with Mason, then a scholar in St John's College, who became +a minor Boswell to a minor Johnson; although he used liberties with +Gray's correspondence and poetry, such as Boswell never durst have +attempted with his idol. Mason had first introduced himself to Gray by +showing him some MS. poetry. With the famous Dr Conyers Middleton, +too, he became intimate, and lived to lament his death. + +In 1747, Dodsley published for him his "Ode to Eton College," the +first of Gray's productions which appeared in print. It excited no +notice whatever. Walpole wished him to publish his poems in +conjunction with the remains of West; but this he declined, on account +of want of materials--perhaps also feeling the great superiority of +his own poetry. At Walpole's request, however, he wrote an ode on the +death of his favourite cat! + +Greek became now his constant study. He read its more recondite +authors, such as Pausanias, Athenaeus, Pindar, Lysias, and Æschylus, +with great care, and commenced the preparation of a Table of Greek +Chronology, on a very minute and elaborate scale. + +In 1749 he lost his aunt, Mrs Antrobus, and her death, which he felt +as a heavy affliction, led him to complete his "Elegy," which he sent +to Walpole, who handed it about in MS., to the great delight of those +who were privileged to peruse it. When published, it sold rapidly, and +continues still the most popular of his poems. + +In March 1753, his beloved and revered mother died, and he erected +over her dust a monument, with an inscription testifying to the +strength of his filial love and sorrow. In 1755 he finished his "Ode +on the Progress of Poetry," and in the same year began his "Bard." All +his poems, however short, were most laboriously composed, written and +rewritten, subjected, in whole or in part, to the criticism of his +friends, and, according to their verdict, either published, or left +fragments, or consigned to the flames. About this time he begins, in +his letters, to complain of depression of spirits, of severe attacks +of the gout, of sleepless nights, feverish mornings, and heavy days. +He was now, and during the rest of his life, to pay the penalty of a +lettered indolence and studious sloth, of a neglected body and an +over-cultivated mind. The accident, it is said, of seeing a blind +Welsh harper performing on a harp, excited him to finish his "Bard," +which in MS. appears to have divided the opinion of his friends, as it +still does that of the critics. + +In 1758 Gray left Peterhouse, owing to some real or imaginary offence, +and removed to Pembroke Hall, where he was surrounded by his old and +intimate friends. The next year he carried his two Odes to London, as +carefully as if they had been two Epics. Walpole says that he +"snatched them out of Dodsley's hands, and made them 'the first-fruits +of his own press at Strawberry Hill,' where a thousand copies were +printed. When published, they attracted much attention, but did not +gain universal applause. Obscurity was the principal charge brought +against them. Their friends, however, including Warburton, Hurd, +Mason, and Garrick, were vehement in their admiration, and loud in +their encomiums. In this year Colley Cibber, the laureate, died, and +the office was offered to Gray, with the peculiar and highly +honourable condition, that he was to hold it as a sinecure. The poet, +however, refused, on the ground, as he tells Mason, that the office +had 'hitherto humbled its possessor.'" + +In 1758, he composed, for his amusement, a "Catalogue of the +Antiquities, Houses, &c., in England and Wales," which was, after his +death, printed and distributed by Mason among his friends. + +The next year the British Museum was opened (15th January 1759), and +Gray went to London to read and transcribe the MSS. collected there +from the Harleian and Cottoman libraries. During his residence in the +capital, appeared two odes to "Obscurity" and "Oblivion," in ridicule +of his lyrics, from the pens of Colman and Lloyd, full of spirited +satire, which failed, however, to disturb the poet's equanimity. Like +many fastidious writers, he was more afraid of his own taste, and of +the strictures of good-natured friends, than of the attacks of foes. +In 1762 he applied for the Professorship of Modern History, vacant by +the death of Turner; but it was given to Brochet, the tutor of Sir +James Lowther. + +In 1765 he took a tour to Scotland, and saw many of its more +interesting points--Stirling, Loch Tay, the Pass of Killierankie, and +Glammis Castle, where he met Beattie. He wrote a very entertaining +account of the journey, in his letters to his friends. He was offered +an LL.D. by the College of Aberdeen; but out of respect to his own +University, declined the honour. In 1767 he added his "Imitations of +Welsh and Norwegian Poetry" to his other productions. Sir Walter Scott +tells us, that when Gray's poems reached the Orkney and Shetland +Isles, and when the "Fatal Sisters" was repeated by a clergyman to +some of the old inhabitants, they remembered having sung it all in its +native language to him years before. In 1768, the Professorship of +Modern History falling again vacant by Mr Brochet's death, the Duke of +Grafton instantly bestowed it on Gray, who, out of gratitude, wrote an +ode on the installation of his patron to the Chancellorship of +Cambridge University. He went from witnessing this ceremony to the +Lakes of Cumberland, and kept an interesting journal of his tour to +that then little known and most enchanting region. In 1770, he visited +Wales; but owing probably to poor health, has left no notes of his +journey. In May the next year, his health became worse, his spirits +more depressed, an incurable cough preyed on his lungs; he resigned +his Professorship, and shortly after removed to London. There he +rallied a little, and returned to Cambridge, where, on the 24th of +July, he was seized with a severe attack of gout in the stomach. Of +this he expired on the 30th, in the 55th year of his age, without any +apparent fear of death. He was buried by the side of his mother, in +the churchyard of Stoke. A monument was erected by Mason to his +memory, in Westminster Abbey. + +Gray was a brilliant bookworm. In private he was a quiet, abstracted, +dreaming scholar, although in the company of a few friends he could +become convivial and witty. His heart, however, was always in his +study. His portrait gives you the impression of great fastidiousness, +and almost feminine delicacy of face, as well as of considerable +self-esteem. His face has more of the critic than of the poet. His +learning and accomplishments have been equalled perhaps by no poet +since Milton. He knew the Classics, the Northern Scalds, the Italian +poets and historians, the French novelists, Architecture, Zoology, +Painting, Sculpture, Botany, Music, and Antiquities. But he liked +better, he said, to read than to write. You figure him always lounging +with a volume in his hand, on a sofa, and crying out, "Be mine to read +eternal novels of Marivaux and Crebillon." Against his moral character +there exists no imputation; and notwithstanding a sneering hint of +Walpole's, his religious creed seems to have been orthodox. + +With all his learning and genius, he has done little. His letters and +poems remind you of a few scattered leaves, surviving the +conflagration of the Alexandrian library. The very popularity of the +scraps which such a writer leaves, secures the torments of Tantalus to +his numerous admirers in all after ages. His letters, in their grace, +freedom, minuteness of detail, occasional playfulness, delicious +_asides_ of gossip, and easy vigour of description, are more worthy of +his powers, as a whole, than his poetry. The poetic fragments he has +left are rarely of such merit as to excite any wish that they had been +finished. His genius, although true and exquisite, was limited in its +range, and hidebound in its movements. You see his genius, like a +child, always casting a look of terror round on its older companion +and guardian--his taste. Like Campbell, "he often spreads his wings +grandly, but shrinks back timidly to his perch again, and seems afraid +of the shadow of his own fame." Within his own range, however, he is +as strong as he is delicate and refined. His two principal Odes have, +as we hinted, divided much the opinion of critics. Dr Johnson has +assailed them in his worst style of captious and word-catching +criticism. Now, that there is much smoke around their fire, we grant. +But we argue that there is genuine fire amidst their smoke,--first, +from the fact that so many of their lines, such as, + + "The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love;" + "The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye;" + "Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves;" + "Sailing with supreme dominion + Through the azure deep of air;" + "Beneath the good how far, but far above the great" + "High-born Hoel's harp, and soft Llewellyn's lay," + +are so often and admiringly quoted; and because, secondly, we can +trace the influence of the "Progress of Poetry," and of the "Bard," on +much of the higher song that has succeeded,--on the poetry of Bowles, +Coleridge, Wordsworth, Campbell, and Shelley. Gray was not a sun +shining in his strength, but he was the morning star, prognosticating +the coming of a warmer and brighter poetic day. + +He that can see no merit in the "Ode on the Distant Prospect of Eton +College," can surely never have been a boy. The boy's heart beats in +its every line, and yet all the experiences of boyhood are seen and +shown in the sober light of those + + "Years which bring the philosophic mind." + +Here lies the complex charm of the poem. The unthinking gaiety of +boyhood, its light sports, its airy gladness, its springy motions, the +"tears forgot as soon as shed," the "sunshine of the breast" of that +delightful period--are contrasted with the still and often sombre +reflection, the grave joys, the carking cares, the stern concentred +passions, the serious pastimes, the spare but sullen and burning +tears, the sad smiles of manhood; and contrasted by one who is +realising both with equal vividness and intensity--because he is in +age a man, and in memory and imagination an Eton schoolboy still. The +breezes of boyhood return and blow on a head on which gray hairs are +beginning "here and there" to whiten; and he cries-- + + "I feel the gales that from ye blow + A momentary bliss bestow, + As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, + My weary soul they seem to soothe, + And redolent of joy and youth, + To breathe a second spring." + +Dr Johnson makes a peculiarly poor and unworthy objection to the next +stanza of the poem. Speaking of the address to the Thames-- + + "Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen + Full many a sprightly race;" + +he says, "Father Thames has no better means of knowing than himself." +He should have left this objection to those wretched _mechanical_ +critics who abound in the present day. He forgot that in his own +"Rasselas" he had invoked the Nile, as the great "Father of waters," +to tell, if, in any of the provinces through which he rolled, he did +not hear the language of distress. Critics, like liars, should have +good memories. + +His remark that the "Prospect of Eton College" suggests nothing to +Gray which every beholder does not equally think and feel, is, in +reality, a compliment to the simplicity and naturalness of the strain. +Common thought and feeling crystalised, is the staple of much of our +best poetry. Gray says in a poetical way, what every one might have +thought and felt, but no one but he could have so beautifully +expressed. To the spirited translations from the Norse and Welsh, the +only objection urged by Dr Johnson is, that their "language is unlike +the language of other poets"--an objection which would tell still more +powerfully against Milton, Collins, and Young, not to speak of the +"chartered libertines" of our more modern song. But a running growl of +prejudice is heard in every sentence of Gray's Life by Johnson, and +tends far more to injure the critic than the poet. + +In his "Elegy written in a Country Churchyard," Gray has caught, +concentred, and turned into a fine essence, the substance of a +thousand meditations among the tombs. One of its highest points of +merit, conceded by Dr Johnson, is essentially the same with which he +had found fault in the "Ode to Eton College." "The poem abounds with +images which find a mirror in every mind, and with sentiments to which +every bosom returns an echo." Everything is in intense keeping. The +images are few, but striking; the language is severely simple; the +thought is at once obvious and original, at once clear and profound, +and many of the couplets seem carefully and consciously chiselled for +immortality, to become mottoes for every churchyard in the kingdom, +and to "teach the rustic moralist to die," while the country remains +beautiful, and while death continues to inspire fear. And with what +daring felicity of genius does the author introduce, ere the close, a +living but anonymous figure amidst the company of the silent dead, and +contrive to unite the interest of a personal story, the charm of a +mystery, and the solemnity of a moral meditation, into one fine whole! +We know of but one objection of much weight to this exquisite elegy. +There is scarcely the faintest or most faltering allusion to the +doctrine of the resurrection. Death has it all his own way in this +citadel of his power. The poet never points his finger to the distant +horizon, where life and immortality are beginning to colour the clouds +with the promise of the eternal morning. The elegy might almost have +been written by a Pagan. In this point, Beattie, in his "Hermit," has +much the advantage of his friend Gray; for _his_ eye is anointed to +behold a blessed vision, and his voice is strengthened thus to sing-- + + "On the pale cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, + And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." + +Nevertheless, had Gray been known, not for his scholarship, not for +his taste, not for his letters and minor poems, not for his reputed +powers and unrivalled accomplishments, but solely for this elegy--had +only it and his mere name survived, it alone would have entitled him +to rank with Britain's best poets. + + * * * * * + + +GRAY'S POEMS. + + ODES. + + I.--ON THE SPRING. + + 1. Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, + Fair Venus' train, appear, + Disclose the long-expecting flowers, + And wake the purple year! + The Attic warbler pours her throat + Responsive to the cuckoo's note, + The untaught harmony of Spring: + While, whispering pleasure as they fly, + Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky + Their gather'd fragrance fling. + + 2. Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch + A broader, browner shade. + Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech + O'ercanopies the glade, + Beside some water's rushy brink + With me the Muse shall sit, and think + (At ease reclined in rustic state) + How vain the ardour of the crowd, + How low, how little, are the proud, + How indigent the great! + + 3. Still is the toiling hand of Care; + The panting herds repose: + Yet hark! how through the peopled air + The busy murmur glows! + The insect youth are on the wing, + Eager to taste the honied spring, + And float amid the liquid noon; + Some lightly o'er the current skim, + Some show their gaily gilded trim, + Quick glancing to the sun. + + 4. To Contemplation's sober eye, + Such is the race of Man, + And they that creep, and they that fly, + Shall end where they began. + Alike the busy and the gay + But flutter through life's little day, + In Fortune's varying colours dress'd; + Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, + Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance + They leave, in dust to rest. + + 5. Methinks I hear, in accents low, + The sportive kind reply, + Poor Moralist! and what art thou? + A solitary fly! + Thy joys no glittering female meets, + No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, + No painted plumage to display: + On hasty wings thy youth is flown, + Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-- + We frolic while 'tis May. + + * * * * * + + + II.--ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, + + DROWNED IN A CHINA TUB OF GOLD FISHES. + + 1. 'Twas on a lofty vase's side, + Where China's gayest art had dyed + The azure flowers that blow, + Demurest of the tabby kind, + The pensive Selima, reclined, + Gazed on the lake below. + + 2. Her conscious tail her joy declared; + The fair round face, the snowy beard, + The velvet of her paws, + Her coat that with the tortoise vies, + Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, + She saw, and purr'd applause. + + 3. Still had she gazed, but,' midst the tide, + Two angel forms were seen to glide, + The Genii of the stream; + Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue, + Through richest purple, to the view + Betray'd a golden gleam. + + 4. The hapless nymph with wonder saw; + A whisker first, and then a claw, + With many an ardent wish, + She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize: + What female heart can gold despise? + What cat's averse to fish? + + 5. Presumptuous maid! with looks intent, + Again she stretch'd, again she bent, + Nor knew the gulf between: + (Maligant Fate sat by and smiled,) + The slippery verge her feet beguiled; + She tumbled headlong in. + + 6. Eight times emerging from the flood, + She mew'd to every watery god + Some speedy aid to send. + No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, + Nor cruel Tom or Susan heard: + A favourite has no friend! + + 7. From hence, ye beauties! undeceived, + Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, + And be with caution bold: + Not all that tempts your wandering eyes, + And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, + Nor all that glisters gold. + + * * * * * + + + III--ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. + + [Greek: Anthropos ikanae profasis eis to dustuchein] + + MENANDER. + + 1 Ye distant spires! ye antique towers! + That crown the watery glade + Where grateful Science still adores + Her Henry's (1) holy shade; + And ye that from the stately brow + Of Windsor's heights the expanse below + Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, + Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among + Wanders the hoary Thames along + His silver-winding way: + + 2 Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! + Ah, fields beloved in vain! + Where once my careless childhood stray'd, + A stranger yet to pain! + I feel the gales that from ye blow + A momentary bliss bestow, + As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, + My weary soul they seem to soothe, + And, redolent of joy and youth, + To breathe a second spring. + + 3 Say, father Thames! for thou hast seen + Full many a sprightly race, + Disporting on thy margent green, + The paths of pleasure trace, + Who foremost now delight to cleave + With pliant arm thy glassy wave? + The captive linnet which enthral? + What idle progeny succeed + To chase the rolling circle's speed, + Or urge the flying ball? + + 4 While some, on earnest business bent, + Their murmuring labours ply, + 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint, + To sweeten liberty: + Some bold adventurers disdain + The limits of their little reign, + And unknown regions dare descry; + Still as they run they look behind. + They hear a voice in every wind, + And snatch a fearful joy. + + 5 Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed, + Less pleasing when possess'd; + The tear forgot as soon as shed, + The sunshine of the breast; + Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, + Wild wit, invention ever new, + And lively cheer, of vigour born; + The thoughtless day, the easy night, + The spirits pure, the slumbers light, + That fly the approach of morn. + + 6 Alas! regardless of their doom, + The little victims play; + No sense have they of ills to come, + Nor care beyond to-day: + Yet see how all around them wait, + The ministers of human fate, + And black Misfortune's baleful train! + Ah! show them where in ambush stand, + To seize their prey, the murderous band! + Ah! tell them they are men! + + 7 These shall the fury Passions tear, + The vultures of the mind, + Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, + And Shame that skulks behind; + Or pining Love shall waste their youth, + Or Jealousy, with rankling teeth, + That inly gnaws the secret heart; + And Envy wan, and faded Care, + Grim-visaged, comfortless Despair, + And Sorrow's piercing dart. + + 8 Ambition this shall tempt to rise, + Then whirl the wretch from high, + To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, + And grinning infamy: + The stings of Falsehood those shall try, + And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, + That mocks the tear it forced to flow; + And keen Remorse, with blood defiled, + And moody Madness, laughing wild + Amid severest woe. + + 9 Lo! in the vale of years beneath, + A grisly troop are seen, + The painful family of Death, + More hideous than their queen: + This racks the joints, this fires the veins, + That every labouring sinew strains, + Those in the deeper vitals rage; + Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, + That numbs the soul with icy hand, + And slow-consuming Age. + + 10 To each his sufferings; all are men + Condemn'd alike to groan; + The tender for another's pain, + The unfeeling for his own. + Yet ah! why should they know their fate, + Since sorrow never comes too late, + And happiness too swiftly flies? + Thought would destroy their paradise-- + No more; where ignorance is bliss, + 'Tis folly to be wise. + + +[Footnote: (1) 'Henry:' King Henry VI., founder of the College.] + + * * * * * + + + IV.--HYMN TO ADVERSITY. + + [Greek: + + Zaena ... + Ton phronein brotous odosanta, to pathei mathos + phenta kurios echein. + + ÆSCH. AG. 167.] + + 1 Daughter of Jove, relentless Power, + Thou tamer of the human breast, + Whose iron scourge and torturing hour + The bad affright, afflict the best! + Bound in thy adamantine chain, + The proud are taught to taste of pain, + And purple tyrants vainly groan + With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. + + 2 When first thy Sire to send on earth, + Virtue, his darling child, design'd, + To thee he gave the heavenly birth, + And bade to form her infant mind: + Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore + With patience many a year she bore; + What sorrow was thou badest her know, + And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. + + 3 Scared at thy frown, terrific fly + Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, + Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, + And leave us leisure to be good. + Light they disperse; and with them go + The summer friend, the flattering foe; + By vain Prosperity received, + To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. + + 4 Wisdom, in sable garb array'd, + Immersed in rapturous thought profound, + And Melancholy, silent maid! + With leaden eye, that loves the ground, + Still on thy solemn steps attend; + Warm Charity, the general friend, + With Justice, to herself severe, + And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. + + 5 Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head, + Dread Goddess! lay thy chastening hand, + Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, + Nor circled with the vengeful band: + (As by the impious thou art seen), + With thundering voice and threatening mien, + With screaming Horror's funeral cry, + Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. + + 6 Thy form benign, O Goddess! wear, + Thy milder influence impart, + Thy philosophic train be there, + To soften, not to wound, my heart: + The generous spark extinct revive; + Teach me to love and to forgive; + Exact my own defects to scan; + What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. + + * * * * * + + + V.--THE PROGRESS OF POESY. + + PINDARIC. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--When the author first published this and the following +ode, he was advised, even by his friends, to subjoin some few +explanatory notes, but had too much respect for the understanding of +his readers to take that liberty. + + [Greek: + + Phonanta sunetoisin es + De to pan hermaeneon + Chatizei.-- + PINDAR, _Olymp._ ii.] + + I.--1. + + Awake, Aeolian lyre! awake, + And give to rapture all thy trembling strings; + From Helicon's harmonious springs + A thousand rills their mazy progress take; + The laughing flowers, that round them blow, + Drink life and fragrance as they flow. + Now the rich stream of music winds along, + Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, + Through verdant vales and Ceres' golden reign; + Now rolling down the steep amain, + Headlong, impetuous, see it pour; + The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. + + I.--2. + + Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul, + Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, + Enchanting Shell! the sullen Cares + And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. + On Thracia's hills the Lord of War + Has curb'd the fury of his car, + And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command: + Perching on the sceptred hand + Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king + With ruffled plumes and flagging wing: + Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie + The terror of his beak and lightnings of his eye. + + I.--3. + + Thee the voice, the dance obey, + Temper'd to thy warbled lay: + O'er India's velvet green + The rosy-crowned Loves are seen, + On Cytherea's day, + With antic Sports and blue-eyed Pleasures + Frisking light in frolic measures: + Now pursuing, now retreating, + Now in circling troops they meet; + To brisk notes in cadence beating, + Glance their many-twinkling feet. + Slow-melting strains their Queen's approach declare + Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay; + With arms sublime, that float upon the air, + In gliding state she wins her easy way: + O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move + The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. + + II.--1. + + Man's feeble race what life await! + Labour and Penury, the racks of Pain, + Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, + And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate! + The fond complaint, my Song! disprove, + And justify the laws of Jove. + Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? + Night and all her sickly dews, + Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, + He gives to range the dreary sky, + Till down the eastern cliffs afar + Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. + + II.--2. + + In climes beyond the Solar road, + Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, + The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom + To cheer the shivering native's dull abode; + And oft beneath the odorous shade + Of Chili's boundless forests laid, + She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, + In loose numbers, wildly sweet, + Their feather-cinctured chiefs and dusky loves. + Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, + Glory pursue, and generous Shame, + The unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame. + + II.--3. + + Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep, + Isles that crown the Ægean deep, + Fields that cool Ilissus laves, + Or where Meander's amber waves + In lingering labyrinths creep, I + How do your tuneful echoes languish, + Mute but to the voice of Anguish? + Where each old poetic mountain + Inspiration breathed around; + Every shade and hallow'd fountain + Murmur'd deep a solemn sound, + Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, + Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains: + Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power + And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. + When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, + They sought, O Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast. + + III.--1. + + Far from the sun and summer-gale, + In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid, + What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, + To him the mighty Mother did unveil + Her awful face; the dauntless child + Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. + This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear + Richly paint the vernal year; + Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! + This can unlock the gates of Joy, + Of Horror that, and thrilling Pears, + Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears. + + III.--2. + + Nor second He that rode sublime + Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy; + The secrets of the abyss to spy, + He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: + The living throne, the sapphire-blaze, + Where angels tremble while they gaze, + He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, + Closed his eyes in endless night. + Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car + Wide o'er the fields of glory bear + Two coursers[1] of ethereal race, + With necks in thunder clothed and long-resounding pace. + + III.--3. + + Hark! his hands the lyre explore! + Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, + Scatters from her pictured urn + Thoughts that breathe and words that burn; + But ah! 'tis heard no more. + O lyre divine! what dying spirit[2] + Wakes thee now? though he inherit + Nor the pride nor ample pinion + That the Theban eagle[3] bear, + Sailing with supreme dominion + Through the azure deep of air, + Yet oft before his infant eyes would run + Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray + With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun; + Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way + Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, + Beneath the good how far--but far above the great. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Coursers:' the heroic rhymes.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Dying spirit:' Cowley.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Theban eagle:' Pindar.] + + * * * * * + + + VI--THE BARD. + + PINDARIC. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--The following ode is founded on a tradition current in +Wales, that Edward I., when he completed the conquest of that country, +ordered all the bards that fell into his hands to be put to death. + + I.--1. + + 'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! + Confusion on thy banners wait; + Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, + They mock the air with idle state. + Helm nor hauberk's[1] twisted mail, + Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant! shall avail + To save thy secret soul from nightly fears; + From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!' + Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride + Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, + As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side + He wound with toilsome march his long array: + Stout Glo'ster[2] stood aghast in speechless trance: + To arms! cried Mortimer,[3] and couch'd his quivering lance. + + I.--2. + + On a rock, whose haughty brow + Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, + Robed in the sable garb of woe, + With haggard eyes the poet stood; + (Loose his beard and hoary hair, + Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) + And with a master's hand and prophet's fire + Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre: + 'Hark how each giant oak and desert cave + Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! + O'er thee, O King! their hundred arms they wave, + Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; + Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, + To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. + + I.--3. + + 'Cold is Cadwallo's tongue + That hush'd the stormy main; + Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: + Mountains! ye moan in vain + Modrid, whose magic song + Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd head. + On dreary Arvon's shore[4] they lie, + Smear'd with gore and ghastly pale; + Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail; + The famish'd eagle screams and passes by. + Dear lost companions of my tuneful art! + Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, + Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, + Ye died amidst your dying country's cries-- + No more I weep. They do not sleep: + On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, + I see them sit; they linger yet, + Avengers of their native land: + With me in dreadful harmony they join, + And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. + + II.--1. + + "Weave the warp and weave the woof, + The winding-sheet of Edward's race: + Give ample room and verge enough + The characters of Hell to trace. + Mark the year and mark the night + When Severn shall re-echo with affright + The shrieks of death through Berkley's roofs that ring, + Shrieks of an agonising king![5] + She-wolf of France,[6] with unrelenting fangs + That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, + From thee[7] be born who o'er thy country hangs + The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him wait! + Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, + And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. + + II.--2. + + "Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, + Low on his funeral couch[8] he lies! + No pitying heart, no eye afford + A tear to grace his obsequies! + Is the sable warrior[9] fled? + Thy son is gone; he rests among the dead. + The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born, + Gone to salute the rising morn: + Fair laughs the morn,[10] and soft the Zephyr blows, + While, proudly riding o'er the azure realm, + In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, + Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm, + Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, + That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey. + + II.--3. + + "Fill high the sparkling bowl,[11] + The rich repast prepare; + Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast. + Close by the regal chair + Fell Thirst and Famine scowl + A baleful smile upon the baffled guest. + Heard ye the din of battle bray,[12] + Lance to lance and horse to horse? + Long years of havoc urge their destined course, + And through the kindred squadrons mow their way; + Ye Towers of Julius![13] London's lasting shame, + With many a foul and midnight murder fed, + Revere his consort's[14] faith, his father's[15] fame, + And spare the meek usurper's[16] holy head. + Above, below, the Rose of snow,[17] + Twined with her blushing foe, we spread; + The bristled Boar[18] in infant gore + Wallows beneath the thorny shade; + Now, Brothers! bending o'er the accursed loom, + Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. + + III.--I. + + "Edward, lo! to sudden fate + (Weave we the woof; the thread is spun:) + Half of thy heart[19] we consecrate; + (The web is wove; the work is done.") + 'Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn + Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn, + In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, + They melt, they vanish from my eyes. + But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height, + Descending slow, their glittering skirts unroll! + Visions of glory! spare my aching sight! + Ye unborn ages crowd not on my soul! + No more our long-lost Arthur[20] we bewail: + All hail, ye genuine Kings![21] Britannia's issue, hail! + + III.--2. + + 'Girt with many a baron bold, + Sublime their starry fronts they rear; + And gorgeous dames and statesmen old + In bearded majesty appear; + In the midst a form divine, + Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line, + Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,[22] + Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. + What strings symphonious tremble in the air! + What strains of vocal transport round her play! + Hear from the grave, great Taliessin,[23] hear! + They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. + Bright Rapture calls, and, soaring as she sings, + Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings. + + III.--3. + + 'The verse adorn again, + Fierce War and faithful Love, + And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction dress'd. + In buskin'd measures move + Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, + With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. + A voice[24] as of the cherub-choir + Gales from blooming Eden bear, + And distant warblings[25] lessen on my ear, + That lost in long futurity expire. + Fond, impious man! think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, + Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? + To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, + And warms the nations with redoubled ray. + Enough for me: with joy I see + The different doom our Fates assign; + Be thine despair and sceptred care; + To triumph and to die are mine.' + He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height, + Deep in the roaring tide, he plunged to endless night. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Hauberk:' the hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets or +rings interwoven, forming a coat of mail that sat close to the body, +and adapted itself to every motion.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Stout Glo'ster:' Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the Red, +Earl of Gloucester and Hertford, son-in-law to King Edward.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Mortimer:' Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore. They +both were Lords Marchers, whose lands lay on the borders of Wales, and +probably accompanied the King in this expedition.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Arvon's shore:' the shores of Caernarvonshire, opposite +to the isle of Anglesey.] + +[Footnote 5: 'King:' Edward II., cruelly butchered in Berkley Castle.] + +[Footnote 6: 'She-wolf of France:' Isabel of France, Edward II.'s +adulterous queen.] + +[Footnote 7: 'From thee:' triumphs of Edward III. in France.] + +[Footnote 8: 'Funeral couch:' death of that king, abandoned by his +children, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and his +mistress.] + +[Footnote 9: 'Sable warrior:' Edward the Black Prince, dead some time +before his father.] + +[Footnote 10: 'Fair laughs the morn:' magnificence of Richard II.'s +reign; see Froissard, and other contemporary writers.] + +[Footnote 11: 'Sparkling bowl:' Richard II. was starved to death; the +story of his assassination by Sir Piers of Exon is of much +later date.] + +[Footnote 12: 'Battle bray:' ruinous civil wars of York and +Lancaster.] + +[Footnote 13: 'Towers of Julius:' Henry VI., George Duke of Clarence, +Edward V., Richard Duke of York, &c., believed to be murdered secretly +in the Tower of London; the oldest part of that structure is vulgarly +attributed to Julius Cæsar.] + +[Footnote 14: 'Consort:' Margaret of Anjou.] + +[Footnote 15: 'Father:' Henry V.] + +[Footnote 16: 'Usurper:' Henry VI., very near being canonised; the +line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance to the crown.] + +[Footnote 17: 'Rose of snow:' the White and Red Roses, devices of York +and Lancaster.] + +[Footnote 18: 'Boar:' the silver Boar was the badge of Richard III., +whence he was usually known in his own time by the name of The Boar.] + +[Footnote 19: 'Half of thy heart:' Eleanor of Castile, Edward's wife, +died a few years after the conquest of Wales.] + +[Footnote 20: 'Long-lost Arthur:' it was the common belief of the +Welsh nation, that King Arthur was still alive in Fairyland, and +should return again to reign over Britain.] + +[Footnote 21: 'Genuine kings:' both Merlin and Taliessin had +prophesied that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty over this +island, which seemed to be accomplished in the House of Tudor.] + +[Footnote 22; 'Awe-commanding face:' Queen Elizabeth.] + +[Footnote 23: 'Taliessin:' chief of the Bards, flourished in the sixth +century; his works are still preserved, and his memory held in high +veneration, among his countrymen.] + +[Footnote 24: 'A voice:' Milton.] + +[Footnote 25: 'Warblings:' the succession of poets after Milton's +time.] + + * * * * * + + + VII.--THE FATAL SISTERS. + + FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.[1] + + 'Vitt er orpit + Fyrir valfalli.' + +ADVERTISEMENT.--The author once had thoughts (in concert with a friend) +of giving a history of English poetry. In the introduction to it he +meant to have produced some specimens of the style that reigned in +ancient times among the neighbouring nations, or those who had subdued +the greater part of this island, and were our progenitors: the +following three imitations made a part of them. He afterwards dropped +his design; especially after he had heard that it was already in the +hands of a person[2] well qualified to do it justice both by his taste +and his researches into antiquity. + +PREFACE.--In the eleventh century, Sigurd, Earl of the Orkney Islands, +went with a fleet of ships, and a considerable body of troops, into +Ireland, to the assistance of Sigtryg with the Silken Beard, who was +then making war on his father-in-law, Brian, King of Dublin. The Earl +and all his forces were cut to pieces, and Sigtryg was in danger of a +total defeat; but the enemy had a greater loss by the death of Brian, +their king, who fell in the action. On Christmas-day (the day of the +battle) a native of Caithness, in Scotland, saw, at a distance, a +number of persons on horseback riding full speed towards a hill, and +seeming to enter into it. Curiosity led him to follow them, till, +looking through an opening in the rocks, he saw twelve gigantic +figures,[3] resembling women: they were all employed about a loom; and +as they wove they sung the following dreadful song, which, when they +had finished, they tore the web into twelve pieces, and each taking +her portion, galloped six to the north, and as many to the south. + + 1 Now the storm begins to lower, + (Haste, the loom of Hell prepare!) + Iron-sleet of arrowy shower + Hurtles in the darken'd air. + + 2 Glittering lances are the loom + Where the dusky warp we strain, + Weaving many a soldier's doom, + Orkney's woe and Randver's bane. + + 3 See the grisly texture grow, + ('Tis of human entrails made,) + And the weights that play below, + Each a gasping warrior's head. + + 4 Shafts for shuttles, dipp'd in gore, + Shoot the trembling cords along: + Sword, that once a monarch bore, + Keep the tissue close and strong. + + 5 Mista, black, terrific maid! + Sangrida and Hilda see, + Join the wayward work to aid: + 'Tis the woof of victory. + + 6 Ere the ruddy sun be set, + Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, + Blade with clattering buckler meet, + Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. + + 7 (Weave the crimson web of war) + Let us go, and let us fly, + Where our friends the conflict share, + Where they triumph, where they die. + + 8 As the paths of Fate we tread, + Wading through th' ensanguined field, + Gondula and Geira spread + O'er the youthful king your shield. + + 9 We the reins to Slaughter give, + Ours to kill and ours to spare: + Spite of danger he shall live; + (Weave the crimson web of war.) + + 10 They whom once the desert beach + Pent within its bleak domain, + Soon their ample sway shall stretch + O'er the plenty of the plain. + + 11 Low the dauntless earl is laid, + Gored with many a gaping wound: + Fate demands a nobler head; + Soon a king shall bite the ground. + + 12 Long his loss shall Eirin[4] weep, + Ne'er again his likeness see; + Long her strains in sorrow steep, + Strains of immortality! + + 13 Horror covers all the heath, + Clouds of carnage blot the sun: + Sisters! weave the web of death: + Sisters! cease; the work is done. + + 14 Hail the task and hail the hands! + Songs of joy and triumph sing! + Joy to the victorious bands, + Triumph to the younger king! + + 15 Mortal! thou that hear'st the tale, + Learn the tenor of our song; + Scotland! through each winding vale + Far and wide the notes prolong. + + 16 Sisters! hence with spurs of speed; + Each her thundering falchion wield; + Each bestride her sable steed: + Hurry, hurry, to the field. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Norse tongue:' to be found in the Orcades of Thormodus +Torfaeus, Hafniae, 1697, folio; and also in Bartholinus.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Person:' Percy, author of 'Reliques of Ancient English +Poetry.'] + +[Footnote 3: 'Figures:' the Valkyriur were female divinities, servants +of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name signifies +'Choosers of the Slain.' They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn +swords in their hands, and in the throng of battle selected such as +were destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, (the Hall +of Odin, or Paradise of the Brave), where they attended the banquet, +and served the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Eirin:' Ireland.] + + * * * * * + + + VIII.--THE DESCENT OF ODIN. + + FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.[1] + + 'Upreis Odinn + Allda gautr.' + + Uprose the King of Men with speed, + And saddled straight his coal-black steed; + Down the yawning steep he rode + That leads to Hela's[2] drear abode. + Him the Dog of Darkness spied; + His shaggy throat he open'd wide, + While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd, + Foam and human gore distill'd: + Hoarse he bays with hideous din, + Eyes that glow and fangs that grin, 10 + And long pursues with fruitless yell + The Father of the powerful spell. + Onward still his way he takes, + --The groaning earth beneath him shakes,-- + Till full before his fearless eyes + The portals nine of Hell arise. + Right against the eastern gate, + By the moss-grown pile he sate, + Where long of yore to sleep was laid + The dust of the prophetic maid. 20 + Facing to the northern clime, + Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme, + Thrice pronounced, in accents dread, + The thrilling verse that wakes the dead, + Till from out the hollow ground + Slowly breathed a sullen sound. + + _Proph._ What call unknown, what charms presume + To break the quiet of the tomb? + Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, + And drags me from the realms of Night? 30 + Long on these mouldering bones have beat + The winter's snow, the summer's heat, + The drenching dews and driving rain! + Let me, let me sleep again. + Who is he, with voice unblest, + That calls me from the bed of rest? + + _Odin._ A traveller, to thee unknown, + Is he that calls, a warrior's son. + Thou the deeds of light shalt know; + Tell me what is done below, 40 + For whom yon glittering board is spread; + Dress'd for whom yon golden bed? + + _Proph._ Mantling in the goblet see + The pure beverage of the bee, + O'er it hangs the shield of gold; + 'Tis the drink of Balder bold: + Balder's head to death is given; + Pain can reach the sons of Heaven! + Unwilling I my lips unclose; + Leave me, leave me to repose. 50 + + _Odin._ Once again my call obey: + Prophetess! arise, and say, + What dangers Odin's child await, + Who the author of his fate? + + _Proph._ In Hoder's hand the hero's doom; + His brother sends him to the tomb. + Now my weary lips I close; + Leave me, leave me to repose. + + _Odin._ Prophetess! my spell obey; + Once again arise, and say, 60 + Who the avenger of his guilt, + By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt? + + _Proph._ In the caverns of the west, + By Odin's fierce embrace compress'd, + A wondrous boy shall Rinda bear, + Who ne'er shall comb his raven hair, + Nor wash his visage in the stream, + Nor see the sun's departing beam, + Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile, + Flaming on the funeral pile. 70 + Now my weary lips I close; + Leave me, leave me to repose. + + _Odin._ Yet a while my call obey: + Prophetess! awake, and say, + What virgins these, in speechless woe, + That bend to earth their solemn brow, + That their flaxen tresses tear, + And snowy veils that float in air? + Tell we whence their sorrows rose, + Then I leave thee to repose. 80 + + _Proph._ Ha! no traveller art thou; + King of Men, I know thee now; + Mightiest of a mighty line-- + + _Odin._ No boding maid of skill divine + Art thou, no prophetess of good, + But mother of the giant-brood! + + _Proph._ Hie thee hence, and boast at home, + That never shall inquirer come + To break my iron-sleep again, + Till Lok[3] has burst his tenfold chain; 90 + Never till substantial Night + Has re-assumed her ancient right; + Till, wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd, + Sinks the fabric of the world. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Norse Tongue:' to be found in Bartholinus, De Causis +Contemnendae Mortis: Hafniae, 1689, quarto.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Hela:' Niflheimr, the hell of the Gothic nations, +consisted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all such as died of +sickness, old age, or by any other means than in battle: over it +presided Hela, the goddess of Death.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Lok:' is the evil being, who continues in chains till +the twilight of the gods approaches, when he shall break his bonds; +the human race, the stars, and sun, shall disappear, the earth sink in +the seas, and fire consume the skies: even Odin himself, and his +kindred deities, shall perish.] + + * * * * * + + + IX.--THE DEATH OF HOEL.[1] + + Had I but the torrent's might, + With headlong rage, and wild affright, + Upon Deïra's[2] squadrons hurl'd, + To rush and sweep them from the world! + Too, too secure in youthful pride, + By them my friend, my Hoel, died, + Great Cian's son; of Madoc old + He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold; + Alone in Nature's wealth array'd, + He ask'd and had the lovely maid. 10 + + To Cattraeth's[3] vale, in glittering row, + Twice two hundred warriors go; + Every warrior's manly neck + Chains of regal honour deck, + Wreath'd in many a golden link: + From the golden cup they drink + Nectar that the bees produce, + Or the grape's ecstatic juice. + Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn: + But none from Cattraeth's vale return, 20 + Save Aëron brave and Conan strong, + --Bursting through the bloody throng-- + And I, the meanest of them all, + That live to weep and sing their fall. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Hoel:' from the Welsh of Aneurim, styled 'The Monarch of +the Bards.' He flourished about the time of Taliessin, A.D. 570. This +ode is extracted from the Gododin.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Deïra:' a kingdom including the five northernmost +counties of England.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Cattraeth:' a great battle lost by the ancient Britons.] + + * * * * * + + +X.--THE TRIUMPH OF OWEN: + +A FRAGMENT FROM THE WELSH. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--Owen succeeded his father Griffin in the Principality +of North Wales, A.D. 1120: this battle was near forty years +afterwards. + + Owen's praise demands my song, + Owen swift, and Owen strong, + Fairest flower of Roderick's stem, + Gwyneth's[1] shield and Britain's gem. + He nor heaps his brooded stores, + Nor on all profusely pours; + Lord of every regal art, + Liberal hand and open heart. + + Big with hosts of mighty name, + Squadrons three against him came; 10 + This the force of Eirin hiding; + Side by side as proudly riding + On her shadow long and gay + Lochlin[2] ploughs the watery way; + There the Norman sails afar + Catch the winds and join the war; + Black and huge, along they sweep, + Burthens of the angry deep. + + Dauntless on his native sands + The Dragon son[3] of Mona stands; 20 + In glittering arms and glory dress'd, + High he rears his ruby crest; + There the thundering strokes begin, + There the press and there the din: + Talymalfra's rocky shore + Echoing to the battle's roar! + Check'd by the torrent-tide of blood, + Backward Meniai rolls his flood; + While, heap'd his master's feet around, + Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground. 30 + Where his glowing eye-balls turn, + Thousand banners round him burn; + Where he points his purple spear, + Hasty, hasty rout is there; + Marking, with indignant eye, + Fear to stop and Shame to fly: + There Confusion, Terror's child, + Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, + Agony, that pants for breath, + Despair and honourable Death. 40 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Gwyneth:' North Wales.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Lochlin:' Denmark.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Dragon son:' the Red Dragon is the device of +Cadwalladar, which all his descendants bore on their banners.] + + * * * * * + + + XI.--FOR MUSIC.[1] + + I. + + 'Hence, avaunt! ('tis holy ground,) + Comus and his midnight crew, + And Ignorance, with looks profound, + And dreaming Sloth, of pallid hue, + Mad Sedition's cry profane, + Servitude that hugs her chain, + Nor in these consecrated bowers, + Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers; + + CHORUS. + + Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, + Dare the Muse's walk to stain, 10 + While bright-eyed Science watches round: + Hence, away! 'tis holy ground.' + + II. + + From yonder realms of empyrean day + Bursts on my ear the indignant lay; + There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine, + The few whom Genius gave to shine + Through every unborn age and undiscover'd clime. + Rapt in celestial transport they, + Yet hither oft a glance from high + They send of tender sympathy, 20 + To bless the place where on their opening soul + First the genuine ardour stole. + 'Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell, + And, as the choral warblings round him swell, + Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime, + And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme. + + III. + + Ye brown o'er-arching groves! + That Contemplation loves, + Where willowy Camus lingers with delight; + Oft at the blush of dawn 30 + I trod your level lawn, + Oft wooed the gleam of Cynthia, silver-bright, + In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, + With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy. + + IV. + + But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth, + With solemn steps and slow, + High potentates, and dames of royal birth, + And mitred fathers, in long orders go: + Great Edward,[2] with the Lilies on his brow + From haughty Gallia torn, 40 + And sad Chatillon,[3] on her bridal morn, + That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare,[4] + And Anjou's heroine,[5] and the paler Rose,[6] + The rival of her crown, and of her woes, + And either Henry[7] there, + The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord + That broke the bonds of Rome,-- + (Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, + Their human passions now no more, + Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb,) 50 + All that on Granta's fruitful plain + Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd, + And bade those awful fanes and turrets rise, + To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come; + And thus they speak in soft accord + The liquid language of the skies: + + V. + + 'What is grandeur, what is power? + Heavier toil, superior pain, + What the bright reward we gain? + The grateful memory of the good. 60 + Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, + The bee's collected treasures sweet, + Sweet Music's melting fall, but sweeter yet + The still small voice of Gratitude.' + + VI. + + Foremost, and leaning from her golden cloud, + The venerable Margaret[8] see! + 'Welcome, my noble son!' she cries aloud, + 'To this thy kindred train, and me: + Pleased, in thy lineaments we trace + A Tudor's[9] fire, a Beaufort's grace. 70 + Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, + The flower unheeded shall descry, + And bid it round Heaven's altars shed + The fragrance of its blushing head; + Shall raise from earth the latent gem + To glitter on the diadem. + + VII. + + 'Lo! Granta waits to lead her blooming band; + Not obvious, not obtrusive, she + No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings; + Nor dares with courtly tongue refined 80 + Profane thy inborn royalty of mind: + She reveres herself and thee. + With modest pride, to grace thy youthful brow, + The laureate wreath[10] that Cecil wore she brings, + And to thy just, thy gentle hand + Submits the fasces of her sway; + While spirits blest above, and men below, + Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. + + VIII. + + 'Through the wild waves, as they roar, + With watchful eye, and dauntless mien, 90 + Thy steady course of honour keep, + Nor fear the rock, nor seek the shore: + The Star of Brunswick smiles serene, + And gilds the horrors of the deep.' + + +[Footnote 1: 'Music:' performed in the Senate-house, Cambridge, July +1, 1769, at the installation of his Grace, Augustus Henry Fitzroy, +Duke of Grafton, Chancellor of the University.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Great Edward.' Edward III., who added the Fleur-de-lis +of France to the arms of England. He founded Trinity College.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Chatillon:' Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke, +daughter of Guy de Chatillon, Comte de St Paul, in France, who lost +her husband on the day of his marriage. She was the foundress of +Pembroke College or Hall, under the name of Aula Marias de Valentia.] + +[Footnote 4; 'Clare:' Elizabeth de Burg, Countess of Clare, was wife +of John de Burg, son and heir of the Earl of Ulster, and daughter of +Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of +Edward I.; hence the poet gives her the epithet of 'princely.' She +founded Clare Hall.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Anjou's heroine:' Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI., +foundress of Queen's College.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Rose:' Elizabeth Widville, wife of Henry IV. She added +to the foundation of Margaret of Anjou.] + +[Footnote 7: 'Either Henry:' Henry VI. and Henry VII., the former the +founder of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor to +Trinity College.] + +[Footnote 8: 'Margaret:' Countess of Richmond and Derby, the mother of +Henry VII., foundress of St John's and Christ's Colleges.] + +[Footnote 9: 'Tudor:' the Countess was a Beaufort, and married to a +Tudor; hence the application of this line to the Duke of Grafton, who +claimed descent from both these families.] + +[Footnote 10: 'Wreath:' Lord Treasurer Burleigh was Chancellor of the +University in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.] + + * * * * * + + +MISCELLANEOUS. + + A LONG STORY. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--Gray's 'Elegy,' previous to its publication, was +handed about in MS., and had, amongst other admirers, the Lady Cobham, +who resided in the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis. The performance +inducing her to wish for the author's acquaintance, Lady Schaub and +Miss Speed, then at her house, undertook to introduce her to it. These +two ladies waited upon the author at his aunt's solitary habitation, +where he at that time resided, and not finding him at home, they left +a card behind them. Mr Gray, surprised at such a compliment, returned +the visit; and as the beginning of this intercourse bore some +appearance of romance, he gave the humorous and lively account of it +which the 'Long Story' contains. + + 1 In Britain's isle, no matter where, + An ancient pile of building[1] stands: + The Huntingdons and Hattons there + Employ'd the power of fairy hands, + + 2 To raise the ceiling's fretted height, + Each pannel in achievements clothing, + Rich windows that exclude the light, + And passages that lead to nothing. + + 3 Full oft within the spacious walls, + When he had fifty winters o'er him, + My grave Lord-Keeper[2] led the brawls: + The seal and maces danced before him. + + 4 His bushy beard and shoe-strings green, + His high-crown'd hat and satin doublet, + Moved the stout heart of England's Queen, + Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it. + + 5 What, in the very first beginning, + Shame of the versifying tribe! + Your history whither are you spinning? + Can you do nothing but describe? + + 6 A house there is (and that's enough) + From whence one fatal morning issues + A brace of warriors, not in buff, + But rustling in their silks and tissues. + + 7 The first came _cap-à-pie_ from France, + Her conquering destiny fulfilling, + Whom meaner beauties eye askance, + And vainly ape her art of killing. + + 8 The other Amazon kind Heaven + Had arm'd with spirit, wit, and satire; + But Cobham had the polish given, + And tipp'd her arrows with good nature. + + 9 To celebrate her eyes, her air-- + Coarse panegyrics would but tease her; + Melissa is her _nom de guerre;_ + Alas! who would not wish to please her! + + 10 With bonnet blue and capuchine, + And aprons long, they hid their armour; + And veil'd their weapons, bright and keen, + In pity to the country farmer. + + 11 Fame, in the shape of Mr P--t, + (By this time all the parish know it), + Had told that thereabouts there lurk'd + A wicked imp they call a Poet, + + 12 Who prowl'd the country far and near, + Bewitch'd the children of the peasants, + Dried up the cows, and lamed the deer, + And suck'd the eggs, and kill'd the pheasants. + + 13 My Lady heard their joint petition, + Swore by her coronet and ermine, + She'd issue out her high commission + To rid the manor of such vermin. + + 14 The heroines undertook the task; + Through lanes unknown, o'er stiles they ventured, + Rapp'd at the door, nor stay'd to ask, + But bounce into the parlour enter'd. + + 15 The trembling family they daunt; + They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle, + Rummage his mother, pinch his aunt, + And up-stairs in a whirlwind rattle. + + 16 Each hole and cupboard they explore, + Each creek and cranny of his chamber, + Run hurry-scurry round the floor, + And o'er the bed and tester clamber; + + 17 Into the drawers and china pry, + Papers and books, a huge imbroglio! + Under a tea-cup he might lie, + Or creased like dog's-ears in a folio! + + 18 On the first marching of the troops, + The Muses, hopeless of his pardon, + Convey'd him underneath their hoops + To a small closet in the garden. + + 19 So Rumour says; (who will believe?) + But that they left the door a-jar, + Where safe, and laughing in his sleeve, + He heard the distant din of war. + + 20 Short was his joy: he little knew + The power of magic was no fable; + Out of the window, whisk! they flew, + But left a spell upon the table. + + 21 The words too eager to unriddle, + The Poet felt a strange disorder; + Transparent birdlime form'd the middle, + And chains invisible the border. + + 22 So cunning was the apparatus, + The powerful pothooks did so move him, + That will-he, nill-he, to the great house + He went as if the devil drove him. + + 23 Yet on his way (no sign of grace, + For folks in fear are apt to pray) + To Phoebus he preferr'd his case, + And begg'd his aid that dreadful day. + + 24 The godhead would have back'd his quarrel: + But with a blush, on recollection, + Own'd that his quiver and his laurel + 'Gainst four such eyes were no protection. + + 25 The court was set, the culprit there; + Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping, + The Lady Janes and Joans repair, + And from the gallery stand peeping: + + 26 Such as in silence of the night + Come sweep along some winding entry, + (Styack[3] has often seen the sight) + Or at the chapel-door stand sentry; + + 27 In peaked hoods and mantles tarnish'd, + Sour visages enough to scare ye, + High dames of honour once that garnish'd + The drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary! + + 28 The peeress comes: the audience stare, + And doff their hats with due submission; + She curtsies, as she takes her chair, + To all the people of condition. + + 29 The Bard with many an artless fib + Had in imagination fenced him, + Disproved the arguments of Squib,[4] + And all that Grooms[5] could urge against him. + + 30 But soon his rhetoric forsook him, + When he the solemn hall had seen; + A sudden fit of ague shook him; + He stood as mute as poor Maclean.[6] + + 31 Yet something he was heard to mutter, + How in the park, beneath an old tree, + (Without design to hurt the butter, + Or any malice to the poultry,) + + 32 He once or twice had penn'd a sonnet, + Yet hoped that he might save his bacon; + Numbers would give their oaths upon it, + He ne'er was for a conjuror taken. + + 33 The ghostly prudes, with hagged[7] face, + Already had condemn'd the sinner: + My Lady rose, and with a grace-- + She smiled, and bid him come to dinner, + + 34 'Jesu-Maria! Madam Bridget, + Why, what can the Viscountess mean?' + Cried the square hoods, in woeful fidget; + 'The times are alter'd quite and clean! + + 35 'Decorum's turn'd to mere civility! + Her air and all her manners show it: + Commend me to her affability! + Speak to a commoner and poet!' + + [_Here 500 stanzas are lost._] + + 36 And so God save our noble king, + And guard us from long-winded lubbers, + That to eternity would sing, + And keep my lady from her rubbers. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Pile of building:' the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis, +then in the possession of Viscountess Cobham. The style of building +which we now call Queen Elizabeth's, is here admirably described, both +with regard to its beauties and defects; and the third and fourth +stanzas delineate the fantastic manners of her time with equal truth +and humour. The house formerly belonged to the Earls of Huntingdon and +the family of Hatton.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Lord-Keeper:' Sir Christopher Hatton, promoted by Queen +Elizabeth for his graceful person and fine dancing. Brawls were a sort +of a figure-dance then in vogue.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Styack:' the house-keeper.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Squib:' the steward.'] + +[Footnote 5: 'Grooms:' of the chamber.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Maclean:' a famous highwayman, hanged the week before.] + +[Footnote 7: 'Hagged:' i. e., the face of a witch or hag.] + + * * * * * + + +ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. + + 1 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, + The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, + The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, + And leaves the world to darkness and to me. + + 2 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, + And all the air a solemn stillness holds, + Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, + And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: + + 3 Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, + The moping owl does to the moon complain + Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, + Molest her ancient solitary reign. + + 4 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, + Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, + Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, + The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. + + 5 The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, + The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, + The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, + No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. + + 6 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, + Or busy housewife ply her evening care; + No children run to lisp their sire's return, + Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. + + 7 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, + Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; + How jocund did they drive their team afield! + How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! + + 8 Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, + Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; + Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile + The short and simple annals of the poor. + + 9 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, + And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, + Await alike the inevitable hour: + The paths of glory lead but to the grave. + + 10 Nor you, ye Proud! impute to these the fault, + If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, + Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, + The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. + + 11 Can storied urn or animated bust + Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? + Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, + Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? + + 12 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid + Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; + Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, + Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. + + 13 But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, + Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll; + Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, + And froze the genial current of the soul. + + 14 Full many a gem of purest ray serene + The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: + Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, + And waste its sweetness on the desert air. + + 15 Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast + The little tyrant of his fields withstood, + Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, + Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. + + 16 The applause of listening senates to command, + The threats of pain and ruin to despise, + To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, + And read their history in a nation's eyes, + + 17 Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed alone + Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; + Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, + And shut the gates of Mercy on mankind, + + 18 The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, + To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame, + Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride + With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. + + 19 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,[1] + Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; + Along the cool sequester'd vale of life + They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. + + 20 Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect, + Some frail memorial still erected nigh, + With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, + Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. + + 21 Their name, their years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse, + The place of fame and elegy supply, + And many a holy text around she strews, + That teach the rustic moralist to die. + + 22 For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, + This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd, + Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, + Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? + + 23 On some fond breast the parting soul relies, + Some pious drops the closing eye requires; + E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, + E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. + + 24 For thee, who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead, + Dost in those lines their artless tale relate, + If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, + Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, + + 25 Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, + 'Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, + Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, + To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. + + 26 'There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, + That wreathes its old fantastic root so high, + His listless length at noontide would he stretch, + And pore upon the brook that babbles by. + + 27 'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, + Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; + Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn, + Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. + + 28 'One morn I miss'd him on the accustom'd hill, + Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; + Another came, nor yet beside the rill, + Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he: + + 29 'The next, with dirges due, in sad array, + Slow through the churchway-path we saw him borne: + Approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay + Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn:'[2] + + THE EPITAPH. + + 30 Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, + A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown: + Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, + And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. + + 31 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; + Heaven did a recompense as largely send: + He gave to misery all he had--a tear; + He gain'd from Heaven--'twas all he wish'd--a friend. + + 32 No further seek his merits to disclose, + Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, + (There they alike in trembling hope repose) + The bosom of his Father and his God. + + +[Footnote 1: This part of the elegy differs from the first copy. The +following stanza was excluded with the other alterations:-- + + Hark! how the sacred calm, that breathes around, + Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease, + In still small accents whispering from the ground + A grateful earnest of eternal peace. ] + +[Footnote 2: In early editions, the following stanza occurred:-- + + There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year, + By hands unseen, are showers of violets found; + The redbreast loves to build and warble there, + And little footsteps lightly print the ground. ] + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH ON MRS JANE CLARKE.[1] + + Lo! where this silent marble weeps, + A friend, a wife, a mother sleeps; + A heart, within whose sacred cell + The peaceful Virtues loved to dwell: + Affection warm, and faith sincere, + And soft humanity were there. + In agony, in death resign'd, + She felt the wound she left behind. + Her infant image here below + Sits smiling on a father's woe: + Whom what awaits while yet he strays + Along the lonely vale of days? + A pang, to secret sorrow dear, + A sigh, an unavailing tear, + Till time shall every grief remove + With life, with memory, and with love. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Mrs Jane Clarke' this lady, the wife of Dr Clarke, +physician at Epsom, died April 27, 1757, and is buried in the church +of Beckenham, Kent.] + + * * * * * + + + STANZAS, + + SUGGESTED BY A VIEW OF THE SEAT AND RUINS AT + KINGSGATE, IN KENT, 1766. + + 1 Old, and abandon'd by each venal friend, + Here Holland took the pious resolution, + To smuggle a few years, and strive to mend + A broken character and constitution. + + 2 On this congenial spot he fix'd his choice; + Earl Goodwin trembled for his neighbouring sand; + Here sea-gulls scream, and cormorants rejoice, + And mariners, though shipwreck'd, fear to land. + + 3 Here reign the blustering North, and blasting East, + No tree is heard to whisper, bird to sing; + Yet Nature could not furnish out the feast, + Art he invokes new terrors still to bring. + + 4 Now mouldering fanes and battlements arise, + Turrets and arches nodding to their fall, + Unpeopled monasteries delude our eyes, + And mimic desolation covers all. + + 5 'Ah!' said the sighing peer, 'had Bute been true, + Nor C--'s, nor B--d's promises been vain, + Far other scenes than this had graced our view, + And realised the horrors which we feign. + + 6 'Purged by the sword, and purified by fire, + Then had we seen proud London's hated walls: + Owls should have hooted in St Peter's choir, + And foxes stunk and litter'd in St Paul's.' + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION FROM STATIUS. + + Third in the labours of the disc came on, + With sturdy step and slow, Hippomedon; + Artful and strong he poised the well-known weight, + By Phlegyas warn'd, and fired by Mnestheus' fate, + That to avoid and this to emulate. + His vigorous arm he tried before he flung, + Braced all his nerves, and every sinew strung, + Then with a tempest's whirl and wary eye + Pursued his cast, and hurl'd the orb on high; + The orb on high, tenacious of its course, 10 + True to the mighty arm that gave it force, + Far overleaps all bound, and joys to see + Its ancient lord secure of victory: + The theatre's green height and woody wall + Tremble ere it precipitates its fall; + The ponderous mass sinks in the cleaving ground, + While vales and woods and echoing hills rebound. + As when, from Aetna's smoking summit broke, + The eyeless Cyclops heaved the craggy rock, + Where Ocean frets beneath the dashing oar, 20 + And parting surges round the vessel roar; + 'Twas there he aim'd the meditated harm, + And scarce Ulysses 'scaped his giant arm. + A tiger's pride the victor bore away, + With native spots and artful labour gay, + A shining border round the margin roll'd, + And calm'd the terrors of his claws in gold. + + CAMBRIDGE, _May_ 8, 1736. + + * * * * * + + + GRAY ON HIMSELF. + + Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, + He had not the method of making a fortune; + Could love and could hate, so was thought something odd; + No very great wit, he believed in a God; + A post or a pension he did not desire, + But left church and state to Charles Townshend and Squire. + + * * * * * + +END OF GRAY'S POEMS. + + * * * * * + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +TOBIAS SMOLLETT. + + +THE + +LIFE OF TOBIAS SMOLLETT. + +The combination of a great writer and a small poet, in one and the +same person, is not uncommon. With not a few, while other, and severer +branches of study are the laborious task of the day, poetry is the +slipshod amusement of the evening. Dr Parr calls Johnson _probabilis +poeta_--words which seem to convey the notion that the author of "The +Rambler," who was great on other fields, was in that of poetry only +respectable. This term is more applicable to Smollett, whose poems +discover only in part those keen, vigorous, and original powers which +enabled him to indite "Roderick Random" and "Humphrey Clinker." Yet +the author of "Independence," and "The Tears of Scotland," must not be +excluded from the list of British poets--an honour to which much even +of his prose has richly entitled him. + +The incidents in Smollett's history are not very numerous, and some of +them are narrated, under faint disguises, with inimitable vivacity and +_vraisemblance_ in his own fictions. Tobias George Smollett was born +in Dalquhurn House, near the village of Renton, Dumbartonshire, in +1721. His father, a younger son of Sir James Smollett of Bonhill, +having died early, the education of the poet devolved on his +grandfather. The scenery of his native place was well calculated to +inspire his early genius. It is one of the most beautiful regions in +Scotland. A fine hollow vale, pervaded by the river Leven, and +surrounded by rich woodlands and bold hills, stretches up from +Dumbarton, with its double peaks and ancient castle, to the +magnificent Loch Lomond; and in one of the loops of this winding vale +was the great novelist born and bred. He called his native region, in +"Humphrey Clinker," the "Arcadia of Scotland," and has sung the Leven +in one of his small poems. He was sent to the Grammar School of +Dumbarton, and thence to Glasgow College. He was subsequently placed +apprentice to one M. Gordon, a medical practitioner in Glasgow; and +from thence, according to some of his biographers, he proceeded to +study medicine in Edinburgh. When he was about nineteen years of age, +his grandfather expired, without having made any provision for him; +and he was compelled, in 1739, to repair to London, carrying with him +a tragedy entitled "The Regicide,"--the subject being the +assassination of James the First of Scotland,--which he had written +the year before, and which he in vain sought to get presented at the +theatres. He had letters of introduction to some eminent literary +characters, who, however, either could not or would not do anything +for him; and he found no better situation than that of surgeon's mate +in an eighty-gun ship. He continued in the navy for six or seven +years, and was present at the disastrous siege of Carthagena, in 1741, +which he has described in a Compendium of Voyages he compiled in 1756, +and with still more vigour in "Roderick Random." His long acquaintance +with the sea furnished ample materials for his genius, although it did +not improve his opinion of human nature. Disgusted with the service, +he quitted it in the West Indies, and lived for some time in Jamaica. +Here he became acquainted with Miss Lascelles, a beautiful lady whom +he afterwards married. She sat for the portrait of Narcissa, in +"Roderick Random." + +In 1746 he returned to England. He found the country ringing with +indignation at the cruelties inflicted by Cumberland on the Highland +rebels, and he caught and crystalised the prevalent emotion in his +spirited lyric, "The Tears of Scotland." He published the same year +his "Advice,"--a satirical poem upon things in general, and the public +men of the day in particular. He wrote also an opera entitled +"Alceste" for Covent Garden; but owing to a dispute with the manager, +it was neither acted nor printed. In 1747 he produced "Reproof," the +second part of "Advice,"--a poem which breathes the same manly +indignation at the abuses, evils, and public charlatans of the day. +This year also he married Miss Lascelles, by whom he expected a +fortune of three thousand pounds. This sum, however, was never fully +realised; and his generous housekeeping, and the expenses of a +litigation to which he was compelled, in connection with Miss +Lascelles' money, embarrassed his circumstances, and, much to the +advantage of the world, drove him to literature. In 1748, he gave to +the world his novel of "Roderick Random,"--counted by many the +masterpiece of his genius. It brought him in both fame and emolument. +In 1749 he published, by subscription, his unfortunate tragedy, "The +Regicide." In 1750 he went to Paris, and shortly after wrote his +"Adventures of Peregrine Pickle," including the memoirs of the +notorious Lady Vane--the substance of which he got from herself, and +which added greatly to the popularity of the work. Notwithstanding the +success he met with as a novelist, he was anxious to prosecute his +original profession of medicine; and having procured from a foreign +university the degree of M.D., he commenced to practise physic in +Chelsea, but without success. He wrote, however, an essay "On the +External Use of Water," in which he seems to have partly anticipated +the method of the cold-water cure. In 1753 he published his +"Adventures of Count Fathom;" and, two years later, encouraged by a +liberal subscription, he issued a translation of "Don Quixote," in two +quarto volumes. While this work was printing, he went down to +Scotland, visited his old scenes and old companions, and was received +everywhere with enthusiasm. The most striking incident, however, in +this journey was his interview with his mother, then residing in +Scotston, near Peebles. He was introduced to her as a stranger +gentleman from the West Indies; and, in order to retain his incognita, +he endeavoured to maintain a serious and frowning countenance. While +his mother, however, continued to regard him steadfastly, he could not +forbear smiling; and she instantly sprang from her seat, threw her +arms round his neck, and cried out, "Ah, my son, I have found you at +last! Your old roguish smile has betrayed you." + +Returning to England, he resumed his literary avocations. He became +the editor of the _Critical Review_--an office, of all others, least +fitted to his testy and irritable temperament. This was in 1756. He +next published the "Compendium of Voyages," in seven volumes, 12mo. In +1757 he wrote a popular afterpiece, entitled "The Reprisals; or, the +Tars of England;" and in 1758 appeared his "Complete History of +England," in four volumes, quarto,--a work said to have been compiled +in the almost incredibly short time of fourteen months. It became +instantly popular, although distinguished by no real historical +quality, except a clear and lively style. + +An attack on Admiral Knowles in the _Critical Review_ greatly incensed +the Admiral; and when he prosecuted the journal, Smollett stepped +forward and avowed himself the author. He was sentenced to a fine of +£100, and to three months' imprisonment. During his confinement in +King's Bench, he composed the "Adventures of Sir Lancelot Greaves," +which appeared first in detached numbers of the _British Magazine_, +and was afterwards published separately in 1762. About this time, his +busy pen was also occupied with histories of France, Italy, Germany, +&c., and a continuation of his English History--all compilations--and +some of them exceedingly unworthy of his genius. He became an ardent +friend and supporter of Lord Bute, and started _The Briton_, a weekly +paper, in his defence; which gave rise to the _North Briton_, by +Wilkes. In our Life of Churchill, we have recounted his quarrel with +that poet, and the chastisement inflicted on Smollett in "The Apology +to the Critical Reviewers." + +In 1763 he lost his only daughter, a girl of fifteen. This event threw +him into deep despondency, and seriously affected his health. He went +to France and Italy for two years; and on his return, in 1766, +published two volumes of Travels--full of querulous and captious +remarks--for which Sterne satirised him, under the name of Smelfungus. +The same year he again visited Scotland. In 1767 he published his +"Adventures of an Atom,"--a political romance, displaying, under +Japanese names, the different parties of Great Britain. A recurrence +of ill health drove him back to Italy in 1770. At Monte Nuovo, near +Leghorn, he wrote his delightful "Humphrey Clinker." This was his last +work. He died at Leghorn on the 21st October 1771, in the fifty-first +year of his age. His widow erected a plain monument to his memory, +with an inscription by Dr Armstrong. In 1774 a Tuscan monument was +erected on the banks of the Leven by his cousin, James Smollett, Esq., +of Bonhill. As his wife was left in poor circumstances, the tragedy of +"Venice Preserved" was acted at Edinburgh for her benefit, and the +money remitted to Italy. + +Smollett, for variety of powers, and indefatigable industry, has +seldom been surpassed. He was a politician, a poet, a physician, a +historian, a translator, a writer of travels, a dramatist, a novelist, +a writer on medical subjects, and a miscellaneous author. It is only, +however, as a novelist and a poet that he has any claims to the +admiration of posterity. His history survives solely because it is +usually bound up with Hume's. His translation of "Don Quixote" has +been eclipsed by after and more accurate versions. His "Tour to Italy" +is a succession of asthmatic gasps and groans. His "Regicide", and +other plays, are entirely forgotten. So also are his critical, +medical, political, and miscellaneous effusions. + +In fiction he is undoubtedly a great original. He had no model, and +has had no imitator. His qualities as a novel-writer are rapidity of +narrative, variety of incident, ease of style, graphic description, +and an exquisite eye for the humours, peculiarities, and absurdities +of character and life. In language he is generally careless, but +whenever a great occasion occurs, he rises to meet it, and writes with +dignity, correctness, and power. His sea-characters, such as Bowling, +and his characters of low-life, such as Strap, have never been +excelled. His tone of morals is always low, and often offensively +coarse. In wit, constructiveness, and general style, he is inferior to +Fielding; but surpasses him in interest, ease, variety, and humour, +"Roderick Random" is the most popular and bustling of his tales. +"Peregrine Pickle" is the filthiest and least agreeable; its humours +are forced and exaggerated, and the sea-characters seem caricatures of +those in "Roderick Random;" just as Norna of the Fitful Head, and +Magdalene Graeme, are caricatures of Meg Merriless. "Sir Lancelot +Greaves" is a tissue of trash, redeemed only here and there by traits +of humour. "The Adventures of an Atom" we never read. "Humphrey +Clinker" is the most delightful novel, with the exception of the +Waverley series, in the English language. "Ferdinand, Count Fathom," +contains much that is disgusting, but parts of it surpass all the rest +in originality and profundity. We refer especially to the description +of the pretended English Squire in Paris, who _bubbles_ the great +_bubbler_ of the tale; to Count Fathom's address to Britain, when he +reaches her shores,--a piece of exquisite mock-heroic irony; to the +narrative of the seduction in the west of England; and to the +matchless robber-scene in the forest,--a passage in which one knows +not whether more to admire the thrilling interest of the incidents, or +the eloquence and power of the language. It is a scene which Scott has +never surpassed, nor, except in the cliff-scene in the "Antiquary," +and, perhaps, the barn-scene in the "Heart of Midlothian," +ever equalled. + +Smollett's poetry need not detain us long. In his twin satires, +"Advice" and "Reproof," you see rather the will to wound than the +power to strike. There are neither the burnished compression, and +polished, pointed malice of Pope, nor the gigantic force and vehement +fury of Churchill. His "Tears of Scotland" is not thoroughly finished, +but has some delicate and beautiful strokes. "Leven Water" is sweet +and murmuring as that stream itself. His "Ode to Independence," as we +have said elsewhere, "should have been written by Burns. How that +poet's lips must have watered, as he repeated the line-- + +'Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye,' + +and remembered he was not their author! He said he would +have given ten pounds to have written 'Donochthead'--he +would have given ten times ten, if, poor fellow! he had had +them, to have written the 'Ode to Independence'--although, +in his 'Vision of Liberty,' he has matched Smollett on his +own ground." Grander lines than the one we have quoted above, +and than the following-- + +"A goddess violated brought thee forth," + +are not to be found in literature. Round this last one, the whole ode +seems to turn as on a pivot, and it alone had been sufficient to stamp +Smollett a man of lofty poetic genius. + + +SMOLLETT'S POEMS + + ADVICE: A SATIRE. + + ----Sed podice levi + Caeduntur tumidæ, medico ridente, mariscæ. + O proceres! censore opus est, an haruspice nobis? + + JUVENAL. + + ----Nam quis + Peccandi finem posuit sibi? quando recepit + Ejectum semel atteritâ de fronte ruborem? + + _Ibid._ + + POET. + + Enough, enough; all this we knew before; + 'Tis infamous, I grant it, to be poor: + And who, so much to sense and glory lost, + Will hug the curse that not one joy can boast? + From the pale hag, oh! could I once break loose, + Divorced, all hell should not re-tie the noose! + Not with more care shall H-- avoid his wife, + Nor Cope[1] fly swifter, lashing for his life, + Than I to leave the meagre fiend behind. + + FRIEND. + + Exert your talents; Nature, ever kind, 10 + Enough for happiness bestows on all; + 'Tis Sloth or Pride that finds her gifts too small. + Why sleeps the Muse?--is there no room for praise, + When such bright constellations blaze? + When sage Newcastle[2], abstinently great, + Neglects his food to cater for the state; + And Grafton[3], towering Atlas of the throne, + So well rewards a genius like his own: + Granville and Bath[4] illustrious, need I name, + For sober dignity, and spotless fame; 20 + Or Pitt, the unshaken Abdiel yet unsung: + Thy candour, Chomdeley! and thy truth, O Younge! + + POET. + + The advice is good; the question only, whether + These names and virtues ever dwelt together? + But what of that? the more the bard shall claim, + Who can create as well as cherish fame. + But one thing more,--how loud must I repeat, + To rouse the engaged attention of the + great,--Amused, perhaps, with C--'s prolific hum[5], + Or rapt amidst the transports of a drum;[6] 30 + While the grim porter watches every door, + Stern foe to tradesmen, poets, and the poor, + The Hesperian dragon not more fierce and fell, + Nor the gaunt growling janitor of Hell? + Even Atticus (so wills the voice of Fate) + Enshrines in clouded majesty his state; + Nor to the adoring crowd vouchsafes regard, + Though priests adore, and every priest a bard. + Shall I then follow with the venal tribe, + And on the threshold the base mongrel bribe? 40 + Bribe him to feast my mute imploring eye + With some proud lord, who smiles a gracious lie! + A lie to captivate my heedless youth, + Degrade my talents, and debauch my truth; + While, fool'd with hope, revolves my joyless day, + And friends, and fame, and fortune, fleet away; + Till, scandal, indigence, and scorn my lot, + The dreary jail entombs me, where I rot! + Is there, ye varnish'd ruffians of the state! + Not one among the millions whom ye cheat, 50 + Who, while he totters on the brink of woe, + Dares, ere he falls, attempt the avenging + blow,--A steady blow, his languid soul to feast, + And rid his country of one curse at least? + + FRIEND. + + What! turn assassin? + + POET. + + Let the assassin bleed: + My fearless verse shall justify the deed. + 'Tis he who lures the unpractised mind astray, + Then leaves the wretch, to misery a prey; + Perverts the race of Virtue just begun, + And stabs the Public in her ruin'd son. 60 + + FRIEND. + + Heavens! how you rail; the man's consumed by spite! + If Lockman's fate[7] attends you when you write, + Let prudence more propitious arts inspire; + The lower still you crawl, you'll climb the higher. + Go then, with every supple virtue stored, + And thrive, the favour'd valet of my lord. + Is that denied? a boon more humble crave. + And minister to him who serves a slave; + Be sure you fasten on promotion's scale, + Even if you seize some footman by the tail: 70 + The ascent is easy, and the prospect clear, + From the smirch'd scullion to the embroider'd peer. + The ambitious drudge preferr'd, postilion rides, + Advanced again, the chair benighted guides; + Here doom'd, if Nature strung his sinewy frame, + The slave, perhaps, of some insatiate dame; + But if, exempted from the Herculean toil, + A fairer field awaits him, rich with spoil, + There shall he shine, with mingling honours bright, + His master's pathic, pimp, and parasite; 80 + Then strut a captain, if his wish be war, + And grasp, in hope, a truncheon and a star: + Or if the sweets of peace his soul allure, + Bask at his ease, in some warm sinecure; + His fate in consul, clerk, or agent vary, + Or cross the seas, an envoy's secretary; + Composed of falsehood, ignorance, and pride, + A prostrate sycophant shall rise a Lloyd; + And, won from kennels to the impure embrace, + Accomplish'd Warren triumph o'er disgrace. 90 + + POET. + + Eternal infamy his name surround, + Who planted first that vice on British ground! + A vice that, spite of sense and nature, reigns, + And poisons genial love, and manhood stains! + Pollio! the pride of science and its shame, + The Muse weeps o'er thee, while she brands thy name! + Abhorrent views that prostituted groom, + The indecent grotto, or polluted dome! + There only may the spurious passion glow, + Where not one laurel decks the caitiff's brow, 100 + Obscene with crimes avow'd, of every dye, + Corruption, lust, oppression, perjury. + Let Chardin[8], with a chaplet round his head, + The taste of Maro and Anacreon plead, + 'Sir, Flaccus knew to live as well as write, + And kept, like me, two boys array'd in white;' + Worthy to feel that appetence of fame + Which rivals Horace only in his shame! + Let Isis[9] wail in murmurs as she runs, + Her tempting fathers, and her yielding sons; 110 + While dulness screens the failings of the Church, + Nor leaves one sliding Rabbi in the lurch: + Far other raptures let the breast contain, + Where heaven-born taste and emulation reign. + + FRIEND. + + Shall not a thousand virtues, then, atone us + In thy strict censure for the breach of one? + If Bubo keeps a catamite or whore, + His bounty feeds the beggar at his door: + And though no mortal credits Curio's word, + A score of lacqueys fatten at his board: 120 + To Christian meekness sacrifice thy spleen, + And strive thy neighbour's weaknesses to screen. + + POET. + + Scorn'd be the bard, and wither'd all his fame, + Who wounds a brother weeping o'er his shame! + But if an impious wretch, with frantic pride, + Throws honour, truth, and decency aside; + If not by reason awed, nor check'd by fears, + He counts his glories from the stains he bears, + The indignant Muse to Virtue's aid shall rise, + And fix the brand of infamy on vice. 130 + What if, aroused at his imperious call, + An hundred footsteps echo through his hall, + And, on high columns rear'd, his lofty dome + Proclaims the united art of Greece and Rome. + What though whole hecatombs his crew regale, + And each dependant slumbers o'er his ale, + While the remains, through mouths unnumber'd pass'd, + Indulge the beggar and the dogs at last: + Say, friend, is it benevolence of soul, + Or pompous vanity, that prompts the whole? 140 + These sons of sloth, who by profusion thrive, + His pride inveigled from the public hive: + And numbers pine in solitary woe, + Who furnish'd out this phantasy of show. + When silent misery assail'd his eyes, + Did e'er his throbbing bosom sympathise? + Or his extensive charity pervade + To those who languish in the barren shade, + Where oft, by want and modesty suppress'd, + The bootless talent warms the lonely breast? 150 + No! petrified by dulness and disdain, + Beyond the feeling of another's pain, + The tear of pity ne'er bedew d his eye, + Nor his lewd bosom felt the social sigh! + + FRIEND. + + Alike to thee his virtue or his vice, + If his hand liberal owns thy merit's price. + + POET. + + Sooner in hopeless anguish would I mourn, + Than owe my fortune to the man I scorn! + What new resource? + + FRIEND. + + A thousand yet remain, + That bloom with honours, or that teem with gain: 160 + These arts--are they beneath--beyond thy care? + Devote thy studies to the auspicious fair: + Of truth divested, let thy tongue supply + The hinted slander, and the whisper'd lie; + All merit mock, all qualities depress, + Save those that grace the excelling patroness; + Trophies to her on others' follies raise, + And, heard with joy, by defamation praise; + To this collect each faculty of face, + And every feat perform of sly grimace; 170 + Let the grave sneer sarcastic speak thee shrewd; + The smutty joke ridiculously lewd; + And the loud laugh, through all its changes rung, + Applaud the abortive sallies of her tongue; + Enroll'd a member in the sacred list, + Soon shalt thou sharp in company at whist; + Her midnight rites and revels regulate, + Priest of her love, and demon of her hate. + + POET. + + But say, what recompense for all this waste + Of honour, truth, attention, time, and taste? 180 + To shine, confess'd, her zany and her tool, + And fall by what I rose--low ridicule? + Again shall Handel raise his laurell'd brow, + Again shall harmony with rapture glow; + The spells dissolve, the combination breaks, + And Punch no longer Frasi's rival squeaks: + Lo! Russell[10] falls a sacrifice to whim, + And starts amazed, in Newgate, from his dream: + With trembling hands implores their promised aid, + And sees their favour like a vision fade! 190 + Is this, ye faithless Syrens!--this the joy + To which your smiles the unwary wretch decoy? + Naked and shackled, on the pavement prone, + His mangled flesh devouring from the bone; + Rage in his heart, distraction in his eye, + Behold, inhuman hags! your minion lie! + Behold his gay career to ruin run, + By you seduced, abandon'd, and undone! + Rather in garret pent, secure from harm, + My Muse with murders shall the town alarm; 200 + Or plunge in politics with patriot zeal, + And snarl like Guthrie[11] for the public weal, + Than crawl an insect in a beldame's power, + And dread the crush of caprice every hour! + + FRIEND. + + 'Tis well; enjoy that petulance of style, + And, like the envious adder, lick the file: + What, though success will not attend on all? + Who bravely dares must sometimes risk a fall. + Behold the bounteous board of Fortune spread; + Each weakness, vice, and folly yields thee bread, 210 + Would'st thou with prudent condescension strive + On the long settled terms of life to thrive. + + POET. + + What! join the crew that pilfer one another, + Betray my friend, and persecute my brother; + Turn usurer, o'er cent. per cent. to brood, + Or quack, to feed like fleas on human blood? + + FRIEND. + + Or if thy soul can brook the gilded curse, + Some changeling heiress steal-- + + POET. + + Why not a purse? + Two things I dread--my conscience and the law. + + FRIEND. + + How? dread a mumbling bear without a claw? 220 + Nor this, nor that, is standard right or wrong, + Till minted by the mercenary tongue; + And what is conscience but a fiend of strife, + That chills the joys, and damps the scenes of life, + The wayward child of Vanity and Fear, + The peevish dam of Poverty and Care? + Unnumber'd woes engender in the breast + That entertains the rude, ungrateful guest. + + POET. + + Hail, sacred power! my glory and my guide! + Fair source of mental peace, whate'er betide! 230 + Safe in thy shelter, let disaster roll + Eternal hurricanes around my soul: + My soul serene amidst the storms shall reign, + And smile to see their fury burst in vain! + + FRIEND. + + Too coy to flatter, and too proud to serve, + Thine be the joyless dignity to starve. + + POET. + + No;--thanks to discord, war shall be my friend; + And mortal rage heroic courage lend + To pierce the gleaming squadron of the foe, + And win renown by some distinguish'd blow. 240 + + FRIEND. + + Renown! ay, do--unkennel the whole pack + Of military cowards on thy back. + What difference, say, 'twixt him who bravely stood, + And him who sought the bosom of the wood?[12] + Envenom'd calumny the first shall brand; + The last enjoy a ribbon and command. + + POET. + + If such be life, its wretches I deplore, + And long to quit the inhospitable shore. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Cope': a general famous for an expeditious retreat, +though not quite so deliberate as that of the ten thousand Greeks from +Persia; having unfortunately forgot to bring his army along with him.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Newcastle:' alluding to the philosophical contempt which +this great personage manifested for the sensual delights of +the stomach.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Grafton': this noble peer, remarkable for sublimity of +parts, by virtue of his office (Lord Chamberlain) conferred the +laureate on Colley Cibber, Esq., a delectable bard, whose character +has already employed, together with his own, the greatest pens of +the age.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Granville and Bath': two noblemen famous in their day +for nothing more than their fortitude in bearing the scorn and +reproach of their country.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Prolific hum': this alludes to a phenomenon, not more +strange than true,--the person here meant having actually laid upwards +of forty eggs, as several physicians and fellows of the Royal Society +can attest: one of whom, we hear, has undertaken the incubation, and +will no doubt favour the world with an account of his success.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Drum': this is a riotous assembly of fashionable people, +of both sexes, at a private house, consisting of some hundreds: not +unaptly styled a drum, from the noise and emptiness of the +entertainment. There are also drum-major, rout, tempest, and +hurricane, differing only in degrees of multitude and uproar, as the +significant name of each declares.] + +[Footnote 7: 'Lockman's fate': to be little read, and less approved.] + +[Footnote 8: 'Chardin': this genial knight wore at his own banquet a +garland of flowers, in imitation of the ancients; and kept two rosy +boys robed in white, for the entertainment of his guests.] + +[Footnote 9: 'Isis': in allusion to the unnatural orgies said to be +solemnised on the banks of this river; particularly at one place, +where a much greater sanctity of morals and taste might be expected.] + +[Footnote 10: 'Russell:' a famous mimic and singer, ruined by the +patronage of certain ladies of quality.] + +[Footnote 11: 'Guthrie:' a scribbler of all work in that age.] + +[Footnote 12: 'Bosom of the wood:' this last line relates to the +behaviour of the Hanoverian general in the battle of Dettingen.] + + * * * * * + + + REPROOF: A SATIRE. + + POET. + + Howe'er I turn, or wheresoe'er I tread, + This giddy world still rattles round my head! + I pant for silence e'en in this retreat-- + Good Heaven! what demon thunders at the gate? + + FRIEND. + + In vain you strive, in this sequester'd nook, + To shroud you from an injured friend's rebuke. + + POET. + + An injured friend! who challenges the name? + If you, what title justifies the claim? + Did e'er your heart o'er my affliction grieve, + Your interest prop me, or your praise relieve? 10 + Or could my wants my soul so far subdue, + That in distress she crawl'd for aid to you? + But let us grant the indulgence e'er so strong; + Display without reserve the imagined wrong: + Among your kindred have I kindled strife, + Deflower'd your daughter, or debauch'd your wife; + Traduced your credit, bubbled you at game; + Or soil'd with infamous reproach your name? + + FRIEND. + + No: but your cynic vanity (you'll own) + Exposed my private counsel to the town. 20 + + POET. + + Such fair advice 'twere pity sure to lose: + I grant I printed it for public use. + + FRIEND. + + Yes, season'd with your own remarks between, + Inflamed with so much virulence of spleen + That the mild town (to give the devil his due) + Ascribed the whole performance to a Jew. + + POET. + + Jews, Turks, or Pagans--hallow'd be the mouth + That teems with moral zeal and dauntless truth! + Prove that my partial strain adopts one lie, + No penitent more mortified than I; 30 + Not e'en the wretch in shackles doom'd to groan, + Beneath the inhuman scoffs of Williamson.[1] + + FRIEND. + + Hold--let us see this boasted self-denial-- + The vanquish'd knight[2] has triumph'd in his trial. + + POET. + + What then? + + FRIEND. + + Your own sarcastic verse unsay, + That brands him as a trembling runaway. + + POET. + + With all my soul;--the imputed charge rehearse; + I'll own my error and expunge my verse. + Come, come, howe'er the day was lost or won, + The world allows the race was fairly run. 40 + But, lest the truth too naked should appear, + A robe of fable shall the goddess wear: + When sheep were subject to the lion's reign, + E'er man acquired dominion o'er the plain, + Voracious wolves, fierce rushing from the rocks, + Devour'd without control the unguarded flocks; + The sufferers, crowding round the royal cave, + Their monarch's pity and protection crave: + Not that they wanted valour, force, or arms, + To shield their lambs from danger and alarms; 50 + A thousand rams, the champions of the fold, + In strength of horn and patriot virtue bold, + Engaged in firm association stood, + Their lives devoted to the public good: + A warlike chieftain was their sole request, + To marshal, guide, instruct, and rule the rest. + Their prayer was heard, and, by consent of all, + A courtier ape appointed general. + He went, he led; arranged the battle stood, + The savage foe came pouring like a flood; 60 + Then Pug, aghast, fled swifter than the wind, + Nor deign'd in threescore miles to look behind, + While every band fled orders bleat in vain, + And fall in slaughter'd heaps upon the plain. + The scared baboon, (to cut the matter short) + With all his speed, could not outrun report; + And, to appease the clamours of the nation, + 'Twas fit his case should stand examination. + + The board was named--each worthy took his place, + All senior members of the horned race; 70 + The wedder, goat, ram, elk, and ox were there, + And a grave hoary stag possess'd the chair. + The inquiry past, each in his turn began + The culprit's conduct variously to scan. + At length the sage uprear'd his awful crest, + And, pausing, thus his fellow chiefs address'd: + 'If age, that from this head its honours stole, + Hath not impair'd the functions of my soul, + But sacred wisdom, with experience bought, + While this weak frame decays, matures my thought, 80 + The important issue of this grand debate + May furnish precedent for your own fate, + Should ever fortune call you to repel + The shaggy foe, so desperate and fell. + 'Tis plain, you say, his excellence Sir Ape + From the dire field accomplish'd an escape; + Alas! our fellow subjects ne'er had bled, + If every ram that fell like him had fled; + Certes, those sheep were rather mad than brave, + Which scorn'd the example their wise leader gave. 90 + Let us then every vulgar hint disdain, + And from our brother's laurel wash the stain.' + The admiring court applauds the president, + And Pug was clear'd by general consent. + + FRIEND. + + There needs no magic to divine your scope, + Mark'd, as you are, a flagrant misanthrope: + Sworn foe to good and bad, to great and small, + Thy rankling pen produces nought but gall: + Let virtue struggle, or let glory shine, + Thy verse affords not one approving line. 100 + + POET. + + Hail, sacred themes! the Muse's chief delight! + Oh, bring the darling objects to my sight! + My breast with elevated thought shall glow, + My fancy brighten, and my numbers flow! + The Aonian grove with rapture would I tread, + To crop unfading wreaths for William's head, + But that my strain, unheard amidst the throng, + Must yield to Lockman's ode, and Hambury's song. + Nor would the enamour'd Muse neglect to pay + To Stanhope's[3] worth the tributary lay, 110 + The soul unstain'd, the sense sublime to paint, + A people's patron, pride, and ornament, + Did not his virtues eternised remain + The boasted theme of Pope's immortal strain. + Not e'en the pleasing task is left to raise + A grateful monument to Barnard's praise, + Else should the venerable patriot stand + The unshaken pillar of a sinking land. + The gladdening prospect let me still pursue, + And bring fair Virtue's triumph to the view; 120 + Alike to me, by fortune blest or not, + From soaring Cobham to the melting Scot.[4] + But, lo! a swarm of harpies intervene, + To ravage, mangle, and pollute the scene! + Gorged with our plunder, yet still gaunt for spoil, + Rapacious Gideon fastens on our isle; + Insatiate Lascelles, and the fiend Vaneck, + Rise on our ruins, and enjoy the wreck; + While griping Jasper glories in his prize, + Wrung from the widow's tears and orphan's cries. 130 + + FRIEND. + + Relapsed again! strange tendency to rail! + I fear'd this meekness would not long prevail. + + POET. + + You deem it rancour, then? Look round and see + What vices flourish still unpruned by me: + Corruption, roll'd in a triumphant car, + Displays his burnish'd front and glittering star, + Nor heeds the public scorn, or transient curse, + Unknown alike to honour and remorse. + Behold the leering belle, caress'd by all, + Adorn each private feast and public ball, 140 + Where peers attentive listen and adore, + And not one matron shuns the titled whore. + At Peter's obsequies[5] I sung no dirge; + Nor has my satire yet supplied a scourge + For the vile tribes of usurers and bites, + Who sneak at Jonathan's, and swear at White's. + Each low pursuit, and slighter folly, bred + Within the selfish heart and hollow head, + Thrives uncontroll'd, and blossoms o'er the land, + Nor feels the rigour of my chastening hand. 150 + While Codrus shivers o'er his bags of gold, + By famine wither'd, and benumb'd by cold, + I mark his haggard eyes with frenzy roll, + And feast upon the terrors of his soul; + The wrecks of war, the perils of the deep, + That curse with hideous dreams the caitiff's sleep; + Insolvent debtors, thieves, and civil strife, + Which daily persecute his wretched life, + With all the horrors of prophetic dread, + That rack his bosom while the mail is read. 160 + Safe from the road, untainted by the school, + A judge by birth, by destiny a fool, + While the young lordling struts in native pride, + His party-colour'd tutor by his side, + Pleased, let me own the pious mother's care, + Who to the brawny sire commits her heir. + Fraught with the spirit of a Gothic monk, + Let Rich, with dulness and devotion drunk, + Enjoy the peal so barbarous and loud, + While his brain spews new monsters to the crowd; 170 + I see with joy the vaticide deplore + A hell-denouncing priest and ... whore; + Let every polish'd dame and genial lord, + Employ the social chair and venal board; + Debauch'd from sense, let doubtful meanings run, + The vague conundrum, and the prurient pun, + While the vain fop, with apish grin, regards + The giggling minx half-choked behind her cards: + These, and a thousand idle pranks, I deem + The motley spawn of Ignorance and Whim. 180 + Let Pride conceive, and Folly propagate, + The fashion still adopts the spurious brat: + Nothing so strange that fashion cannot tame; + By this, dishonour ceases to be shame: + This weans from blushes lewd Tyrawley's face, + Gives Hawley[6] praise, and Ingoldsby disgrace, + From Mead to Thomson shifts the palm at once, + A meddling, prating, blundering, busy dunce! + And may, should taste a little more decline, + Transform the nation to a herd of swine. 190 + + FRIEND. + + The fatal period hastens on apace. + Nor will thy verse the obscene event disgrace; + Thy flowers of poetry, that smell so strong, + The keenest appetites have loathed the song, + Condemn'd by Clark, Banks, Barrowby, and Chitty, + And all the crop-ear'd critics of the city: + While sagely neutral sits thy silent friend, + Alike averse to censure or commend. + + POET. + + Peace to the gentle soul that could deny + His invocated voice to fill the cry! 200 + And let me still the sentiment disdain + Of him who never speaks but to arraign, + The sneering son of Calumny and Scorn, + Whom neither arts, nor sense, nor soul adorn; + Or his, who, to maintain a critic's rank, + Though conscious of his own internal blank, + His want of taste unwilling to betray, + 'Twixt sense and nonsense hesitates all day, + With brow contracted hears each passage read, + And often hums, and shakes his empty head, 210 + Until some oracle adored pronounce + The passive bard a poet or a dunce; + Then in loud clamour echoes back the word, + 'Tis bold, insipid--soaring, or absurd. + These, and the unnumber'd shoals of smaller fry, + That nibble round, I pity and defy. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Williamson:' governor of the Tower.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Vanquished knight:' Sir John Cope.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Stanhope:' the Earl of Chesterfield.] + +[Footnote 4; 'Scot, Gideon,' &c.: forgotten contractors, +money-lenders, &c.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Peter's obsequies:' Peter Waters, Esq.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Hawley:' discomfited at Falkirk in 1746.] + + * * * * * + + + THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND. + + WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1746. + + 1 Mourn, hapless Caledonia! mourn + Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn! + Thy sons, for valour long renown'd, + Lie slaughter'd on their native ground; + Thy hospitable roofs no more + Invite the stranger to the door; + In smoky ruins sunk they lie, + The monuments of cruelty. + + 2 The wretched owner sees afar + His all become the prey of war; + Bethinks him of his babes and wife, + Then smites his breast, and curses life. + Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks, + Where once they fed their wanton flocks: + Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain; + Thy infants perish on the plain. + + 3 What boots it, then, in every clime, + Through the wide-spreading waste of Time, + Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, + Still shone with undiminish'd blaze? + Thy towering spirit now is broke, + Thy neck is bended to the yoke. + What foreign arms could never quell, + By civil rage and rancour fell. + + 4 The rural pipe and merry lay + No more shall cheer the happy day: + No social scenes of gay delight + Beguile the dreary winter night. + No strains but those of sorrow flow, + And nought be heard but sounds of woe, + While the pale phantoms of the slain + Glide nightly o'er the silent plain. + + 5 Oh! baneful cause, oh! fatal morn, + Accursed to ages yet unborn! + The sons against their father stood, + The parent shed his children's blood. + Yet, when the rage of battle ceased, + The victor's soul was not appeased: + The naked and forlorn must feel + Devouring flames, and murdering steel! + + 6 The pious mother, doom'd to death, + Forsaken wanders o'er the heath, + The bleak wind whistles round her head, + Her helpless orphans cry for bread; + Bereft of shelter, food, and friend, + She views the shades of night descend, + And, stretch'd beneath the inclement skies, + Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies. + + 7 While the warm blood bedews my veins, + And unimpair'd remembrance reigns, + Resentment of my country's fate, + Within my filial breast shall beat; + And, spite of her insulting foe, + My sympathising verse shall flow: + Mourn, hapless Caledonia! mourn + Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn! + + * * * * * + + + VERSES ON A YOUNG LADY + + PLAYING ON A HARPSICHORD AND SINGING. + + 1 When Sappho struck the quivering wire, + The throbbing breast was all on fire; + And when she raised the vocal lay, + The captive soul was charm'd away! + + 2 But had the nymph possess'd with these + Thy softer, chaster power to please, + Thy beauteous air of sprightly youth, + Thy native smiles of artless truth-- + + 3 The worm of grief had never prey'd + On the forsaken love-sick maid; + Nor had she mourn'd a hapless flame, + Nor dash'd on rocks her tender frame. + + * * * * * + + + LOVE ELEGY. + + IN IMITATION OF TIBULLUS. + + 1 Where now are all my flattering dreams of joy? + Monimia, give my soul her wonted rest; + Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye, + Heart-gnawing cares corrode my pensive breast. + + 2 Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call, + With festive songs beguile the fleeting hour; + Lead beauty through the mazes of the ball, + Or press her, wanton, in Love's roseate bower. + + 3 For me, no more I'll range the empurpled mead, + Where shepherds pipe, and virgins dance around, + Nor wander through the woodbine's fragrant shade, + To hear the music of the grove resound. + + 4 I'll seek some lonely church, or dreary hall, + Where fancy paints the glimmering taper blue, + Where damps hang mouldering on the ivied wall, + And sheeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew: + + 5 There, leagued with hopeless anguish and despair, + A while in silence o'er my fate repine: + Then with a long farewell to love and care, + To kindred dust my weary limbs consign. + + 6 Wilt thou, Monimia, shed a gracious tear + On the cold grave where all my sorrows rest? + Strew vernal flowers, applaud my love sincere, + And bid the turf lie easy on my breast? + + * * * * * + + + BURLESQUE ODE.[1] + + Where wast thou, wittol Ward, when hapless fate + From these weak arms mine aged grannam tore? + These pious arms essay'd too late + To drive the dismal phantom from the door. + Could not thy healing drop, illustrious quack, + Could not thy salutary pill prolong her days, + For whom so oft to Marybone, alack! + Thy sorrels dragg'd thee, through the worst of ways? + Oil-dropping Twickenham did not then detain + Thy steps, though tended by the Cambrian maids; 10 + Nor the sweet environs of Drury Lane; + Nor dusty Pimlico's embowering shades; + Nor Whitehall, by the river's bank, + Beset with rowers dank; + Nor where the Exchange pours forth its tawny sons; + Nor where, to mix with offal, soil, and blood, + Steep Snowhill rolls the sable flood; + Nor where the Mint's contamined kennel runs: + Ill doth it now beseem, + That thou should'st doze and dream, 20 + When Death in mortal armour came, + And struck with ruthless dart the gentle dame. + Her liberal hand and sympathising breast + The brute creation kindly bless'd; + Where'er she trod, grimalkin purr'd around, + The squeaking pigs her bounty own'd; + Nor to the waddling duck or gabbling goose + Did she glad sustenance refuse; + The strutting cock she daily fed, + And turkey with his snout so red; 30 + Of chickens careful as the pious hen, + Nor did she overlook the tom-tit or the wren, + While red-breast hopp'd before her in the hall, + As if she common mother were of all. + + For my distracted mind, + What comfort can I find; + O best of grannams! thou art dead and gone, + And I am left behind to weep and moan, + To sing thy dirge in sad and funeral lay, + Oh! woe is me! alack! and well a-day! 40 + + +[Footnote 1: Smollett, imagining himself ill-treated by Lord +Lyttelton, wrote the above burlesque on that nobleman's Monody on the +death of his lady.] + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO MIRTH. + + Parent of joy! heart-easing Mirth! + Whether of Venus or Aurora born, + Yet Goddess sure of heavenly birth, + Visit benign a son of grief forlorn: + Thy glittering colours gay, + Around him, Mirth, display, + And o'er his raptured sense + Diffuse thy living influence: + So shall each hill, in purer green array'd, + And flower adorn'd in new-born beauty glow, 10 + The grove shall smooth the horrors of the shade, + And streams in murmurs shall forget to flow. + Shine, Goddess! shine with unremitted ray, + And gild (a second sun) with brighter beam our day. + Labour with thee forgets his pain, + And aged Poverty can smile with thee; + If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain, + And weak the uplifted arm of Tyranny. + The morning opes on high + His universal eye, 20 + And on the world doth pour + His glories in a golden shower; + Lo! Darkness trembling 'fore the hostile ray, + Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn: + The brood obscene that own her gloomy sway + Troop in her rear, and fly the approaching morn; + Pale shivering ghosts that dread the all-cheering light, + Quick as the lightning's flash glide to sepulchral night. + But whence the gladdening beam + That pours his purple stream 30 + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO SLEEP. + + Soft Sleep, profoundly pleasing power, + Sweet patron of the peaceful hour! + Oh, listen from thy calm abode, + And hither wave thy magic rod; + Extend thy silent, soothing sway, + And charm the canker care away: + Whether thou lov'st to glide along, + Attended by an airy throng + Of gentle dreams and smiles of joy, + Such as adorn the wanton boy; 10 + Or to the monarch's fancy bring + Delights that better suit a king, + The glittering host, the groaning plain, + The clang of arms, and victor's train; + Or should a milder vision please, + Present the happy scenes of peace, + Plump Autumn, blushing all around, + Rich Industry, with toil embrown'd, + Content, with brow serenely gay, + And genial Art's refulgent ray. 20 + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO LEVEN WATER. + + On Leven's banks, while free to rove, + And tune the rural pipe to love, + I envied not the happiest swain + That ever trod the Arcadian plain. + + Pure stream, in whose transparent wave + My youthful limbs I wont to lave, + No torrents stain thy limpid source; + No rocks impede thy dimpling course, + That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, + With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread; 10 + While, lightly poised, the scaly brood + In myriads cleave thy crystal flood; + The springing trout, in speckled pride, + The salmon, monarch of the tide, + The ruthless pike, intent on war, + The silver eel, and mottled par. + Devolving from thy parent lake, + A charming maze thy waters make, + By bowers of birch, and groves of pine, + And edges flower'd with eglantine. 20 + + Still on thy banks, so gaily green, + May numerous herds and flocks be seen, + And lasses, chanting o'er the pail, + And shepherds, piping in the dale, + And ancient faith, that knows no guile, + And Industry, embrown'd with toil, + And hearts resolved, and hands prepared, + The blessings they enjoy to guard. + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO BLUE-EYED ANN. + + 1 When the rough north forgets to howl, + And ocean's billows cease to roll; + When Lybian sands are bound in frost, + And cold to Nova-Zembla's lost; + When heavenly bodies cease to move, + My blue-eyed Ann I'll cease to love! + + 2 No more shall flowers the meads adorn, + Nor sweetness deck the rosy thorn, + Nor swelling buds proclaim the spring, + Nor parching heats the dog-star bring, + Nor laughing lilies paint the grove, + When blue-eyed Ann I cease to love. + + 3 No more shall joy in hope be found, + Nor pleasures dance their frolic round, + Nor love's light god inhabit earth, + Nor beauty give the passion birth, + Nor heat to summer sunshine cleave, + When blue-eyed Nanny I deceive. + + 4 When rolling seasons cease to change, + Inconstancy forgets to range; + When lavish May no more shall bloom, + Nor gardens yield a rich perfume; + When Nature from her sphere shall start, + I'll tear my Nanny from my heart. + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO INDEPENDENCE. + + STROPHE. + + Thy spirit, Independence! let me share, + Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye; + Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, + Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky. + Deep in the frozen regions of the north, + A goddess violated brought thee forth, + Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime, + Hath bleach'd the tyrant's cheek in every varying clime. + What time the iron-hearted Gaul, + With frantic Superstition for his guide, 10 + Arm'd with the dagger and the pall, + The sons of Woden to the field defied; + The ruthless hag, by Weser's flood, + In Heaven's name urged the infernal blow, + And red the stream began to flow: + The vanquished were baptised with blood![1] + + ANTISTROPHE. + + The Saxon prince in horror fled + From altars stain'd with human gore; + And Liberty his routed legions led + In safety to the bleak Norwegian shore. 20 + There in a cave asleep she lay, + Lull'd by the hoarse resounding main; + When a bold savage pass'd that way, + Impell'd by destiny, his name Disdain. + + Of ample front the portly chief appear'd: + The hunted bear supplied a shaggy vest; + The drifted snow hung on his yellow beard, + And his broad shoulders braved the furious blast. + He stopp'd; he gazed; his bosom glow'd, + And deeply felt the impression of her charms; 30 + He seized the advantage Fate allow'd, + And straight compress'd her in his vigorous arms. + + STROPHE. + + The curlew scream'd, the Tritons blew + Their shells to celebrate the ravish'd rite; + Old Time exulted as he flew, + And Independence saw the light; + The light he saw in Albion's happy plains, + Where, under cover of a flowering thorn, + While Philomel renew'd her warbled strains, + The auspicious fruit of stolen embrace was born. 40 + The mountain Dyriads seized with joy + The smiling infant to their charge consign'd; + The Doric Muse caress'd the favourite boy; + The hermit Wisdom stored his opening mind: + As rolling years matured his age, + He flourish'd bold and sinewy as his sire; + While the mild passions in his breast assuage + The fiercer flames of his maternal fire. + + ANTISTROPHE. + + Accomplish'd thus he wing'd his way, + And zealous roved from pole to pole, 50 + The rolls of right eternal to display, + And warm with patriot thoughts the aspiring soul; + On desert isles 'twas he that raised + Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave,[2] + Where Tyranny beheld, amazed, + Fair Freedom's temple where he mark'd her grave: + He steel'd the blunt Batavian's arms + To burst the Iberian's double chain; + And cities rear'd, and planted farms, + Won from the skirts of Neptune's wide domain.[3] 60 + He with the generous rustics sate + On Uri's rocks[4] in close divan; + And wing'd that arrow sure as fate, + Which ascertain'd the sacred rights of man. + + STROPHE. + + Arabia's scorching sands he cross'd, + Where blasted Nature pants supine, + Conductor of her tribes adust + To Freedom's adamantine shrine; + And many a Tartar horde forlorn, aghast, + He snatch'd from under fell Oppression's wing, 70 + And taught amidst the dreary waste + The all-cheering hymns of liberty to sing. + He virtue finds, like precious ore, + Diffused through every baser mould; + E'en now he stands on Calvi's rocky shore,[5] + And turns the dross of Corsica to gold. + He, guardian Genius! taught my youth + Pomp's tinsel livery to despise; + My lips, by him chastised to truth, + Ne'er paid that homage which my heart denies. 80 + + ANTISTROPHE. + + Those sculptured halls my feet shall never tread, + Where varnish'd Vice and Vanity, combined + To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread, + And forge vile shackles for the freeborn mind; + While Insolence his wrinkled front uprears, + And all the flowers of spurious Fancy blow; + And Title his ill-woven chaplet wears, + Full often wreath'd around the miscreant's brow; + Where ever-dimpling Falsehood, pert and vain, + Presents her cup of stale Profession's froth; 90 + And pale Disease, with all his bloated train, + Torments the sons of gluttony and sloth. + + STROPHE. + + In Fortune's car behold that minion ride, + With either India's glittering spoils oppress'd; + So moves the sumpter-mule in harness'd pride, + That bears the treasure which he cannot taste. + For him let venal bards disgrace the bay, + And hireling minstrels wake the tinkling string; + Her sensual snares let faithless Pleasure lay; + And jingling bells fantastic Folly ring; 100 + Disquiet, doubt, and dread shall intervene, + And Nature, still to all her feelings just, + In vengeance hang a damp on every scene, + Shook from the baneful pinions of Disgust. + + ANTISTROPHE. + + Nature I'll court in her sequester'd haunts, + By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or cell, + Where the poised lark his evening ditty chaunts, + And Health, and Peace, and Contemplation dwell. + There Study shall with Solitude recline, + And Friendship pledge me to his fellow swains, 110 + And Toil and Temperance sedately twine + The slender cord that fluttering life sustains; + And fearless Poverty shall guard the door, + And Taste unspoil'd the frugal table spread, + And Industry supply the humble store, + And Sleep unbribed his dews refreshing shed; + White-mantled Innocence, ethereal sprite! + Shall chase far off the goblins of the night, + And Independence o'er the day preside, + Propitious power! my patron and my pride! 120 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Baptised with blood:' Charlemagne obliged four thousand +Saxon prisoners to embrace the Christian religion, and immediately +after they were baptized, ordered their throats to be cut. Their +prince, Vitikind, fled for shelter to Gotrick, king of Denmark.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Adriatic wave:' although Venice was built a considerable +time before the era here assigned for the birth of Independence, the +republic had not yet attained to any great degree of power and +splendour.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Neptune's wide domain:' the Low Countries, and their +revolt from Spain, are here alluded to.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Uri's rocks:' alluding to the known story of William +Tell and his associates.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Calvi's rocky shore:' the noble stand made by Paschal +Paoli, and his associates, against the usurpations of the +French king.] + + * * * * * + + +SONG. + + 1 While with fond rapture and amaze, + On thy transcendent charms I gaze, + My cautious soul essays in vain + Her peace and freedom to maintain: + Yet let that blooming form divine, + Where grace and harmony combine, + Those eyes, like genial orbs that move, + Dispensing gladness, joy, and love, + In all their pomp assail my view, + Intent my bosom to subdue, + My breast, by wary maxims steel'd, + Not all those charms shall force to yield. + + 2 But when, invoked to Beauty's aid, + I see the enlighten'd soul display'd; + That soul so sensibly sedate + Amid the storms of froward fate, + Thy genius active, strong, and clear, + Thy wit sublime, though not severe, + The social ardour, void of art, + That glows within thy candid heart; + My spirits, sense, and strength decay, + My resolution dies away, + And, every faculty oppress'd, + Almighty Love invades my breast! + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 To fix her!--'twere a task as vain + To count the April drops of rain, + To sow in Afric's barren soil, + Or tempests hold within a toil. + + 2 I know it, friend, she's light as air, + False as the fowler's artful snare, + Inconstant as the passing wind, + As winter's dreary frost unkind. + + 3 She's such a miser, too, in love, + Its joys she'll neither share nor prove, + Though hundreds of gallants await + From her victorious eyes their fate. + + 4 Blushing at such inglorious reign, + I sometimes strive to break her chain, + My reason summon to my aid, + Resolved no more to be betray'd. + + 5 Ah! friend, 'tis but a short-lived trance, + Dispell'd by one enchanting glance; + She need but look, and, I confess, + Those looks completely curse or bless. + + 6 So soft, so elegant, so fair, + Sure something more than human's there; + I must submit, for strife is vain, + 'Twas Destiny that forged the chain. + + * * * * * + + SONG. + + 1 Let the nymph still avoid and be deaf to the swain, + Who in transports of passion affects to complain; + For his rage, not his love, in that frenzy is shown, + And the blast that blows loudest is soon overblown. + + 2 But the shepherd whom Cupid has pierced to the heart, + Will submissive adore, and rejoice in the smart; + Or in plaintive, soft murmurs his bosom-felt woe, + Like the smooth-gliding current of rivers, will flow. + + 3 Though silent his tongue, he will plead with his eyes, + And his heart own your sway in a tribute of sighs: + But when he accosts you in meadow or grove, + His tale is all tenderness, rapture, and love. + + * * * * * + + SONG. + + 1 From the man whom I love though my heart I disguise, + I will freely describe the wretch I despise; + And if he has sense but to balance a straw, + He will sure take the hint from the picture I draw. + + 2 A wit without sense, without fancy a beau, + Like a parrot he chatters, and struts like a crow; + A peacock in pride, in grimace a baboon, + In courage a hind, in conceit a Gascon. + + 3 As a vulture rapacious, in falsehood a fox, + Inconstant as waves, and unfeeling as rocks; + As a tiger ferocious, perverse as a hog, + In mischief an ape, and in fawning a dog. + + 4 In a word, to sum up all his talents together, + His heart is of lead, and his brain is of feather; + Yet, if he has sense but to balance a straw, + He will sure take the hint from the picture I draw. + + * * * * * + + SONG. + + 1 Come listen, ye students of every degree; + I sing of a wit and a tutor _perdie,_ + A statesman profound, a critic immense, + In short, a mere jumble of learning and sense; + And yet of his talents though laudably vain, + His own family arts he could never attain. + + 2 His father, intending his fortune to build, + In his youth would have taught him the trowel to wield. + But the mortar of discipline never would stick, + For his skull was secured by a facing of brick; + And with all his endeavours of patience and pain, + The skill of his sire he could never attain. + + 3 His mother, a housewife, neat, artful, and wise, + Renown'd for her delicate biscuit and pies, + Soon alter'd his studies, by flattering his taste, + From the raising of wall to the rearing of paste; + But all her instructions were fruitless and vain, + The pye-making mystery he could ne'er attain. + + 4 Yet, true to his race, in his labours were seen + A jumble of both their professions, I ween; + For when his own genius he ventured to trust, + His pies seem'd of brick, and his houses of crust; + Then, good Mr Tutor, pray be not so vain, + Since your family arts you could never attain. + + +END OF SMOLLETT'S POEMS. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, +Gray, and Smollett, by Samuel Johnson, Thomas Parnell, Thomas Gray, and Tobias Smollett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS *** + +***** This file should be named 11254-8.txt or 11254-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/2/5/11254/ + +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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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/11254-8.zip b/old/11254-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..45a8eb4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11254-8.zip diff --git a/old/11254.txt b/old/11254.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e88d119 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/11254.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9263 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, +and Smollett, by Samuel Johnson, Thomas Parnell, Thomas Gray, and Tobias Smollett + +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: Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, and Smollett + With Memoirs, Critical Dissertations, and Explanatory Notes + +Author: Samuel Johnson, Thomas Parnell, Thomas Gray, and Tobias Smollett + +Release Date: February 24, 2004 [EBook #11254] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jayam Subramanian and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +THE + +POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +JOHNSON, PARNELL, GRAY, + +AND + +SMOLLETT. + + + + +With Memoirs, Critical Dissertations, and +Explanatory Notes + +BY THE +REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. +EDINBURGH + + +M.DCCC.LV. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +JOHNSON'S POEMS. + + The Life of Samuel Johnson + London: a Poem in imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal, 1738 + The Vanity of Human Wishes. In imitation of the Tenth Satire of + Juvenal + +PROLOGUES:-- + Prologue Spoken by Mr Garrick, at the Opening of the Theatre-Royal, + Drury-Lane, 1747 + Prologue Spoken by Mr Garrick before the 'Masque of Comus', acted + for the benefit of Milton's Grand-daughter + Prologue to Goldsmith's Comedy of 'The Good-Natured Man', 1769 + Prologue to the Comedy of 'A Word to the Wise,' spoken by Mr Hull + +ODES:-- + Spring + Midsummer + Autumn + Winter + +MISCELLANEOUS:-- + The Winter's Walk + To Miss ***** on her giving the Author a Gold and Silk Network + Purse of her own Weaving + Epigram on George II. and Colley Cibber, Esq. + Stella in Mourning + To Stella + Verses Written at the Request of a Gentleman to whom a Lady had + given a Sprig of Myrtle + To Lady Firebrace, at Bury Assizes + To Lyce, an Elderly Lady + On the Death of Mr Robert Levett, a Practiser in Physic + Epitaph on Claude Phillips, an Itinerant Musician + Epitaph on Sir Thomas Hanmer, Bart. + On the Death of Stephen Grey, F.R.S., the Electrician + To Miss Hickman, Playing on the Spinnet + Paraphrase of Proverbs, chap. iv. verses 6-11 + Horace, Lib. iv. Ode vii. Translated + On Seeing a Bust of Mrs Montague + Anacreon, Ode Ninth + Lines Written in Ridicule of certain Poems published in 1777 + Parody of a Translation from the 'Medea' of Euripides + Burlesque on the Modern Versification of Ancient Legendary Tales: + an Impromptu + Epitaph for Mr Hogarth + Translation of the Two First Stanzas of the Song 'Rio Verde, + Rio Verde', printed in Bishop Percy's 'Reliques of Ancient + English Poetry': an Impromptu + To Mrs Thrale, on her Completing her Thirty-Fifth Year: a + Impromptu + Impromptu Translation of an Air in the 'Clemenza de Tito' of + Metastasia, beginning 'Deh! se Piacermi Vuoi' + Lines Written under a Print representing Persons Skaiting + Translation of a Speech of Aquileio in the 'Adriano' of Metastasio, + beginning, 'Tu Che in Corte Invecchiasti' + Impromptu on Hearing Miss Thrale Consulting with a Friend about a + Gown and Hat she was inclined to Wear + Translation of Virgil, Pastoral I + Translation of Horace, Book i. Ode xxii. + Translation of Horace, Book ii. Ode ix. + Translation of part of the Dialogue between Hector and + Andromache.--From the Sixth Book of Homer's Iliad + To Miss * * * * on her Playing upon a Harpsichord in a Room hung + with Flower-Pieces of her own Painting + Evening: an Ode. To Stella + To the Same + To a Friend + To a Young Lady, on her Birthday + Epilogue intended to have been Spoken by a Lady who was to + personate 'The Ghost of Hermione' + The Young Author + Friendship: an Ode. Printed in the Gentleman's Magazine, 1743 + Imitation of the Style of Percy + One and Twenty + +PARNELL'S POEMS. + + The Life and Poetry of Thomas Parnell + Hesiod; or, the Rise of Woman + Song + Song + Song + Anacreontic + Anacreontic + A Fairy Tale, in the Ancient English Style + To Mr Pope + Health: an Eclogue + The Flies: an Eclogue + An Elegy to an Old Beauty + The Book-Worm + An Allegory on Man + An Imitation of some French Verses + A Night-Piece on Death + A Hymn to Contentment + The Hermit + +GRAY'S POEMS. + +The Life and Poetry of Thomas Gray + +ODES:-- + I. On the Spring + II. On the Death of a Favorite Cat + III. On a distant Prospect of Eton College + IV. To Adversity + V. The Progress of Poesy + VI. The Bard + VII. The Fatal Sisters + VIII. The Descent of Odin + IX. The Death of Hoel + X. The Triumph of Owen + XI. For Music + +MISCELLANEOUS:-- + A Long Story + Elegy written in a Country Churchyard + Epitaph on Mrs Jane Clarke + Stanzas, suggested by a View of the Seat and Ruins at Kingsgate, + in Kent, 1766 + Translation from Statius + Gray on himself + +SMOLLETT'S POEMS. + + The Life of Tobias Smollett + Advice: a Satire + Reproof: a Satire + The Tears of Scotland. Written in the year 1746 + Verses on a Young Lady playing on a Harpsichord and Singing + Love Elegy, in imitation of Tibullus + Burlesque Ode + Ode to Mirth + Ode to Sleep + Ode to Leven Water + Ode to Blue-Eyed Ann + Ode to Independence + Songs + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +SAMUEL JOHNSON. + + +THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. + +We feel considerable trepidation in beginning a life of Johnson, not +so much on account of the magnitude of the man--for in Milton, and one +or two others, we have already met his match--but on account of the +fact that the field has been so thoroughly exhausted by former +writers. It is in the shadow of Boswell, the best of all biographers, +and not in that of Johnson, that we feel ourselves at present +cowering. Yet we must try to give a rapid account of the leading +incidents in Johnson's life, as well as a short estimate of his vast, +rugged genius. + +Samuel Johnson was born at Lichfield, Staffordshire, on the 18th of +September 1709, and was baptized the same day. His father was Michael +Johnson, a bookseller and stationer, and his mother, Sarah Ford. +Samuel was the first-born of the family. Nathaniel, who died in his +twenty-fifth year, was the second and the last. Johnson very early +began to manifest both his peculiar prejudices and his peculiar +powers. When a mere child, we see him in Lichfield Cathedral, perched +on his father's shoulders, gazing at Sacheverel, the famous Tory +preacher. We hear him, about the same time, roaring to his mother, who +had given him, a minute before, a collect in the Common Prayer-Book to +get by heart as his day's task,--"Mother, I can say it already!" His +first teacher, Dame Oliver, a widow, thought him, as she well might, +the best scholar she ever had. From her he passed into the hands of +one Tom Brown, an original, who once published a spelling-book, and +dedicated it "to the Universe!"--without permission, we presume. He +began to learn Latin first with a Mr Hawkins, and then with a Mr +Hunter, head-master of Lichfield,--a petty tyrant, although a good +scholar, under whom, to use Gay's language, Johnson was + +"Lash'd into Latin by the tingling rod." + +At the age of fifteen, he was transferred to Stourbridge school, and +to the care of a Mr Wentworth, who "taught him a great deal." There +he remained twelve months, at the close of which he returned home, and +for two years lived in his father's house, in comparative idleness, +loitering in the fields, and reading much, but desultorily. In 1728, +being flattered with some promises of aid from a Shropshire gentleman, +named Corbet, which were never fulfilled, he went to Oxford, and was +entered as a commoner in Pembroke College. His father accompanied and +introduced him to Dr Adams, and to Jorden, who became his tutor, +recommending his son as a good scholar and a poet. Under Jorden's +care, however, he did little except translate Pope's "Messiah" into +Latin verse,--a task which he performed with great rapidity, and so +well, that Pope warmly commended it when he saw it printed in a +miscellany of poems. About this time, the hypochondriac affection, +which rendered Johnson's long life a long disease, began to manifest +itself. In the vacation of 1729, he was seized with the darkest +despondency, which he tried to alleviate by violent exercise and other +means, but in vain. It seems to have left him during a fit of +indignation at Dr Swinfen (a physician at Lichfield, who, struck by +the elegant Latinity of an account of his malady, which the sufferer +had put into his hands, showed it in all directions), but continued to +recur at frequent intervals till the close of his life. His malady was +undoubtedly of a maniacal cast, resembling Cowper's, but subdued by +superior strength of will--a Bucephalus, which it required all the +power of a Johnson to back and bridle. In his early days, he had been +piously inclined, but after his ninth year, fell into a state of +indifference to religion. This continued till he met, at Oxford, Law's +"Serious Call," which, he says, "overmatched" and compelled him to +consider the subject with earnestness. And whatever, in after years, +were the errors of his life, he never, from that hour, ceased to have +a solemn sense of the verities of the Christian religion. + +At Oxford, he paid little attention to his regular tasks, but read, or +rather devoured, all the books he could lay his hands on, and began to +display his unrivalled conversational powers, being often seen +"lounging about the college gates, with a circle of young students +around him, whom he was entertaining with wit, keeping from their +studies, and sometimes rousing to rebellion against the college +discipline." He was, at this time, so miserably poor, that his shoes +were worn to tatters, and his feet appeared through them, to the +scandal of the Christ-Church men, when he occasionally visited their +college. Some compassionate individual laid a new pair at his door, +which he tossed away with indignation. At last,--his debts increasing, +his supplies diminishing, and his father becoming bankrupt,--he was, +in autumn 1731, compelled to leave college without a degree. In the +December of the same year his father died. + +Perhaps there was not now in broad Britain a person apparently more +helpless and hopeless than this tall, half-blind, half-mad, and wholly +miserable lad, with ragged shoes, and no degree, left suddenly +fatherless in Lichfield. But he had a number of warm friends in his +native place, such as Captain Garrick, father of the actor, and +Gilbert Walmsley, Registrar of the Ecclesiastical Court, who would not +suffer him to starve outright. He had learning and genius; and he had, +moreover, under all his indolence and all his melancholy, an +indomitable resolution, which needed only to be roused to make all +obstacles melt before it. He knew that he was great and strong, and +would yet struggle into recognition. At first, however, nothing +offered save the post of usher in a school at Market-Bosworth, which +he occupied long enough to learn to loathe the occupation with all his +heart and soul, and mind and strength, but which he soon resigned, and +was again idle. He was invited next to spend some time with Mr +Hector, an early friend, who was residing in Birmingham. Here he +became acquainted with one Porter, a mercer, whose widow he afterwards +married. Here, too, he executed his first literary work,--a +translation of Lobo's "Voyage to Abyssinia," which was published in +1735, and for which he received the munificent sum of five guineas! He +had previously, without success, issued proposals for an edition of +the Latin poems of Politian; and, with a similar result, offered the +service of his pen to Edward Cave, the editor and publisher of the +_Gentleman's Magazine_, to which he afterwards became a leading +contributor. + +Shortly after this, Porter dying, Johnson married the widow--a lady +more distinguished for sense, and particularly for _the_ sense to +appreciate his talents, than for personal charms, and who was twice +her husband's age. It does not seem to have been a very happy match, +although, probably, both parties loved each other better than they +imagined. He was now assisted by his wife's portion, which amounted to +L800, and opened a private academy at Echal, near Lichfield, but +obtained only three pupils,--a Mr Offely, who died early, the +celebrated David Garrick, and his brother George. At the end of a year +and a half, disgusted alike with the duties of the office, and with +his want of success in their discharge, Johnson left for London, with +David Garrick for his companion, and reached it with one letter of +introduction from Gilbert Walmsley, three acts of the tragedy of +"Irene," and (according to his fellow-traveller) threepence-halfpenny +in his pocket! + +To London he had probably looked as to the great mart of genius, but +at first he met with mortifying disappointment. He made one +influential friend, however, in an officer named Henry Hervey, of whom +he said, "He was a vicious man, but very kind to me; were you to call +a dog Hervey, I shall love him." In summer he came back to Lichfield, +where he stayed three months, and finished his tragedy. He returned to +London in autumn, along with his wife, and tried, but in vain, to get +"Irene" presented on the stage. This did not happen till 1749, when +his old pupil David Garrick had become manager of Drury Lane Theatre. + +In March 1738, he began to contribute to the _Gentleman's Magazine_, a +magazine he had long admired, and the original printing-place of +which--St John's Gate--he "beheld with reverence" when he first passed +it. Amidst the variety of his contributions, the most remarkable were +his "Debates in the Senate of Lilliput"--vigorous paraphrases of the +parliamentary discussions--of which Johnson finding the mere skeleton +given him by the reporters, was at the pains of clothing it with the +flesh and blood of his own powerful diction. In May of the same year +appeared his noble imitation of Juvenal, "London," which at once made +him famous. After it had been rejected by several publishers, it was +bought by Dodsley for ten guineas. It came out the same morning with +Pope's satire, entitled "1738," and excited a much greater sensation. +The buzzing question ran, "What great unknown genius can this be?" The +poem went to a second edition in a week; and Pope himself, who had +read it with pleasure, when told that its author was an obscure man +named Johnson, replied, "He will soon be _deterre_." + +Famous as he had now become, he continued poor; and tired to death of +slaving for the booksellers, he applied, through the influence of Pope +and Lord Gower, to procure a degree from Dublin, that it might aid him +in his application for a school at Appleby, in Leicestershire. In +this, however, he failed, and had to persevere for many years more in +the ill-paid drudgery of authorship--meditating a translation of +"Father Paul's History," which was never executed--writing in the +_Gentleman's Magazine_ lives of Boeerhaave and Father Paul, &c., &c., +&c.--and published separately "Marmor Norfolciense," a disguised +invective against Sir Robert Walpole, the obnoxious premier of the +day. About this time he became intimate with the notorious Richard +Savage, and with him spent too many of his private hours. Both were +poor, both proud, both patriotic, both at that time lovers of +pleasure, and they became for a season inseparable; often +perambulating the streets all night, engaged now, we fear, in low +revels, and now in high talk, and sometimes determined to stand by +their country when they could stand by nothing else. Yet, if Savage +for a season corrupted Johnson, he also communicated to him much +information, and at last left himself in legacy, as one of the best +subjects to one of the greatest masters of moral anatomy. In 1744, +Johnson rolled off from his powerful pen, with as much ease as a thick +oak a thunder-shower, the sounding sentences which compose the "Life +of Savage," and which shall for ever perpetuate the memory and the +tale of that "unlucky rascal." It is a wasp preserved in the richest +amber. The whole reads like one sentence, and is generally read at one +sitting. Sir Joshua Reynolds, meeting it in a country inn, began to +read it while standing with his arm leaning on a chimney-piece, and +was not able to lay it aside till he had finished it, when he found +his arm totally benumbed. In 1745, Johnson issued proposals for a new +edition of Shakspeare, but laid them aside for a time, owing to the +great expectations entertained of the edition then promised by +Warburton. + +For several years, except a few trifles in the _Gentleman's Magazine_, +and his famous "Prologue delivered at the Opening of Drury Lane +Theatre," he seems to have written nothing. But in 1745 appeared the +prospectus of his most laborious undertaking, the "English +Dictionary." This continued his principal occupation for some years, +and, as Boswell truly observes, "served to relieve his constitutional +melancholy by the steady, yet not oppressive, employment it secured +him." In its unity, too, and gigantic size, the task seemed fitted for +the powers of so strong a man; and although he says he dismissed it at +last with "frigid tranquillity," he had no doubt felt its influence +during the time to be at once that of a protecting guardian and of an +inspiring genius. In 1749, he published his "Vanity of Human Wishes," +for which he received the sum of fifteen guineas,--a miserable +recompense for a poem which Byron pronounces "sublime," and which is +as true as it is magnificent in thought, and terse in language. In the +same year, Garrick had "Irene" acted, but it was "damned" the first +night, although it dragged on heavily for eight nights more. When the +author was asked how he felt at its ill-success, he replied, "Like the +Monument!" How different from Addison, walking restlessly, and +perspiring with anxiety behind the scenes, while the fate of "Cato" +was hanging in the balance! + +In 1750 he began his "Rambler," and carried it on with only tolerable +success till 1752. The world has long ago made up its mind on the +merits and defects of this periodical, its masculine thought and +energetic diction, alternating with disguised common-place and (as he +would have said himself) "turgescent tameness"--its critical and +fictitious papers, often so rich in fancy, and felicitous in +expression, mixed with others which exhibit "bulk without spirit +vast," and are chiefly remarkable for their bold, bad innovations on +that English tongue of which the author was piling up the standard +Dictionary. Many have dwelt severely on Johnson's inequalities, +without attending to their cause; that was unquestionably the "body of +death" which hung so heavily upon his system, and rendered writing at +times a positive torment. Let his fastidious critics remember that he +never spent a single day, of which he could say that he was entirely +well, and free from pain, and that his spirits were often so +depressed, that he was more than once seen on his knees, praying God +to preserve his understanding. + +A great calamity now visited his household. This was the death of his +wife. She expired on the 17th of March 1752. She had been married to +him sixteen years; and notwithstanding the difference of age, and +other causes of disagreement, he seems to have loved her with +sincerity, and to have lamented her death with deep and long-continued +sorrow. He relaxed not, however, an instant in his literary labours, +continued the preparation of his Dictionary, and contributed a few +lively and vigorous papers to the "Adventurer"--a paper, edited by Dr +Hawkesworth, a writer of some talent, who did his best to tower up to +the measure and stature of the "Rambler." + +During this time Johnson was filling his house with a colony of poor +dependants,--such as Mrs Anna Williams, a soured female poetaster; and +Levet, a tenth-rate medical peripatetic, who, as well as Hodge, the +great lexicographer's cat, and Francis Barber, his black servant, now +share in his immortality,--besides becoming acquainted with such men +of eminence as Reynolds, the inimitable painter; Bennet Langton, the +amiable and excellent country-gentleman; and Beauclerk, the smart and +witty "man about town." In 1755 (exactly a hundred years ago), Johnson +chastised Lord Chesterfield for his mean, finessing conduct to him +about his Dictionary, in a letter unparalleled, unless in "Junius," +for its noble and condensed scorn,--a scorn which "burns frore," cold +performing the effect of fire--and which reached that callous Lord, +under the sevenfold shield of his conceit and conventionalism; visited +Oxford, and was presented by acclamation with that degree of M.A. +which he had left twenty-four years before without receiving; and, in +fine, issued his Dictionary, the work of eight years, and which, +undoubtedly, is the truest monument of his talent, industry, and +general capacity, if not of the richness of his invention, or of the +strength of his genius. He had obtained for it only the sum of L1575, +which was all spent in the progress of the work; and he was compelled +again to become a contributor to the periodical press, writing +copiously and characteristically to the _Gentleman's Magazine_, the +_Universal Visitor_, and the _Literary Magazine_. In 1756, he was +arrested for a debt of L5, 18s., but was relieved by Richardson, the +novelist. In the same year he resumed his intention of an edition of +Shakspeare, of which he issued proposals, and which he promised to +finish in little more than a year, although nine years were to elapse +ere it saw the light. In 1758, he began the "Idler," which reached the +103d No., and was considered lighter and more agreeable than the +"Rambler." He has seldom written anything so powerful as his fable of +"The Vultures." In 1759, his mother died, at the age of ninety,--an +event which deeply affected him. Soon after this, and to defray the +expenses of her funeral, he wrote his brilliant tale of "Rasselas," in +the evenings of a single week,--a rare feat of readiness and rapid +power, reminding one of Byron writing the "Corsair" in a fortnight, +and of Sir Walter Scott finishing "Guy Mannering" in three weeks. +There are perhaps more invention and more fancy in "Rasselas" than in +any of his works, although a gloom, partly the shadow of his mother's +death, and partly springing from his own temperament, rests too +heavily on its pages. He received one hundred guineas for the +copyright. In 1762, the Earl of Bute, both as a reward for past +services, and as a prepayment of future, bestowed on him a pension of +L300 for life. This raised a clamour against him, which he treated +with silent contempt. + +In 1763 occurred what was really a most important event in Johnson's +life,--his acquaintance with Boswell,--who attached himself to him +with a devotion reminding one more of the canine species than of man, +sacrificed to him much of his time, his feelings, his very +individuality, and became qualified to write a biography, in which +fulness, interest, minute detail, and dramatic skill have never been +equalled or approached. In 1764, Johnson founded the celebrated +"Literary Club,"--perhaps the most remarkable cluster of distinguished +men that ever existed; and in 1765 he was created LL.D. by Trinity +College, Dublin. In 1765, too, he published his "Shakspeare;" and he +became intimate with the Thrales,--the husband being a great brewer in +Southwark; the wife, a lady of literary tastes, better known as Madame +Piozzi, the author of "Anecdotes of Dr Johnson;" both distinguished +for their attachment to him. He was often domesticated in their house +for months together. In 1767 he had an interview with George III., in +the library of the Queen's house; which, because Johnson preserved his +self-possession, and talked with his usual precision and power, has +been recounted by Boswell as if it had been a conversation with an +apostle or an angel. In 1770 he did some work for his pension in a +pamphlet entitled the "False Alarm," defending the conduct of the +Ministry in the case of the Middlesex election. In 1771 he wrote +another political pamphlet, entitled "Thoughts on the late +Transactions respecting Falklands' Islands;" and five years later +appeared "Taxation no Tyranny,"--an elaborate defence of the American +war. Johnson was too dogmatic, and too fiercely passionate for a good +political writer; and these productions added nothing to his fame, and +increased the number of his enemies. + +In 1773 he fulfilled his long-cherished purpose of visiting Scotland +and the Hebrides, the story of which trip he told afterwards in his +usual rotund and massive style, and which was recounted with far more +liveliness and verisimilitude by Boswell. In 1774 he lost Goldsmith, +who had long been his friend, whom he had counselled, rebuked, +assisted, loved, and laughed at, and at whose death he was deeply +grieved. In 1775, the publication of his "Tour to the Hebrides" +brought him in collision with the _perfervidum ingenium Scotorum_, and +especially with James Macpherson, to whom Johnson sent a letter which +crushed him like a catapult. Macpherson, as well as Rob Roy, was only +strong on his native heath, and off it was no match for old Sam, whose +prejudices, passions, and gigantic powers, combined to make him +altogether irresistible in a literary duel. The same year, the +University of Oxford conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Laws; +and in the close of it, he paid a visit, along with the Thrales, +to Paris. + +In 1776 nothing remarkable occurred in his history, unless it were the +interview which Boswell so admirably manoeuvred to bring about between +him and Jack Wilkes. Everybody remembers how well the bear and the +monkey for the time agreed, and how both turned round to snub the +spaniel, who had been the medium of their introduction to each other. + +In 1777 he was requested by the London booksellers to prefix prefaces +to the "English Poets," part of which was issued the next year, and +the rest in 1780 and 1781, as the "Lives of English Poets." This work +has generally been regarded as Johnson's masterpiece. It nowhere, +indeed, displays so much of the creative, the inventive, the poetical, +as his "Rasselas," and many of his smaller tales and fictions. Its +judgments, too, have been often and justly controverted. The book is, +undoubtedly, a storehouse of his prejudices, as well as of his wisdom. +Its treatment of Milton, the man, for instance, is insufferably +insolent, although ample justice is done to Milton, the poet of the +"Paradise Lost." Some poetasters he has overpraised, and some true but +minor poets he has thrust down too far in the scale. But the work, as +a whole, is full of inextinguishable life, and has passages verging on +the eloquence and power of genius. A piece of stern, sober, yet broad +and animated composition, rather careless in dates, and rather cursory +in many of its criticisms, it displays unequalled force of thought, +and pointed vigour of style, and when taken in connexion with the age +of the author (seventy), is altogether marvellous. Truly there were +"giants in those days," and this was a Briareus. + +For the details of his later life, his conversations, growing +weakness, little journeys, unconquerable love of literature, &c., we +must refer our readers to Boswell's teeming narrative. In 1783, he had +a stroke of palsy, which deprived him for a time of speech. That +returned to him, however, but a complication of complaints, including +asthma, sciatica, and dropsy, began gradually to undermine his +powerful frame. He continued to the last to cherish the prospect of a +tour to Italy, but never accomplished his purpose. Death had all along +been his great object of dread, and its fast approaches were regarded +with unmitigated terror. "Cut deeper," he cried to the physicians who +were operating on his limbs; "cut deeper; I don't care for pain, but I +fear death." He fixed all his dying hope upon the Cross, and +recommended Clarke's Sermons as fullest on the doctrine of a +Propitiation. He spoke of the Bible and of the Sabbath with the +warmest feelings of belief and respect. At last, on the 13th day of +December 1784, in the seventy-fifth year of his age, this great, good +man, whose fears had subsided, and who had become as a little child, +fell asleep in Jesus. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, on Monday, +December 20th, and his funeral was attended by the most distinguished +men of the day. + +Perhaps no literary man ever exerted, during his lifetime, the same +personal influence as Samuel Johnson. Shelley used to call Byron the +"Byronic Energy," from a sense of his exceeding power. The author of +"Rasselas" was the "Johnsonian Energy;" and the demon within him, if +not so ethereal and terrible as Byron's, was far more massive, equally +strong, and in conversation, at least, much more ready to do his work. +First-rate conversation generally springs from a desire to shine, or +from the effort of a full mind to relieve itself, or from exuberant +animal spirits, or from deep-seated misery. In Johnson it sprang from +a combination of all these causes. He went to conversation as to an +arena--his mind was richly-stored, even to overflowing--in company his +spirits uniformly rose--and yet there was always at his heart a burden +of wretchedness, seeking solace, not in silence, but in speech. Hence, +with the exception of Burke, no one ever matched him in talk; and +Burke, we imagine, although profounder in thought, more varied in +learning, and more brilliant in imagination, seldom fairly pitted +himself against Johnson. He was a younger man, and held the sage in +too much reverence to encounter him often with any deliberate and +determined purpose of contest. He frequently touched the shield of the +general challenger, not with the sharp, but with the butt-end of his +lance. He said, on one occasion, when asked why he had not talked more +in Johnson's company, "Oh! it is enough for me to have rung the +bell to him!" + +In all Johnson's works you see the traces of the triumphant +conversationalist--of one who has met with few to contradict, and +scarcely one to rival him. Hence the dogmatic strength and certainty, +and hence, too, the one-sidedness and limitation of much of his +writings. He does not "allow for the wind." He seems to anticipate no +reply, and to defy all criticism. One is tempted to quote the words of +Solomon, "He that is first in his own cause seemeth just, but his +neighbour cometh and searcheth him." No such searching seems ever to +have entered into Johnson's apprehensions. His sentences roll forth +like the laws of the Medes and Persians; his praise alights with the +authoritativeness of a sun-burst on a mountain; summit; and when he +blames, he seems to add, like an ancient doomster, the words, "I +pronounce for doom." With Burke, it was very different. Accustomed to +parliamentary debate in its vicissitudes and interchange--gifted, too, +with a prophetic insight into coming objections, which "cast their +shadows before," and with an almost diseased subtlety of thinking, he +binds up his answers to opponents with every thesis he propounds; and +his paragraphs sometimes remind you of the plan of generals in great +emergencies, putting foot soldiers on the same saddles with +cavalry--they seem to _ride double_. + +This is not the place, nor have we room, to dilate on Johnson's +obvious merits and faults--his straight-forward sincerity--his strong +manly sense--the masterly force with which he grasps all his +subjects--the measured fervour of his style--the precision and +vivacity of his shorter sentences--the grand swell and sonorousness of +his longer; on his frequent monotony--his _sesguipedalia verba_--the +"timorous meaning" which sometimes lurks under his "boldest words;" or +on the deep _chiaroscuro_ which discolours all his pictures of man, +nature, society, and human life. We have now only to speak of his +poetry. That is, unfortunately, small in amount, although its quality +is so excellent as to excite keen regret that he had not, as he once +intended, written many more pieces in the style of "London," and the +"Vanity of Human Wishes." In these, the model of his mere manner is +Pope, although coloured by Juvenal, his Latin original; but the matter +and spirit are intensely his own. In "London," satire seems swelling +out of itself into something stronger and statelier--it is the +apotheosis of that kind of poetry. You see in it a mind purer and +sterner than Dryden's, or Pope's, or Churchill's, or even Juvenal's; +"doing well to be angry" with a degenerate age, and a false, cowardly +country, of which he deems himself unworthy to be a citizen. If there +is rather too much of the _saeva indignatio_, which Swift speaks of as +lacerating his heart, it is a nobler and less selfish ire than his, +and the language and verse which it inspires are full of the very soul +of dignity. In the "Vanity of Human Wishes," he becomes one of those +"hunters whose game is man" (to use the language of Soame Jenyns, in +that essay on "The Origin of Evil," which Johnson, in the _Literary +Review_, so mercilessly lashed); and from assailing premiers, +parliaments, and the vices of London and England, he passes, in a very +solemn spirit, to expose the vain hopes, wishes, and efforts of +humanity at large. Parts of this poem are written more in sorrow than +in anger, and parts more in anger than in sorrow. The portraits of +Wolsey, Bacon, and Charles the Twelfth, are admirable in their +execution, and in their adaptation to the argument of the piece; and +the last paragraph, for truth and masculine energy is unsurpassed, we +believe, in the whole compass of ethical poetry. We are far from +assenting to the statement we once heard ably and elaborately +advocated, "that there had been no _strong_ poetry in Britain since +the two satires of Johnson;" and we are still further from classing +their author with the Shakspeares, Miltons, Wordsworths, and +Coleridges of song; but we are nevertheless prepared, not only for the +sake of these two satires, of his prologue, and of some other pieces +in verse, but on account of the general spirit of much of his prose, +to pronounce him potentially, if not actually, a great poet. + + * * * * * + +JOHNSON'S POEMS. + + +LONDON: + + A POEM IN IMITATION OF THE THIRD SATIRE OF JUVENAL, 1738. + + "--Quis ineptae + Tam patiens urbis, tam ferreus ut teneat se?" + + --JUVENAL. + + Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel + When injured Thales[1] bids the town farewell, + Yet still my calmer thoughts his choice commend; + I praise the hermit, but regret the friend; + Resolved, at length, from vice and London far, + To breathe in distant fields a purer air, + And, fix'd on Cambria's solitary shore, + Give to St David one true Briton more. + + For who would leave, unbribed, Hibernia's land, + Or change the rocks of Scotland for the Strand? 10 + There none are swept by sudden fate away, + But all whom hunger spares, with age decay: + Here malice, rapine, accident, conspire, + And now a rabble rages, now a fire; + Their ambush here relentless ruffians lay, + And here the fell attorney prowls for prey; + Here falling houses thunder on your head, + And here a female atheist talks you dead. + + While Thales waits the wherry that contains + Of dissipated wealth the small remains, 20 + On Thames's bank in silent thought we stood, + Where Greenwich smiles upon the silver flood; + Struck with the seat that gave Eliza[2] birth, + We kneel and kiss the consecrated earth; + In pleasing dreams the blissful age renew, + And call Britannia's glories back to view; + Behold her cross triumphant on the main, + The guard of commerce, and the dread of Spain; + Ere masquerades debauch'd, excise oppress'd, + Or English honour grew a standing jest. 30 + + A transient calm the happy scenes bestow, + And for a moment lull the sense of woe. + At length awaking, with contemptuous frown, + Indignant Thales eyes the neighbouring town. + Since worth, he cries, in these degenerate days, + Wants e'en the cheap reward of empty praise; + In those cursed walls, devote to vice and gain, + Since unrewarded science toils in vain; + Since hope but soothes to double my distress, + And every moment leaves my little less; 40 + While yet my steady steps no staff sustains, + And life, still vigorous, revels in my veins, + Grant me, kind Heaven! to find some happier place, + Where honesty and sense are no disgrace; + Some pleasing bank, where verdant osiers play, + Some peaceful vale, with Nature's paintings gay, + Where once the harass'd Briton found repose, + And, safe in poverty, defied his foes: + Some secret cell, ye Powers indulgent! give; + Let--live here, for--has learn'd to live. 50 + Here let those reign whom pensions can incite + To vote a patriot black, a courtier white; + Explain their country's dear-bought rights away, + And plead for pirates[3] in the face of day; + With slavish tenets taint our poison'd youth, + And lend a lie the confidence of truth. + Let such raise palaces, and manors buy, + Collect a tax, or farm a lottery; + With warbling eunuchs fill our silenced stage, + And lull to servitude a thoughtless age. 60 + Heroes, proceed! what bounds your pride shall hold? + What check restrain your thirst of power and gold? + Behold rebellious virtue quite o'erthrown; + Behold our fame, our wealth, our lives your own! + + To such the plunder of a land is given, + When public crimes inflame the wrath of Heaven. + But what, my friend, what hope remains for me, + Who start at theft, and blush at perjury, + Who scarce forbear, though Britain's court he sing, + To pluck a titled poet's borrow'd wing; 70 + A statesman's logic unconvinced can hear, + And dare to slumber o'er the Gazetteer;[4] + Despise a fool in half his pension dress'd, + And strive in vain to laugh at Clodio's jest? + + Others, with softer smiles, and subtler art, + Can sap the principles, or taint the heart; + With more address a lover's note convey, + Or bribe a virgin's innocence away. + Well may they rise, while I, whose rustic tongue + Ne'er knew to puzzle right, or varnish wrong, 80 + Spurn'd as a beggar, dreaded as a spy, + Live unregarded, unlamented die. + + For what but social guilt the friend endears? + Who shares Orgilio's crimes, his fortune shares. + But thou, should tempting villany present + All Marlborough hoarded, or all Villiers spent, + Turn from the glittering bribe thy scornful eye, + Nor sell for gold what gold could never buy-- + The peaceful slumber, self-approving day, + Unsullied fame, and conscience ever gay. 90 + + The cheated nation's happy favourites see! + Mark whom the great caress, who frown on me! + London, the needy villain's general home, + The common-sewer of Paris and of Rome, + With eager thirst, by folly or by fate, + Sucks in the dregs of each corrupted state. + Forgive my transports on a theme like this-- + I cannot bear a French metropolis. + + Illustrious Edward! from the realms of day, + The land of heroes and of saints survey; 100 + Nor hope the British lineaments to trace, + The rustic grandeur, or the surly grace; + But lost in thoughtless ease and empty show, + Behold the warrior dwindled to a beau; + Sense, freedom, piety, refin'd away, + Of France the mimic, and of Spain the prey! + + All that at home no more can beg or steal, + Or like a gibbet better than a wheel; + Hiss'd from the stage, or hooted from the court, + Their air, their dress, their politics import; 110 + Obsequious, artful, voluble, and gay, + On Britain's fond credulity they prey. + No gainful trade their industry can 'scape. + They sing, they dance, clean shoes, or cure a clap: + All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows, + And bid him go to hell, to hell he goes. + Ah! what avails it that, from slavery far, + I drew the breath of life in English air; + Was early taught a Briton's right to prize, + And lisp the tale of Henry's victories; 120 + If the gull'd conqueror receives the chain, + And flattery prevails, when arms are vain? + + Studious to please, and ready to submit, + The supple Gaul was born a parasite: + Still to his interest true where'er he goes, + Wit, bravery, worth, his lavish tongue bestows; + In every face a thousand graces shine, + From every tongue flows harmony divine. + These arts in vain our rugged natives try, + Strain out, with faltering diffidence, a lie, 130 + And get a kick for awkward flattery. + + Besides, with justice, this discerning age + Admires their wondrous talents for the stage: + Well may they venture on the mimic's art, + Who play from morn to night a borrow'd part; + Practised their master's notions to embrace, + Repeat his maxims, and reflect his face; + With every wild absurdity comply, + And view its object with another's eye; + To shake with laughter ere the jest they hear, 140 + To pour at will the counterfeited tear; + And as their patron hints the cold or heat, + To shake in dog-days, in December sweat. + + How, when competitors like these contend, + Can surly Virtue hope to fix a friend? + Slaves that with serious impudence beguile, + And lie without a blush, without a smile, + Exalt each trifle, every vice adore, + Your taste in snuff, your judgment in a whore, + Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear 150 + He gropes his breeches with a monarch's air. + + For arts like these preferr'd, admired, caress'd, + They first invade your table, then your breast; + Explore your secrets with insidious art, + Watch the weak hour, and ransack all the heart; + Then soon your ill-placed confidence repay, + Commence your lords, and govern or betray. + + By numbers here from shame and censure free, + All crimes are safe, but hated poverty. + This, only this, the rigid law pursues, 160 + This, only this, provokes the snarling Muse; + The sober trader, at a tatter'd cloak, + Wakes from his dream, and labours for a joke; + With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze, + And turn the various taunt a thousand ways. + Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd, + Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest; + Fate never wounds more deep the generous heart, + Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart. + + Has Heaven reserved, in pity to the poor, 170 + No pathless waste or undiscover'd shore; + No secret island in the boundless main; + No peaceful desert yet unclaim'd by Spain?[5] + Quick let us rise, the happy seats explore, + And bear Oppression's insolence no more. + This mournful truth is every where confess'd, + SLOW RISES WORTH, BY POVERTY DEPRESS'D: + But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold, + Where looks are merchandise, and smiles are sold; + Where, won by bribes, by flatteries implored, 180 + The groom retails the favours of his lord. + + But hark! the affrighted crowd's tumultuous cries + Roll through the streets, and thunder to the skies: + Raised from some pleasing dream of wealth and power, + Some pompous palace, or some blissful bower, + Aghast you start, and scarce with aching sight + Sustain the approaching fire's tremendous light; + Swift from pursuing horrors take your way, + And leave your little ALL to flames a prey; + Then through the world a wretched vagrant roam, 190 + For where can starving merit find a home? + In vain your mournful narrative disclose, + While all neglect, and most insult your woes. + Should Heaven's just bolts Orgilio's wealth confound, + And spread his flaming palace on the ground, + Swift o'er the land the dismal rumour flies, + And public mournings pacify the skies; + The laureate tribe in venal verse relate, + How Virtue wars with persecuting Fate; + With well-feign'd gratitude the pension'd band 200 + Refund the plunder of the beggar'd land. + See! while he builds, the gaudy vassals come, + And crowd with sudden wealth the rising dome; + The price of boroughs and of souls restore, + And raise his treasures higher than before: + Now bless'd with all the baubles of the great, + The polish'd marble, and the shining plate, + Orgilio sees the golden pile aspire, + And hopes from angry Heaven another fire. + + Could'st thou resign the park and play, content, 210 + For the fair banks of Severn or of Trent, + There might'st thou find some elegant retreat, + Some hireling senator's deserted seat; + And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling land, + For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand; + There prune thy walks, support thy drooping flowers, + Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bowers; + And, while thy grounds a cheap repast afford, + Despise the dainties of a venal lord: + There every bush with Nature's music rings, 220 + There every breeze bears health upon its wings; + On all thy hours Security shall smile, + And bless thine evening walk and morning toil. + + Prepare for death, if here at night you roam, + And sign your will before you sup from home. + Some fiery fop, with new commission vain, + Who sleeps on brambles till he kills his man; + Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast, + Provokes a broil, and stabs you for a jest. + Yet e'en these heroes, mischievously gay, 230 + Lords of the street, and terrors of the way; + Flush'd as they are with folly, youth, and wine, + Their prudent insults to the poor confine; + Afar they mark the flambeaux's bright approach, + And shun the shining train, and golden coach. + + In vain, these dangers past, your doors you close, + And hope the balmy blessings of repose: + Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair, + The midnight murderer bursts the faithless bar; + Invades the sacred hour of silent rest, 240 + And leaves, unseen, a dagger in your breast. + + Scarce can our fields, such crowds at Tyburn die, + With hemp the gallows and the fleet supply. + Propose your schemes, ye senatorian band! + Whose ways and means support the sinking land, + Lest ropes be wanting in the tempting spring + To rig another convoy for the king.[6] + + A single jail, in Alfred's golden reign, + Could half the nation's criminals contain; + Fair Justice then, without constraint adored, 250 + Held high the steady scale, but sheathed the sword; + No spies were paid, no special juries known, + Blest age! but, ah! how different from our own! + + Much could I add--but see the boat at hand, + The tide retiring, calls me from the land: + Farewell!--When, youth, and health, and fortune spent + Thou fliest for refuge to the wilds of Kent; + And, tired like me with follies and with crimes, + In angry numbers warn'st succeeding times, + Then shall thy friend, nor thou refuse his aid, 260 + Still foe to vice, forsake his Cambrian shade; + In Virtue's cause once more exert his rage, + Thy satire point, and animate thy page. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Thales:' supposed to refer to Savage, who intended to +retire to Wales about this time, and who accomplished his purpose +soon after.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Eliza:' Queen Elizabeth.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Pirates:' the piracies of the Spaniards were openly +defended in Parliament.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Gazetteer:' the then ministerial paper.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Unclaimed by Spain:' Spain was said then to be claiming +some of our American provinces.] + +[Footnote 6: 'The king:' the nation was discontented at the visits +made by the king to Hanover.] + + * * * * * + + +THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. + + IN IMITATION OF THE TENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. + + Let Observation, with extensive view, + Survey mankind from China to Peru; + Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, + And watch the busy scenes of crowded life; + Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate, + O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate, + Where wavering man, betray'd by venturous pride, + To tread the dreary paths without a guide, + As treacherous phantoms in the mist delude, + Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good; 10 + How rarely Reason guides the stubborn choice, + Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice; + How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd, + When Vengeance listens to the fool's request; + Fate wings with every wish the afflictive dart, + Each gift of Nature, and each grace of Art, + With fatal heat impetuous courage glows, + With fatal sweetness elocution flows, + Impeachment stops the speaker's powerful breath, + And restless fire precipitates on death! 20 + + But, scarce observed, the knowing and the bold + Fall in the general massacre of gold; + Wide-wasting pest! that rages unconfined, + And crowds with crimes the records of mankind + For gold his sword the hireling ruffian draws, + For gold the hireling judge distorts the laws; + Wealth heap'd on wealth, nor truth, nor safety buys, + The dangers gather as the treasures rise. + + Let history tell, where rival kings command, + And dubious title shakes the madded land, 30 + When statutes glean the refuse of the sword, + How much more safe the vassal than the lord: + Low skulks the hind beneath the reach of power, + And leaves the wealthy traitor in the Tower; + Untouch'd his cottage, and his slumbers sound, + Though Confiscation's vultures hover round. + + The needy traveller, serene and gay, + Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away. + Does envy seize thee? Crush the upbraiding joy, + Increase his riches, and his peace destroy-- 40 + Now fears in dire vicissitude invade, + The rustling brake alarms, and quivering shade; + Nor light nor darkness brings his pain relief, + One shows the plunder, and one hides the thief. + Yet still one general cry the sky assails, + And gain and grandeur load the tainted gales; + Few know the toiling statesman's fear or care, + The insidious rival, and the gaping heir. + + Once more, Democritus! arise on earth, + With cheerful wisdom and instructive mirth; 50 + See motley life in modern trappings dress'd, + And feed with varied fools the eternal jest: + Thou who could'st laugh where want enchain'd caprice, + Toil crush'd conceit, and man was of a piece: + Where wealth, unloved, without a mourner died; + And scarce a sycophant was fed by pride; + Where ne'er was known the form of mock debate, + Or seen a new-made mayor's unwieldy state; + Where change of favourites made no change of laws, + And senates heard before they judged a cause; 60 + How wouldst thou shake at Britain's modish tribe, + Dart the quick taunt, and edge the piercing gibe! + Attentive, truth and nature to descry, + And pierce each scene with philosophic eye, + To thee were solemn toys or empty show + The robes of pleasure, and the veils of woe: + All aid the farce, and all thy mirth maintain, + Whose joys are causeless, or whose griefs are vain. + + Such was the scorn that fill'd the sage's mind, + Renew'd at every glance on human kind. 70 + How just that scorn, e'er yet thy voice declare, + Search every state, and canvass every prayer. + + Unnumber'd suppliants crowd Preferment's gate, + Athirst for wealth, and burning to be great; + Delusive Fortune hears the incessant call, + They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall. + On every stage the foes of peace attend, + Hate dogs their flight, and insult mocks their end. + Love ends with hope, the sinking statesman's door + Pours in the morning worshipper no more; 80 + For growing names the weekly scribbler lies, + To growing wealth the dedicator flies; + From every room descends the painted face, + That hung the bright Palladium of the place; + And smoked in kitchens, or in auctions sold, + To better features yields the frame of gold; + For now no more we trace in every line + Heroic worth, benevolence divine: + The form distorted justifies the fall, + And detestation rids the indignant wall. 90 + + But will not Britain hear the last appeal, + Sign her foes' doom, or guard her favourites' zeal? + Through Freedom's sons no more remonstrance rings, + Degrading nobles, and controlling kings; + Our supple tribes repress their patriot throats, + And ask no questions, but the price of votes; + With weekly libels and septennial ale, + Their wish is full to riot and to rail. + + In full-blown dignity see Wolsey stand, + Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand! 100 + To him the church, the realm, their powers consign, + Through him the rays of regal bounty shine; + Turn'd by his nod, the stream of honour flows, + His smile alone security bestows: + Still to new heights his restless wishes tower; + Claim leads to claim, and power advances power; + Till conquest unresisted ceased to please, + And rights submitted, left him none to seize. + At length his sovereign frowns--the train of state + Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate; 110 + Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye, + His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly; + Now drops at once the pride of awful state, + The golden canopy, the glittering plate, + The regal palace, the luxurious board, + The liveried army, and the menial lord. + With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd, + He seeks the refuge of monastic rest. + Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings, + And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. 120 + + Speak thou, whose thoughts at humble peace repine, + Shall Wolsey's wealth, with Wolsey's end, be thine? + Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content, + The wisest justice on the banks of Trent? + For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of Fate, + On weak foundations raise the enormous weight? + Why but to sink beneath Misfortune's blow, + With louder ruin, to the gulphs below! + What gave great Villiers to the assassin's knife, + And fix'd disease on Harley's closing life? 130 + What murder'd Wentworth, and what exiled Hyde, + By kings protected, and to kings allied? + What but their wish indulged, in courts to shine, + And power too great to keep, or to resign! + + When first the college rolls receive his name, + The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame; + Resistless burns the fever of renown, + Caught from the strong contagion of the gown: + O'er Bodley's dome his future labours spread, + And Bacon's[1] mansion trembles o'er his head. 140 + Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious youth, + And Virtue guard thee to the throne of Truth! + Yet, should thy soul indulge the generous heat, + Till captive Science yields her last retreat; + Should Reason guide thee with her brightest ray, + And pour on misty Doubt resistless day; + Should no false kindness lure to loose delight, + Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright; + Should tempting Novelty thy cell refrain, + And Sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain; 150 + Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart, + Nor claim the triumph of a letter'd heart; + Should no disease thy torpid veins invade, + Nor Melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade; + Yet hope not life from grief or danger free, + Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee: + Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes, + And pause a while from learning, to be wise; + There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, + Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. 160 + See nations, slowly wise, and meanly just, + To buried merit raise the tardy bust. + If dreams yet flatter, once again attend, + Hear Lydiat's[2] life, and Galileo's end. + + Nor deem, when Learning her last prize bestows, + The glittering eminence exempt from foes; + See, when the vulgar 'scapes, despised or awed, + Rebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud. + From meaner minds though smaller fines content, + The plunder'd palace, or sequester'd rent, 170 + Mark'd out by dangerous parts he meets the shock, + And fatal Learning leads him to the block: + Around his tomb let Art and Genius weep, + But hear his death, ye blockheads! hear and sleep. + + The festal blazes, the triumphal show, + The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe, + The senate's thanks, the Gazette's pompous tale, + With force resistless o'er the brave prevail. + Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd; + For such the steady Romans shook the world; 180 + For such in distant lands the Britons shine, + And stain with blood the Danube or the Rhine; + This power has praise, that virtue scarce can warm, + Till Fame supplies the universal charm. + Yet Reason frowns on War's unequal game, + Where wasted nations raise a single name, + And mortgaged 'states their grandsires' wreaths regret, + From age to age in everlasting debt; + Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right convey + To rust on medals, or on stones decay. 190 + + On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, + How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide; + A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, + No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; + O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, + Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain; + No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, + War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; + Behold surrounding kings their powers combine, + And one capitulate, and one resign; 200 + Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain: + 'Think nothing gain'd,' he cries, 'till nought remain, + On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, + And all be mine beneath the polar sky.' + The march begins in military state, + And nations on his eye suspended wait; + Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, + And Winter barricades the realms of Frost; + He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay; + Hide, blushing Glory! hide Pultowa's day: 210 + The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, + And shows his miseries in distant lands; + Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, + While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. + But did not Chance at length her error mend? + Did no subverted empire mark his end? + Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound, + Or hostile millions press him to the ground? + His fall was destined to a barren strand, + A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; 220 + He left the name at which the world grew pale, + To point a moral, or adorn a tale. + + All times their scenes of pompous woe afford, + From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord. + In gay hostility, and barbarous pride, + With half mankind embattled at his side, + Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey, + And starves exhausted regions in his way; + Attendant Flattery counts his myriads o'er, + Till counted myriads soothe his pride no more; 230 + Fresh praise is tried, till madness fires his mind, + The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind; + New powers are claim'd, new powers are still bestow'd, + Till rude resistance lops the spreading god; + The daring Greeks deride the martial show, + And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; + The insulted sea with humbler thoughts he gains, + A single skiff to speed his flight remains; + The encumber'd oar scarce leaves the dreaded coast + Through purple billows and a floating host. 240 + The bold Bavarian,[3] in a luckless hour, + Tries the dread summits of Caesarean power, + With unexpected legions bursts away, + And sees defenceless realms receive his sway: + Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful charms, + The Queen, the Beauty, sets the world in arms; + From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze + Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of praise; + The fierce Croatian, and the wild Hussar, + With all the sons of ravage, crowd the war; 250 + The baffled prince, in Honour's flattering bloom, + Of hasty greatness finds the fatal doom, + His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame, + And steals to death from anguish and from shame. + + Enlarge my life with multitude of days,-- + In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays, + Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know + That life protracted is protracted woe. + Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, + And shuts up all the passages of joy: 260 + In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour, + The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flower; + With listless eyes the dotard views the store-- + He views, and wonders that they please no more. + Now pall the tasteless meats and joyless wines, + And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns. + Approach, ye minstrels! try the soothing strain, + Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain: + No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious ear, + Though dancing mountains witness'd Orpheus near: 270 + Nor lute nor lyre his feeble powers attend, + Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend; + But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue, + Perversely grave, or positively wrong; + The still returning tale, and lingering jest, + Perplex the fawning niece and pamper'd guest; + While growing hopes scarce awe the gathering sneer, + And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear; + The watchful guests still hint the last offence, + The daughter's petulance, the son's expense, 280 + Improve his heady rage with treacherous skill, + And mould his passions till they make his will. + + Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade, + Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade; + But unextinguish'd Avarice still remains, + And dreaded losses aggravate his pains; + He turns, with anxious heart and crippled hands, + His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands; + Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes, + Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies. 290 + + But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime + Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime-- + An age that melts with unperceived decay, + And glides in modest innocence away, + Whose peaceful day Benevolence endears, + Whose night congratulating Conscience cheers; + The general favourite as the general friend: + Such age there is, and who shall wish its end? + + Yet e'en on this her load Misfortune flings, + To press the weary minutes' flagging wings; 300 + New sorrow rises as the day returns, + A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. + Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier, + Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear; + Year chases year, decay pursues decay, + Still drops some joy from withering life away; + New forms arise, and different views engage, + Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage, + Till pitying Nature signs the last release, + And bids afflicted worth retire to peace. 310 + + But few there are whom hours like these await, + Who set unclouded in the gulphs of Fate. + From Lydia's monarch[4] should the search descend, + By Solon caution'd to regard his end, + In life's last scene what prodigies surprise, + Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise! + From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage flow, + And Swift expires a driveller and a show. + + The teeming mother, anxious for her race, + Begs for each birth the fortune of a face: 320 + Yet Vane[5] could tell what ills from beauty spring; + And Sedley[6] cursed the form that pleased a king. + Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes, + Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise, + Whom joys with soft varieties invite, + By day the frolic, and the dance by night, + Who frown with vanity, who smile with art, + And ask the latest fashion of the heart; + What care, what rules your heedless charms shall save, + Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave? + The rival batters, and the lover mines. + With distant voice neglected Virtue calls, + Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls; + Tired with contempt, she quits the slippery reign, + And Pride and Prudence take her seat in vain; + In crowd at once, where none the pass defend, + The harmless freedom and the private friend. + The guardians yield, by force superior plied-- + To Interest, Prudence; and to Flattery, Pride. 340 + Here Beauty falls betray'd, despised, distress'd, + And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest. + + Where, then, shall Hope and Fear their objects find? + Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? + Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, + Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? + Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, + No cries invoke the mercies of the skies? + Inquirer, cease! petitions yet remain, + Which Heaven may hear, nor deem Religion vain. 350 + Still raise for good the supplicating voice, + But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice; + Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar + The secret ambush of a specious prayer, + Implore His aid, in His decisions rest, + Secure whate'er He gives, He gives the best. + Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires, + And strong devotion to the skies aspires, + Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind, + Obedient passions, and a will resign'd; 360 + For love, which scarce collective man can fill; + For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill; + For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, + Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat: + These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain, + These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain; + With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, + And makes the happiness she does not find. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Bacon:' Friar, whose study was to fall when a wiser man +than he entered it] + +[Footnote 2: 'Lydiat:' a learned divine, who spent many of his days in +prison for debt; he lived in Charles the First's time.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Bavarian:' Charles Albert, who aspired to the empire of +Austria against Maria Theresa--but was baffled.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Lydia's monarch:' Croesus.] + +[Footnote 5: Vane: 'Lady Vane, a celebrated courtezan; her memoirs are +in 'Peregrine Pickle.'] + +[Footnote 6: 'Sedley:' mistress of James II.] + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + SPOKEN BY MR GARRICK, AT THE OPENING OF THE + THEATRE-ROYAL DRURY-LANE, 1747. + + When Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes + First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose; + Each change of many-colour'd life he drew, + Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new: + Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, + And panting Time toil'd after him in vain; + His powerful strokes presiding Truth impress'd, + And unresisted Passion storm'd the breast. + + Then Jonson came, instructed from the school, + To please in method, and invent by rule; 10 + His studious patience and laborious art, + By regular approach essay'd the heart: + Cold Approbation gave the lingering bays, + For those who durst not censure, scarce could praise; + A mortal born, he met the general doom, + But left, like Egypt's kings, a lasting tomb. + + The wits of Charles found easier ways to fame, + Nor wish'd for Jonson's art, or Shakspeare's flame. + Themselves they studied; as they felt, they writ: + Intrigue was plot, obscenity was wit. 20 + Vice always found a sympathetic friend; + They pleased their age, and did not aim to mend. + Yet bards like these aspired to lasting praise, + And proudly hoped to pimp in future days. + Their cause was general, their supports were strong; + Their slaves were willing, and their reign was long: + Till Shame regain'd the post that Sense betray'd, + And Virtue call'd Oblivion to her aid. + + Then crush'd by rules, and weaken'd as refined, + For years the power of Tragedy declined; 30 + From bard to bard the frigid caution crept, + Till Declamation roar'd, whilst Passion slept; + Yet still did Virtue deign the stage to tread, + Philosophy remain'd though Nature fled. + But forced, at length, her ancient reign to quit, + She saw great Faustus lay the ghost of Wit; + Exulting Folly hail'd the joyous day, + And Pantomime and Song confirm'd her sway. + + But who the coming changes can presage, + And mark the future periods of the Stage? 40 + Perhaps if skill could distant times explore, + New Behns,[1] new Durfeys, yet remain in store; + Perhaps where Lear has raved, and Hamlet died, + On flying cars new sorcerers may ride; + Perhaps (for who can guess the effects of chance?) + Here Hunt[2] may box, or Mahomet[3] may dance. + Hard is his lot that, here by Fortune placed, + Must watch the wild vicissitudes of Taste; + With every meteor of Caprice must play, + And chase the new-blown bubbles of the day. 50 + Ah! let not Censure term our fate our choice, + The Stage but echoes back the public voice; + The drama's laws, the drama's patrons give, + For we that live to please, must please to live. + + Then prompt no more the follies you decry, + As tyrants doom their tools of guilt to die; + 'Tis yours, this night, to bid the reign commence + Of rescued Nature, and reviving Sense; + To chase the charms of Sound, the pomp of Show, + For useful Mirth and salutary Woe; 60 + Bid scenic Virtue form the rising age, + And Truth diffuse her radiance from Stage. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Behn:' Afra, a popular but obscure novelist and +play-wright.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Hunt:' a famous stage-boxer.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Mahomet:' a rope-dancer.] + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + SPOKEN BY MR GARRICK BEFORE THE 'MASQUE OF COMUS,' + ACTED FOR THE BENEFIT OF MILTON'S GRANDDAUGHTER. + + Ye patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame! + Ye nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name, + Whose generous zeal, unbought by flattering rhymes, + Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times! + Immortal patrons of succeeding days, + Attend this prelude of perpetual praise; + Let Wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage + With close Malevolence, or Public Rage; + Let Study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore, + Behold this theatre, and grieve no more. 10 + This night, distinguish'd by your smiles, shall tell + That never Briton can in vain excel: + The slightest arts futurity shall trust, + And rising ages hasten to be just. + + At length our mighty bard's victorious lays + Fill the loud voice of universal praise; + And baffled Spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, + Yields to Renown the centuries to come; + With ardent haste each candidate of fame, + Ambitious, catches at his towering name; 20 + He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow + Those pageant honours which he scorn'd below. + While crowds aloft the laureate bust behold, + Or trace his form on circulating gold, + Unknown--unheeded, long his offspring lay, + And Want hung threatening o'er her slow decay. + What though she shine with no Miltonian fire, + No favouring Muse her morning dreams inspire? + Yet softer claims the melting heart engage, + Her youth laborious, and her blameless age; 30 + Hers the mild merits of domestic life, + The patient sufferer, and the faithful wife. + Thus graced with humble Virtue's native charms, + Her grandsire leaves her in Britannia's arms; + Secure with peace, with competence to dwell, + While tutelary nations guard her cell. + Yours is the charge, ye fair! ye wise! ye brave! + 'Tis yours to crown desert--beyond the grave. + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + TO GOLDSMITH'S COMEDY OF 'THE GOOD-NATURED MAN,' 1769. + + Press'd by the load of life, the weary mind + Surveys the general toil of human kind; + With cool submission joins the labouring train, + And social sorrow loses half its pain. + Our anxious bard without complaint may share + This bustling season's epidemic care; + Like Caesar's pilot, dignified by Fate, + Toss'd in one common storm with all the great; + Distress'd alike the statesman and the wit, + When one the borough courts, and one the pit. 10 + The busy candidates for power and fame + Have hopes, and fears, and wishes just the same; + Disabled both to combat, or to fly, + Must hear all taunts, and hear without reply. + Unchecked, on both loud rabbles vent their rage, + As mongrels bay the lion in a cage. + The offended burgess hoards his angry tale, + For that blest year when all that vote may rail. + Their schemes of spite the poet's foes dismiss, + Till that glad night when all that hate may hiss. 20 + + 'This day the powder'd curls and golden coat,' + Says swelling Crispin, 'begg'd a cobbler's vote;' + 'This night our wit,' the pert apprentice cries, + 'Lies at my feet; I hiss him, and he dies.' + The great, 'tis true, can charm the electing tribe, + The bard may supplicate, but cannot bribe. + Yet, judged by those whose voices ne'er were sold, + He feels no want of ill-persuading gold; + But confident of praise, if praise be due, + Trusts without fear to merit and to you. 30 + + * * * * * + + +PROLOGUE + + TO THE COMEDY OF 'A WORD TO THE WISE,' SPOKEN BY + MR HULL. + + This night presents a play which public rage, + Or right, or wrong, once hooted from the stage; + From zeal or malice now no more we dread, + For English vengeance wars not with the dead. + A generous foe regards with pitying eye + The man whom Fate has laid--where all must lie. + + To Wit, reviving from its author's dust, + Be kind, ye judges! or at least be just. + For no renew'd hostilities invade + The oblivious grave's inviolable shade. 10 + Let one great payment every claim appease, + And him who cannot hurt, allow to please; + To please by scenes unconscious of offence, + By harmless merriment, or useful sense. + Where aught of bright or fair the piece displays, + Approve it only--'tis too late to praise. + If want of skill, or want of care appear, + Forbear to hiss--the poet cannot hear. + By all like him must praise and blame be found, + At best a fleeting dream, or empty sound. 20 + Yet then shall calm Reflection bless the night + When liberal Pity dignified delight; + When Pleasure fired her torch at Virtue's flame, + And Mirth was Bounty with an humbler name. + + * * * * * + + + SPRING. + + 1 Stern Winter now, by Spring repress'd, + Forbears the long-continued strife; + And Nature, on her naked breast, + Delights to catch the gales of life. + + 2 Now o'er the rural kingdom roves + Soft Pleasure with her laughing train; + Love warbles in the vocal groves, + And Vegetation paints the plain. + + 3 Unhappy! whom to beds of pain + Arthritic tyranny consigns; + Whom smiling Nature courts in vain, + Though Rapture sings, and Beauty shines. + + 4 Yet though my limbs disease invades, + Her wings Imagination tries, + And bears me to the peaceful shades + Where ----'s humble turrets rise. + + 5 Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight, + Nor from the pleasing groves depart, + Where first great Nature charm'd my sight, + Where Wisdom first inform'd my heart. + + 6 Here let me through the vales pursue + A guide--a father--and a friend; + Once more great Nature's works renew, + Once more on Wisdom's voice attend. + + 7 From false caresses, causeless strife, + Wild hope, vain fear, alike removed, + Here let me learn the use of life, + When best enjoy'd--when most improved. + + 8 Teach me, thou venerable bower! + Cool Meditation's quiet seat, + The generous scorn of venal power, + The silent grandeur of retreat. + + 9 When pride by guilt to greatness climbs, + Or raging factions rush to war, + Here let me learn to shun the crimes + I can't prevent, and will not share. + + 10 But lest I fall by subtler foes, + Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art, + The swelling passions to compose, + And quell the rebels of the heart! + + * * * * * + + + MIDSUMMER. + + 1 O Phoebus! down the western sky, + Far hence diffuse thy burning ray; + Thy light to distant worlds supply, + And wake them to the cares of day. + + 2 Come, gentle Eve! the friend of Care, + Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night! + Refresh me with a cooling breeze, + And cheer me with a lambent light. + + 3 Lay me where, o'er the verdant ground, + Her living carpet Nature spreads; + Where the green bower, with roses crown'd, + In showers its fragrant foliage sheds. + + 4 Improve the peaceful hour with wine; + Let music die along the grove; + Around the bowl let myrtles twine, + And every strain be tuned to love. + + 5 Come, Stella, queen of all my heart! + Come, born to fill its vast desires! + Thy looks perpetual joys impart, + Thy voice perpetual love inspires. + + 6 While, all my wish and thine complete, + By turns we languish and we burn, + Let sighing gales our sighs repeat, + Our murmurs, murmuring brooks return. + 7 Let me, when Nature calls to rest, + And blushing skies the morn foretell, + Sink on the down of Stella's breast, + And bid the waking world farewell. + + * * * * * + + + AUTUMN. + + 1 Alas! with swift and silent pace, + Impatient Time rolls on the year; + The seasons change, and Nature's face + Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe. + + 2 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay; + Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; + The flowers of Spring are swept away, + And Summer fruits desert the bough. + + 3 The verdant leaves that play'd on high, + And wanton'd on the western breeze, + Now trod in dust neglected lie, + As Boreas strips the bending trees. + + 4 The fields, that waved with golden grain, + As russet heaths are wild and bare; + Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain, + Nor Health, nor Pleasure wanders there. + + 5 No more, while through the midnight shade, + Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray, + Soft pleasing woes my heart invade, + As Progne[1] pours the melting lay. + + 6 From this capricious clime she soars, + Oh! would some god but wings supply! + To where each morn the Spring restores, + Companion of her flight, I'd fly. + + 7 Vain wish! me Fate compels to bear + The downward season's iron reign, + Compels to breathe polluted air, + And shiver on a blasted plain. + + 8 What bliss to life can Autumn yield, + If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail, + And Ceres flies the naked field, + And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail? + + 9 Oh! what remains, what lingers yet, + To cheer me in the darkening hour? + The grape remains! the friend of wit, + In love and mirth of mighty power. + + 10 Haste--press the clusters, fill the bowl; + Apollo! shoot thy parting ray: + This gives the sunshine of the soul, + This god of health, and verse, and day. + + 11 Still, still the jocund strain shall flow, + The pulse with vigorous rapture beat; + My Stella with new charms shall glow, + And every bliss in wine shall meet. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Progne:' the nightingale.] + + * * * * * + + + EPIGRAM + + ON GEORGE II. AND COLLEY CIBBER, ESQ. + + Augustus still survives in Maro's strain, + And Spenser's verse prolongs Eliza's reign; + Great George's acts let tuneful Cibber sing, + For Nature form'd the poet for the king. + + * * * * * + + + STELLA IN MOURNING. + + When lately Stella's form display'd + The beauties of the gay brocade, + The nymphs, who found their power decline, + Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine. + 'Fate! snatch away the bright disguise, + And let the goddess trust her eyes.' + Thus blindly pray'd the fretful fair, + And Fate, malicious, heard the prayer; + But brighten'd by the sable dress, + As Virtue rises in distress, + Since Stella still extends her reign, + Ah! how shall Envy soothe her pain? + The adoring Youth and envious Fair, + Henceforth shall form one common prayer; + And Love and Hate alike implore + The skies--that Stella mourn no more. + + * * * * * + + + TO STELLA. + + 1 Not the soft sighs of vernal gales, + The fragrance of the flowery vales, + The murmurs of the crystal rill, + The vocal grove, the verdant hill; + Not all their charms, though all unite, + Can touch my bosom with delight. + + 2 Not all the gems on India's shore, + Not all Peru's unbounded store, + Not all the power, nor all the fame, + That heroes, kings, or poets claim; + Nor knowledge, which the learn'd approve, + To form one wish my soul can move. + + 3 Yet Nature's charms allure my eyes, + And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize; + Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain, + Nor seek I Nature's charms in vain-- + In lovely Stella all combine, + And, lovely Stella! thou art mine. + + * * * * * + + +VERSES + + WRITTEN AT THE BEQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN TO WHOM A + LADY HAD GIVEN A SPRIG OF MYRTLE. + + What hopes, what terrors, does this gift create, + Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate! + The myrtle (ensign of supreme command, + Consign'd to Venus by Melissa's hand), + Not less capricious than a reigning fair, + Oft favours, oft rejects a lover's prayer. + In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain, + In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain. + The myrtle crowns the happy lovers' heads, + The unhappy lovers' graves the myrtle spreads. + Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart, + And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart; + Soon must this sprig, as you shall fix its doom, + Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb. + + * * * * * + + + TO LADY FIREBRACE,[1] + + AT BURY ASSIZES. + + At length must Suffolk beauties shine in vain, + So long renown'd in B--n's deathless strain? + Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace! might inspire + Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; + For such thy beauteous mind and lovely face, + Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph! a Muse and Grace. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Lady Firebrace:' daughter of P. Bacon, Ipswich, married +three times--to Philip Evers, Esq., to Sir Corbell Firebrace, and to +William Campbell, uncle of the Duke of Argyle.] + + * * * * * + + + TO LYCE, + + AN ELDERLY LADY. + + 1 Ye Nymphs whom starry rays invest, + By flattering poets given, + Who shine, by lavish lovers dress'd, + In all the pomp of Heaven. + + 2 Engross not all the beams on high, + Which gild a lover's lays, + But, as your sister of the sky, + Let Lyce share the praise. + + 3 Her silver locks display the moon, + Her brows a cloudy show, + Striped rainbows round her eyes are seen, + And showers from either flow. + + 4 Her teeth the night with darkness dyes; + She's starr'd with pimples o'er; + Her tongue like nimble lightning plies, + And can with thunder roar, + + 5 But some Zelinda, while I sing, + Denies my Lyce shines; + And all the pens of Cupid's wing + Attack my gentle lines. + + 6 Yet, spite of fair Zelinda's eye, + And all her bards express, + My Lyce makes as good a sky, + And I but flatter less. + + * * * * * + + + ON THE DEATH OF MR ROBERT LEVETT, + + A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC. + + 1 Condemned to Hope's delusive mine, + As on we toil from day to day, + By sudden blasts, or slow decline, + Our social comforts drop away. + + 2 Well tried through many a varying year, + See Levett to the grave descend; + Officious, innocent, sincere, + Of every friendless name the friend. + + 3 Yet still he fills Affection's eye, + Obscurely wise and coarsely kind; + Nor, letter'd Arrogance, deny + Thy praise to merit unrefined. + + 4 When fainting Nature call'd for aid, + And hovering Death prepared the blow, + His vigorous remedy display'd + The power of Art without the show. + + 5 In Misery's darkest cavern known, + His useful care was ever nigh; + Where hopeless Anguish pour'd his groan, + And lonely Want retired to die. + + 6 No summons, mock'd by chill delay; + No petty gain, disdain'd by pride; + The modest wants of every day, + The toil of every day supplied. + + 7 His virtues walk'd their narrow round, + Nor made a pause, nor left a void; + And sure the Eternal Master found + The single talent well employ'd, + + 8 The busy day--the peaceful night, + Unfelt, unclouded, glided by; + His frame was firm--his powers were bright, + Though now his eightieth year was nigh. + + 9 Then with no fiery, throbbing pain, + No cold gradations of decay, + Death broke at once the vital chain, + And freed his soul the nearest way. + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH ON CLAUDE PHILLIPS,[1] + + AN ITINERANT MUSICIAN. + + Phillips! whose touch harmonious could remove + The pangs of guilty power and hapless love, + Rest here; distress'd by poverty no more, + Find here that calm thou gav'st so oft before; + Sleep undisturb'd within this peaceful shrine, + Till angels wake thee with a note like thine. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Claude Phillips:' a Welsh travelling fiddler, greatly +admired.] + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH + + ON SIR THOMAS HANMER, BART. + + Thou who survey'st these walls with curious eye, + Pause at this tomb where Hanmer's ashes lie; + His various worth through varied life attend, 3 + And learn his virtues while thou mourn'st his end. + + His force of genius burn'd in early youth, + With thirst of knowledge, and with love of truth; + His learning, join'd with each endearing art, + Charm'd every ear, and gain'd on every heart. + + Thus early wise, the endanger'd realm to aid, + His country call'd him from the studious shade; 10 + In life's first bloom his public toils began, + At once commenced the senator and man. + + In business dexterous, weighty in debate, + Thrice ten long years he labour'd for the state; + In every speech persuasive wisdom flow'd, + In every act refulgent virtue glow'd: + Suspended faction ceased from rage and strife, + To hear his eloquence, and praise his life. + + Resistless merit fix'd the senate's choice, + Who hail'd him Speaker with united voice. 20 + Illustrious age! how bright thy glories shone, + While Hanmer fill'd the chair--and Anne the throne! + + Then when dark arts obscured each fierce debate, + When mutual frauds perplex'd the maze of state, + The moderator firmly mild appear'd-- + Beheld with love, with veneration heard. + + This task perform'd--he sought no gainful post, + Nor wish'd to glitter at his country's cost; + Strict on the right he fix'd his steadfast eye, + With temperate zeal and wise anxiety; 30 + Nor e'er from Virtue's paths was lured aside, + To pluck the flowers of pleasure, or of pride; + Her gifts despised, Corruption blush'd and fled, + And Fame pursued him where Conviction led. + + Age call'd, at length, his active mind to rest, + With honour sated, and with cares oppress'd: + To letter'd ease retired, and honest mirth. + To rural grandeur, and domestic worth: + Delighted still to please mankind, or mend, + The patriot's fire yet sparkled in the friend. 40 + + Calm Conscience then his former life survey'd, + And recollected toils endear'd the shade, + Till Nature call'd him to her general doom, + And Virtue's sorrow dignified his tomb. + + * * * * * + + + ON THE DEATH OF STEPHEN GREY, F.R.S., + + THE ELECTRICIAN. + + Long hast thou borne the burden of the day; + Thy task is ended, venerable Grey! + No more shall Art thy dexterous hand require, + To break the sleep of elemental fire; + To rouse the power that actuates Nature's frame, + The momentaneous shock, the electric flame; + The flame which first, weak pupil to thy lore, + I saw, condemn'd, alas! to see no more. + + Now, hoary sage! pursue thy happy flight; + With swifter motion, haste to purer light, 10 + Where Bacon waits, with Newton and with Boyle, + To hail thy genius and applaud thy toil; + Where intuition breathes through time and space, + And mocks Experiment's successive race; + Sees tardy Science toil at Nature's laws, + And wonders how the effect obscures the cause. + + Yet not to deep research or happy guess, + Is show'd the life of hope, the death of peace; + Unbless'd the man whom philosophic rage + Shall tempt to lose the Christian in the Sage: 20 + Not Art, but Goodness, pour'd the sacred ray + That cheer'd the parting hours of humble Grey. + + * * * * * + + + TO MISS HICKMAN, + + PLAYING ON THE SPINNET. + + Bright Stella! form'd for universal reign, + Too well you know to keep the slaves you gain: + When in your eyes resistless lightnings play, + Awed into love our conquer'd hearts obey, + And yield reluctant to despotic sway: + But when your music soothes the raging pain, + We bid propitious Heaven prolong your reign, + We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain. + + When old Timotheus struck the vocal string, + Ambition's fury fired the Grecian king: 10 + Unbounded projects labouring in his mind, + He pants for room, in one poor world confined. + Thus waked to rage, by Music's dreadful power, + He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour. + Had Stella's gentler touches moved the lyre, + Soon had the monarch felt a nobler fire: + No more delighted with destructive war, + Ambitious only now to please the fair; + Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms, + And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms. 20 + + * * * * * + + + PARAPHRASE + + OF PROVERBS, CHAP. IV. VERSES 6-11. + + "Go to the ant, thou sluggard!" + + Turn on the prudent ant thy heedless eyes, + Observe her labours, sluggard! and be wise. + No stern command, no monitory voice + Prescribes her duties or directs her choice; + Yet, timely provident, she hastes away, + To snatch the blessings of a plenteous day; + When fruitful Summer loads the teeming plain, + She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain. + + How long shall Sloth usurp thy useless hours, + Unnerve thy vigour, and unchain thy powers? 10 + While artful shades thy downy couch inclose, + And soft solicitation courts repose, + Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight, + Year chases year with unremitted flight; + Till Want now following, fraudulent and slow, + Shall spring to seize thee like an ambush'd foe. + + * * * * * + + + HORACE, + + LIB. IV. ODE VII. TRANSLATED. + + The snow, dissolved, no more is seen, + The fields and woods, behold! are green. + The changing year renews the plain, + The rivers know their banks again; + The sprightly Nymph and naked Grace + The mazy dance together trace; + The changing year's successive plan + Proclaims mortality to man. + Rough Winter's blasts to Spring give way, + Spring yields to Summer's sovereign ray; 10 + Then Summer sinks in Autumn's reign, + And Winter chills the world again: + Her losses soon the moon supplies, + But wretched man, when once he lies + Where Priam and his sons are laid, + Is nought but ashes, and a shade. + Who knows if Jove, who counts our score, + Will toss us in a morning more? + What with your friend you nobly share, + At least you rescue from your heir. 20 + Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome, + When Minos once has fix'd your doom, + Or eloquence, or splendid birth, + Or virtue, shall restore to earth. + Hippolytus, unjustly slain, + Diana calls to life in vain; + Nor can the might of Theseus rend + The chains of Hell that hold his friend. + + * * * * * + + + ON SEEING A BUST OF MRS MONTAGUE. + + Had this fair figure which this frame displays, + Adorn'd in Roman time the brightest days, + In every dome, in every sacred place, + Her statue would have breathed an added grace, + And on its basis would have been enroll'd, + 'This is Minerva, cast in Virtue's mould.' + + * * * * * + + + ANACREON, ODE NINTH. + + Lovely courier of the sky! + Whence and whither dost thou fly? + Scattering, as thy pinions play, + Liquid fragrance all the way; + Is it business? is it love? + Tell me, tell me, gentle dove! + + Soft Anacreon's vows I bear, + Vows to Myrtale the fair; + Graced with all that charms the heart, + Blushing nature, smiling art. 10 + Venus, courted by an ode, + On the bard her dove bestow'd: + Vested with a master's right, + Now Anacreon rules my flight; + His the letters that you see, + Weighty charge, consign'd to me: + Think not yet my service hard, + Joyless task without reward; + Smiling at my master's gates, + Freedom my return awaits; 20 + But the liberal grant in vain + Tempts me to be wild again. + Can a prudent dove decline + Blissful bondage such as mine? + Over hills and fields to roam, + Fortune's guest without a home; + Under leaves to hide one's head, + Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed: + Now my better lot bestows + Sweet repast, and soft repose: 30 + Now the generous bowl I sip, + As it leaves Anacreon's lip: + Void of care and free from dread, + From his fingers snatch his bread; + Then with luscious plenty gay, + Round his chamber dance and play; + Or from wine as courage springs, + O'er his face extend my wings; + And when feast and frolic tire, + Drop asleep upon his lyre. 40 + This is all, be quick and go, + More than all thou canst not know; + Let me now my pinions ply, + I have chatter'd like a pye. + + * * * * * + + + LINES + + WRITTEN IN RIDICULE OF CERTAIN POEMS PUBLISHED + IN 1777. + + Wheresoe'er I turn my view, + All is strange, yet nothing new; + Endless labour all along, + Endless labour to be wrong; + Phrase that time has flung away, + Uncouth words in disarray, + Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet, + Ode, and elegy, and sonnet. + + * * * * * + + + PARODY OF A TRANSLATION + + FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES. + + 1 Err shall they not, who resolute explore + Time's gloomy backward with judicious eyes; + And, scanning right the practices of yore, + Shall deem our hoar progenitors unwise. + + 2 They to the dome where smoke with curling play + Announced the dinner to the regions round, + Summon'd the singer blithe, and harper gay, + And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound. + + 3 The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill, + By quivering string or modulated wind, + Trumpet or lyre--to their harsh bosoms chill, + Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find. + + 4 Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun, + Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around; + Where gloom-enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell, + And Murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound. + + 5 When cates luxuriant pile the spacious dish, + And purple nectar glads the festive hour; + The guest, without a want, without a wish, + Can yield no room to music's soothing power. + + * * * * * + + + BURLESQUE + + ON THE MODERN VERSIFICATION OF ANCIENT LEGENDARY + TALES: AN IMPROMPTU. + + The tender infant, meek and mild, + Fell down upon the stone; + The nurse took up the squealing child, + But still the child squeal'd on. + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH FOR MR HOGARTH. + + The hand of him here torpid lies, + That drew the essential form of grace; + Here closed in death the attentive eyes, + That saw the manners in the face. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION + +OF THE TWO FIRST STANZAS OF THE SONG 'RIO VERDE, RIO VERDE,' PRINTED +IN BISHOP PERCY'S 'RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY:' AN IMPROMPTU. + + Glassy water, glassy water, + Down whose current, clear and strong, + Chiefs confused in mutual slaughter, + Moor and Christian, roll along. + + * * * * * + + + TO MRS THRALE, + + ON HER COMPLETING HER THIRTY-FIFTH YEAR. AN IMPROMPTU. + + Oft in danger, yet alive, + We are come to thirty-five; + Long may better years arrive, + Better years than thirty-five. + Could philosophers contrive + Life to stop at thirty-five, + Time his hours should never drive + O'er the bounds of thirty-five. + High to soar, and deep to dive, + Nature gives at thirty-five; 10 + Ladies, stock and tend your hive, + Trifle not at thirty-five; + For, howe'er we boast and strive, + Life declines from thirty-five; + He that ever hopes to thrive, + Must begin by thirty-five; + And all who wisely wish to wive + Must look on Thrale at thirty-five. + + * * * * * + + + IMPROMPTU TRANSLATION + +OF AN AIR IN THE 'CLEMENZA DE TITO' OF METASTASIO, BEGINNING, 'DEH! SE +PIACERMI VUOI.' + + Would you hope to gain my heart, + Bid your teasing doubts depart. + He who blindly trusts will find, + Faith from every generous mind; + He who still expects deceit, + Only teaches how to cheat. + + * * * * * + + + LINES + + WRITTEN UNDER A PRINT REPRESENTING PERSONS SKAITING. + + + O'er crackling ice, o'er gulfs profound, + With nimble glide the skaiters play; + O'er treacherous Pleasure's flowery ground + Thus lightly skim, and haste away. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION + +OF A SPEECH OF AQUILEIO IN THE 'ADRIANO' OF METASTASIO, BEGINNING, 'TU +CHE IN CORTE INVECCHIASTI.' + + Grown old in courts, thou art not surely one + Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour: + Well skill'd to soothe a foe with looks of kindness, + To sink the fatal precipice before him, + And then lament his fall with seeming friendship: + Open to all, true only to thyself, + Thou know'st those arts which blast with envious praise, + Which aggravate a fault with feign'd excuses, + And drive discountenanced Virtue from the throne + That leave the blame of rigour to the prince, 10 + And of his every gift usurp the merit; + That hide in seeming zeal a wicked purpose, + And only build upon each other's ruin. + + * * * * * + + + IMPROMPTU + +ON HEARING MISS THRALE CONSULTING WITH A FRIEND ABOUT A GOWN AND HAT +SHE WAS INCLINED TO WEAR. + + Wear the gown, and wear the hat, + Snatch thy pleasures while they last; + Hadst thou nine lives, like a cat, + Soon those nine lives would be past. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL. + + PASTORAL I. + + _Mileboeus_. Now, Tityrus, you supine and careless laid, + Play on your pipe beneath yon beechen shade; + While wretched we about the world must roam, + And leave our pleasing fields, and native home; + Here at your ease you sing your amorous flame, + And the wood rings with Amaryllis' name. + + _Tityrus_. Those blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd, + For I shall never think him less than god; + Oft on his altars shall my firstlings lie, + Their blood the consecrated stones shall dye: 10 + He gave my flocks to graze the flowery meads, + And me to tune at ease the unequal reeds. + + _Mileboeus._ My admiration only I express'd, + (No spark of envy harbours in my breast), + That when confusion o'er the country reigns, + To you alone this happy state remains. + Here I, though faint myself, must drive my goats, + Far from their ancient fields and humble cots. + This scarce I lead, who left on yonder rock + Two tender kids, the hopes of all the flock. 20 + Had we not been perverse and careless grown, + This dire event by omens was foreshown; + Our trees were blasted by the thunder stroke, + And left-hand crows, from an old hollow oak, + Foretold the coming evil by their dismal croak. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION OF HORACE. + + BOOK I. ODE XXII. + + 1 The man, my friend, whose conscious heart + With virtue's sacred ardour glows, + Nor taints with death the envenom'd dart, + Nor needs the guard of Moorish bows: + + 2 Though Scythia's icy cliffs he treads, + Or horrid Afric's faithless sands; + Or where the famed Hydaspes spreads + His liquid wealth o'er barbarous lands. + + 3 For while, by Chloee's image charm'd, + Too far in Sabine woods I stray'd; + Me singing, careless and unarm'd, + A grisly wolf surprised, and fled. + + 4 No savage more portentous stain'd + Apulia's spacious wilds with gore; + None fiercer Juba's thirsty land, + Dire nurse of raging lions, bore. + + 5 Place me where no soft summer gale + Among the quivering branches sighs; + Where clouds condensed for ever veil + With horrid gloom the frowning skies: + + 6 Place me beneath the burning line, + A clime denied to human race; + I'll sing of Chloee's charms divine, + Her heavenly voice, and beauteous face. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION OF HORACE. + + BOOK II. ODE IX. + + + 1 Clouds do not always veil the skies, + Nor showers immerse the verdant plain; + Nor do the billows always rise, + Or storms afflict the ruffled main. + + 2 Nor, Valgius, on the Armenian shores + Do the chain'd waters always freeze; + Not always furious Boreas roars, + Or bends with violent force the trees. + + 3 But you are ever drown'd in tears, + For Mystes dead you ever mourn; + No setting Sol can ease your cares, + But finds you sad at his return. + + 4 The wise, experienced Grecian sage + Mourn'd not Antilochus so long; + Nor did King Priam's hoary age + So much lament his slaughter'd son. + 5 Leave off, at length, these woman's sighs, + Augustus' numerous trophies sing; + Repeat that prince's victories, + To whom all nations tribute bring. + + 6 Niphates rolls an humbler wave, + At length the undaunted Scythian yields, + Content to live the Romans' slave, + And scarce forsakes his native fields. + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION + +OF PART OF THE DIALOGUE BETWEEN HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.--FROM THE SIXTH +BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD. + + She ceased: then godlike Hector answer'd kind, + (His various plumage sporting in the wind): + That post, and all the rest, shall be my care; + But shall I then forsake the unfinish'd war? + How would the Trojans brand great Hector's name, + And one base action sully all my fame, + Acquired by wounds and battles bravely fought! + Oh! how my soul abhors so mean a thought! + Long have I learn'd to slight this fleeting breath, + And view with cheerful eyes approaching death. 10 + The inexorable Sisters have decreed + That Priam's house and Priam's self shall bleed: + The day shall come, in which proud Troy shall yield, + And spread its smoking ruins o'er the field; + Yet Hecuba's, nor Priam's hoary age, + Whose blood shall quench some Grecian's thirsty rage, + Nor my brave brothers that have bit the ground, + Their souls dismiss'd through many a ghastly wound, + Can in my bosom half that grief create, + As the sad thought of your impending fate; 20 + When some proud Grecian dame shall tasks impose, + Mimic your tears, and ridicule your woes: + Beneath Hyperia's waters shall you sweat, + And, fainting, scarce support the liquid weight: + Then shall some Argive loud insulting cry, + Behold the wife of Hector, guard of Troy! + Tears, at my name, shall drown those beauteous eyes, + And that fair bosom heave with rising sighs: + Before that day, by some brave hero's hand, + May I lie slain, and spurn the bloody sand! 30 + + * * * * * + + + TO MISS * * * * + +ON HER PLAYING UPON A HARPSICHORD IN A ROOM HUNG WITH FLOWER-PIECES OF +HER OWN PAINTING. + + When Stella strikes the tuneful string, + In scenes of imitated Spring, + Where beauty lavishes her powers + On beds of never-fading flowers, + And pleasure propagates around + Each charm of modulated sound; + Ah! think not, in the dangerous hour, + The nymph fictitious as the flower, + But shun, rash youth! the gay alcove, + Nor tempt the snares of wily love. 10 + + When charms thus press on every sense, + What thought of flight or of defence? + Deceitful hope or vain desire, + For ever flutter o'er her lyre, + Delighting, as the youth draws nigh, + To point the glances of her eye, + And forming, with unerring art, + New chains to hold the captive heart. + + But on those regions of delight + Might truth intrude with daring flight, 20 + Could Stella, sprightly, fair, and young, + One moment hear the moral song, + Instruction with her flowers might spring, + And wisdom warble from her string. + + Mark, when, from thousand mingled dyes, + Thou seest one pleasing form arise, + How active light and thoughtful shade + In greater scenes each other aid; + Mark, when the different notes agree + In friendly contrariety, 30 + How passion's well accorded strife, + Gives all the harmony of life: + Thy pictures shall thy conduct frame, + Consistent still, though not the same; + Thy music teach the nobler art, + To tune the regulated heart. + + * * * * * + + + EVENING: AN ODE. + + TO STELLA. + + Evening now, from purple wings, + Sheds the grateful gifts she brings; + Brilliant drops bedeck the mead, + Cooling breezes shake the reed-- + Shake the reed, and curl the stream, + Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam; + Near, the chequer'd, lonely grove, + Hears, and keeps thy secrets, Love. + Stella, thither let us stray + Lightly o'er the dewy way! 10 + Phoebus drives his burning car, + Hence, my lovely Stella, far; + In his stead, the Queen of Night + Round us pours a lambent light; + Light that seems but just to show + Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow; + Let us now, in whisper'd joy, + Evening's silent hours employ, + Silence best, and conscious shades, + Please the hearts that love invades; 20 + Other pleasures give them pain, + Lovers all but love disdain. + + * * * * * + + + TO THE SAME. + + Whether Stella's eyes are found + Fix'd on earth, or glancing round, + If her face with pleasure glow, + If she sigh at others' woe, + If her easy air express + Conscious worth or soft distress, + Stella's eyes, and air, and face, + Charm with undiminish'd grace. + + If on her we see display'd + Pendent gems, and rich brocade, 10 + If her chintz with less expense + Flows in easy negligence; + Still she lights the conscious flame, + Still her charms appear the same; + If she strikes the vocal strings, + If she's silent, speaks, or sings, + If she sit, or if she move, + Still we love, and still approve. + + Vain the casual transient glance, + Which alone can please by chance-- 20 + Beauty, which depends on art, + Changing with the changing heart, + Which demands the toilet's aid, + Pendent gems, and rich brocade. + I those charms alone can prize + Which from constant Nature rise, + Which nor circumstance, nor dress, + E'er can make, or more, or less. + + * * * * * + + + TO A FRIEND. + + No more thus brooding o'er yon heap, + With Avarice painful vigils keep; + Still unenjoy'd the present store, + Still endless sighs are breathed for more. + Oh! quit the shadow, catch the prize, + Which not all India's treasure buys! + To purchase Heaven, has gold the power? + Can gold remove the mortal hour? + In life, can love be bought with gold? + Are friendship's pleasures to be sold? 10 + No; all that's worth a wish--a thought, + Fair Virtue gives unbribed, unbought. + Cease, then, on trash thy hopes to bind, + Let nobler views engage thy mind. + + With Science tread the wondrous way, + Or learn the Muse's moral lay; + In social hours indulge thy soul, + Where Mirth and Temperance mix the bowl; + To virtuous love resign thy breast, + And be, by blessing beauty, blest. 20 + + Thus taste the feast by Nature spread, + Ere youth and all its joys are fled; + Come, taste with me the balm of life, + Secure from pomp, and wealth, and strife! + I boast whate'er for man was meant, + In health, in Stella, and content; + And scorn, oh! let that scorn be thine, + Mere things of clay, that dig the mine! + + * * * * * + + + TO A YOUNG LADY, + + ON HER BIRTHDAY. + + This tributary verse receive, my fair, + Warm with an ardent lover's fondest prayer. + May this returning day for ever find + Thy form more lovely, more adorn'd thy mind; + All pains, all cares, may favouring Heaven remove, + All but the sweet solicitudes of love! + May powerful Nature join with grateful Art, + To point each glance, and force it to the heart! + Oh then, when conquer'd crowds confess thy sway, + When even proud Wealth and prouder Wit obey, 10 + My fair, be mindful of the mighty trust, + Alas! 'tis hard for beauty to be just! + Those sovereign charms with strictest care employ; + Nor give the generous pain, the worthless joy: + With his own form acquaint the forward fool, + Shown in the faithful glass of Ridicule; + Teach mimic Censure her own faults to find, + No more let coquettes to themselves be blind, + So shall Belinda's charms improve mankind. + + * * * * * + + + EPILOGUE + +INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY A LADY WHO WAS TO PERSONATE 'THE GHOST +OF HERMIONE.' + + Ye blooming train, who give despair or joy, + Bless with a smile, or with a frown destroy; + In whose fair cheeks destructive Cupids wait, + And with unerring shafts distribute fate; + Whose snowy breasts, whose animated eyes, + Each youth admires, though each admirer dies; + Whilst you deride their pangs in barbarous play, + Unpitying see them weep, and hear them pray, + And unrelenting sport ten thousand lives away: + For you, ye fair! I quit the gloomy plains, 10 + Where sable Night in all her horror reigns; + No fragrant bowers, no delightful glades, + Receive the unhappy ghosts of scornful maids. + For kind, for tender nymphs, the myrtle blooms, + And weaves her bending boughs in pleasing glooms; + Perennial roses deck each purple vale, + And scents ambrosial breathe in every gale; + Far hence are banish'd vapours, spleen, and tears, + Tea, scandal, ivory teeth, and languid airs; + No pug, nor favourite Cupid there enjoys 20 + The balmy kiss for which poor Thyrsis dies; + Form'd to delight, they use no foreign arms, + No torturing whalebones pinch them into charms; + No conscious blushes there their cheeks inflame, + For those who feel no guilt can know no shame; + Unfaded still their former charms they show, + Around them pleasures wait, and joys for ever new. + But cruel virgins meet severer fates; + Expell'd and exiled from the blissful seats, + To dismal realms, and regions void of peace, 30 + Where furies ever howl, and serpents hiss, + O'er the sad plains perpetual tempests sigh, + And poisonous vapours, blackening all the sky, + With livid hue the fairest face o'ercast, + And every beauty withers at the blast: + Where'er they fly, their lovers' ghosts pursue, + Inflicting all those ills which once they knew; + Vexation, fury, jealousy, despair, + Vex every eye, and every bosom tear; + Their foul deformities by all descried, 40 + No maid to flatter, and no paint to hide. + Then melt, ye fair, while crowds around you sigh, + Nor let disdain sit lowering in your eye; + With pity soften every awful grace, + And beauty smile auspicious in each face + To ease their pain exert your milder power; + So shall you guiltless reign, and all mankind adore. + + * * * * * + + + THE YOUNG AUTHOR. + + When first the peasant, long inclined to roam, + Forsakes his rural sports and peaceful home, + Pleased with the scene the smiling ocean yields, + He scorns the verdant meads and flowery fields: + Then dances jocund o'er the watery way, + While the breeze whispers, and the streamers play: + Unbounded prospects in his bosom roll, + And future millions lift his rising soul; + In blissful dreams he digs the golden mine, + And raptured sees the new-found ruby shine. 10 + Joys insincere! thick clouds invade the skies, + Loud roar the billows, high the waves arise; + Sickening with fear, he longs to view the shore, + And vows to trust the faithless deep no more. + So the young author, panting after fame, + And the long honours of a lasting name, + Intrusts his happiness to human kind, + More false, more cruel than the seas or wind! + + Toil on, dull crowd! in ecstasies he cries, + For wealth or title, perishable prize; 20 + While I those transitory blessings scorn, + Secure of praise from ages yet unborn. + This thought once form'd, all counsel comes too late, + He flies to press, and hurries on his fate; + Swiftly he sees the imagined laurels spread, + And feels the unfading wreath surround his head. + Warn'd by another's fate, vain youth be wise, + Those dreams were Settle's[1] once, and Ogilby's![2] + The pamphlet spreads, incessant hisses rise, + To some retreat the baffled writer flies, 30 + Where no sour critics snarl, no sneers molest, + Safe from the tart lampoon, and stinging jest; + There begs of Heaven a less distinguish'd lot-- + Glad to be hid, and proud to be forgot. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Settle;' see Life of Dryden.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Ogilby:' a poor translator.] + + * * * * * + + + FRIENDSHIP: AN ODE. + + PRINTED IN THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE, 1743. + + 1 Friendship, peculiar boon of Heaven, + The noble mind's delight and pride-- + To men and angels only given, + To all the lower world denied! + + 2 While love, unknown among the blest, + Parent of thousand wild desires, + The savage and the human breast + Torments alike with raging fires; + + 3 With bright, but oft destructive gleam, + Alike o'er all his lightnings fly; + Thy lambent glories only beam + Around the favourites of the sky. + + 4 Thy gentle flows of guiltless joys, + On fools and villains ne'er descend; + In vain for thee the tyrant sighs, + And hugs a flatterer for a friend. + + 5 Directress of the brave and just, + Oh, guide us through life's darksome way! + And let the tortures of mistrust + On selfish bosoms only prey. + + 6 Nor shall thine ardours cease to glow, + When souls to peaceful climes remove: + What raised our virtue here below, + Shall aid our happiness above. + + * * * * * + + + IMITATION OF THE STYLE OF[1] * * * + + 1 Hermit hoar, in solemn cell + Wearing out life's evening gray, + Strike thy bosom, sage, and tell + What is bliss, and which the way. + + 2 Thus I spoke, and speaking sigh'd, + Scarce repress'd the starting tear, + When the hoary sage replied, + 'Come, my lad, and drink some beer.' + + * * * * * + + + ONE AND TWENTY. + + 1 Long-expected one-and-twenty, + Lingering year, at length is flown: + Pride and pleasure, pomp and plenty, + Great * * *, are now your own. + + 2 Loosen'd from the minor's tether, + Free to mortgage or to sell, + Wild as wind, and light as feather, + Bid the sons of thrift farewell. + + 3 Call the Betsies, Kates, and Jennies, + All the names that banish care; + Lavish of your grandsire's guineas, + Show the spirit of an heir. + + 4 All that prey on vice and folly + Joy to see their quarry fly: + There the gamester, light and jolly; + There the lender, grave and sly. + + 5 Wealth, my lad, was made to wander, + Let it wander as it will; + Call the jockey, call the pander, + Bid them come and take their fill. + + 6 When the bonny blade carouses, + Pockets full, and spirits high-- + What are acres? what are houses? + Only dirt, or wet, or dry. + + 7 Should the guardian friend or mother + Tell the woes of wilful waste: + Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother, + You can hang or drown at last. + + +[Footnote 1: Supposed to be Percy.] + + * * * * * + +END OF JOHNSON'S POEMS. + + * * * * * + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +THOMAS PARNELL. + + + TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE + + ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD AND EARL MORTIMER. + + Such were the notes thy once-loved poet sung, + Till Death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue. + Oh, just beheld, and lost! admired, and mourn'd! + With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn'd, + Blest in each science, blest in every strain, + Dear to the Muse, to Harley dear--in vain! + + For him, thou oft hast bid the world attend, + Fond to forget the statesman in the friend; + For Swift and him, despised the farce of state, + The sober follies of the wise and great; + Dexterous the craving, fawning crowd to quit, + And pleased to 'scape from flattery to wit. + + Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear, + (A sigh the absent claims--the dead, a tear) + Recall those nights that closed thy toilsome days, + Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays: + Who careless, now, of interest, fame, or fate, + Perhaps forgets that Oxford e'er was great; + Or deeming meanest what we greatest call, + Beholds thee glorious only in thy fall. + + And sure if ought below the seats divine + Can touch immortals, 'tis a soul like thine: + A soul supreme, in each hard instance tried, + Above all pain, all anger, and all pride, + The rage of power, the blast of public breath, + The lust of lucre, and the dread of death. + + In vain to deserts thy retreat is made; + The Muse attends thee to the silent shade: + 'Tis hers, the brave man's latest steps to trace, + Re-judge his acts, and dignify disgrace. + When Interest calls off all her sneaking train, + When all the obliged desert, and all the vain, + She waits; or, to the scaffold, or the cell, + When the last lingering friend has bid farewell. + Even now she shades thy evening walk with bays, + (No hireling she, no prostitute to praise) + Even now, observant of the parting ray, + Eyes the calm sunset of thy various day, + Through fortune's cloud one truly great can see, + Nor fears to tell that MORTIMER is he. + + _September_ 25, 1721. A. POPE. + + +THE LIFE AND POETRY OF THOMAS PARNELL. + +Parnell is the third in a trio of poetical clergymen whose names have +immediately succeeded each other in this edition. Bowles, Churchill, +and Parnell were all clergymen, and all poets; but in other respects +differed materially from each other. In Bowles, the clerical and the +poetical characters were on the whole well attuned and harmonised. In +Churchill, they came to an open rupture. In Parnell, they were neither +ruptured nor reconciled, but maintained an ambiguous relation, till +his premature death settled the moot point for ever. + +The life of this poet has been written by Goldsmith, by Johnson, by +the Rev. John Mitford, and others; but, after all, very little is +known about him. Thomas Parnell was the descendant of an ancient +family, which had been settled for some hundreds of years at +Congleton, Cheshire. His father, whose name also was Thomas, took the +side of the Commonwealth, and at the Restoration went over to Ireland, +where he purchased a considerable property. This, along with his +estate in Cheshire, devolved to the poet. His father had a second son, +John, whose descendants were created baronets. The late Sir Henry +Parnell, for some years the respected member of Parliament for the +town of Dundee, where we now write, was the great-great-grandson of +the poet's father. Parnell was born in Dublin, in the year 1679. He +was sent to a school taught by one Dr Jones. Here he is said to have +distinguished himself by the readiness and retentiveness of his +memory; often performing the task allotted for days in a few hours, +and being able to repeat forty lines in any book of poems, after the +first reading. It is a proof of the prematurity of his powers, that he +entered Trinity College, Dublin, at the age of thirteen, where his +compositions attracted attention from the extent of classical lore +which they discovered. He took the degree of M.A. in 1700; and the +same year (through a dispensation on account of being under age) was +ordained deacon by the Bishop of Deny. Three years after, he was +ordained priest; and in 1705, he was made Archdeacon of Clogher, by +Sir George Ashe, bishop of that see. So soon as he received the +archdeanery, he married Miss Ann Minchin, who is described as a young +lady of great beauty, and of an amiable character, by whom he had two +sons, who died young, and a daughter, who long survived both +her parents. + +Up to the triumph of the Tories, at the end of Queen Anne's reign, +Parnell appears to have been, like his father, a keen Whig. He was at +that time, however, induced, for motives which his biographers call +obscure, but which to us seem obvious enough, on the well-known +principle of the popularity of the rising sun, to change his party; +and he was hailed by the Tories as a valuable accession to their +ranks. This proves that his talents were even then known; a fact +corroborated by Johnson's statement, that while he was waiting in the +outer-room at Lord Oxford's levee, the prime minister, when told he +was there, went out, at the persuasion of Swift, with his treasurer's +staff in his hand, and saluted him in the most flattering manner. He +became, either before or immediately after this, intimate with Pope, +Swift, Gay, and the rest of that brilliant set, who all appear to have +loved him for his social qualities, to have admired his genius, and to +have pitied his infirmities. He was a member of the Scriblerus Club, +and contributed some trifles to their transactions. He was, at the +same time, intimate with Addison and Steele, and wrote a few papers in +the "Spectator." To Pope, he was of essential service, assisting him +in his notes to the "Iliad," being, what Pope was not, a good Greek +scholar. He wrote a life of Homer, which was prefixed to the +Translation, although stiff in style, and fabulous in statement. He +gratified Pope's malicious spirit still more by writing, under the +guise of a "Life of Zoilus," a bitter attack on Dennis--the great +object of the poet's fear and mortal abhorrence. For these and other +services, Pope rewarded him, after his usual manner, with large +offerings of that sweet and suffocating incense, by which he +delighted, now to gain his enemies, and now to gratify his friends. +With Gay, also, Parnell was intimate; and the latter, himself +independent by his fortune, is said to have bestowed on this needy and +improvident genius the price of the copyright of his works. + +Parnell first visited London in 1706; and from that period till his +death, scarcely a year elapsed without his spending some time in the +metropolis. He seems to have had as intense a relish of London life as +Johnson and Boswell exhibited in the next age. So soon as he had +collected his rents, he hied to the capital, and there enjoyed himself +to the top of his bent. He jested with the Scriblerus Club. He quaffed +now and then with Lord Oxford. He varied his round of amusements by +occasional professional exhibitions in the pulpits of Southwark and +elsewhere,--made, we fear, more from a desire to display himself, than +to benefit his hearers. Still his sermons were popular; and he +entertained at one time the hope,--a hope blasted by the death of +Queen Anne,--of being preferred to a city charge. So soon as each +London furlough was expired, he returned to Ireland, jaded and +dispirited, and there took delight in nursing his melancholy; in +pining for the amusements of the metropolis; in shunning and sneering +at the society around him; and in abusing his native bogs and his +fellow-countrymen in verse. This was not manly, far less Christian +conduct. He ought to have drowned his recollections of London in +active duty, or in diligent study; and if he found society coarse or +corrupt, he should have set himself to refine and to purify it. But he +seems to have been a lazy, luxurious person--his life a round of +selfish rapture and selfish anguish,--in fact, ruined by his +independent fortune. Had he been a poorer, he had probably been a +happier man. He was not, moreover, of that self-contained cast of +character, which can live on its own resources, create its own world, +and say, "My mind to me a kingdom is." + +In 1712 he lost his wife, with whom he appears to have lived as +happily as his morbid temperament and mortified feelings would permit. +This blow deepened his melancholy, and drove him, it is said, to an +excessive and habitual use of wine. In the same year we find him in +London, brought out once more under the "special patronage" of Dean +Swift, who had quite a penchant for Parnell, and who wished, through +his side, to mortify certain persons in Ireland, who did not +appreciate, he says, the Archdeacon; and who, we suspect, besides, did +not thoroughly appreciate the Dean. Swift, partly in pity for the +"poor lad," as he calls him, whom he saw to be in such imminent danger +of losing caste and character, and partly in the true patronising +spirit, introduced Parnell to Lord Bolingbroke, who received him +kindly, entertained him at dinner, and encouraged him in his poetical +studies. The Dean's patronage, however, was of little avail in this +matter to the protege; Bolingbroke, a man of many promises, and few +performances, did nothing for him. The consequences of dissipation +began, at this time, too, to appear in Parnell's constitution; and we +find Swift saying of him, "His head is out of order, like mine, but +more constant, poor boy." It was perhaps to this period that Pope +referred, when he told Spence, "Parnell is a great follower of drams, +and strangely open and scandalous in his debaucheries." If so, his bad +habits seem to have sprung as much from disappointment and discontent +as from taste. + +Yet Swift continued his friend, and it was at his instance that, in +1713, Archbishop King presented Parnell with a prebend. In 1714, his +hope of London promotion died with Queen Anne; but in 1716, the same +generous Archbishop bestowed on him the vicarage of Finglass, in the +diocese of Dublin, worth L400 a-year. This preferment, however, the +poet did not live long to enjoy,--dying at Chester, in July +1717, on his way to Ireland, aged thirty-eight years. His estates +passed to his nephew, Sir John Parnell. He had, in the course of his +life, composed a great deal of poetry; much of it, indeed, _invita_ +Minerva. After his death, Pope collected the best pieces, and +published them, with a dedication to Lord Oxford. Goldsmith, in his +edition, added two or three; and other editors, a good many poems, of +which we have only inserted one, deeming the rest unworthy of his +memory. In 1788 a volume was published, entitled, "The Posthumous +Works of Dr T. Parnell, containing poems moral and divine." These, +however, attracted little attention, being mostly rubbish. Johnson +says of them, "I know not whence they came, nor have ever inquired +whither they are going." It is said that the present representative of +the Parnell family preserves a mass of unpublished poems from the pen +of his relative. We trust that he will long and religiously refrain +from disturbing their MS. slumbers. + +The whole tenor of Parnell's history convinces us that he was an +easy-tempered, kind-hearted, yet querulous and self-indulgent man, who +had no higher motive or object than to gratify himself. His very +ambition aspired not to very lofty altitudes. His utmost wish was to +attain a metropolitan pulpit, where he could have added the reputation +of a popular preacher to that of being the _protege_ of Swift, and the +pet of the Scriblerus Club. The character of his poetry is in keeping +with the temperament of the man. It is slipshod, easy, and pleasing. +If the distinguishing quality of poetry be to give pleasure, then +Parnell is a poet. You never thrill under his power, but you read him +with a quiet, constant, subdued gratification. If never eminently +original, he has the art of enunciating common-places with felicity and +grace. The stories he relates are almost all old, but his manner of +telling them is new. His thoughts and images are mostly selected from +his common-place book; but he utters them with such a natural ease of +manner, that you are tempted to think them his own. He knows the +compass of his poetical powers, and never attempts anything very lofty +or arduous. His "Allegory on Man,"--pronounced by Johnson his +best,--seems rather a laborious than a fortunate effusion. His "Hymn +to Contentment" is animated, as the subject required, by a kind of +sober rapture. His "Faery Tale" is a good imitation of that old style +of composition. His "Hesiod" catches the classical tone and spirit +with considerable success. His "Flies," and "Elegy to the Old Beauty," +are ingenious trifles. His "Nightpiece on Death" has fine touches, but +is slight for such a theme, and must not be named beside Blair's +"Grave," and Gray's "Elegy written in a Country Churchyard." His +translations we have, in accordance with the plan of this edition, +omitted--and, indeed, they are little loss. His "Bookworm," &c., are +adaptations from Beza and other foreign authors. By far his most +popular poem is the "Hermit." In it he tells a tale that had been told +in Arabic, French, and English, for the tenth time; and in that tenth +edition tells it so well, that the public have thanked him for it as +for an original work. Of course, the story not being Parnell's, it is +not his fault that it casts no light upon the dread problems of +Providence it professed to explain. But the incidents are recorded +with ease and liveliness; the characters are rapidly depicted, and +strikingly contrasted; and many touches of true poetry occur. +How vivid this couplet, for instance-- + + "Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, + And half he welcomes in the shivering pair!" + +How picturesque the following-- + + "A fresher green the smiling leaves display, + And, _glittering as they tremble_, cheer the day!" + +The description of the unveiled angel approaches the +sublime-- + + "Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; + Celestial odours breathe through purpled air; + And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, + Wide at his back, their gradual plumes display. + The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, + And moves in all the majesty of light." + +A passage of similar brilliance occurs in "Piety, or the +Vision"-- + + "A sudden splendour seem'd to kindle day; + A breeze came breathing in; a sweet perfume, + _Blown from eternal gardens_, fill'd the room, + And in a void of blue, that clouds invest, + Appear'd a daughter of the realms of rest." + +Such passages themselves are enough to prove Parnell a +true poet. + + * * * * * + +PARNELL'S POEMS. + + + HESIOD; OR, THE RISE OF WOMAN. + + What ancient times, those times we fancy wise, + Have left on long record of woman's rise, + What morals teach it, and what fables hide, + What author wrote it, how that author died,-- + All these I sing. In Greece they framed the tale; + (In Greece, 'twas thought a woman might be frail); + Ye modern beauties! where the poet drew + His softest pencil, think he dreamt of you; + And warn'd by him, ye wanton pens, beware + How Heaven's concern'd to vindicate the fair. 10 + The case was Hesiod's; he the fable writ-- + Some think with meaning--some, with idle wit: + Perhaps 'tis either, as the ladies please; + I waive the contest, and commence the lays. + + In days of yore, no matter where or when, + 'Twas ere the low creation swarm'd with men, + That one Prometheus, sprung of heavenly birth + (Our author's song can witness), lived on earth. + He carved the turf to mould a manly frame, + And stole from Jove his animating flame. 20 + The sly contrivance o'er Olympus ran, + When thus the Monarch of the Stars began: + 'Oh versed in arts! whose daring thoughts aspire + To kindle clay with never-dying fire! + Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine; + The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine: + And such a gift, a vengeance so design'd, + As suits the counsel of a God to find; + A pleasing bosom cheat, a specious ill, + Which, felt, they curse, yet covet still to feel.' 30 + + He said, and Vulcan straight the sire commands + To temper mortar with ethereal hands; + In such a shape to mould a rising fair, + As virgin-goddesses are proud to wear; + To make her eyes with diamond-water shine, + And form her organs for a voice divine. + 'Twas thus the sire ordain'd; the power obey'd; + And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made; + The fairest, softest, sweetest frame beneath, + Now made to seem, now more than seem, to breathe. 40 + + As Vulcan ends, the cheerful queen of charms + Clasp'd the new-panting creature in her arms; + From that embrace a fine complexion spread, + Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red. + Then in a kiss she breathed her various arts, + Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts; + A mind for love, but still a changing mind; + The lisp affected, and the glance design'd; + The sweet confusing blush, the secret wink, + The gentle-swimming walk, the courteous sink, 50 + The stare for strangeness fit, for scorn the frown, + For decent yielding, looks declining down, + The practised languish, where well-feign'd desire + Would own its melting in a mutual fire; + Gay smiles to comfort; April showers to move; + And all the nature, all the art, of love. + + Gold-sceptred Juno next exalts the fair; + Her touch endows her with imperious air, + Self-valuing fancy, highly-crested pride, + Strong sovereign will, and some desire to chide: 60 + For which an eloquence, that aims to vex, + With native tropes of anger arms the sex. + + Minerva, skilful goddess, train'd the maid + To twirl the spindle by the twisting thread, + To fix the loom, instruct the reeds to part, + Cross the long weft, and close the web with art: + An useful gift; but what profuse expense, + What world of fashions, took its rise from hence! + + Young Hermes next, a close-contriving god, + Her brows encircled with his serpent rod; 70 + Then plots, and fair excuses, fill'd her brain, + The views of breaking amorous vows for gain, + The price of favours, the designing arts + That aim at riches in contempt of hearts; + And for a comfort in the marriage life, + The little, pilfering temper of a wife. + + Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung, + And fond persuasion tipp'd her easy tongue; + He gave her words, where oily flattery lays + The pleasing colours of the art of praise; 80 + And wit, to scandal exquisitely prone, + Which frets another's spleen to cure its own. + + Those sacred virgins whom the bards revere, + Tuned all her voice, and shed a sweetness there, + To make her sense with double charms abound, + Or make her lively nonsense please by sound. + + To dress the maid, the decent Graces brought + A robe in all the dyes of beauty wrought, + And placed their boxes o'er a rich brocade + Where pictured loves on every cover play'd; 90 + Then spread those implements that Vulcan's art + Had framed to merit Cytherea's heart; + The wire to curl, the close-indented comb, + To call the locks that lightly wander, home; + And chief, the mirror, where the ravish'd maid + Beholds and loves her own reflected shade. + + Fair Flora lent her stores, the purpled hours + Confined her tresses with a wreath of flowers; + Within the wreath arose a radiant crown; + A veil pellucid hung depending down; 100 + Back roll'd her azure veil with serpent fold, + The purfled border deck'd the flower with gold. + Her robe (which, closely by the girdle braced, + Reveal'd the beauties of a slender waist) + Flow'd to the feet; to copy Venus' air, + When Venus' statues have a robe to wear. + + The new-sprung creature finish'd thus for harms, + Adjusts her habit, practises her charms, + With blushes glows, or shines with lively smiles, + Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles: 110 + Then conscious of her worth, with easy pace + Glides by the glass, and, turning, views her face. + + A finer flax than what they wrought before, + Through Time's deep cave the sister Fates explore, + Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave, + And thus their toil prophetic songs deceive: + + 'Flow from the rock, my flax! and swiftly flow, + Pursue thy thread, the spindle runs below. + A creature fond and changing, fair and vain, + The creature Woman, rises now to reign. 120 + New beauty blooms, a beauty form'd to fly; + New love begins, a love produced to die; + New parts distress the troubled scenes of life, + The fondling mistress, and the ruling wife. + Men, born to labour, all with pains provide; + Women have time to sacrifice to pride: + They want the care of man, their want they know, + And dress to please with heart-alluring show, + The show prevailing, for the sway contend, + And make a servant where they meet a friend. 130 + + Thus in a thousand wax-erected forts + A loitering race the painful bee supports, + From sun to sun, from bank to bank he flies, + With honey loads his bag, with wax his thighs, + Fly where he will, at home the race remain, + Prune the silk dress, and murmuring eat the gain. + + Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride, + Whose temper betters by the father's side; + Unlike the rest, that double human care, + Fond to relieve, or resolute to share: 140 + Happy the man whom thus his stars advance! + The curse is general, but the blessing chance.' + + Thus sung the Sisters, while the gods admire + Their beauteous creature, made for man, in ire; + The young Pandora she, whom all contend + To make too perfect not to gain her end: + Then bid the winds that fly to breathe the spring, + Return to bear her on a gentle wing; + With wafting airs the winds obsequious blow, + And land the shining vengeance safe below. 150 + A golden coffer in her hand she bore, + (The present treacherous, but the bearer more) + 'Twas fraught with pangs; for Jove ordain'd above, + That gold should aid, and pangs attend on love. + + Her gay descent the man perceived afar, + Wondering he ran to catch the falling star; + But so surprised, as none but he can tell, + Who loved so quickly, and who loved so well. + O'er all his veins the wandering passion burns, + He calls her nymph, and every nymph by turns. 160 + Her form to lovely Venus he prefers, + Or swears that Venus must be such as hers. + She, proud to rule, yet strangely framed to tease, + Neglects his offers while her airs she plays, + Shoots scornful glances from the bended frown, + In brisk disorder trips it up and down, + Then hums a careless tune to lay the storm, + And sits and blushes, smiles, and yields in form. + + 'Now take what Jove design'd, (she softly cried,) + This box thy portion, and myself thy bride:' 170 + Fired with the prospect of the double charms, + He snatch'd the box, and bride, with eager arms. + + Unhappy man! to whom so bright she shone, + The fatal gift, her tempting self, unknown! + The winds were silent, all the waves asleep, + And heaven was traced upon the flattering deep; + But whilst he looks, unmindful of a storm, + And thinks the water wears a stable form, + What dreadful din around his ears shall rise! + What frowns confuse his picture of the skies! 180 + + At first the creature Man was framed alone, + Lord of himself, and all the world his own. + For him the Nymphs in green forsook the woods, + For him the Nymphs in blue forsook the floods; + In vain the Satyrs rage, the Tritons rave; + They bore him heroes in the secret cave. + No care destroy'd, no sick disorder prey'd, + No bending age his sprightly form decay'd, + No wars were known, no females heard to rage, + And poets tell us, 'twas a golden age. 190 + + When woman came, those ills the box confined + Burst furious out, and poison'd all the wind, + + From point to point, from pole to pole they flew, + Spread as they went, and in the progress grew: + The Nymphs, regretting, left the mortal race, + And, altering Nature, wore a sickly face: + New terms of folly rose, new states of care; + New plagues to suffer, and to please, the fair! + The days of whining, and of wild intrigues, + Commenced, or finish'd, with the breach of leagues; 200 + The mean designs of well-dissembled love; + The sordid matches never join'd above; + Abroad, the labour, and at home the noise, + (Man's double sufferings for domestic joys) + The curse of jealousy; expense, and strife; + Divorce, the public brand of shameful life; + The rival's sword; the qualm that takes the fair; + Disdain for passion, passion in despair-- + These, and a thousand yet unnamed, we find; + Ah, fear the thousand yet unnamed behind! 210 + + Thus on Parnassus tuneful Hesiod sung, + The mountain echoed, and the valley rung, + The sacred groves a fix'd attention show, + The crystal Helicon forbore to flow, + The sky grew bright, and (if his verse be true) + The Muses came to give the laurel too. + But what avail'd the verdant prize of wit, + If Love swore vengeance for the tales he writ? + Ye fair offended, hear your friend relate + What heavy judgment proved the writer's fate, 220 + Though when it happen'd, no relation clears; + 'Tis thought in five, or five and twenty years. + + Where, dark and silent, with a twisted shade + The neighbouring woods a native arbour made, + There oft a tender pair for amorous play + Retiring, toy'd the ravish'd hours away; + A Locrian youth, the gentle Troilus he, + A fair Milesian, kind Evanthe she: + But swelling Nature, in a fatal hour, + Betray'd the secrets of the conscious bower; 230 + The dire disgrace her brothers count their own, + And track her steps, to make its author known. + + It chanced one evening, ('twas the lover's day) + Conceal'd in brakes the jealous kindred lay; + When Hesiod, wandering, mused along the plain, + And fix'd his seat where Love had fix'd the scene: + A strong suspicion straight possess'd their mind, + (For poets ever were a gentle kind.) + But when Evanthe near the passage stood, + Flung back a doubtful look, and shot the wood, 240 + 'Now take (at once they cry) thy due reward!' + And, urged with erring rage, assault the bard. + His corpse the sea received. The dolphins bore + ('Twas all the gods would do) the corpse to shore. + + Methinks I view the dead with pitying eyes, + And see the dreams of ancient wisdom rise; + I see the Muses round the body cry, + But hear a Cupid loudly laughing by; + He wheels his arrow with insulting hand, + And thus inscribes the moral on the sand: 250 + 'Here Hesiod lies: ye future bards beware + How far your moral tales incense the fair: + Unloved, unloving, 'twas his fate to bleed; + Without his quiver Cupid caused the deed: + He judged this turn of malice justly due, + And Hesiod died for joys he never knew.' + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 When thy beauty appears, + In its graces and airs, + All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky; + At distance I gaze, and am awed by my fears, + So strangely you dazzle my eye! + + 2 But when without art, + Your kind thoughts you impart, + When your love runs in blushes through every vein; + When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart, + Then I know you're a woman again. + + 3 There's a passion and pride + In our sex (she replied), + And thus (might I gratify both) I would do: + Still an angel appear to each lover beside, + But still be a woman to you. + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 Thyrsis, a young and amorous swain, + Saw two, the beauties of the plain; + Who both his heart subdue: + Gay Caelia's eyes were dazzling fair, + Sabina's easy shape and air + With softer magic drew. + + 2 He haunts the stream, he haunts the grove, + Lives in a fond romance of love, + And seems for each to die; + Till each, a little spiteful grown, + Sabina Caelia's shape ran down, + And she Sabina's eye. + + 3 Their envy made the shepherd find + Those eyes, which love could only blind; + So set the lover free: + No more he haunts the grove or stream, + Or with a true-love knot and name + Engraves a wounded tree. + + 4 Ah, Caelia! (sly Sabina cried) + Though neither love, we're both denied; + Now, to support the sex's pride, + Let either fix the dart. + Poor girl! (says Caelia) say no more; + For should the swain but one adore, + That spite which broke his chains before, + Would break the other's heart. + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 My days have been so wondrous free, + The little birds that fly + With careless ease from tree to tree, + Were but as bless'd as I. + + 2 Ask gliding waters, if a tear + Of mine increased their stream? + Or ask the flying gales, if e'er + I lent one sigh to them? + + 3 But now my former days retire, + And I'm by beauty caught, + The tender chains of sweet desire + Are fix'd upon my thought. + + 4 Ye nightingales! ye twisting pines! + Ye swains that haunt the grove! + Ye gentle echoes! breezy winds! + Ye close retreats of lore! + + 5 With all of Nature, all of Art, + Assist the dear design; + Oh teach a young, unpractised heart + To make my Nancy mine. + + 6 The very thought of change I hate, + As much as of despair; + Nor ever covet to be great, + Unless it be for her. + + 7 'Tis true, the passion in my mind + Is mix'd with soft distress; + Yet while the fair I love is kind, + I cannot wish it less. + + * * * * * + + + ANACREONTIC. + + When Spring came on with fresh delight, + To cheer the soul, and charm the sight, + While easy breezes, softer rain, + And warmer suns salute the plain; + 'Twas then, in yonder piny grove, + That Nature went to meet with Love. + + Green was her robe, and green her wreath, + Where'er she trod, 'twas green beneath; + Where'er she turn'd, the pulses beat + With new recruits of genial heat; 10 + And in her train the birds appear, + To match for all the coming year. + + Raised on a bank, where daisies grew, + And violets intermix'd a blue, + She finds the boy she went to find; + A thousand pleasures wait behind, + Aside a thousand arrows lie, + But all, unfeather'd, wait to fly. + + When they met, the dame and boy, + Dancing graces, idle joy, 20 + Wanton smiles, and airy play, + Conspired to make the scene be gay; + Love pair'd the birds through all the grove, + And Nature bid them sing to Love, + Sitting, hopping, fluttering sing, + And pay their tribute from the wing, + To fledge the shafts that idly lie, + And, yet unfeather'd, wait to fly. + + 'Tis thus, when Spring renews the blood, + They meet in every trembling wood, 30 + And thrice they make the plumes agree, + And every dart they mount with three, + And every dart can boast a kind, + Which suits each proper turn of mind. + + From the towering eagle's plume + The generous hearts accept their doom; + Shot by the peacock's painted eye + The vain and airy lovers die: + For careful dames and frugal men, + The shafts are speckled by the hen: 40 + The pies and parrots deck the darts, + When prattling wins the panting hearts: + When from the voice the passions spring, + The warbling finch affords a wing: + Together, by the sparrow stung, + Down fall the wanton and the young: + And fledged by geese the weapons fly, + When others love they know not why. + + All this (as late I chanced to rove) + I learn'd in yonder waving grove. 50 + And see, says Love, who call'd me near, + How much I deal with Nature here; + How both support a proper part, + She gives the feather, I the dart: + Then cease for souls averse to sigh, + If Nature cross ye, so do I; + My weapon there unfeather'd flies, + And shakes and shuffles through the skies. + But if the mutual charms I find + By which she links you, mind to mind, 60 + They wing my shafts, I poise the darts, + And strike from both, through both your hearts. + + * * * * * + + + ANACREONTIC. + + 1 Gay Bacchus liking Estcourt's[1] wine, + A noble meal bespoke us; + And for the guests that were to dine, + Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus. + + 2 The god near Cupid drew his chair, + Near Comus, Jocus placed; + For wine makes Love forget its care, + And Mirth exalts a feast. + + 3 The more to please the sprightly god, + Each sweet engaging Grace + Put on some clothes to come abroad, + And took a waiter's place. + + 4 Then Cupid named at every glass + A lady of the sky; + While Bacchus swore he'd drink the lass, + And did it bumper-high. + + 5 Fat Comus toss'd his brimmers o'er, + And always got the most; + Jocus took care to fill him more, + Whene'er he miss'd the toast. + + 6 They call'd, and drank at every touch; + He fill'd, and drank again; + And if the gods can take too much, + 'Tis said they did so then. + + 7 Gay Bacchus little Cupid stung, + By reckoning his deceits; + And Cupid mock'd his stammering tongue, + With all his staggering gaits: + + 8 And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways, + And tales without a jest; + While Comus call'd his witty plays + But waggeries at best. + + 9 Such talk soon set 'em all at odds; + And, had I Homer's pen, + I'd sing ye, how they drank like gods, + And how they fought like men. + + 10 To part the fray, the Graces fly, + Who make 'em soon agree; + Nay, had the Furies selves been nigh, + They still were three to three. + + 11 Bacchus appeased, raised Cupid up, + And gave him back his bow; + But kept some darts to stir the cup + Where sack and sugar flow. + + 12 Jocus took Comus' rosy crown, + And gaily wore the prize, + And thrice, in mirth, he push'd him down, + As thrice he strove to rise. + + 13 Then Cupid sought the myrtle grove, + Where Venus did recline; + And Venus close embracing Love, + They join'd to rail at wine. + + 14 And Comus loudly cursing wit, + Roll'd off to some retreat, + Where boon companions gravely sit + In fat unwieldy state. + + 15 Bacchus and Jocus, still behind, + For one fresh glass prepare; + They kiss, and are exceeding kind, + And vow to be sincere. + + 16 But part in time, whoever hear + This our instructive song; + For though such friendships may be dear, + They can't continue long. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Estcourt:' Dick, a comedian and keeper of the Bumper +Tavern--a companion of Addison, Steele, and the rest.] + + * * * * * + + + A FAIRY TALE, + + IN THE ANCIENT ENGLISH STYLE. + + 1 In Britain's isle and Arthur's days, + When midnight Faeries danced the maze, + Lived Edwin of the green; + Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth, + Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, + Though badly shaped he been. + + 2 His mountain back mote well be said + To measure heighth against his head, + And lift itself above: + Yet spite of all that Nature did + To make his uncouth form forbid, + This creature dared to love. + + 3 He felt the charms of Edith's eyes, + Nor wanted hope to gain the prize, + Could ladies look within; + But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art, + And, if a shape could win a heart, + He had a shape to win. + + 4 Edwin (if right I read my song) + With slighted passion paced along, + All in the moony light: + 'Twas near an old enchanted court, + Where sportive Faeries made resort + To revel out the night. + + 5 His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd, + 'Twas late, 'twas farr, the path was lost + That reach'd the neighbour-town; + With weary steps he quits the shades, + Resolved, the darkling dome he treads, + And drops his limbs adown. + + 6 But scant he lays him on the floor, + When hollow winds remove the door, + A trembling rocks the ground: + And (well I ween to count aright) + At once an hundred tapers light + On all the walls around. + + 7 Now sounding tongues assail his ear, + Now sounding feet approachen near, + And now the sounds increase: + And from the corner where he lay + He sees a train, profusely gay, + Come prankling o'er the place. + + 8 But trust me, gentles! never yet + Was dight a masquing half so neat, + Or half so rich before; + The country lent the sweet perfumes, + The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes, + The town its silken store. + + 9 Now whilst he gazed, a gallant dress'd + In flaunting robes above the rest, + With awful accent cried: + What mortal of a wretched mind, + Whose sighs infect the balmy wind, + Has here presumed to hide? + + 10 At this the swain, whose venturous soul + No fears of magic art control, + Advanced in open sight: + Nor have I cause of dread, he said, + Who view, by no presumption led, + Your revels of the night. + + 11 'Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love, + Which made my steps unweeting rove + Amid the nightly dew. + 'Tis well, the gallant cries again, + We Faeries never injure men + Who dare to tell us true. + + 12 Exalt thy love-dejected heart, + Be mine the task, or e'er we part, + To make thee grief resign; + Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce; + Whilst I with Mab my partner daunce, + Be little Mable thine. + + 13 He spoke, and all a-sudden there + Light music floats in wanton air; + The monarch leads the queen: + The rest their Faerie partners found, + And Mable trimly tripp'd the ground + With Edwin of the green. + + 14 The dauncing past, the board was laid, + And siker such a feast was made + As heart and lip desire; + Withouten hands the dishes fly, + The glasses--with a wish come nigh, + And with a wish retire. + + 15 But now, to please the Faerie King, + Full every deal, they laugh and sing, + And antic feats devise; + Some wind and tumble like an ape, + And other some transmute their shape + In Edwin's wondering eyes. + + 16 Till one at last that Robin bight, + (Renown'd for pinching maids by night) + Has hent him up aloof; + And full against the beam he flung, + Where by the back the youth he hung + To spraul unneath the roof. + + 17 From thence, Reverse my charm, he cries, + And let it fairly now suffice + The gambol has been shown. + But Oberon answers with a smile, + Content thee, Edwin, for a while, + The vantage is thine own. + + 18 Here ended all the phantom-play; + They smelt the fresh approach of day, + And heard a cock to crow; + The whirling wind that bore the crowd + Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud, + To warn them all to go. + + 19 Then screaming all at once they fly, + And all at once the tapers die, + Poor Edwin falls to floor; + Forlorn his state, and dark the place, + Was never wight in sike a case + Through all the land before. + + 20 But soon as Dan Apollo rose, + Full jolly creature home he goes, + He feels his back the less; + His honest tongue and steady mind + Had rid him of the lump behind + Which made him want success. + + 21 With lusty livelyhed he talks, + He seems a-dauncing as he walks, + His story soon took wind; + And beauteous Edith sees the youth, + Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, + Without a bunch behind. + + 22 The story told, Sir Topaz moved, + The youth of Edith erst approved, + To see the revel scene: + At close of eve he leaves his home, + And wends to find the ruin'd dome + All on the gloomy plain. + + 23 As there he bides, it so befell, + The wind came rustling down a dell, + A shaking seized the wall: + Up spring the tapers as before, + The Faeries bragly foot the floor, + And music fills the hall. + + 24 But, certes, sorely sunk with woe + Sir Topaz sees the elfin show, + His spirits in him die: + When Oberon cries, A man is near, + A mortal passion, cleeped fear, + Hang's flagging in the sky. + + 25 With that Sir Topaz, hapless youth! + In accents faltering aye for ruth, + Entreats them pity graunt; + For als he been a mister wight + Betray'd by wandering in the night + To tread the circled haunt. + + 26 Ah, losel vile! (at once they roar) + And little skill'd of Faerie lore, + Thy cause to come we know: + Now has thy kestrel courage fell; + And Faeries, since a lie you tell, + Are free to work thee woe. + + 27 Then Will, who bears the wispy fire, + To trail the swains among the mire, + The caitiff upward flung; + There like a tortoise in a shop + He dangled from the chamber-top, + Where whilom Edwin hung. + + 28 The revel now proceeds apace, + Deftly they frisk it o'er the place, + They sit, they drink, and eat; + The time with frolic mirth beguile, + And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while, + Till all the rout retreat. + + 29 By this the stars began to wink, + They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink, + And down ydrops the knight. + For never spell by Faerie laid + With strong enchantment bound a glade + Beyond the length of night. + + 30 Chill, dark, alone, adreed he lay, + Till up the welkin rose the day, + Then deem'd the dole was o'er; + But wot ye well his harder lot? + His seely back the bunch has got + Which Edwin lost afore. + + 31 This tale a Sybil-nurse aread; + She softly stroked my youngling head, + And when the tale was done, + Thus some are born, my son, (she cries,) + With base impediments to rise, + And some are born with none. + + 32 But virtue can itself advaunce + To what the favourite fools of chaunce + By fortune seem'd design'd; + Virtue can gain the odds of Fate, + And from itself shake off the weight + Upon the unworthy mind. + + * * * * * + + + TO MR POPE. + + To praise, yet still with due respect to praise, + A bard triumphant in immortal bays, + The learn'd to show, the sensible commend, + Yet still preserve the province of the friend, + What life, what vigour, must the lines require, + What music tune them, what affection fire! + + Oh! might thy genius in my bosom shine, + Thou shouldst not fail of numbers worthy thine; + The brightest ancients might at once agree + To sing within my lays, and sing of thee. 10 + + Horace himself would own thou dost excel + In candid arts, to play the critic well. + + Ovid himself might wish to sing the dame + Whom Windsor Forest sees a gliding stream; + On silver feet, with annual osier crown'd, + She runs for ever through poetic ground. + + How flame the glories of Belinda's hair, + Made by thy Muse the envy of the fair! + Less shone the tresses Egypt's princess[1] wore, + Which sweet Callimachus so sung before; 20 + Here courtly trifles set the world at odds, + Belles war with beaux, and whims descend for gods, + The new machines in names of ridicule, + Mock the grave frenzy of the chymic fool. + But know, ye fair, a point conceal'd with art, + The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a woman's heart: + The Graces stand in sight; a Satyr train + Peep o'er their heads, and laugh behind the scene. + + In Fame's fair temple, o'er the boldest wits + Enshrined on high the sacred Virgil sits, 30 + And sits in measures, such as Virgil's Muse + To place thee near him might be fond to choose. + How might he tune the alternate reed with thee, + Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he, + While some old Damon, o'er the vulgar wise, + Thinks he deserves, and thou deserv'st the prize! + Rapt with the thought, my fancy seeks the plains, + And turns me shepherd while I hear the strains. + Indulgent nurse of every tender gale, + Parent of flowerets, old Arcadia, hail! 40 + Here in the cool my limbs at ease I spread, + Here let thy poplars whisper o'er my head, + Still slide thy waters soft among the trees, + Thy aspens quiver in a breathing breeze, + Smile all thy valleys in eternal spring, + Be hush'd, ye winds! while Pope and Virgil sing. + + In English lays, and all sublimely great, + Thy Homer warms with all his ancient heat; + He shines in council, thunders in the fight, + And flames with every sense of great delight. 50 + Long has that poet reign'd, and long unknown, + Like monarchs sparkling on a distant throne, + In all the majesty of Greek retired, + Himself unknown, his mighty name admired; + His language failing, wrapp'd him round with night, + Thine, raised by thee, recalls the work to light. + So wealthy mines, that ages long before + Fed the large realms around with golden ore, + When choked by sinking banks, no more appear, + And shepherds only say, The mines were here: 60 + Should some rich youth (if Nature warm his heart, + And all his projects stand inform'd with Art) + Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein; + The mines, detected, flame with gold again. + + How vast, how copious are thy new designs! + How every music varies in thy lines! + Still as I read, I feel my bosom beat, + And rise in raptures by another's heat. + Thus in the wood, when summer dress'd the days, + When Windsor lent us tuneful hours of ease, 70 + Our ears the lark, the thrush, the turtle blest, + And Philomela sweetest o'er the rest: + The shades resound with song--oh softly tread! + While a whole season warbles round my head. + + This to my friend--and when a friend inspires, + My silent harp its master's hand requires, + Shakes off the dust, and makes these rocks resound; + For fortune placed me in unfertile ground, + Far from the joys that with my soul agree, + From wit, from learning--far, oh far from thee! 80 + Here moss-grown trees expand the smallest leaf, + Here half an acre's corn is half a sheaf; + Here hills with naked heads the tempest meet, + Rocks at their side, and torrents at their feet, + Or lazy lakes, unconscious of a flood, + Whose dull brown Naiads ever sleep in mud. + + Yet here Content can dwell, and Learned Ease, + A friend delight me, and an author please; + Even here I sing, while Pope supplies the theme, + Show my own love, though not increase his fame. 90 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Egypt's princess:' Cleopatra.] + + * * * * * + + + HEALTH: AN ECLOGUE. + + Now early shepherds o'er the meadow pass, + And print long footsteps in the glittering grass, + The cows neglectful of their pasture stand, + By turns obsequious to the milker's hand, + When Damon softly trode the shaven lawn, + Damon a youth from city cares withdrawn; + Long was the pleasing walk he wander'd through, + A cover'd arbour closed the distant view; + There rests the youth, and while the feather'd throng + Raise their wild music, thus contrives a song. 10 + + Here wafted o'er by mild Etesian air, + Thou country Goddess, beauteous Health, repair! + Here let my breast through quivering trees inhale + Thy rosy blessings with the morning gale. + What are the fields, or flowers, or all I see? + Ah! tasteless all, if not enjoy'd with thee. + + Joy to my soul! I feel the Goddess nigh, + The face of Nature cheers as well as I; + O'er the flat green refreshing breezes run, + The smiling daisies blow beneath the sun, 20 + The brooks run purling down with silver waves, + The planted lanes rejoice with dancing leaves, + The chirping birds from all the compass rove + To tempt the tuneful echoes of the grove: + High sunny summits, deeply shaded dales, + Thick mossy banks, and flowery winding vales, + With various prospect gratify the sight, + And scatter fix'd attention in delight. + + Come, country Goddess, come! nor thou suffice, + But bring thy mountain sister, Exercise! 30 + Call'd by thy lovely voice, she turns her pace, + Her winding horn proclaims the finish'd chase; + She mounts the rocks, she skims the level plain, + Dogs, hawks, and horses crowd her early train; + Her hardy face repels the tanning wind, + And lines and meshes loosely float behind. + All these as means of toil the feeble see, + But these are helps to pleasure join'd with thee. + + Let Sloth lie softening till high noon in down, + Or lolling fan her in the sultry town, 40 + Unnerved with rest, and turn her own disease, + Or foster others in luxurious ease: + I mount the courser, call the deep-mouth'd hounds; + The fox unkennell'd, flies to covert grounds; + I lead where stags through tangled thickets tread, + And shake the saplings with their branching head; + I make the falcons wing their airy way, + And soar to seize, or stooping strike their prey: + To snare the fish I fix the luring bait; + To wound the fowl I load the gun with fate. 50 + 'Tis thus through change of exercise I range, + And strength and pleasure rise from every change. + Here beauteous for all the year remain; + When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again. + + Oh come, thou Goddess of my rural song, + And bring thy daughter, calm Content, along! + Dame of the ruddy cheek and laughing eye, + From whose bright presence clouds of sorrow fly: + For her I mow my walks, I plait my bowers, + Clip my low hedges, and support my flowers; 60 + To welcome her, this summer seat I dress'd, + And here I court her when she comes to rest; + When she from exercise to learned ease + Shall change again, and teach the change to please. + + Now friends conversing my soft hours refine, + And Tully's Tusculum revives in mine: + Now to grave books I bid the mind retreat, + And such as make me rather good than great; + Or o'er the works of easy Fancy rove, + Where flutes and innocence amuse the grove: 70 + The native bard that on Sicilian plains + First sung the lowly manners of the swains; + Or Maro's Muse, that in the fairest light + Paints rural prospects and the charms of sight; + These soft amusements bring Content along, + And Fancy, void of sorrow, turns to song. + Here beauteous Health for all the year remain; + When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again. + + * * * * * + + + THE FLIES: AN ECLOGUE. + + When the river cows for coolness stand. + And sheep for breezes seek the lofty land, + A youth whom AEsop taught that every tree, + Each bird and insect, spoke as well as he, + Walk'd calmly musing in a shaded way, + Where flowering hawthorn broke the sunny ray, + And thus instructs his moral pen to draw + A scene that obvious in the field he saw. + + Near a low ditch, where shallow waters meet, + Which never learn'd to glide with liquid feet, 10 + Whose Naiads never prattle as they play, + But screen'd with hedges slumber out the day, + There stands a slender fern's aspiring shade, + Whose answering branches, regularly laid, + Put forth their answering boughs, and proudly rise + Three storeys upward in the nether skies. + + For shelter here, to shun the noonday heat, + An airy nation of the flies retreat; + Some in soft air their silken pinions ply, + And some from bough to bough delighted fly, 20 + Some rise, and circling light to perch again; + A pleasing murmur hums along the plain. + So, when a stage invites to pageant shows, + (If great and small are like) appear the beaux; + In boxes some with spruce pretension sit, + Some change from seat to seat within the pit, + Some roam the scenes, or turning cease to roam; + Preluding music fills the lofty dome. + When thus a fly (if what a fly can say + Deserves attention) raised the rural lay: + + Where late Amintor made a nymph a bride, 30 + Joyful I flew by young Favonia's side, + Who, mindless of the feasting, went to sip + The balmy pleasure of the shepherd's lip; + I saw the wanton where I stoop'd to sup, + And half resolved to drown me in the cup; + Till, brush'd by careless hands, she soar'd above: + Cease, beauty, cease to vex a tender love! + + Thus ends the youth, the buzzing meadow rung, + And thus the rival of his music sung: 40 + + When suns by thousands shone in orbs of dew, + I, wafted soft, with Zephyretta flew; + Saw the clean pail, and sought the milky cheer, + While little Daphne seized my roving dear. + Wretch that I was! I might have warn'd the dame, + Yet sate indulging as the danger came, + But the kind huntress left her free to soar: + Ah! guard, ye lovers, guard a mistress more! + + Thus from the fern, whose high projecting arms, + The fleeting nation bent with dusky swarms, 50 + The swains their love in easy music breathe, + When tongues and tumult stun the field beneath, + Black ants in teams come darkening all the road; + Some call to march, and some to lift the load; + They strain, they labour with incessant pains, + Press'd by the cumbrous weight of single grains. + The flies, struck silent, gaze with wonder down: + The busy burghers reach their earthy town, + Where lay the burdens of a wintry store, + And thence, unwearied, part in search of more. 60 + Yet one grave sage a moment's space attends, + And the small city's loftiest point ascends, + Wipes the salt dew that trickles down his face, + And thus harangues them with the gravest grace + + Ye foolish nurslings of the summer air! + These gentle tunes and whining songs forbear, + Your trees and whispering breeze, your grove and love, + Your Cupid's quiver, and his mother's dove; + Let bards to business bend their vigorous wing, + And sing but seldom, if they love to sing: 70 + Else, when the flowerets of the season fail, + And this your ferny shade forsakes the vale, + Though one would save ye, not one grain of wheat + Should pay such songster's idling at my gate. + + He ceased: the flies, incorrigibly vain, + Heard the mayor's speech, and fell to sing again. + + * * * * * + + + AN ELEGY TO AN OLD BEAUTY. + + In vain, poor nymph, to please our youthful sight + You sleep in cream and frontlets all the night, + Your face with patches soil, with paint repair, + Dress with gay gowns, and shade with foreign hair. + If truth in spite of manners must be told, + Why, really, fifty-five is something old. + + Once you were young; or one, whose life's so long, + She might have borne my mother, tells me wrong. + And once, (since Envy's dead before you die) + The women own, you play'd a sparkling eye, 10 + Taught the light foot a modish little trip, + And pouted with the prettiest purple lip. + + To some new charmer are the roses fled, + Which blew, to damask all thy cheek with red; + Youth calls the graces there to fix their reign, + And airs by thousands fill their easy train. + So parting Summer bids her flowery prime + Attend the Sun to dress some foreign clime, + While withering seasons in succession, here, + Strip the gay gardens, and deform the Year. 20 + + But thou (since Nature bids) the world resign, + 'Tis now thy daughter's daughter's time to shine. + With more address, (or such as pleases more) + She runs her female exercises o'er, + Unfurls or closes, raps or turns the fan, + And smiles, or blushes at the creature Man. + With quicker life, as gilded coaches pass, + In sideling courtesy she drops the glass. + With better strength, on visit-days she bears + To mount her fifty flights of ample stairs. 30 + Her mien, her shape, her temper, eyes and tongue, + Are sure to conquer--for the rogue is young; + And all that's madly wild, or oddly gay, + We call it only pretty Fanny's way. + + Let Time that makes you homely, make you sage, + The sphere of wisdom is the sphere of age. + 'Tis true, when beauty dawns with early fire, + And hears the flattering tongues of soft desire, + If not from virtue, from its gravest ways + The soul with pleasing avocation strays. 40 + But beauty gone, 'tis easier to be wise; + As harpers better by the loss of eyes. + + Henceforth retire, reduce your roving airs, + Haunt less the plays, and more the public prayers, + Reject the Mechlin head, and gold brocade, + Go pray, in sober Norwich crape array'd. + Thy pendant diamonds let thy Fanny take, + Their trembling lustre shows how much you shake; + Or bid her wear thy necklace row'd with pearl, + You'll find your Fanny an obedient girl. 50 + So, for the rest, with less incumbrance hung, + You walk through life, unmingled with the young; + And view the shade and substance as you pass + With joint endeavour trifling at the glass, + Or Folly dress'd, and rambling all her days, + To meet her counterpart, and grow by praise: + Yet still sedate yourself, and gravely plain, + You neither fret, nor envy at the vain. + + 'Twas thus, if man with woman we compare, + The wise Athenian cross'd a glittering fair; 60 + Unmoved by tongues and sights, he walk'd the place, + Through tape, toys, tinsel, gimp, perfume, and lace; + Then bends from Mars's hill his awful eyes, + And 'What a world I never want!' he cries; + But cries unheard: for Folly will be free. + So parts the buzzing gaudy crowd, and he: + As careless he for them, as they for him; + He wrapt in wisdom, and they whirl'd by whim + + * * * * * + + + THE BOOK-WORM. + + Come hither, boy, we'll hunt to-day + The book-worm, ravening beast of prey! + Produced by parent Earth, at odds + (As Fame reports it) with the gods. + Him frantic Hunger wildly drives + Against a thousand authors' lives: + Through all the fields of Wit he flies; + Dreadful his head with clustering eyes, + With horns without, and tusks within, + And scales to serve him for a skin. 10 + Observe him nearly, lest he climb + To wound the bards of ancient time, + Or down the vale of Fancy go, + To tear some modern wretch below: + On every corner fix thine eye, + Or, ten to one, he slips thee by. + + See where his teeth a passage eat: + We'll rouse him from the deep retreat. + But who the shelter's forced to give? + 'Tis sacred Virgil, as I live! 20 + From leaf to leaf, from song to song, + He draws the tadpole form along, + He mounts the gilded edge before, + He's up, he scuds the cover o'er, + He turns, he doubles, there he pass'd, + And here we have him, caught at last. + + Insatiate brute, whose teeth abuse + The sweetest servants of the Muse! + --Nay, never offer to deny, + I took thee in the act to fly-- 30 + His roses nipp'd in every page, + My poor Anacreon mourns thy rage. + By thee my Ovid wounded lies; + By thee my Lesbia's sparrow dies: + Thy rabid teeth have half destroy'd + The work of love in Biddy Floyd; + They rent Belinda's locks away, + And spoil'd the Blouzelind of Gay. + For all, for every single deed, + Relentless Justice bids thee bleed. 40 + Then fall a victim to the Nine, + Myself the priest, my desk the shrine. + + Bring Homer, Virgil, Tasso near, + To pile a sacred altar here; + Hold, boy, thy hand outruns thy wit, + You reach'd the plays that Dennis writ; + You reach'd me Philips' rustic strain; + Pray take your mortal bards again. + + Come, bind the victim,--there he lies, + And here between his numerous eyes 50 + This venerable dust I lay, + From manuscripts just swept away. + + The goblet in my hand I take + (For the libation's yet to make), + A health to poets! all their days + May they have bread, as well as praise; + Sense may they seek, and less engage + In papers fill'd with party rage. + But if their riches spoil their vein, + Ye Muses! make them poor again. 60 + + Now bring the weapon, yonder blade, + With which my tuneful pens are made. + I strike the scales that arm thee round, + And twice and thrice I print the wound; + The sacred altar floats with red; + And now he dies, and now he's dead. + + How like the son of Jove I stand, + This Hydra stretch'd beneath my hand! + Lay bare the monster's entrails here, + To see what dangers threat the year: 70 + Ye gods! what sonnets on a wench! + What lean translations out of French! + 'Tis plain, this lobe is so unsound, + S-- prints before the months go round. + + But hold, before I close the scene, + The sacred altar should be clean. + Oh, had I Shadwell's[1] second bays, + Or, Tate![2] thy pert and humble lays! + (Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow + I never miss'd your works till now) + I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine, 80 + (That only way you please the Nine) + But since I chance to want these two, + I'll make the songs of Durfey[3] do. + + Rent from the corpse, on yonder pin + I hang the scales that braced it in; + I hang my studious morning gown, + And write my own inscription down. + + 'This trophy from the Python won, + This robe, in which the deed was done, 90 + These, Parnell glorying in the feat, + Hung on these shelves, the Muses' seat. + Here Ignorance and Hunger found + Large realms of wit to ravage round; + Here Ignorance and Hunger fell-- + Two foes in one I sent to hell. + Ye poets, who my labours see, + Come share the triumph all with me! + Ye critics, born to vex the Muse, + Go mourn the grand ally you lose!' 100 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Shadwell:' Dryden's rival.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Tate:' Nahum. See Life of Dryden.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Durfey:' the well-known wit of the time.] + + * * * * * + + + AN ALLEGORY ON MAN. + + A thoughtful being, long and spare, + Our race of mortals call him Care; + (Were Homer living, well he knew + What name the gods have call'd him too) + With fine mechanic genius wrought, + And loved to work, though no one bought. + + This being, by a model bred + In Jove's eternal sable head, + Contrived a shape, empower'd to breathe, + And be the worldling here beneath. 10 + + The Man rose staring, like a stake, + Wondering to see himself awake! + Then look'd so wise, before he knew + The business he was made to do, + That, pleased to see with what a grace + He gravely show'd his forward face, + Jove talk'd of breeding him on high, + An under-something of the sky. + + But e'er he gave the mighty nod, + Which ever binds a poet's god, 20 + (For which his curls ambrosial shake, + And mother Earth's obliged to quake:) + He saw old mother Earth arise, + She stood confess'd before his eyes; + But not with what we read she wore, + A castle for a crown, before; + Nor with long streets and longer roads + Dangling behind her, like commodes: + As yet with wreaths alone she dress'd, + And trail'd a landscape-painted vest. 30 + Then thrice she raised, (as Ovid said) + And thrice she bow'd her weighty head. + + Her honours made, Great Jove, she cried, + This thing was fashion'd from my side; + His hands, his heart, his head are mine; + Then what hast thou to call him thine? + + Nay, rather ask, the monarch said, + What boots his hand, his heart, his head? + Were what I gave removed away, + Thy parts an idle shape of clay. 40 + + Halves, more than halves! cried honest Care; + Your pleas would make your titles fair, + You claim the body, you the soul, + But I who join'd them, claim the whole. + + Thus with the gods debate began, + On such a trivial cause as Man. + And can celestial tempers rage? + (Quoth Virgil in a later age.) + + As thus they wrangled, Time came by; + (There's none that paint him such as I, 50 + For what the fabling ancients sung + Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.) + As yet his winters had not shed + Their silver honours on his head; + He just had got his pinions free + From his old sire Eternity. + A serpent girdled round he wore, + The tail within the mouth before; + By which our almanacs are clear + That learned Egypt meant the year. 60 + A staff he carried, where on high + A glass was fix'd to measure by, + As amber boxes made a show + For heads of canes an age ago. + His vest, for day and night, was pied, + A bending sickle arm'd his side, + And Spring's new months his train adorn; + The other Seasons were unborn. + + Known by the gods, as near he draws, + They make him umpire of the cause. 70 + O'er a low trunk his arm he laid, + (Where since his Hours a dial made;) + Then, leaning, heard the nice debate, + And thus pronounced the words of Fate: + + Since Body from the parent Earth, + And Soul from Jove received a birth, + Return they where they first began; + But since their union makes the Man, + Till Jove and Earth shall part these two, + To Care, who join'd them, Man is due. 80 + + He said, and sprung with swift career + To trace a circle for the year, + Where ever since the Seasons wheel, + And tread on one another's heel. + + 'Tis well, said Jove, and for consent + Thundering he shook the firmament; + Our umpire Time shall have his way, + With Care I let the creature stay: + Let business vex him, avarice blind, + Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind, 90 + Let error act, opinion speak, + And want afflict, and sickness break, + And anger burn, dejection chill, + And joy distract, and sorrow kill, + Till, arm'd by Care, and taught to mow, + Time draws the long destructive blow; + And wasted Man, whose quick decay, + Comes hurrying on before his day, + Shall only find, by this decree, + The Soul flies sooner back to me. 100 + + * * * * * + + + AN IMITATION OF SOME FRENCH VERSES. + + Relentless Time! destroying power + Whom stone and brass obey, + Who giv'st to every flying hour + To work some new decay; + Unheard, unheeded, and unseen, + Thy secret saps prevail, + And ruin Man, a nice machine + By Nature form'd to fail. + My change arrives; the change I meet, + Before I thought it nigh. 10 + My spring, my years of pleasure fleet, + And all their beauties die. + In age I search, and only find + A poor unfruitful gain, + Grave Wisdom stalking slow behind, + Oppress'd with loads of pain. + My ignorance could once beguile, + And fancied joys inspire; + My errors cherish'd hope to smile + On newly-born desire. 20 + But now experience shows the bliss, + For which I fondly sought, + Not worth the long impatient wish, + And ardour of the thought. + My youth met Fortune fair array'd; + In all her pomp she shone, + And might perhaps have well essay'd + To make her gifts my own: + But when I saw the blessings shower + On some unworthy mind, 30 + I left the chase, and own'd the power + Was justly painted blind. + I pass'd the glories which adorn + The splendid courts of kings, + And while the persons moved my scorn. + I rose to scorn the things. + My manhood felt a vigorous fire, + By love increased the more; + But years with coming years conspire + To break the chains I wore. 40 + In weakness safe, the sex I see + With idle lustre shine; + For what are all their joys to me, + Which cannot now be mine? + But hold--I feel my gout decrease, + My troubles laid to rest, + And truths which would disturb my peace, + Are painful truths at best. + Vainly the time I have to roll + In sad reflection flies; 50 + Ye fondling passions of my soul! + Ye sweet deceits! arise. + I wisely change the scene within, + To things that used to please; + In pain, philosophy is spleen, + In health, 'tis only ease. + + * * * * * + + + A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH. + + By the blue taper's trembling light, + No more I waste the wakeful night, + Intent with endless view to pore + The schoolmen and the sages o'er: + Their books from wisdom widely stray, + Or point at best the longest way. + I'll seek a readier path, and go + Where wisdom's surely taught below. + + How deep yon azure dyes the sky, + Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie, 10 + While through their ranks in silver pride + The nether crescent seems to glide! + The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, + The lake is smooth and clear beneath, + Where once again the spangled show + Descends to meet our eyes below. + The grounds which on the right aspire, + In dimness from the view retire: + The left presents a place of graves, + Whose wall the silent water laves. 20 + That steeple guides thy doubtful sight, + Among the livid gleams of night. + There pass, with melancholy state, + By all the solemn heaps of fate, + And think, as softly-sad you tread + Above the venerable dead, + 'Time was, like thee they life possess'd, + And time shall be, that thou shalt rest.' + + Those graves, with bending osier bound, + That nameless heave the crumbled ground, 30 + Quick to the glancing thought disclose + Where Toil and Poverty repose. + + The flat smooth stones that bear a name, + The chisel's slender help to fame, + Which, e'er our set of friends decay, + Their frequent steps may wear away, + A middle race of mortals own, + Men half-ambitious, all unknown. + + The marble tombs that rise on high, + Whose dead in vaulted arches lie, 40 + Whose pillars swell with sculptured stones, + Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones;-- + These (all the poor remains of state) + Adorn the rich, or praise the great; + Who while on earth in fame they live, + Are senseless of the fame they give. + + Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades, + The bursting earth unveils the shades! + All slow, and wan, and wrapp'd with shrouds, + They rise in visionary crowds, 50 + And all with sober accent cry, + 'Think, mortal, what it is to die!' + + Now from yon black and funeral yew, + That bathes the charnal-house with dew, + Methinks I hear a voice begin; + (Ye ravens, cease your croaking din, + Ye tolling clocks, no time resound + O'er the long lake and midnight ground!) + It sends a peal of hollow groans, + Thus speaking from among the bones: 60 + + 'When men my scythe and darts supply, + How great a king of fears am I! + They view me like the last of things: + They make, and then they dread, my stings. + Fools! if you less provoked your fears, + No more my spectre-form appears. + Death's but a path that must be trod, + If man would ever pass to God: + A port of calms, a state of ease + From the rough rage of swelling seas. 70 + + Why, then, thy flowing sable stoles, + Deep pendent cypress, mourning poles, + Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds, + Long palls, drawn hearses, cover'd steeds, + And plumes of black, that, as they tread, + Nod o'er the 'scutcheons of the dead? + + Nor can the parted body know, + Nor wants the soul these forms of woe: + As men who long in prison dwell, + With lamps that glimmer round the cell, 80 + Whene'er their suffering years are run, + Spring forth to greet the glittering sun: + Such joy, though far transcending sense, + Have pious souls at parting hence. + On earth, and in the body placed, + A few, and evil years, they waste: + But when their chains are cast aside, + See the glad scene unfolding wide, + Clap the glad wing and tower away, + And mingle with the blaze of day!' 90 + + * * * * * + + + A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT. + + Lovely, lasting peace of mind! + Sweet delight of human kind! + Heavenly born, and bred on high, + To crown the favourites of the sky + With more of happiness below, + Than victors in a triumph know! + Whither, oh! whither art thou fled, + To lay thy meek, contented head? + What happy region dost thou please + To make the seat of calm and ease? 10 + + Ambition searches all its sphere + Of pomp and state, to meet thee there. + Increasing Avarice would find + Thy presence in its gold enshrined. + The bold adventurer ploughs his way, + Through rocks amidst the foaming sea, + To gain thy love; and then perceives + Thou wert not in the rocks and waves. + The silent heart which grief assails, + Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales, 20 + Sees daisies open, rivers run, + And seeks (as I have vainly done) + Amusing thought; but learns to know + That Solitude's the nurse of Woe. + No real happiness is found + In trailing purple o'er the ground; + Or in a soul exalted high, + To range the circuit of the sky, + Converse with stars above, and know + All Nature in its forms below; 30 + The rest it seeks, in seeking dies, + And doubts at last for knowledge rise. + + Lovely, lasting peace appear! + This world itself, if thou art here, + Is once again with Eden bless'd, + And Man contains it in his breast. + + 'Twas thus, as under shade I stood, + I sung my wishes to the wood, + And, lost in thought, no more perceived + The branches whisper as they waved: 40 + It seem'd as all the quiet place + Confess'd the presence of the Grace, + When thus she spoke:--'Go, rule thy will; + Bid thy wild passions all be still; + Know God--and bring thy heart to know + The joys which from Religion flow: + Then every Grace shall prove its guest, + And I'll be there to crown the rest.' + + Oh! by yonder mossy seat, + In my hours of sweet retreat; 50 + Might I thus my soul employ, + With sense of gratitude and joy! + Raised as ancient prophets were, + In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer; + Pleasing all men, hurting none, + Pleased and bless'd with God alone: + Then, while the gardens take my sight + With all the colours of delight; + While silver waters glide along, + To please my ear, and court my song: 60 + I'll lift my voice, and tune my string, + And Thee, Great Source of Nature! sing. + + The sun, that walks his airy way, + To light the world, and give the day; + The moon, that shines with borrow'd light; + The stars, that gild the gloomy night; + The seas, that roll unnumber'd waves; + The wood, that spreads its shady leaves; + The field, whose ears conceal the grain, + The yellow treasure of the plain;-- 70 + All of these, and all I see, + Should be sung, and sung by me: + They speak their Maker as they can, + But want, and ask, the tongue of man. + + Go, search among your idle dreams, + Your busy, or your vain extremes; + And find a life of equal bliss, + Or own the next begun in this! + + * * * * * + + + THE HERMIT. + + Far in a wild, unknown to public view, + From youth to age a reverend hermit grew; + The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, + His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well: + Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days, + Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. + + A life so sacred, such serene repose, + Seem'd heaven itself, till one suggestion rose: + That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey, + This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway; 10 + His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, + And all the tenor of his soul is lost: + So when a smooth expanse receives impress'd + Calm Nature's image on its watery breast, + Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, + And skies beneath with answering colours glow: + But if a stone the gentle scene divide, + Swift ruffling circles curl on every side, + And glimmering fragments of a broken sun, + Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. 20 + + To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, + To find if books or swains report it right, + (For yet by swains alone the world he knew, + Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew) + He quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore, + And fix'd the scallop in his hat before; + Then with the sun a rising journey went, + Sedate to think, and watching each event. + + The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, + And long and lonesome was the wild to pass; 30 + But when the southern sun had warm'd the day, + A youth came posting o'er a crossing way; + His raiment decent, his complexion fair, + And soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair. + Then near approaching, 'Father, hail!' he cried, + 'And hail, my Son!' the reverend sire replied; + Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, + And talk of various kind deceived the road. + Till each with other pleased, and loth to part, + While in their age they differ, join in heart: 40 + Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, + Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. + + Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day + Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray; + Nature in silence bid the world repose; + When near the road a stately palace rose: + There by the moon through ranks of trees they pass, + Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass. + It chanced the noble master of the dome, + Still made his house the wandering stranger's home: 50 + Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, + Proved the vain flourish of expensive ease. + The pair arrive: the liveried servants wait; + Their lord receives them at the pompous gate; + The table groans with costly piles of food, + And all is more than hospitably good; + Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, + Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. + + At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day, + Along the wide canals the Zephyrs play; 60 + Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, + And shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep. + Up rise the guests, obedient to the call; + An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall; + Rich luscious wine a golden goblet graced, + Which the kind master forced the guests to taste. + Then pleased and thankful, from the porch they go, + And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe; + His cup was vanish'd--for in secret guise + The younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize. 70 + + As one who spies a serpent in his way, + Glistening and basking in the summer ray, + Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near, + Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear: + So seem'd the sire, when, far upon the road, + The shining spoil his wily partner show'd. + He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart, + And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part: + Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, + That generous actions meet a base reward. 80 + + While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, + The changing skies hang out their sable clouds; + A sound in air presaged approaching rain, + And beasts to cover scud across the plain. + Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, + To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat. + 'Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, + And strong, and large, and unimproved around; + Its owner's temper, timorous and severe, + Unkind and griping, caused a desert there. 90 + + As near the miser's heavy doors they drew, + Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew; + The nimble lightning, mix'd with showers, began, + And o'er their heads loud-rolling thunder ran. + Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, + Driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. + At length some pity warm'd the master's breast, + ('Twas then his threshold first received a guest) + Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, + And half he welcomes in the shivering pair; 100 + One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, + And Nature's fervour through their limbs recalls: + Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager[1] wine, + (Each hardly granted) served them both to dine; + And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, + A ready warning bid them part in peace. + + With still remark the pondering hermit view'd, + In one so rich, a life so poor and rude; + And why should such, (within himself he cried,) + Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside? 110 + But what new marks of wonder soon took place, + In every settling feature of his face, + When from his vest the young companion bore + That cup, the generous landlord own'd before, + And paid profusely with the precious bowl + The stinted kindness of this churlish soul! + + But now the clouds in airy tumult fly, + The sun emerging opes an azure sky; + A fresher green the smelling leaves display, + And glittering as they tremble, cheer the day: 120 + The weather courts them from the poor retreat, + And the glad master bolts the wary gate. + + While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought + With all the travail of uncertain thought; + His partner's acts without their cause appear, + 'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here: + Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, + Lost and confounded with the various shows. + + Now night's dim shades again involve the sky; + Again the wanderers want a place to lie, 130 + Again they search, and find a lodging nigh. + The soil improved around, the mansion neat, + And neither poorly low, nor idly great: + It seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind, + Content, and not for praise, but virtue kind. + + Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, + Then bliss the mansion, and the master greet: + Their greeting fair bestow'd, with modest guise, + The courteous master hears, and thus replies: + + 'Without a vain, without a grudging heart, 140 + To Him who gives us all, I yield a part; + From Him you come, for Him accept it here, + A frank and sober, more than costly cheer.' + + He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, + Then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed, + When the grave household round his hall repair, + Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. + + At length the world, renew'd by calm repose, + Was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose; + Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept, 150 + Near the closed cradle where an infant slept, + And writhed his neck: the landlord's little pride-- + Oh, strange return!--grew black, and gasp'd, and died. + Horror of horrors! what! his only son! + How look'd our hermit when the fact was done? + Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, + And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart. + + Confused, and struck with silence at the deed, + He flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with speed. + His steps the youth pursues; the country lay 160 + Perplex'd with roads, a servant show'd the way: + A river cross'd the path; the passage o'er + Was nice to find; the servant trode before; + Long arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, + And deep the waves beneath the bending glide. + The youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin, + Approach'd the careless guide, and thrust him in; + Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head, + Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. + + Wild sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, 170 + He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries: + 'Detested wretch!'--But scarce his speech began, + When the strange partner seem'd no longer man: + His youthful face grew more serenely sweet; + His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet; + Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair; + Celestial odours breathe through purpled air; + And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, + Wide at his back their gradual plumes display; + The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, 180 + And moves in all the majesty of light. + + Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, + Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do; + Surprise in secret chains his word suspends, + And in a calm his settling temper ends. + But silence here the beauteous angel broke, + The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke: + + 'Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, + In sweet memorial rise before the throne: + These charms, success in our bright region find, 190 + And force an angel down, to calm thy mind; + For this commission'd, I forsook the sky-- + Nay, cease to kneel--thy fellow-servant I! + + 'Then know the truth of government divine, + And let these scruples be no longer thine. + + 'The Maker justly claims that world He made, + In this the right of Providence is laid; + Its sacred majesty through all depends + On using second means to work His ends: + 'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, 200 + The power exerts His attributes on high, + Your actions uses, not controls your will, + And bids the doubting sons of men "be still!" + + 'What strange events can strike with more surprise, + Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes? + Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty just, + And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust! + + 'The great, vain man, who fared on costly food, + Whose life was too luxurious to be good; + Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, 210 + And forced his guests to morning draughts of wine, + Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, + And still he welcomes, but with less of cost. + + 'The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door, + Ne'er moved in duty to the wandering poor; + With him I left the cup, to teach his mind + That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. + Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, + And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. + Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, 220 + With heaping coals of fire upon its head; + In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, + And, loose from dross, the silver runs below. + + 'Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, + But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God; + Child of his age, for him he lived in pain, + And measured back his steps to earth again. + To what excesses had his dotage run? + But God, to save the father, took the son. + To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go, 230 + And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow. + The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, + Now owns in tears the punishment was just. + + 'But how had all his fortune felt a wrack, + Had that false servant sped in safety back? + This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal, + And what a fund of charity would fail! + + 'Thus Heaven instructs thy mind: this trial o'er, + Depart in peace, resign'd, and sin no more.' + + On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew 240 + The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew. + Thus look'd Elisha, when, to mount on high, + His master took the chariot of the sky; + The fiery pomp ascending left the view; + The prophet gazed, and wish'd to follow too. + + The bending hermit here a prayer begun, + 'Lord! as in heaven, on earth Thy will be done.' + Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place, + And pass'd a life of piety and peace. + +[Footnote 1: 'Eager:' i. e., sharp and sour.] + + * * * * * + +END OF PARNELL'S POEMS. + + * * * * * + + + +THE LIFE AND POEMS + +OF + +THOMAS GRAY. + +How dearly, at one time, and how cheaply at another, does Genius +purchase immortal fame! Here a Milton + + "Scorns delights, and lives laborious days," + +that he may, through sufferings, sorrows, and the strainings of a long +life, pile up a large and lofty poem;--and there a Gray, in the +intervals of other studies, produces a few short but exquisite verses, +which become instantly and for ever popular, and render his name as +dear to many, if not dearer, than that of the sublimer bard; for there +are probably thousands who would prefer to have written the "Elegy +written in a Country Churchyard," instead of the "Paradise Lost." + +Thomas Gray was born in Cornhill, London, on the 26th December 1716. +His father was Mr Philip Gray, a respectable scrivener, and his +mother's name was Dorothy Antrobus. Gray was the fifth of twelve +children, and the only one that survived. His life was saved in +infancy by his mother, who, during a paroxysm which attacked her son, +opened a vein with her own hand. This, and many other acts of maternal +tenderness, rendered her memory unspeakably dear to the poet, who +seldom mentioned her, after her death, "without a sigh." He was sent +to study at Eton College, the happy days spent in which he has so +beautifully commemorated in his "Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton +College." It added to his comfort here that his maternal uncle, Mr +Antrobus, was an assistant-teacher. From Eton he passed to Pembroke +College, Cambridge, where he was admitted as a pensioner in 1734, in +the nineteenth year of his age. He had at Eton become intimate with +Horace Walpole and with Richard West, a young man of high promise, who +died early. It is worth noticing that, during his residence both at +Eton and Cambridge, he was supported entirely out of the separate +industry of his mother, his father refusing him all aid. + +At Cambridge, Gray studied very hard, attending less to mathematics +than to classical literature, modern languages, history, and poetry. +He aspired to be a universally accomplished as well as a minutely +learned man. His compositions, from 1734 to 1738, were translations +from Italian into Latin and English, and one or two small pieces of +original verse. In September 1738, he returned to his father's house, +and remained there for six months, doing little except carrying on a +correspondence he had begun at Cambridge with West and other friends. +Correspondence, from the first and to the last, was the best OUTCOME +of Gray's mind--he felt himself most at home in it; and, next to +Cowper's, his letters are the most delightful in the English language. + +He had intended to study law, but was diverted from his purpose by +Horace Walpole, who invited him to take in his Company the "grand +tour." To no Briton, since Milton, could travel have been more +congenial or more instructive than to Gray. He that would travel to +advantage must first have travelled in mind all the countries he +visits, and must be learned in their literature, their politics, their +scenery, and their antiquities, ere ever he sets a foot upon their +shores. To Italy and France, Gray went as to favourite studies, not as +to relaxations; and spent his time in observing their famous scenes +with the eye of a poet--cataloguing their paintings in the spirit of a +connoisseur--perfecting his knowledge of their languages--examining +minutely the principles of their architecture and music--comparing +their present aspect with the old classical descriptions; and writing +home an elegant epistolary account of all his sights, and all +his speculations. He saw Paris--visited Geneva--passed to +Florence--hurried to Rome on the tidings of Pope Clement XII's death, +to see the installation of his successor--stood beside the cataracts +of Tivoli and Terni, and might have seen in both, emblems of his own +genius, which, like them, was beautiful and powerful, but +artificial--took a rapid run to Naples, and was charmed beyond +expression with its bay, its climate, and its fruitage--and was one of +the first English travellers to visit Herculaneum, discovered only the +year before (1739), and to wonder at that strange and solemn rehearsal +of the resurrection exhibited in its streets. From Naples he returned +to Florence, where he continued eleven months, and began a Latin poem, +"De Principiis Cogitandi." He then, on the 24th of April 1741, set off +with Walpole for Bologna and Reggio. At this latter place occurred the +celebrated quarrel between the two travellers. The causes and +circumstances of this are involved in considerable obscurity. +Dissimilarity of tastes and habits was probably at the bottom of it. +Gray was an enthusiastic scholar; Walpole was then a gay and giddy +voluptuary, although predestined to sour down into the most +cold-blooded and cynical of gossips. They parted at Reggio, to meet +only once afterwards at Strawberry Hill, where Gray long after visited +Walpole at his own invitation, but told him frankly he never could be +on the same terms of friendship again. Left now to pursue his journey +alone, he went to Venice, and thence came back through Padua and Milan +to France. On his way between Turin and Lyons, he turned aside to see +again the noble mountainous scenery surrounding the Grande Chartreuse +in Dauphine; and in the album kept by the fathers wrote his Alcaic +Ode, testifying to his admiration of a scene where, he says, "every +precipice and cliff was pregnant, with religion and poetry." + +Two months after his return to England, his father died, somewhat +impoverished by improvidence. Gray, thinking himself too poor to study +the law, sent his mother and a maiden sister to reside at Stoke, near +Windsor, and retired to Peterhouse, Cambridge, where he resumed his +classical and poetical pursuits. To West, who by this time was +declining in health, he sent part of "Agrippina," a tragedy he had +commenced. West objected to the length and prosiness of Agrippina's +speeches. These were afterwards altered by Mason, in accordance with +West's suggestions; but Gray was discouraged, and has left "Agrippina" +a Torso. The subject was unpleasing. To have treated adequately the +character of Nero, would have required more than the genius of Gray; +and the language of the fragment is distinguished rather by rhetorical +burnish than by poetical spirit and heat. We have not thought it +necessary to reprint it, nor several besides of the fragmentary and +inferior productions of this poet, which Mason, too, thought proper +to omit. + +Gray now plunged into the _mare magnum_ of classical literature. With +greater energy and exclusiveness than before, he read Thucydides, +Theocritus, and Anacreon; he translated parts of Propertius, and he +wrote a heroic epistle in Latin, after the manner of Ovid, and a Greek +epigram. This last he communicated to West, who was now in +Hertfordshire, waiting the approach of the Angel of Death. To the same +dear friend he sent his "Ode to Spring," which he had written under +his mother's roof at Stoke. He was too late. West was dead before it +arrived. This amiable and gifted person, who was thought by many +superior in natural genius to his friend, and whose name is for ever +connected with that of Gray, expired on the 1st of June 1742, and now +reposes in the chancel of Hatfield Church. We strongly suspect that it +was he whom Gray had in his eye in the close of his "Elegy." + +Autumn has often been thought propitious to genius, especially when +its tender sun-light is still further sweetened and saddened by the +joy of grief. In the autumn of this year, Gray, who was peculiarly +susceptible to skiey influences, wrote some of his best poetry--his +"Hymn to Adversity," his "Distant Prospect of Eton College," and +commenced his "Elegy written in a Country Churchyard." A Sonnet in +English, and the Apostrophe which opens the fourth book of his "De +Principiis Cogitandi," bore testimony to his esteem for the character +and his regret for the premature loss of Richard West. + +To Cambridge Gray seems to have had little attachment; but partly from +the smallness of his income, and partly from the access he had to its +libraries, he was found there to the last, constantly complaining, and +always continuing, like the _statue_ of a murmurer. In the winter of +1742 he was admitted Bachelor of Civil Law; and in acknowledgment of +the honour of the admission, began an "Address to Ignorance," which it +is no great loss to his fame that he never finished. Hazlitt completed +what appears to have been Gray's design in that admirable and +searching paper of his, entitled, "The Ignorance of the Learned," in +which he shows how ill mere learning supplies the want of common sense +and practical knowledge, as well as of talent and genius. + +In 1744, through the intervention of a lady, the difference between +Walpole and Gray was so far made up, that they resumed their +correspondence, although never their intimacy. About this time he got +acquainted with Mason, then a scholar in St John's College, who became +a minor Boswell to a minor Johnson; although he used liberties with +Gray's correspondence and poetry, such as Boswell never durst have +attempted with his idol. Mason had first introduced himself to Gray by +showing him some MS. poetry. With the famous Dr Conyers Middleton, +too, he became intimate, and lived to lament his death. + +In 1747, Dodsley published for him his "Ode to Eton College," the +first of Gray's productions which appeared in print. It excited no +notice whatever. Walpole wished him to publish his poems in +conjunction with the remains of West; but this he declined, on account +of want of materials--perhaps also feeling the great superiority of +his own poetry. At Walpole's request, however, he wrote an ode on the +death of his favourite cat! + +Greek became now his constant study. He read its more recondite +authors, such as Pausanias, Athenaeus, Pindar, Lysias, and AEschylus, +with great care, and commenced the preparation of a Table of Greek +Chronology, on a very minute and elaborate scale. + +In 1749 he lost his aunt, Mrs Antrobus, and her death, which he felt +as a heavy affliction, led him to complete his "Elegy," which he sent +to Walpole, who handed it about in MS., to the great delight of those +who were privileged to peruse it. When published, it sold rapidly, and +continues still the most popular of his poems. + +In March 1753, his beloved and revered mother died, and he erected +over her dust a monument, with an inscription testifying to the +strength of his filial love and sorrow. In 1755 he finished his "Ode +on the Progress of Poetry," and in the same year began his "Bard." All +his poems, however short, were most laboriously composed, written and +rewritten, subjected, in whole or in part, to the criticism of his +friends, and, according to their verdict, either published, or left +fragments, or consigned to the flames. About this time he begins, in +his letters, to complain of depression of spirits, of severe attacks +of the gout, of sleepless nights, feverish mornings, and heavy days. +He was now, and during the rest of his life, to pay the penalty of a +lettered indolence and studious sloth, of a neglected body and an +over-cultivated mind. The accident, it is said, of seeing a blind +Welsh harper performing on a harp, excited him to finish his "Bard," +which in MS. appears to have divided the opinion of his friends, as it +still does that of the critics. + +In 1758 Gray left Peterhouse, owing to some real or imaginary offence, +and removed to Pembroke Hall, where he was surrounded by his old and +intimate friends. The next year he carried his two Odes to London, as +carefully as if they had been two Epics. Walpole says that he +"snatched them out of Dodsley's hands, and made them 'the first-fruits +of his own press at Strawberry Hill,' where a thousand copies were +printed. When published, they attracted much attention, but did not +gain universal applause. Obscurity was the principal charge brought +against them. Their friends, however, including Warburton, Hurd, +Mason, and Garrick, were vehement in their admiration, and loud in +their encomiums. In this year Colley Cibber, the laureate, died, and +the office was offered to Gray, with the peculiar and highly +honourable condition, that he was to hold it as a sinecure. The poet, +however, refused, on the ground, as he tells Mason, that the office +had 'hitherto humbled its possessor.'" + +In 1758, he composed, for his amusement, a "Catalogue of the +Antiquities, Houses, &c., in England and Wales," which was, after his +death, printed and distributed by Mason among his friends. + +The next year the British Museum was opened (15th January 1759), and +Gray went to London to read and transcribe the MSS. collected there +from the Harleian and Cottoman libraries. During his residence in the +capital, appeared two odes to "Obscurity" and "Oblivion," in ridicule +of his lyrics, from the pens of Colman and Lloyd, full of spirited +satire, which failed, however, to disturb the poet's equanimity. Like +many fastidious writers, he was more afraid of his own taste, and of +the strictures of good-natured friends, than of the attacks of foes. +In 1762 he applied for the Professorship of Modern History, vacant by +the death of Turner; but it was given to Brochet, the tutor of Sir +James Lowther. + +In 1765 he took a tour to Scotland, and saw many of its more +interesting points--Stirling, Loch Tay, the Pass of Killierankie, and +Glammis Castle, where he met Beattie. He wrote a very entertaining +account of the journey, in his letters to his friends. He was offered +an LL.D. by the College of Aberdeen; but out of respect to his own +University, declined the honour. In 1767 he added his "Imitations of +Welsh and Norwegian Poetry" to his other productions. Sir Walter Scott +tells us, that when Gray's poems reached the Orkney and Shetland +Isles, and when the "Fatal Sisters" was repeated by a clergyman to +some of the old inhabitants, they remembered having sung it all in its +native language to him years before. In 1768, the Professorship of +Modern History falling again vacant by Mr Brochet's death, the Duke of +Grafton instantly bestowed it on Gray, who, out of gratitude, wrote an +ode on the installation of his patron to the Chancellorship of +Cambridge University. He went from witnessing this ceremony to the +Lakes of Cumberland, and kept an interesting journal of his tour to +that then little known and most enchanting region. In 1770, he visited +Wales; but owing probably to poor health, has left no notes of his +journey. In May the next year, his health became worse, his spirits +more depressed, an incurable cough preyed on his lungs; he resigned +his Professorship, and shortly after removed to London. There he +rallied a little, and returned to Cambridge, where, on the 24th of +July, he was seized with a severe attack of gout in the stomach. Of +this he expired on the 30th, in the 55th year of his age, without any +apparent fear of death. He was buried by the side of his mother, in +the churchyard of Stoke. A monument was erected by Mason to his +memory, in Westminster Abbey. + +Gray was a brilliant bookworm. In private he was a quiet, abstracted, +dreaming scholar, although in the company of a few friends he could +become convivial and witty. His heart, however, was always in his +study. His portrait gives you the impression of great fastidiousness, +and almost feminine delicacy of face, as well as of considerable +self-esteem. His face has more of the critic than of the poet. His +learning and accomplishments have been equalled perhaps by no poet +since Milton. He knew the Classics, the Northern Scalds, the Italian +poets and historians, the French novelists, Architecture, Zoology, +Painting, Sculpture, Botany, Music, and Antiquities. But he liked +better, he said, to read than to write. You figure him always lounging +with a volume in his hand, on a sofa, and crying out, "Be mine to read +eternal novels of Marivaux and Crebillon." Against his moral character +there exists no imputation; and notwithstanding a sneering hint of +Walpole's, his religious creed seems to have been orthodox. + +With all his learning and genius, he has done little. His letters and +poems remind you of a few scattered leaves, surviving the +conflagration of the Alexandrian library. The very popularity of the +scraps which such a writer leaves, secures the torments of Tantalus to +his numerous admirers in all after ages. His letters, in their grace, +freedom, minuteness of detail, occasional playfulness, delicious +_asides_ of gossip, and easy vigour of description, are more worthy of +his powers, as a whole, than his poetry. The poetic fragments he has +left are rarely of such merit as to excite any wish that they had been +finished. His genius, although true and exquisite, was limited in its +range, and hidebound in its movements. You see his genius, like a +child, always casting a look of terror round on its older companion +and guardian--his taste. Like Campbell, "he often spreads his wings +grandly, but shrinks back timidly to his perch again, and seems afraid +of the shadow of his own fame." Within his own range, however, he is +as strong as he is delicate and refined. His two principal Odes have, +as we hinted, divided much the opinion of critics. Dr Johnson has +assailed them in his worst style of captious and word-catching +criticism. Now, that there is much smoke around their fire, we grant. +But we argue that there is genuine fire amidst their smoke,--first, +from the fact that so many of their lines, such as, + + "The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love;" + "The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye;" + "Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves;" + "Sailing with supreme dominion + Through the azure deep of air;" + "Beneath the good how far, but far above the great" + "High-born Hoel's harp, and soft Llewellyn's lay," + +are so often and admiringly quoted; and because, secondly, we can +trace the influence of the "Progress of Poetry," and of the "Bard," on +much of the higher song that has succeeded,--on the poetry of Bowles, +Coleridge, Wordsworth, Campbell, and Shelley. Gray was not a sun +shining in his strength, but he was the morning star, prognosticating +the coming of a warmer and brighter poetic day. + +He that can see no merit in the "Ode on the Distant Prospect of Eton +College," can surely never have been a boy. The boy's heart beats in +its every line, and yet all the experiences of boyhood are seen and +shown in the sober light of those + + "Years which bring the philosophic mind." + +Here lies the complex charm of the poem. The unthinking gaiety of +boyhood, its light sports, its airy gladness, its springy motions, the +"tears forgot as soon as shed," the "sunshine of the breast" of that +delightful period--are contrasted with the still and often sombre +reflection, the grave joys, the carking cares, the stern concentred +passions, the serious pastimes, the spare but sullen and burning +tears, the sad smiles of manhood; and contrasted by one who is +realising both with equal vividness and intensity--because he is in +age a man, and in memory and imagination an Eton schoolboy still. The +breezes of boyhood return and blow on a head on which gray hairs are +beginning "here and there" to whiten; and he cries-- + + "I feel the gales that from ye blow + A momentary bliss bestow, + As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, + My weary soul they seem to soothe, + And redolent of joy and youth, + To breathe a second spring." + +Dr Johnson makes a peculiarly poor and unworthy objection to the next +stanza of the poem. Speaking of the address to the Thames-- + + "Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen + Full many a sprightly race;" + +he says, "Father Thames has no better means of knowing than himself." +He should have left this objection to those wretched _mechanical_ +critics who abound in the present day. He forgot that in his own +"Rasselas" he had invoked the Nile, as the great "Father of waters," +to tell, if, in any of the provinces through which he rolled, he did +not hear the language of distress. Critics, like liars, should have +good memories. + +His remark that the "Prospect of Eton College" suggests nothing to +Gray which every beholder does not equally think and feel, is, in +reality, a compliment to the simplicity and naturalness of the strain. +Common thought and feeling crystalised, is the staple of much of our +best poetry. Gray says in a poetical way, what every one might have +thought and felt, but no one but he could have so beautifully +expressed. To the spirited translations from the Norse and Welsh, the +only objection urged by Dr Johnson is, that their "language is unlike +the language of other poets"--an objection which would tell still more +powerfully against Milton, Collins, and Young, not to speak of the +"chartered libertines" of our more modern song. But a running growl of +prejudice is heard in every sentence of Gray's Life by Johnson, and +tends far more to injure the critic than the poet. + +In his "Elegy written in a Country Churchyard," Gray has caught, +concentred, and turned into a fine essence, the substance of a +thousand meditations among the tombs. One of its highest points of +merit, conceded by Dr Johnson, is essentially the same with which he +had found fault in the "Ode to Eton College." "The poem abounds with +images which find a mirror in every mind, and with sentiments to which +every bosom returns an echo." Everything is in intense keeping. The +images are few, but striking; the language is severely simple; the +thought is at once obvious and original, at once clear and profound, +and many of the couplets seem carefully and consciously chiselled for +immortality, to become mottoes for every churchyard in the kingdom, +and to "teach the rustic moralist to die," while the country remains +beautiful, and while death continues to inspire fear. And with what +daring felicity of genius does the author introduce, ere the close, a +living but anonymous figure amidst the company of the silent dead, and +contrive to unite the interest of a personal story, the charm of a +mystery, and the solemnity of a moral meditation, into one fine whole! +We know of but one objection of much weight to this exquisite elegy. +There is scarcely the faintest or most faltering allusion to the +doctrine of the resurrection. Death has it all his own way in this +citadel of his power. The poet never points his finger to the distant +horizon, where life and immortality are beginning to colour the clouds +with the promise of the eternal morning. The elegy might almost have +been written by a Pagan. In this point, Beattie, in his "Hermit," has +much the advantage of his friend Gray; for _his_ eye is anointed to +behold a blessed vision, and his voice is strengthened thus to sing-- + + "On the pale cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, + And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." + +Nevertheless, had Gray been known, not for his scholarship, not for +his taste, not for his letters and minor poems, not for his reputed +powers and unrivalled accomplishments, but solely for this elegy--had +only it and his mere name survived, it alone would have entitled him +to rank with Britain's best poets. + + * * * * * + + +GRAY'S POEMS. + + ODES. + + I.--ON THE SPRING. + + 1. Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours, + Fair Venus' train, appear, + Disclose the long-expecting flowers, + And wake the purple year! + The Attic warbler pours her throat + Responsive to the cuckoo's note, + The untaught harmony of Spring: + While, whispering pleasure as they fly, + Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky + Their gather'd fragrance fling. + + 2. Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch + A broader, browner shade. + Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech + O'ercanopies the glade, + Beside some water's rushy brink + With me the Muse shall sit, and think + (At ease reclined in rustic state) + How vain the ardour of the crowd, + How low, how little, are the proud, + How indigent the great! + + 3. Still is the toiling hand of Care; + The panting herds repose: + Yet hark! how through the peopled air + The busy murmur glows! + The insect youth are on the wing, + Eager to taste the honied spring, + And float amid the liquid noon; + Some lightly o'er the current skim, + Some show their gaily gilded trim, + Quick glancing to the sun. + + 4. To Contemplation's sober eye, + Such is the race of Man, + And they that creep, and they that fly, + Shall end where they began. + Alike the busy and the gay + But flutter through life's little day, + In Fortune's varying colours dress'd; + Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, + Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance + They leave, in dust to rest. + + 5. Methinks I hear, in accents low, + The sportive kind reply, + Poor Moralist! and what art thou? + A solitary fly! + Thy joys no glittering female meets, + No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, + No painted plumage to display: + On hasty wings thy youth is flown, + Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone-- + We frolic while 'tis May. + + * * * * * + + + II.--ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, + + DROWNED IN A CHINA TUB OF GOLD FISHES. + + 1. 'Twas on a lofty vase's side, + Where China's gayest art had dyed + The azure flowers that blow, + Demurest of the tabby kind, + The pensive Selima, reclined, + Gazed on the lake below. + + 2. Her conscious tail her joy declared; + The fair round face, the snowy beard, + The velvet of her paws, + Her coat that with the tortoise vies, + Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes, + She saw, and purr'd applause. + + 3. Still had she gazed, but,' midst the tide, + Two angel forms were seen to glide, + The Genii of the stream; + Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue, + Through richest purple, to the view + Betray'd a golden gleam. + + 4. The hapless nymph with wonder saw; + A whisker first, and then a claw, + With many an ardent wish, + She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize: + What female heart can gold despise? + What cat's averse to fish? + + 5. Presumptuous maid! with looks intent, + Again she stretch'd, again she bent, + Nor knew the gulf between: + (Maligant Fate sat by and smiled,) + The slippery verge her feet beguiled; + She tumbled headlong in. + + 6. Eight times emerging from the flood, + She mew'd to every watery god + Some speedy aid to send. + No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, + Nor cruel Tom or Susan heard: + A favourite has no friend! + + 7. From hence, ye beauties! undeceived, + Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, + And be with caution bold: + Not all that tempts your wandering eyes, + And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, + Nor all that glisters gold. + + * * * * * + + + III--ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. + + [Greek: Anthropos ikanae profasis eis to dustuchein] + + MENANDER. + + 1 Ye distant spires! ye antique towers! + That crown the watery glade + Where grateful Science still adores + Her Henry's (1) holy shade; + And ye that from the stately brow + Of Windsor's heights the expanse below + Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, + Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among + Wanders the hoary Thames along + His silver-winding way: + + 2 Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! + Ah, fields beloved in vain! + Where once my careless childhood stray'd, + A stranger yet to pain! + I feel the gales that from ye blow + A momentary bliss bestow, + As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, + My weary soul they seem to soothe, + And, redolent of joy and youth, + To breathe a second spring. + + 3 Say, father Thames! for thou hast seen + Full many a sprightly race, + Disporting on thy margent green, + The paths of pleasure trace, + Who foremost now delight to cleave + With pliant arm thy glassy wave? + The captive linnet which enthral? + What idle progeny succeed + To chase the rolling circle's speed, + Or urge the flying ball? + + 4 While some, on earnest business bent, + Their murmuring labours ply, + 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint, + To sweeten liberty: + Some bold adventurers disdain + The limits of their little reign, + And unknown regions dare descry; + Still as they run they look behind. + They hear a voice in every wind, + And snatch a fearful joy. + + 5 Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed, + Less pleasing when possess'd; + The tear forgot as soon as shed, + The sunshine of the breast; + Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, + Wild wit, invention ever new, + And lively cheer, of vigour born; + The thoughtless day, the easy night, + The spirits pure, the slumbers light, + That fly the approach of morn. + + 6 Alas! regardless of their doom, + The little victims play; + No sense have they of ills to come, + Nor care beyond to-day: + Yet see how all around them wait, + The ministers of human fate, + And black Misfortune's baleful train! + Ah! show them where in ambush stand, + To seize their prey, the murderous band! + Ah! tell them they are men! + + 7 These shall the fury Passions tear, + The vultures of the mind, + Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, + And Shame that skulks behind; + Or pining Love shall waste their youth, + Or Jealousy, with rankling teeth, + That inly gnaws the secret heart; + And Envy wan, and faded Care, + Grim-visaged, comfortless Despair, + And Sorrow's piercing dart. + + 8 Ambition this shall tempt to rise, + Then whirl the wretch from high, + To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, + And grinning infamy: + The stings of Falsehood those shall try, + And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye, + That mocks the tear it forced to flow; + And keen Remorse, with blood defiled, + And moody Madness, laughing wild + Amid severest woe. + + 9 Lo! in the vale of years beneath, + A grisly troop are seen, + The painful family of Death, + More hideous than their queen: + This racks the joints, this fires the veins, + That every labouring sinew strains, + Those in the deeper vitals rage; + Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, + That numbs the soul with icy hand, + And slow-consuming Age. + + 10 To each his sufferings; all are men + Condemn'd alike to groan; + The tender for another's pain, + The unfeeling for his own. + Yet ah! why should they know their fate, + Since sorrow never comes too late, + And happiness too swiftly flies? + Thought would destroy their paradise-- + No more; where ignorance is bliss, + 'Tis folly to be wise. + + +[Footnote: (1) 'Henry:' King Henry VI., founder of the College.] + + * * * * * + + + IV.--HYMN TO ADVERSITY. + + [Greek: + + Zaena ... + Ton phronein brotous odosanta, to pathei mathos + phenta kurios echein. + + AESCH. AG. 167.] + + 1 Daughter of Jove, relentless Power, + Thou tamer of the human breast, + Whose iron scourge and torturing hour + The bad affright, afflict the best! + Bound in thy adamantine chain, + The proud are taught to taste of pain, + And purple tyrants vainly groan + With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. + + 2 When first thy Sire to send on earth, + Virtue, his darling child, design'd, + To thee he gave the heavenly birth, + And bade to form her infant mind: + Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore + With patience many a year she bore; + What sorrow was thou badest her know, + And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. + + 3 Scared at thy frown, terrific fly + Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, + Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, + And leave us leisure to be good. + Light they disperse; and with them go + The summer friend, the flattering foe; + By vain Prosperity received, + To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. + + 4 Wisdom, in sable garb array'd, + Immersed in rapturous thought profound, + And Melancholy, silent maid! + With leaden eye, that loves the ground, + Still on thy solemn steps attend; + Warm Charity, the general friend, + With Justice, to herself severe, + And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. + + 5 Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head, + Dread Goddess! lay thy chastening hand, + Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, + Nor circled with the vengeful band: + (As by the impious thou art seen), + With thundering voice and threatening mien, + With screaming Horror's funeral cry, + Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. + + 6 Thy form benign, O Goddess! wear, + Thy milder influence impart, + Thy philosophic train be there, + To soften, not to wound, my heart: + The generous spark extinct revive; + Teach me to love and to forgive; + Exact my own defects to scan; + What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. + + * * * * * + + + V.--THE PROGRESS OF POESY. + + PINDARIC. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--When the author first published this and the following +ode, he was advised, even by his friends, to subjoin some few +explanatory notes, but had too much respect for the understanding of +his readers to take that liberty. + + [Greek: + + Phonanta sunetoisin es + De to pan hermaeneon + Chatizei.-- + PINDAR, _Olymp._ ii.] + + I.--1. + + Awake, Aeolian lyre! awake, + And give to rapture all thy trembling strings; + From Helicon's harmonious springs + A thousand rills their mazy progress take; + The laughing flowers, that round them blow, + Drink life and fragrance as they flow. + Now the rich stream of music winds along, + Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, + Through verdant vales and Ceres' golden reign; + Now rolling down the steep amain, + Headlong, impetuous, see it pour; + The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. + + I.--2. + + Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul, + Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, + Enchanting Shell! the sullen Cares + And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. + On Thracia's hills the Lord of War + Has curb'd the fury of his car, + And dropp'd his thirsty lance at thy command: + Perching on the sceptred hand + Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king + With ruffled plumes and flagging wing: + Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie + The terror of his beak and lightnings of his eye. + + I.--3. + + Thee the voice, the dance obey, + Temper'd to thy warbled lay: + O'er India's velvet green + The rosy-crowned Loves are seen, + On Cytherea's day, + With antic Sports and blue-eyed Pleasures + Frisking light in frolic measures: + Now pursuing, now retreating, + Now in circling troops they meet; + To brisk notes in cadence beating, + Glance their many-twinkling feet. + Slow-melting strains their Queen's approach declare + Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay; + With arms sublime, that float upon the air, + In gliding state she wins her easy way: + O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move + The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. + + II.--1. + + Man's feeble race what life await! + Labour and Penury, the racks of Pain, + Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, + And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate! + The fond complaint, my Song! disprove, + And justify the laws of Jove. + Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? + Night and all her sickly dews, + Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, + He gives to range the dreary sky, + Till down the eastern cliffs afar + Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. + + II.--2. + + In climes beyond the Solar road, + Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, + The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom + To cheer the shivering native's dull abode; + And oft beneath the odorous shade + Of Chili's boundless forests laid, + She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, + In loose numbers, wildly sweet, + Their feather-cinctured chiefs and dusky loves. + Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, + Glory pursue, and generous Shame, + The unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame. + + II.--3. + + Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep, + Isles that crown the AEgean deep, + Fields that cool Ilissus laves, + Or where Meander's amber waves + In lingering labyrinths creep, I + How do your tuneful echoes languish, + Mute but to the voice of Anguish? + Where each old poetic mountain + Inspiration breathed around; + Every shade and hallow'd fountain + Murmur'd deep a solemn sound, + Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, + Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains: + Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power + And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. + When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, + They sought, O Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast. + + III.--1. + + Far from the sun and summer-gale, + In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid, + What time, where lucid Avon stray'd, + To him the mighty Mother did unveil + Her awful face; the dauntless child + Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. + This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear + Richly paint the vernal year; + Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy! + This can unlock the gates of Joy, + Of Horror that, and thrilling Pears, + Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears. + + III.--2. + + Nor second He that rode sublime + Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy; + The secrets of the abyss to spy, + He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: + The living throne, the sapphire-blaze, + Where angels tremble while they gaze, + He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, + Closed his eyes in endless night. + Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car + Wide o'er the fields of glory bear + Two coursers[1] of ethereal race, + With necks in thunder clothed and long-resounding pace. + + III.--3. + + Hark! his hands the lyre explore! + Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, + Scatters from her pictured urn + Thoughts that breathe and words that burn; + But ah! 'tis heard no more. + O lyre divine! what dying spirit[2] + Wakes thee now? though he inherit + Nor the pride nor ample pinion + That the Theban eagle[3] bear, + Sailing with supreme dominion + Through the azure deep of air, + Yet oft before his infant eyes would run + Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray + With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun; + Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way + Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, + Beneath the good how far--but far above the great. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Coursers:' the heroic rhymes.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Dying spirit:' Cowley.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Theban eagle:' Pindar.] + + * * * * * + + + VI--THE BARD. + + PINDARIC. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--The following ode is founded on a tradition current in +Wales, that Edward I., when he completed the conquest of that country, +ordered all the bards that fell into his hands to be put to death. + + I.--1. + + 'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! + Confusion on thy banners wait; + Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, + They mock the air with idle state. + Helm nor hauberk's[1] twisted mail, + Nor even thy virtues, Tyrant! shall avail + To save thy secret soul from nightly fears; + From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!' + Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride + Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, + As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side + He wound with toilsome march his long array: + Stout Glo'ster[2] stood aghast in speechless trance: + To arms! cried Mortimer,[3] and couch'd his quivering lance. + + I.--2. + + On a rock, whose haughty brow + Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, + Robed in the sable garb of woe, + With haggard eyes the poet stood; + (Loose his beard and hoary hair, + Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) + And with a master's hand and prophet's fire + Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre: + 'Hark how each giant oak and desert cave + Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! + O'er thee, O King! their hundred arms they wave, + Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; + Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, + To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. + + I.--3. + + 'Cold is Cadwallo's tongue + That hush'd the stormy main; + Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: + Mountains! ye moan in vain + Modrid, whose magic song + Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp'd head. + On dreary Arvon's shore[4] they lie, + Smear'd with gore and ghastly pale; + Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail; + The famish'd eagle screams and passes by. + Dear lost companions of my tuneful art! + Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, + Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, + Ye died amidst your dying country's cries-- + No more I weep. They do not sleep: + On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, + I see them sit; they linger yet, + Avengers of their native land: + With me in dreadful harmony they join, + And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. + + II.--1. + + "Weave the warp and weave the woof, + The winding-sheet of Edward's race: + Give ample room and verge enough + The characters of Hell to trace. + Mark the year and mark the night + When Severn shall re-echo with affright + The shrieks of death through Berkley's roofs that ring, + Shrieks of an agonising king![5] + She-wolf of France,[6] with unrelenting fangs + That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, + From thee[7] be born who o'er thy country hangs + The scourge of Heaven. What terrors round him wait! + Amazement in his van, with Flight combined, + And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind. + + II.--2. + + "Mighty Victor, mighty Lord, + Low on his funeral couch[8] he lies! + No pitying heart, no eye afford + A tear to grace his obsequies! + Is the sable warrior[9] fled? + Thy son is gone; he rests among the dead. + The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born, + Gone to salute the rising morn: + Fair laughs the morn,[10] and soft the Zephyr blows, + While, proudly riding o'er the azure realm, + In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, + Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm, + Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway, + That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey. + + II.--3. + + "Fill high the sparkling bowl,[11] + The rich repast prepare; + Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast. + Close by the regal chair + Fell Thirst and Famine scowl + A baleful smile upon the baffled guest. + Heard ye the din of battle bray,[12] + Lance to lance and horse to horse? + Long years of havoc urge their destined course, + And through the kindred squadrons mow their way; + Ye Towers of Julius![13] London's lasting shame, + With many a foul and midnight murder fed, + Revere his consort's[14] faith, his father's[15] fame, + And spare the meek usurper's[16] holy head. + Above, below, the Rose of snow,[17] + Twined with her blushing foe, we spread; + The bristled Boar[18] in infant gore + Wallows beneath the thorny shade; + Now, Brothers! bending o'er the accursed loom, + Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. + + III.--I. + + "Edward, lo! to sudden fate + (Weave we the woof; the thread is spun:) + Half of thy heart[19] we consecrate; + (The web is wove; the work is done.") + 'Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn + Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn, + In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, + They melt, they vanish from my eyes. + But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height, + Descending slow, their glittering skirts unroll! + Visions of glory! spare my aching sight! + Ye unborn ages crowd not on my soul! + No more our long-lost Arthur[20] we bewail: + All hail, ye genuine Kings![21] Britannia's issue, hail! + + III.--2. + + 'Girt with many a baron bold, + Sublime their starry fronts they rear; + And gorgeous dames and statesmen old + In bearded majesty appear; + In the midst a form divine, + Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line, + Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face,[22] + Attemper'd sweet to virgin-grace. + What strings symphonious tremble in the air! + What strains of vocal transport round her play! + Hear from the grave, great Taliessin,[23] hear! + They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. + Bright Rapture calls, and, soaring as she sings, + Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings. + + III.--3. + + 'The verse adorn again, + Fierce War and faithful Love, + And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction dress'd. + In buskin'd measures move + Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, + With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. + A voice[24] as of the cherub-choir + Gales from blooming Eden bear, + And distant warblings[25] lessen on my ear, + That lost in long futurity expire. + Fond, impious man! think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, + Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? + To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, + And warms the nations with redoubled ray. + Enough for me: with joy I see + The different doom our Fates assign; + Be thine despair and sceptred care; + To triumph and to die are mine.' + He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height, + Deep in the roaring tide, he plunged to endless night. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Hauberk:' the hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets or +rings interwoven, forming a coat of mail that sat close to the body, +and adapted itself to every motion.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Stout Glo'ster:' Gilbert de Clare, surnamed the Red, +Earl of Gloucester and Hertford, son-in-law to King Edward.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Mortimer:' Edmond de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore. They +both were Lords Marchers, whose lands lay on the borders of Wales, and +probably accompanied the King in this expedition.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Arvon's shore:' the shores of Caernarvonshire, opposite +to the isle of Anglesey.] + +[Footnote 5: 'King:' Edward II., cruelly butchered in Berkley Castle.] + +[Footnote 6: 'She-wolf of France:' Isabel of France, Edward II.'s +adulterous queen.] + +[Footnote 7: 'From thee:' triumphs of Edward III. in France.] + +[Footnote 8: 'Funeral couch:' death of that king, abandoned by his +children, and even robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and his +mistress.] + +[Footnote 9: 'Sable warrior:' Edward the Black Prince, dead some time +before his father.] + +[Footnote 10: 'Fair laughs the morn:' magnificence of Richard II.'s +reign; see Froissard, and other contemporary writers.] + +[Footnote 11: 'Sparkling bowl:' Richard II. was starved to death; the +story of his assassination by Sir Piers of Exon is of much +later date.] + +[Footnote 12: 'Battle bray:' ruinous civil wars of York and +Lancaster.] + +[Footnote 13: 'Towers of Julius:' Henry VI., George Duke of Clarence, +Edward V., Richard Duke of York, &c., believed to be murdered secretly +in the Tower of London; the oldest part of that structure is vulgarly +attributed to Julius Caesar.] + +[Footnote 14: 'Consort:' Margaret of Anjou.] + +[Footnote 15: 'Father:' Henry V.] + +[Footnote 16: 'Usurper:' Henry VI., very near being canonised; the +line of Lancaster had no right of inheritance to the crown.] + +[Footnote 17: 'Rose of snow:' the White and Red Roses, devices of York +and Lancaster.] + +[Footnote 18: 'Boar:' the silver Boar was the badge of Richard III., +whence he was usually known in his own time by the name of The Boar.] + +[Footnote 19: 'Half of thy heart:' Eleanor of Castile, Edward's wife, +died a few years after the conquest of Wales.] + +[Footnote 20: 'Long-lost Arthur:' it was the common belief of the +Welsh nation, that King Arthur was still alive in Fairyland, and +should return again to reign over Britain.] + +[Footnote 21: 'Genuine kings:' both Merlin and Taliessin had +prophesied that the Welsh should regain their sovereignty over this +island, which seemed to be accomplished in the House of Tudor.] + +[Footnote 22; 'Awe-commanding face:' Queen Elizabeth.] + +[Footnote 23: 'Taliessin:' chief of the Bards, flourished in the sixth +century; his works are still preserved, and his memory held in high +veneration, among his countrymen.] + +[Footnote 24: 'A voice:' Milton.] + +[Footnote 25: 'Warblings:' the succession of poets after Milton's +time.] + + * * * * * + + + VII.--THE FATAL SISTERS. + + FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.[1] + + 'Vitt er orpit + Fyrir valfalli.' + +ADVERTISEMENT.--The author once had thoughts (in concert with a friend) +of giving a history of English poetry. In the introduction to it he +meant to have produced some specimens of the style that reigned in +ancient times among the neighbouring nations, or those who had subdued +the greater part of this island, and were our progenitors: the +following three imitations made a part of them. He afterwards dropped +his design; especially after he had heard that it was already in the +hands of a person[2] well qualified to do it justice both by his taste +and his researches into antiquity. + +PREFACE.--In the eleventh century, Sigurd, Earl of the Orkney Islands, +went with a fleet of ships, and a considerable body of troops, into +Ireland, to the assistance of Sigtryg with the Silken Beard, who was +then making war on his father-in-law, Brian, King of Dublin. The Earl +and all his forces were cut to pieces, and Sigtryg was in danger of a +total defeat; but the enemy had a greater loss by the death of Brian, +their king, who fell in the action. On Christmas-day (the day of the +battle) a native of Caithness, in Scotland, saw, at a distance, a +number of persons on horseback riding full speed towards a hill, and +seeming to enter into it. Curiosity led him to follow them, till, +looking through an opening in the rocks, he saw twelve gigantic +figures,[3] resembling women: they were all employed about a loom; and +as they wove they sung the following dreadful song, which, when they +had finished, they tore the web into twelve pieces, and each taking +her portion, galloped six to the north, and as many to the south. + + 1 Now the storm begins to lower, + (Haste, the loom of Hell prepare!) + Iron-sleet of arrowy shower + Hurtles in the darken'd air. + + 2 Glittering lances are the loom + Where the dusky warp we strain, + Weaving many a soldier's doom, + Orkney's woe and Randver's bane. + + 3 See the grisly texture grow, + ('Tis of human entrails made,) + And the weights that play below, + Each a gasping warrior's head. + + 4 Shafts for shuttles, dipp'd in gore, + Shoot the trembling cords along: + Sword, that once a monarch bore, + Keep the tissue close and strong. + + 5 Mista, black, terrific maid! + Sangrida and Hilda see, + Join the wayward work to aid: + 'Tis the woof of victory. + + 6 Ere the ruddy sun be set, + Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, + Blade with clattering buckler meet, + Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. + + 7 (Weave the crimson web of war) + Let us go, and let us fly, + Where our friends the conflict share, + Where they triumph, where they die. + + 8 As the paths of Fate we tread, + Wading through th' ensanguined field, + Gondula and Geira spread + O'er the youthful king your shield. + + 9 We the reins to Slaughter give, + Ours to kill and ours to spare: + Spite of danger he shall live; + (Weave the crimson web of war.) + + 10 They whom once the desert beach + Pent within its bleak domain, + Soon their ample sway shall stretch + O'er the plenty of the plain. + + 11 Low the dauntless earl is laid, + Gored with many a gaping wound: + Fate demands a nobler head; + Soon a king shall bite the ground. + + 12 Long his loss shall Eirin[4] weep, + Ne'er again his likeness see; + Long her strains in sorrow steep, + Strains of immortality! + + 13 Horror covers all the heath, + Clouds of carnage blot the sun: + Sisters! weave the web of death: + Sisters! cease; the work is done. + + 14 Hail the task and hail the hands! + Songs of joy and triumph sing! + Joy to the victorious bands, + Triumph to the younger king! + + 15 Mortal! thou that hear'st the tale, + Learn the tenor of our song; + Scotland! through each winding vale + Far and wide the notes prolong. + + 16 Sisters! hence with spurs of speed; + Each her thundering falchion wield; + Each bestride her sable steed: + Hurry, hurry, to the field. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Norse tongue:' to be found in the Orcades of Thormodus +Torfaeus, Hafniae, 1697, folio; and also in Bartholinus.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Person:' Percy, author of 'Reliques of Ancient English +Poetry.'] + +[Footnote 3: 'Figures:' the Valkyriur were female divinities, servants +of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name signifies +'Choosers of the Slain.' They were mounted on swift horses, with drawn +swords in their hands, and in the throng of battle selected such as +were destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, (the Hall +of Odin, or Paradise of the Brave), where they attended the banquet, +and served the departed heroes with horns of mead and ale.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Eirin:' Ireland.] + + * * * * * + + + VIII.--THE DESCENT OF ODIN. + + FROM THE NORSE TONGUE.[1] + + 'Upreis Odinn + Allda gautr.' + + Uprose the King of Men with speed, + And saddled straight his coal-black steed; + Down the yawning steep he rode + That leads to Hela's[2] drear abode. + Him the Dog of Darkness spied; + His shaggy throat he open'd wide, + While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd, + Foam and human gore distill'd: + Hoarse he bays with hideous din, + Eyes that glow and fangs that grin, 10 + And long pursues with fruitless yell + The Father of the powerful spell. + Onward still his way he takes, + --The groaning earth beneath him shakes,-- + Till full before his fearless eyes + The portals nine of Hell arise. + Right against the eastern gate, + By the moss-grown pile he sate, + Where long of yore to sleep was laid + The dust of the prophetic maid. 20 + Facing to the northern clime, + Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme, + Thrice pronounced, in accents dread, + The thrilling verse that wakes the dead, + Till from out the hollow ground + Slowly breathed a sullen sound. + + _Proph._ What call unknown, what charms presume + To break the quiet of the tomb? + Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, + And drags me from the realms of Night? 30 + Long on these mouldering bones have beat + The winter's snow, the summer's heat, + The drenching dews and driving rain! + Let me, let me sleep again. + Who is he, with voice unblest, + That calls me from the bed of rest? + + _Odin._ A traveller, to thee unknown, + Is he that calls, a warrior's son. + Thou the deeds of light shalt know; + Tell me what is done below, 40 + For whom yon glittering board is spread; + Dress'd for whom yon golden bed? + + _Proph._ Mantling in the goblet see + The pure beverage of the bee, + O'er it hangs the shield of gold; + 'Tis the drink of Balder bold: + Balder's head to death is given; + Pain can reach the sons of Heaven! + Unwilling I my lips unclose; + Leave me, leave me to repose. 50 + + _Odin._ Once again my call obey: + Prophetess! arise, and say, + What dangers Odin's child await, + Who the author of his fate? + + _Proph._ In Hoder's hand the hero's doom; + His brother sends him to the tomb. + Now my weary lips I close; + Leave me, leave me to repose. + + _Odin._ Prophetess! my spell obey; + Once again arise, and say, 60 + Who the avenger of his guilt, + By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt? + + _Proph._ In the caverns of the west, + By Odin's fierce embrace compress'd, + A wondrous boy shall Rinda bear, + Who ne'er shall comb his raven hair, + Nor wash his visage in the stream, + Nor see the sun's departing beam, + Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile, + Flaming on the funeral pile. 70 + Now my weary lips I close; + Leave me, leave me to repose. + + _Odin._ Yet a while my call obey: + Prophetess! awake, and say, + What virgins these, in speechless woe, + That bend to earth their solemn brow, + That their flaxen tresses tear, + And snowy veils that float in air? + Tell we whence their sorrows rose, + Then I leave thee to repose. 80 + + _Proph._ Ha! no traveller art thou; + King of Men, I know thee now; + Mightiest of a mighty line-- + + _Odin._ No boding maid of skill divine + Art thou, no prophetess of good, + But mother of the giant-brood! + + _Proph._ Hie thee hence, and boast at home, + That never shall inquirer come + To break my iron-sleep again, + Till Lok[3] has burst his tenfold chain; 90 + Never till substantial Night + Has re-assumed her ancient right; + Till, wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd, + Sinks the fabric of the world. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Norse Tongue:' to be found in Bartholinus, De Causis +Contemnendae Mortis: Hafniae, 1689, quarto.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Hela:' Niflheimr, the hell of the Gothic nations, +consisted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all such as died of +sickness, old age, or by any other means than in battle: over it +presided Hela, the goddess of Death.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Lok:' is the evil being, who continues in chains till +the twilight of the gods approaches, when he shall break his bonds; +the human race, the stars, and sun, shall disappear, the earth sink in +the seas, and fire consume the skies: even Odin himself, and his +kindred deities, shall perish.] + + * * * * * + + + IX.--THE DEATH OF HOEL.[1] + + Had I but the torrent's might, + With headlong rage, and wild affright, + Upon Deira's[2] squadrons hurl'd, + To rush and sweep them from the world! + Too, too secure in youthful pride, + By them my friend, my Hoel, died, + Great Cian's son; of Madoc old + He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold; + Alone in Nature's wealth array'd, + He ask'd and had the lovely maid. 10 + + To Cattraeth's[3] vale, in glittering row, + Twice two hundred warriors go; + Every warrior's manly neck + Chains of regal honour deck, + Wreath'd in many a golden link: + From the golden cup they drink + Nectar that the bees produce, + Or the grape's ecstatic juice. + Flush'd with mirth and hope they burn: + But none from Cattraeth's vale return, 20 + Save Aeron brave and Conan strong, + --Bursting through the bloody throng-- + And I, the meanest of them all, + That live to weep and sing their fall. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Hoel:' from the Welsh of Aneurim, styled 'The Monarch of +the Bards.' He flourished about the time of Taliessin, A.D. 570. This +ode is extracted from the Gododin.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Deira:' a kingdom including the five northernmost +counties of England.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Cattraeth:' a great battle lost by the ancient Britons.] + + * * * * * + + +X.--THE TRIUMPH OF OWEN: + +A FRAGMENT FROM THE WELSH. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--Owen succeeded his father Griffin in the Principality +of North Wales, A.D. 1120: this battle was near forty years +afterwards. + + Owen's praise demands my song, + Owen swift, and Owen strong, + Fairest flower of Roderick's stem, + Gwyneth's[1] shield and Britain's gem. + He nor heaps his brooded stores, + Nor on all profusely pours; + Lord of every regal art, + Liberal hand and open heart. + + Big with hosts of mighty name, + Squadrons three against him came; 10 + This the force of Eirin hiding; + Side by side as proudly riding + On her shadow long and gay + Lochlin[2] ploughs the watery way; + There the Norman sails afar + Catch the winds and join the war; + Black and huge, along they sweep, + Burthens of the angry deep. + + Dauntless on his native sands + The Dragon son[3] of Mona stands; 20 + In glittering arms and glory dress'd, + High he rears his ruby crest; + There the thundering strokes begin, + There the press and there the din: + Talymalfra's rocky shore + Echoing to the battle's roar! + Check'd by the torrent-tide of blood, + Backward Meniai rolls his flood; + While, heap'd his master's feet around, + Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground. 30 + Where his glowing eye-balls turn, + Thousand banners round him burn; + Where he points his purple spear, + Hasty, hasty rout is there; + Marking, with indignant eye, + Fear to stop and Shame to fly: + There Confusion, Terror's child, + Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, + Agony, that pants for breath, + Despair and honourable Death. 40 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Gwyneth:' North Wales.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Lochlin:' Denmark.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Dragon son:' the Red Dragon is the device of +Cadwalladar, which all his descendants bore on their banners.] + + * * * * * + + + XI.--FOR MUSIC.[1] + + I. + + 'Hence, avaunt! ('tis holy ground,) + Comus and his midnight crew, + And Ignorance, with looks profound, + And dreaming Sloth, of pallid hue, + Mad Sedition's cry profane, + Servitude that hugs her chain, + Nor in these consecrated bowers, + Let painted Flattery hide her serpent-train in flowers; + + CHORUS. + + Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, + Dare the Muse's walk to stain, 10 + While bright-eyed Science watches round: + Hence, away! 'tis holy ground.' + + II. + + From yonder realms of empyrean day + Bursts on my ear the indignant lay; + There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine, + The few whom Genius gave to shine + Through every unborn age and undiscover'd clime. + Rapt in celestial transport they, + Yet hither oft a glance from high + They send of tender sympathy, 20 + To bless the place where on their opening soul + First the genuine ardour stole. + 'Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell, + And, as the choral warblings round him swell, + Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime, + And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme. + + III. + + Ye brown o'er-arching groves! + That Contemplation loves, + Where willowy Camus lingers with delight; + Oft at the blush of dawn 30 + I trod your level lawn, + Oft wooed the gleam of Cynthia, silver-bright, + In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, + With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy. + + IV. + + But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth, + With solemn steps and slow, + High potentates, and dames of royal birth, + And mitred fathers, in long orders go: + Great Edward,[2] with the Lilies on his brow + From haughty Gallia torn, 40 + And sad Chatillon,[3] on her bridal morn, + That wept her bleeding love, and princely Clare,[4] + And Anjou's heroine,[5] and the paler Rose,[6] + The rival of her crown, and of her woes, + And either Henry[7] there, + The murder'd saint, and the majestic lord + That broke the bonds of Rome,-- + (Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, + Their human passions now no more, + Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb,) 50 + All that on Granta's fruitful plain + Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd, + And bade those awful fanes and turrets rise, + To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come; + And thus they speak in soft accord + The liquid language of the skies: + + V. + + 'What is grandeur, what is power? + Heavier toil, superior pain, + What the bright reward we gain? + The grateful memory of the good. 60 + Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, + The bee's collected treasures sweet, + Sweet Music's melting fall, but sweeter yet + The still small voice of Gratitude.' + + VI. + + Foremost, and leaning from her golden cloud, + The venerable Margaret[8] see! + 'Welcome, my noble son!' she cries aloud, + 'To this thy kindred train, and me: + Pleased, in thy lineaments we trace + A Tudor's[9] fire, a Beaufort's grace. 70 + Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, + The flower unheeded shall descry, + And bid it round Heaven's altars shed + The fragrance of its blushing head; + Shall raise from earth the latent gem + To glitter on the diadem. + + VII. + + 'Lo! Granta waits to lead her blooming band; + Not obvious, not obtrusive, she + No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings; + Nor dares with courtly tongue refined 80 + Profane thy inborn royalty of mind: + She reveres herself and thee. + With modest pride, to grace thy youthful brow, + The laureate wreath[10] that Cecil wore she brings, + And to thy just, thy gentle hand + Submits the fasces of her sway; + While spirits blest above, and men below, + Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. + + VIII. + + 'Through the wild waves, as they roar, + With watchful eye, and dauntless mien, 90 + Thy steady course of honour keep, + Nor fear the rock, nor seek the shore: + The Star of Brunswick smiles serene, + And gilds the horrors of the deep.' + + +[Footnote 1: 'Music:' performed in the Senate-house, Cambridge, July +1, 1769, at the installation of his Grace, Augustus Henry Fitzroy, +Duke of Grafton, Chancellor of the University.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Great Edward.' Edward III., who added the Fleur-de-lis +of France to the arms of England. He founded Trinity College.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Chatillon:' Mary de Valentia, Countess of Pembroke, +daughter of Guy de Chatillon, Comte de St Paul, in France, who lost +her husband on the day of his marriage. She was the foundress of +Pembroke College or Hall, under the name of Aula Marias de Valentia.] + +[Footnote 4; 'Clare:' Elizabeth de Burg, Countess of Clare, was wife +of John de Burg, son and heir of the Earl of Ulster, and daughter of +Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter of +Edward I.; hence the poet gives her the epithet of 'princely.' She +founded Clare Hall.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Anjou's heroine:' Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI., +foundress of Queen's College.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Rose:' Elizabeth Widville, wife of Henry IV. She added +to the foundation of Margaret of Anjou.] + +[Footnote 7: 'Either Henry:' Henry VI. and Henry VII., the former the +founder of King's, the latter the greatest benefactor to +Trinity College.] + +[Footnote 8: 'Margaret:' Countess of Richmond and Derby, the mother of +Henry VII., foundress of St John's and Christ's Colleges.] + +[Footnote 9: 'Tudor:' the Countess was a Beaufort, and married to a +Tudor; hence the application of this line to the Duke of Grafton, who +claimed descent from both these families.] + +[Footnote 10: 'Wreath:' Lord Treasurer Burleigh was Chancellor of the +University in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.] + + * * * * * + + +MISCELLANEOUS. + + A LONG STORY. + +ADVERTISEMENT.--Gray's 'Elegy,' previous to its publication, was +handed about in MS., and had, amongst other admirers, the Lady Cobham, +who resided in the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis. The performance +inducing her to wish for the author's acquaintance, Lady Schaub and +Miss Speed, then at her house, undertook to introduce her to it. These +two ladies waited upon the author at his aunt's solitary habitation, +where he at that time resided, and not finding him at home, they left +a card behind them. Mr Gray, surprised at such a compliment, returned +the visit; and as the beginning of this intercourse bore some +appearance of romance, he gave the humorous and lively account of it +which the 'Long Story' contains. + + 1 In Britain's isle, no matter where, + An ancient pile of building[1] stands: + The Huntingdons and Hattons there + Employ'd the power of fairy hands, + + 2 To raise the ceiling's fretted height, + Each pannel in achievements clothing, + Rich windows that exclude the light, + And passages that lead to nothing. + + 3 Full oft within the spacious walls, + When he had fifty winters o'er him, + My grave Lord-Keeper[2] led the brawls: + The seal and maces danced before him. + + 4 His bushy beard and shoe-strings green, + His high-crown'd hat and satin doublet, + Moved the stout heart of England's Queen, + Though Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it. + + 5 What, in the very first beginning, + Shame of the versifying tribe! + Your history whither are you spinning? + Can you do nothing but describe? + + 6 A house there is (and that's enough) + From whence one fatal morning issues + A brace of warriors, not in buff, + But rustling in their silks and tissues. + + 7 The first came _cap-a-pie_ from France, + Her conquering destiny fulfilling, + Whom meaner beauties eye askance, + And vainly ape her art of killing. + + 8 The other Amazon kind Heaven + Had arm'd with spirit, wit, and satire; + But Cobham had the polish given, + And tipp'd her arrows with good nature. + + 9 To celebrate her eyes, her air-- + Coarse panegyrics would but tease her; + Melissa is her _nom de guerre;_ + Alas! who would not wish to please her! + + 10 With bonnet blue and capuchine, + And aprons long, they hid their armour; + And veil'd their weapons, bright and keen, + In pity to the country farmer. + + 11 Fame, in the shape of Mr P--t, + (By this time all the parish know it), + Had told that thereabouts there lurk'd + A wicked imp they call a Poet, + + 12 Who prowl'd the country far and near, + Bewitch'd the children of the peasants, + Dried up the cows, and lamed the deer, + And suck'd the eggs, and kill'd the pheasants. + + 13 My Lady heard their joint petition, + Swore by her coronet and ermine, + She'd issue out her high commission + To rid the manor of such vermin. + + 14 The heroines undertook the task; + Through lanes unknown, o'er stiles they ventured, + Rapp'd at the door, nor stay'd to ask, + But bounce into the parlour enter'd. + + 15 The trembling family they daunt; + They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle, + Rummage his mother, pinch his aunt, + And up-stairs in a whirlwind rattle. + + 16 Each hole and cupboard they explore, + Each creek and cranny of his chamber, + Run hurry-scurry round the floor, + And o'er the bed and tester clamber; + + 17 Into the drawers and china pry, + Papers and books, a huge imbroglio! + Under a tea-cup he might lie, + Or creased like dog's-ears in a folio! + + 18 On the first marching of the troops, + The Muses, hopeless of his pardon, + Convey'd him underneath their hoops + To a small closet in the garden. + + 19 So Rumour says; (who will believe?) + But that they left the door a-jar, + Where safe, and laughing in his sleeve, + He heard the distant din of war. + + 20 Short was his joy: he little knew + The power of magic was no fable; + Out of the window, whisk! they flew, + But left a spell upon the table. + + 21 The words too eager to unriddle, + The Poet felt a strange disorder; + Transparent birdlime form'd the middle, + And chains invisible the border. + + 22 So cunning was the apparatus, + The powerful pothooks did so move him, + That will-he, nill-he, to the great house + He went as if the devil drove him. + + 23 Yet on his way (no sign of grace, + For folks in fear are apt to pray) + To Phoebus he preferr'd his case, + And begg'd his aid that dreadful day. + + 24 The godhead would have back'd his quarrel: + But with a blush, on recollection, + Own'd that his quiver and his laurel + 'Gainst four such eyes were no protection. + + 25 The court was set, the culprit there; + Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping, + The Lady Janes and Joans repair, + And from the gallery stand peeping: + + 26 Such as in silence of the night + Come sweep along some winding entry, + (Styack[3] has often seen the sight) + Or at the chapel-door stand sentry; + + 27 In peaked hoods and mantles tarnish'd, + Sour visages enough to scare ye, + High dames of honour once that garnish'd + The drawing-room of fierce Queen Mary! + + 28 The peeress comes: the audience stare, + And doff their hats with due submission; + She curtsies, as she takes her chair, + To all the people of condition. + + 29 The Bard with many an artless fib + Had in imagination fenced him, + Disproved the arguments of Squib,[4] + And all that Grooms[5] could urge against him. + + 30 But soon his rhetoric forsook him, + When he the solemn hall had seen; + A sudden fit of ague shook him; + He stood as mute as poor Maclean.[6] + + 31 Yet something he was heard to mutter, + How in the park, beneath an old tree, + (Without design to hurt the butter, + Or any malice to the poultry,) + + 32 He once or twice had penn'd a sonnet, + Yet hoped that he might save his bacon; + Numbers would give their oaths upon it, + He ne'er was for a conjuror taken. + + 33 The ghostly prudes, with hagged[7] face, + Already had condemn'd the sinner: + My Lady rose, and with a grace-- + She smiled, and bid him come to dinner, + + 34 'Jesu-Maria! Madam Bridget, + Why, what can the Viscountess mean?' + Cried the square hoods, in woeful fidget; + 'The times are alter'd quite and clean! + + 35 'Decorum's turn'd to mere civility! + Her air and all her manners show it: + Commend me to her affability! + Speak to a commoner and poet!' + + [_Here 500 stanzas are lost._] + + 36 And so God save our noble king, + And guard us from long-winded lubbers, + That to eternity would sing, + And keep my lady from her rubbers. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Pile of building:' the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis, +then in the possession of Viscountess Cobham. The style of building +which we now call Queen Elizabeth's, is here admirably described, both +with regard to its beauties and defects; and the third and fourth +stanzas delineate the fantastic manners of her time with equal truth +and humour. The house formerly belonged to the Earls of Huntingdon and +the family of Hatton.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Lord-Keeper:' Sir Christopher Hatton, promoted by Queen +Elizabeth for his graceful person and fine dancing. Brawls were a sort +of a figure-dance then in vogue.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Styack:' the house-keeper.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Squib:' the steward.'] + +[Footnote 5: 'Grooms:' of the chamber.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Maclean:' a famous highwayman, hanged the week before.] + +[Footnote 7: 'Hagged:' i. e., the face of a witch or hag.] + + * * * * * + + +ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. + + 1 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, + The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, + The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, + And leaves the world to darkness and to me. + + 2 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, + And all the air a solemn stillness holds, + Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, + And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: + + 3 Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, + The moping owl does to the moon complain + Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, + Molest her ancient solitary reign. + + 4 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, + Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, + Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, + The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. + + 5 The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, + The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, + The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, + No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. + + 6 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, + Or busy housewife ply her evening care; + No children run to lisp their sire's return, + Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. + + 7 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, + Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; + How jocund did they drive their team afield! + How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! + + 8 Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, + Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; + Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile + The short and simple annals of the poor. + + 9 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, + And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, + Await alike the inevitable hour: + The paths of glory lead but to the grave. + + 10 Nor you, ye Proud! impute to these the fault, + If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, + Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, + The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. + + 11 Can storied urn or animated bust + Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? + Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, + Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? + + 12 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid + Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; + Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, + Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. + + 13 But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, + Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll; + Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, + And froze the genial current of the soul. + + 14 Full many a gem of purest ray serene + The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: + Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, + And waste its sweetness on the desert air. + + 15 Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast + The little tyrant of his fields withstood, + Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, + Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. + + 16 The applause of listening senates to command, + The threats of pain and ruin to despise, + To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, + And read their history in a nation's eyes, + + 17 Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed alone + Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; + Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, + And shut the gates of Mercy on mankind, + + 18 The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, + To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame, + Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride + With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. + + 19 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,[1] + Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; + Along the cool sequester'd vale of life + They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. + + 20 Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect, + Some frail memorial still erected nigh, + With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, + Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. + + 21 Their name, their years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse, + The place of fame and elegy supply, + And many a holy text around she strews, + That teach the rustic moralist to die. + + 22 For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, + This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd, + Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, + Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? + + 23 On some fond breast the parting soul relies, + Some pious drops the closing eye requires; + E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, + E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. + + 24 For thee, who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead, + Dost in those lines their artless tale relate, + If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, + Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, + + 25 Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, + 'Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, + Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, + To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. + + 26 'There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, + That wreathes its old fantastic root so high, + His listless length at noontide would he stretch, + And pore upon the brook that babbles by. + + 27 'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, + Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; + Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn, + Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. + + 28 'One morn I miss'd him on the accustom'd hill, + Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; + Another came, nor yet beside the rill, + Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he: + + 29 'The next, with dirges due, in sad array, + Slow through the churchway-path we saw him borne: + Approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay + Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn:'[2] + + THE EPITAPH. + + 30 Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, + A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown: + Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, + And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. + + 31 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; + Heaven did a recompense as largely send: + He gave to misery all he had--a tear; + He gain'd from Heaven--'twas all he wish'd--a friend. + + 32 No further seek his merits to disclose, + Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, + (There they alike in trembling hope repose) + The bosom of his Father and his God. + + +[Footnote 1: This part of the elegy differs from the first copy. The +following stanza was excluded with the other alterations:-- + + Hark! how the sacred calm, that breathes around, + Bids every fierce tumultuous passion cease, + In still small accents whispering from the ground + A grateful earnest of eternal peace. ] + +[Footnote 2: In early editions, the following stanza occurred:-- + + There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year, + By hands unseen, are showers of violets found; + The redbreast loves to build and warble there, + And little footsteps lightly print the ground. ] + + * * * * * + + + EPITAPH ON MRS JANE CLARKE.[1] + + Lo! where this silent marble weeps, + A friend, a wife, a mother sleeps; + A heart, within whose sacred cell + The peaceful Virtues loved to dwell: + Affection warm, and faith sincere, + And soft humanity were there. + In agony, in death resign'd, + She felt the wound she left behind. + Her infant image here below + Sits smiling on a father's woe: + Whom what awaits while yet he strays + Along the lonely vale of days? + A pang, to secret sorrow dear, + A sigh, an unavailing tear, + Till time shall every grief remove + With life, with memory, and with love. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Mrs Jane Clarke' this lady, the wife of Dr Clarke, +physician at Epsom, died April 27, 1757, and is buried in the church +of Beckenham, Kent.] + + * * * * * + + + STANZAS, + + SUGGESTED BY A VIEW OF THE SEAT AND RUINS AT + KINGSGATE, IN KENT, 1766. + + 1 Old, and abandon'd by each venal friend, + Here Holland took the pious resolution, + To smuggle a few years, and strive to mend + A broken character and constitution. + + 2 On this congenial spot he fix'd his choice; + Earl Goodwin trembled for his neighbouring sand; + Here sea-gulls scream, and cormorants rejoice, + And mariners, though shipwreck'd, fear to land. + + 3 Here reign the blustering North, and blasting East, + No tree is heard to whisper, bird to sing; + Yet Nature could not furnish out the feast, + Art he invokes new terrors still to bring. + + 4 Now mouldering fanes and battlements arise, + Turrets and arches nodding to their fall, + Unpeopled monasteries delude our eyes, + And mimic desolation covers all. + + 5 'Ah!' said the sighing peer, 'had Bute been true, + Nor C--'s, nor B--d's promises been vain, + Far other scenes than this had graced our view, + And realised the horrors which we feign. + + 6 'Purged by the sword, and purified by fire, + Then had we seen proud London's hated walls: + Owls should have hooted in St Peter's choir, + And foxes stunk and litter'd in St Paul's.' + + * * * * * + + + TRANSLATION FROM STATIUS. + + Third in the labours of the disc came on, + With sturdy step and slow, Hippomedon; + Artful and strong he poised the well-known weight, + By Phlegyas warn'd, and fired by Mnestheus' fate, + That to avoid and this to emulate. + His vigorous arm he tried before he flung, + Braced all his nerves, and every sinew strung, + Then with a tempest's whirl and wary eye + Pursued his cast, and hurl'd the orb on high; + The orb on high, tenacious of its course, 10 + True to the mighty arm that gave it force, + Far overleaps all bound, and joys to see + Its ancient lord secure of victory: + The theatre's green height and woody wall + Tremble ere it precipitates its fall; + The ponderous mass sinks in the cleaving ground, + While vales and woods and echoing hills rebound. + As when, from Aetna's smoking summit broke, + The eyeless Cyclops heaved the craggy rock, + Where Ocean frets beneath the dashing oar, 20 + And parting surges round the vessel roar; + 'Twas there he aim'd the meditated harm, + And scarce Ulysses 'scaped his giant arm. + A tiger's pride the victor bore away, + With native spots and artful labour gay, + A shining border round the margin roll'd, + And calm'd the terrors of his claws in gold. + + CAMBRIDGE, _May_ 8, 1736. + + * * * * * + + + GRAY ON HIMSELF. + + Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, + He had not the method of making a fortune; + Could love and could hate, so was thought something odd; + No very great wit, he believed in a God; + A post or a pension he did not desire, + But left church and state to Charles Townshend and Squire. + + * * * * * + +END OF GRAY'S POEMS. + + * * * * * + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS + +OF + +TOBIAS SMOLLETT. + + +THE + +LIFE OF TOBIAS SMOLLETT. + +The combination of a great writer and a small poet, in one and the +same person, is not uncommon. With not a few, while other, and severer +branches of study are the laborious task of the day, poetry is the +slipshod amusement of the evening. Dr Parr calls Johnson _probabilis +poeta_--words which seem to convey the notion that the author of "The +Rambler," who was great on other fields, was in that of poetry only +respectable. This term is more applicable to Smollett, whose poems +discover only in part those keen, vigorous, and original powers which +enabled him to indite "Roderick Random" and "Humphrey Clinker." Yet +the author of "Independence," and "The Tears of Scotland," must not be +excluded from the list of British poets--an honour to which much even +of his prose has richly entitled him. + +The incidents in Smollett's history are not very numerous, and some of +them are narrated, under faint disguises, with inimitable vivacity and +_vraisemblance_ in his own fictions. Tobias George Smollett was born +in Dalquhurn House, near the village of Renton, Dumbartonshire, in +1721. His father, a younger son of Sir James Smollett of Bonhill, +having died early, the education of the poet devolved on his +grandfather. The scenery of his native place was well calculated to +inspire his early genius. It is one of the most beautiful regions in +Scotland. A fine hollow vale, pervaded by the river Leven, and +surrounded by rich woodlands and bold hills, stretches up from +Dumbarton, with its double peaks and ancient castle, to the +magnificent Loch Lomond; and in one of the loops of this winding vale +was the great novelist born and bred. He called his native region, in +"Humphrey Clinker," the "Arcadia of Scotland," and has sung the Leven +in one of his small poems. He was sent to the Grammar School of +Dumbarton, and thence to Glasgow College. He was subsequently placed +apprentice to one M. Gordon, a medical practitioner in Glasgow; and +from thence, according to some of his biographers, he proceeded to +study medicine in Edinburgh. When he was about nineteen years of age, +his grandfather expired, without having made any provision for him; +and he was compelled, in 1739, to repair to London, carrying with him +a tragedy entitled "The Regicide,"--the subject being the +assassination of James the First of Scotland,--which he had written +the year before, and which he in vain sought to get presented at the +theatres. He had letters of introduction to some eminent literary +characters, who, however, either could not or would not do anything +for him; and he found no better situation than that of surgeon's mate +in an eighty-gun ship. He continued in the navy for six or seven +years, and was present at the disastrous siege of Carthagena, in 1741, +which he has described in a Compendium of Voyages he compiled in 1756, +and with still more vigour in "Roderick Random." His long acquaintance +with the sea furnished ample materials for his genius, although it did +not improve his opinion of human nature. Disgusted with the service, +he quitted it in the West Indies, and lived for some time in Jamaica. +Here he became acquainted with Miss Lascelles, a beautiful lady whom +he afterwards married. She sat for the portrait of Narcissa, in +"Roderick Random." + +In 1746 he returned to England. He found the country ringing with +indignation at the cruelties inflicted by Cumberland on the Highland +rebels, and he caught and crystalised the prevalent emotion in his +spirited lyric, "The Tears of Scotland." He published the same year +his "Advice,"--a satirical poem upon things in general, and the public +men of the day in particular. He wrote also an opera entitled +"Alceste" for Covent Garden; but owing to a dispute with the manager, +it was neither acted nor printed. In 1747 he produced "Reproof," the +second part of "Advice,"--a poem which breathes the same manly +indignation at the abuses, evils, and public charlatans of the day. +This year also he married Miss Lascelles, by whom he expected a +fortune of three thousand pounds. This sum, however, was never fully +realised; and his generous housekeeping, and the expenses of a +litigation to which he was compelled, in connection with Miss +Lascelles' money, embarrassed his circumstances, and, much to the +advantage of the world, drove him to literature. In 1748, he gave to +the world his novel of "Roderick Random,"--counted by many the +masterpiece of his genius. It brought him in both fame and emolument. +In 1749 he published, by subscription, his unfortunate tragedy, "The +Regicide." In 1750 he went to Paris, and shortly after wrote his +"Adventures of Peregrine Pickle," including the memoirs of the +notorious Lady Vane--the substance of which he got from herself, and +which added greatly to the popularity of the work. Notwithstanding the +success he met with as a novelist, he was anxious to prosecute his +original profession of medicine; and having procured from a foreign +university the degree of M.D., he commenced to practise physic in +Chelsea, but without success. He wrote, however, an essay "On the +External Use of Water," in which he seems to have partly anticipated +the method of the cold-water cure. In 1753 he published his +"Adventures of Count Fathom;" and, two years later, encouraged by a +liberal subscription, he issued a translation of "Don Quixote," in two +quarto volumes. While this work was printing, he went down to +Scotland, visited his old scenes and old companions, and was received +everywhere with enthusiasm. The most striking incident, however, in +this journey was his interview with his mother, then residing in +Scotston, near Peebles. He was introduced to her as a stranger +gentleman from the West Indies; and, in order to retain his incognita, +he endeavoured to maintain a serious and frowning countenance. While +his mother, however, continued to regard him steadfastly, he could not +forbear smiling; and she instantly sprang from her seat, threw her +arms round his neck, and cried out, "Ah, my son, I have found you at +last! Your old roguish smile has betrayed you." + +Returning to England, he resumed his literary avocations. He became +the editor of the _Critical Review_--an office, of all others, least +fitted to his testy and irritable temperament. This was in 1756. He +next published the "Compendium of Voyages," in seven volumes, 12mo. In +1757 he wrote a popular afterpiece, entitled "The Reprisals; or, the +Tars of England;" and in 1758 appeared his "Complete History of +England," in four volumes, quarto,--a work said to have been compiled +in the almost incredibly short time of fourteen months. It became +instantly popular, although distinguished by no real historical +quality, except a clear and lively style. + +An attack on Admiral Knowles in the _Critical Review_ greatly incensed +the Admiral; and when he prosecuted the journal, Smollett stepped +forward and avowed himself the author. He was sentenced to a fine of +L100, and to three months' imprisonment. During his confinement in +King's Bench, he composed the "Adventures of Sir Lancelot Greaves," +which appeared first in detached numbers of the _British Magazine_, +and was afterwards published separately in 1762. About this time, his +busy pen was also occupied with histories of France, Italy, Germany, +&c., and a continuation of his English History--all compilations--and +some of them exceedingly unworthy of his genius. He became an ardent +friend and supporter of Lord Bute, and started _The Briton_, a weekly +paper, in his defence; which gave rise to the _North Briton_, by +Wilkes. In our Life of Churchill, we have recounted his quarrel with +that poet, and the chastisement inflicted on Smollett in "The Apology +to the Critical Reviewers." + +In 1763 he lost his only daughter, a girl of fifteen. This event threw +him into deep despondency, and seriously affected his health. He went +to France and Italy for two years; and on his return, in 1766, +published two volumes of Travels--full of querulous and captious +remarks--for which Sterne satirised him, under the name of Smelfungus. +The same year he again visited Scotland. In 1767 he published his +"Adventures of an Atom,"--a political romance, displaying, under +Japanese names, the different parties of Great Britain. A recurrence +of ill health drove him back to Italy in 1770. At Monte Nuovo, near +Leghorn, he wrote his delightful "Humphrey Clinker." This was his last +work. He died at Leghorn on the 21st October 1771, in the fifty-first +year of his age. His widow erected a plain monument to his memory, +with an inscription by Dr Armstrong. In 1774 a Tuscan monument was +erected on the banks of the Leven by his cousin, James Smollett, Esq., +of Bonhill. As his wife was left in poor circumstances, the tragedy of +"Venice Preserved" was acted at Edinburgh for her benefit, and the +money remitted to Italy. + +Smollett, for variety of powers, and indefatigable industry, has +seldom been surpassed. He was a politician, a poet, a physician, a +historian, a translator, a writer of travels, a dramatist, a novelist, +a writer on medical subjects, and a miscellaneous author. It is only, +however, as a novelist and a poet that he has any claims to the +admiration of posterity. His history survives solely because it is +usually bound up with Hume's. His translation of "Don Quixote" has +been eclipsed by after and more accurate versions. His "Tour to Italy" +is a succession of asthmatic gasps and groans. His "Regicide", and +other plays, are entirely forgotten. So also are his critical, +medical, political, and miscellaneous effusions. + +In fiction he is undoubtedly a great original. He had no model, and +has had no imitator. His qualities as a novel-writer are rapidity of +narrative, variety of incident, ease of style, graphic description, +and an exquisite eye for the humours, peculiarities, and absurdities +of character and life. In language he is generally careless, but +whenever a great occasion occurs, he rises to meet it, and writes with +dignity, correctness, and power. His sea-characters, such as Bowling, +and his characters of low-life, such as Strap, have never been +excelled. His tone of morals is always low, and often offensively +coarse. In wit, constructiveness, and general style, he is inferior to +Fielding; but surpasses him in interest, ease, variety, and humour, +"Roderick Random" is the most popular and bustling of his tales. +"Peregrine Pickle" is the filthiest and least agreeable; its humours +are forced and exaggerated, and the sea-characters seem caricatures of +those in "Roderick Random;" just as Norna of the Fitful Head, and +Magdalene Graeme, are caricatures of Meg Merriless. "Sir Lancelot +Greaves" is a tissue of trash, redeemed only here and there by traits +of humour. "The Adventures of an Atom" we never read. "Humphrey +Clinker" is the most delightful novel, with the exception of the +Waverley series, in the English language. "Ferdinand, Count Fathom," +contains much that is disgusting, but parts of it surpass all the rest +in originality and profundity. We refer especially to the description +of the pretended English Squire in Paris, who _bubbles_ the great +_bubbler_ of the tale; to Count Fathom's address to Britain, when he +reaches her shores,--a piece of exquisite mock-heroic irony; to the +narrative of the seduction in the west of England; and to the +matchless robber-scene in the forest,--a passage in which one knows +not whether more to admire the thrilling interest of the incidents, or +the eloquence and power of the language. It is a scene which Scott has +never surpassed, nor, except in the cliff-scene in the "Antiquary," +and, perhaps, the barn-scene in the "Heart of Midlothian," +ever equalled. + +Smollett's poetry need not detain us long. In his twin satires, +"Advice" and "Reproof," you see rather the will to wound than the +power to strike. There are neither the burnished compression, and +polished, pointed malice of Pope, nor the gigantic force and vehement +fury of Churchill. His "Tears of Scotland" is not thoroughly finished, +but has some delicate and beautiful strokes. "Leven Water" is sweet +and murmuring as that stream itself. His "Ode to Independence," as we +have said elsewhere, "should have been written by Burns. How that +poet's lips must have watered, as he repeated the line-- + +'Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye,' + +and remembered he was not their author! He said he would +have given ten pounds to have written 'Donochthead'--he +would have given ten times ten, if, poor fellow! he had had +them, to have written the 'Ode to Independence'--although, +in his 'Vision of Liberty,' he has matched Smollett on his +own ground." Grander lines than the one we have quoted above, +and than the following-- + +"A goddess violated brought thee forth," + +are not to be found in literature. Round this last one, the whole ode +seems to turn as on a pivot, and it alone had been sufficient to stamp +Smollett a man of lofty poetic genius. + + +SMOLLETT'S POEMS + + ADVICE: A SATIRE. + + ----Sed podice levi + Caeduntur tumidae, medico ridente, mariscae. + O proceres! censore opus est, an haruspice nobis? + + JUVENAL. + + ----Nam quis + Peccandi finem posuit sibi? quando recepit + Ejectum semel atterita de fronte ruborem? + + _Ibid._ + + POET. + + Enough, enough; all this we knew before; + 'Tis infamous, I grant it, to be poor: + And who, so much to sense and glory lost, + Will hug the curse that not one joy can boast? + From the pale hag, oh! could I once break loose, + Divorced, all hell should not re-tie the noose! + Not with more care shall H-- avoid his wife, + Nor Cope[1] fly swifter, lashing for his life, + Than I to leave the meagre fiend behind. + + FRIEND. + + Exert your talents; Nature, ever kind, 10 + Enough for happiness bestows on all; + 'Tis Sloth or Pride that finds her gifts too small. + Why sleeps the Muse?--is there no room for praise, + When such bright constellations blaze? + When sage Newcastle[2], abstinently great, + Neglects his food to cater for the state; + And Grafton[3], towering Atlas of the throne, + So well rewards a genius like his own: + Granville and Bath[4] illustrious, need I name, + For sober dignity, and spotless fame; 20 + Or Pitt, the unshaken Abdiel yet unsung: + Thy candour, Chomdeley! and thy truth, O Younge! + + POET. + + The advice is good; the question only, whether + These names and virtues ever dwelt together? + But what of that? the more the bard shall claim, + Who can create as well as cherish fame. + But one thing more,--how loud must I repeat, + To rouse the engaged attention of the + great,--Amused, perhaps, with C--'s prolific hum[5], + Or rapt amidst the transports of a drum;[6] 30 + While the grim porter watches every door, + Stern foe to tradesmen, poets, and the poor, + The Hesperian dragon not more fierce and fell, + Nor the gaunt growling janitor of Hell? + Even Atticus (so wills the voice of Fate) + Enshrines in clouded majesty his state; + Nor to the adoring crowd vouchsafes regard, + Though priests adore, and every priest a bard. + Shall I then follow with the venal tribe, + And on the threshold the base mongrel bribe? 40 + Bribe him to feast my mute imploring eye + With some proud lord, who smiles a gracious lie! + A lie to captivate my heedless youth, + Degrade my talents, and debauch my truth; + While, fool'd with hope, revolves my joyless day, + And friends, and fame, and fortune, fleet away; + Till, scandal, indigence, and scorn my lot, + The dreary jail entombs me, where I rot! + Is there, ye varnish'd ruffians of the state! + Not one among the millions whom ye cheat, 50 + Who, while he totters on the brink of woe, + Dares, ere he falls, attempt the avenging + blow,--A steady blow, his languid soul to feast, + And rid his country of one curse at least? + + FRIEND. + + What! turn assassin? + + POET. + + Let the assassin bleed: + My fearless verse shall justify the deed. + 'Tis he who lures the unpractised mind astray, + Then leaves the wretch, to misery a prey; + Perverts the race of Virtue just begun, + And stabs the Public in her ruin'd son. 60 + + FRIEND. + + Heavens! how you rail; the man's consumed by spite! + If Lockman's fate[7] attends you when you write, + Let prudence more propitious arts inspire; + The lower still you crawl, you'll climb the higher. + Go then, with every supple virtue stored, + And thrive, the favour'd valet of my lord. + Is that denied? a boon more humble crave. + And minister to him who serves a slave; + Be sure you fasten on promotion's scale, + Even if you seize some footman by the tail: 70 + The ascent is easy, and the prospect clear, + From the smirch'd scullion to the embroider'd peer. + The ambitious drudge preferr'd, postilion rides, + Advanced again, the chair benighted guides; + Here doom'd, if Nature strung his sinewy frame, + The slave, perhaps, of some insatiate dame; + But if, exempted from the Herculean toil, + A fairer field awaits him, rich with spoil, + There shall he shine, with mingling honours bright, + His master's pathic, pimp, and parasite; 80 + Then strut a captain, if his wish be war, + And grasp, in hope, a truncheon and a star: + Or if the sweets of peace his soul allure, + Bask at his ease, in some warm sinecure; + His fate in consul, clerk, or agent vary, + Or cross the seas, an envoy's secretary; + Composed of falsehood, ignorance, and pride, + A prostrate sycophant shall rise a Lloyd; + And, won from kennels to the impure embrace, + Accomplish'd Warren triumph o'er disgrace. 90 + + POET. + + Eternal infamy his name surround, + Who planted first that vice on British ground! + A vice that, spite of sense and nature, reigns, + And poisons genial love, and manhood stains! + Pollio! the pride of science and its shame, + The Muse weeps o'er thee, while she brands thy name! + Abhorrent views that prostituted groom, + The indecent grotto, or polluted dome! + There only may the spurious passion glow, + Where not one laurel decks the caitiff's brow, 100 + Obscene with crimes avow'd, of every dye, + Corruption, lust, oppression, perjury. + Let Chardin[8], with a chaplet round his head, + The taste of Maro and Anacreon plead, + 'Sir, Flaccus knew to live as well as write, + And kept, like me, two boys array'd in white;' + Worthy to feel that appetence of fame + Which rivals Horace only in his shame! + Let Isis[9] wail in murmurs as she runs, + Her tempting fathers, and her yielding sons; 110 + While dulness screens the failings of the Church, + Nor leaves one sliding Rabbi in the lurch: + Far other raptures let the breast contain, + Where heaven-born taste and emulation reign. + + FRIEND. + + Shall not a thousand virtues, then, atone us + In thy strict censure for the breach of one? + If Bubo keeps a catamite or whore, + His bounty feeds the beggar at his door: + And though no mortal credits Curio's word, + A score of lacqueys fatten at his board: 120 + To Christian meekness sacrifice thy spleen, + And strive thy neighbour's weaknesses to screen. + + POET. + + Scorn'd be the bard, and wither'd all his fame, + Who wounds a brother weeping o'er his shame! + But if an impious wretch, with frantic pride, + Throws honour, truth, and decency aside; + If not by reason awed, nor check'd by fears, + He counts his glories from the stains he bears, + The indignant Muse to Virtue's aid shall rise, + And fix the brand of infamy on vice. 130 + What if, aroused at his imperious call, + An hundred footsteps echo through his hall, + And, on high columns rear'd, his lofty dome + Proclaims the united art of Greece and Rome. + What though whole hecatombs his crew regale, + And each dependant slumbers o'er his ale, + While the remains, through mouths unnumber'd pass'd, + Indulge the beggar and the dogs at last: + Say, friend, is it benevolence of soul, + Or pompous vanity, that prompts the whole? 140 + These sons of sloth, who by profusion thrive, + His pride inveigled from the public hive: + And numbers pine in solitary woe, + Who furnish'd out this phantasy of show. + When silent misery assail'd his eyes, + Did e'er his throbbing bosom sympathise? + Or his extensive charity pervade + To those who languish in the barren shade, + Where oft, by want and modesty suppress'd, + The bootless talent warms the lonely breast? 150 + No! petrified by dulness and disdain, + Beyond the feeling of another's pain, + The tear of pity ne'er bedew d his eye, + Nor his lewd bosom felt the social sigh! + + FRIEND. + + Alike to thee his virtue or his vice, + If his hand liberal owns thy merit's price. + + POET. + + Sooner in hopeless anguish would I mourn, + Than owe my fortune to the man I scorn! + What new resource? + + FRIEND. + + A thousand yet remain, + That bloom with honours, or that teem with gain: 160 + These arts--are they beneath--beyond thy care? + Devote thy studies to the auspicious fair: + Of truth divested, let thy tongue supply + The hinted slander, and the whisper'd lie; + All merit mock, all qualities depress, + Save those that grace the excelling patroness; + Trophies to her on others' follies raise, + And, heard with joy, by defamation praise; + To this collect each faculty of face, + And every feat perform of sly grimace; 170 + Let the grave sneer sarcastic speak thee shrewd; + The smutty joke ridiculously lewd; + And the loud laugh, through all its changes rung, + Applaud the abortive sallies of her tongue; + Enroll'd a member in the sacred list, + Soon shalt thou sharp in company at whist; + Her midnight rites and revels regulate, + Priest of her love, and demon of her hate. + + POET. + + But say, what recompense for all this waste + Of honour, truth, attention, time, and taste? 180 + To shine, confess'd, her zany and her tool, + And fall by what I rose--low ridicule? + Again shall Handel raise his laurell'd brow, + Again shall harmony with rapture glow; + The spells dissolve, the combination breaks, + And Punch no longer Frasi's rival squeaks: + Lo! Russell[10] falls a sacrifice to whim, + And starts amazed, in Newgate, from his dream: + With trembling hands implores their promised aid, + And sees their favour like a vision fade! 190 + Is this, ye faithless Syrens!--this the joy + To which your smiles the unwary wretch decoy? + Naked and shackled, on the pavement prone, + His mangled flesh devouring from the bone; + Rage in his heart, distraction in his eye, + Behold, inhuman hags! your minion lie! + Behold his gay career to ruin run, + By you seduced, abandon'd, and undone! + Rather in garret pent, secure from harm, + My Muse with murders shall the town alarm; 200 + Or plunge in politics with patriot zeal, + And snarl like Guthrie[11] for the public weal, + Than crawl an insect in a beldame's power, + And dread the crush of caprice every hour! + + FRIEND. + + 'Tis well; enjoy that petulance of style, + And, like the envious adder, lick the file: + What, though success will not attend on all? + Who bravely dares must sometimes risk a fall. + Behold the bounteous board of Fortune spread; + Each weakness, vice, and folly yields thee bread, 210 + Would'st thou with prudent condescension strive + On the long settled terms of life to thrive. + + POET. + + What! join the crew that pilfer one another, + Betray my friend, and persecute my brother; + Turn usurer, o'er cent. per cent. to brood, + Or quack, to feed like fleas on human blood? + + FRIEND. + + Or if thy soul can brook the gilded curse, + Some changeling heiress steal-- + + POET. + + Why not a purse? + Two things I dread--my conscience and the law. + + FRIEND. + + How? dread a mumbling bear without a claw? 220 + Nor this, nor that, is standard right or wrong, + Till minted by the mercenary tongue; + And what is conscience but a fiend of strife, + That chills the joys, and damps the scenes of life, + The wayward child of Vanity and Fear, + The peevish dam of Poverty and Care? + Unnumber'd woes engender in the breast + That entertains the rude, ungrateful guest. + + POET. + + Hail, sacred power! my glory and my guide! + Fair source of mental peace, whate'er betide! 230 + Safe in thy shelter, let disaster roll + Eternal hurricanes around my soul: + My soul serene amidst the storms shall reign, + And smile to see their fury burst in vain! + + FRIEND. + + Too coy to flatter, and too proud to serve, + Thine be the joyless dignity to starve. + + POET. + + No;--thanks to discord, war shall be my friend; + And mortal rage heroic courage lend + To pierce the gleaming squadron of the foe, + And win renown by some distinguish'd blow. 240 + + FRIEND. + + Renown! ay, do--unkennel the whole pack + Of military cowards on thy back. + What difference, say, 'twixt him who bravely stood, + And him who sought the bosom of the wood?[12] + Envenom'd calumny the first shall brand; + The last enjoy a ribbon and command. + + POET. + + If such be life, its wretches I deplore, + And long to quit the inhospitable shore. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Cope': a general famous for an expeditious retreat, +though not quite so deliberate as that of the ten thousand Greeks from +Persia; having unfortunately forgot to bring his army along with him.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Newcastle:' alluding to the philosophical contempt which +this great personage manifested for the sensual delights of +the stomach.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Grafton': this noble peer, remarkable for sublimity of +parts, by virtue of his office (Lord Chamberlain) conferred the +laureate on Colley Cibber, Esq., a delectable bard, whose character +has already employed, together with his own, the greatest pens of +the age.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Granville and Bath': two noblemen famous in their day +for nothing more than their fortitude in bearing the scorn and +reproach of their country.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Prolific hum': this alludes to a phenomenon, not more +strange than true,--the person here meant having actually laid upwards +of forty eggs, as several physicians and fellows of the Royal Society +can attest: one of whom, we hear, has undertaken the incubation, and +will no doubt favour the world with an account of his success.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Drum': this is a riotous assembly of fashionable people, +of both sexes, at a private house, consisting of some hundreds: not +unaptly styled a drum, from the noise and emptiness of the +entertainment. There are also drum-major, rout, tempest, and +hurricane, differing only in degrees of multitude and uproar, as the +significant name of each declares.] + +[Footnote 7: 'Lockman's fate': to be little read, and less approved.] + +[Footnote 8: 'Chardin': this genial knight wore at his own banquet a +garland of flowers, in imitation of the ancients; and kept two rosy +boys robed in white, for the entertainment of his guests.] + +[Footnote 9: 'Isis': in allusion to the unnatural orgies said to be +solemnised on the banks of this river; particularly at one place, +where a much greater sanctity of morals and taste might be expected.] + +[Footnote 10: 'Russell:' a famous mimic and singer, ruined by the +patronage of certain ladies of quality.] + +[Footnote 11: 'Guthrie:' a scribbler of all work in that age.] + +[Footnote 12: 'Bosom of the wood:' this last line relates to the +behaviour of the Hanoverian general in the battle of Dettingen.] + + * * * * * + + + REPROOF: A SATIRE. + + POET. + + Howe'er I turn, or wheresoe'er I tread, + This giddy world still rattles round my head! + I pant for silence e'en in this retreat-- + Good Heaven! what demon thunders at the gate? + + FRIEND. + + In vain you strive, in this sequester'd nook, + To shroud you from an injured friend's rebuke. + + POET. + + An injured friend! who challenges the name? + If you, what title justifies the claim? + Did e'er your heart o'er my affliction grieve, + Your interest prop me, or your praise relieve? 10 + Or could my wants my soul so far subdue, + That in distress she crawl'd for aid to you? + But let us grant the indulgence e'er so strong; + Display without reserve the imagined wrong: + Among your kindred have I kindled strife, + Deflower'd your daughter, or debauch'd your wife; + Traduced your credit, bubbled you at game; + Or soil'd with infamous reproach your name? + + FRIEND. + + No: but your cynic vanity (you'll own) + Exposed my private counsel to the town. 20 + + POET. + + Such fair advice 'twere pity sure to lose: + I grant I printed it for public use. + + FRIEND. + + Yes, season'd with your own remarks between, + Inflamed with so much virulence of spleen + That the mild town (to give the devil his due) + Ascribed the whole performance to a Jew. + + POET. + + Jews, Turks, or Pagans--hallow'd be the mouth + That teems with moral zeal and dauntless truth! + Prove that my partial strain adopts one lie, + No penitent more mortified than I; 30 + Not e'en the wretch in shackles doom'd to groan, + Beneath the inhuman scoffs of Williamson.[1] + + FRIEND. + + Hold--let us see this boasted self-denial-- + The vanquish'd knight[2] has triumph'd in his trial. + + POET. + + What then? + + FRIEND. + + Your own sarcastic verse unsay, + That brands him as a trembling runaway. + + POET. + + With all my soul;--the imputed charge rehearse; + I'll own my error and expunge my verse. + Come, come, howe'er the day was lost or won, + The world allows the race was fairly run. 40 + But, lest the truth too naked should appear, + A robe of fable shall the goddess wear: + When sheep were subject to the lion's reign, + E'er man acquired dominion o'er the plain, + Voracious wolves, fierce rushing from the rocks, + Devour'd without control the unguarded flocks; + The sufferers, crowding round the royal cave, + Their monarch's pity and protection crave: + Not that they wanted valour, force, or arms, + To shield their lambs from danger and alarms; 50 + A thousand rams, the champions of the fold, + In strength of horn and patriot virtue bold, + Engaged in firm association stood, + Their lives devoted to the public good: + A warlike chieftain was their sole request, + To marshal, guide, instruct, and rule the rest. + Their prayer was heard, and, by consent of all, + A courtier ape appointed general. + He went, he led; arranged the battle stood, + The savage foe came pouring like a flood; 60 + Then Pug, aghast, fled swifter than the wind, + Nor deign'd in threescore miles to look behind, + While every band fled orders bleat in vain, + And fall in slaughter'd heaps upon the plain. + The scared baboon, (to cut the matter short) + With all his speed, could not outrun report; + And, to appease the clamours of the nation, + 'Twas fit his case should stand examination. + + The board was named--each worthy took his place, + All senior members of the horned race; 70 + The wedder, goat, ram, elk, and ox were there, + And a grave hoary stag possess'd the chair. + The inquiry past, each in his turn began + The culprit's conduct variously to scan. + At length the sage uprear'd his awful crest, + And, pausing, thus his fellow chiefs address'd: + 'If age, that from this head its honours stole, + Hath not impair'd the functions of my soul, + But sacred wisdom, with experience bought, + While this weak frame decays, matures my thought, 80 + The important issue of this grand debate + May furnish precedent for your own fate, + Should ever fortune call you to repel + The shaggy foe, so desperate and fell. + 'Tis plain, you say, his excellence Sir Ape + From the dire field accomplish'd an escape; + Alas! our fellow subjects ne'er had bled, + If every ram that fell like him had fled; + Certes, those sheep were rather mad than brave, + Which scorn'd the example their wise leader gave. 90 + Let us then every vulgar hint disdain, + And from our brother's laurel wash the stain.' + The admiring court applauds the president, + And Pug was clear'd by general consent. + + FRIEND. + + There needs no magic to divine your scope, + Mark'd, as you are, a flagrant misanthrope: + Sworn foe to good and bad, to great and small, + Thy rankling pen produces nought but gall: + Let virtue struggle, or let glory shine, + Thy verse affords not one approving line. 100 + + POET. + + Hail, sacred themes! the Muse's chief delight! + Oh, bring the darling objects to my sight! + My breast with elevated thought shall glow, + My fancy brighten, and my numbers flow! + The Aonian grove with rapture would I tread, + To crop unfading wreaths for William's head, + But that my strain, unheard amidst the throng, + Must yield to Lockman's ode, and Hambury's song. + Nor would the enamour'd Muse neglect to pay + To Stanhope's[3] worth the tributary lay, 110 + The soul unstain'd, the sense sublime to paint, + A people's patron, pride, and ornament, + Did not his virtues eternised remain + The boasted theme of Pope's immortal strain. + Not e'en the pleasing task is left to raise + A grateful monument to Barnard's praise, + Else should the venerable patriot stand + The unshaken pillar of a sinking land. + The gladdening prospect let me still pursue, + And bring fair Virtue's triumph to the view; 120 + Alike to me, by fortune blest or not, + From soaring Cobham to the melting Scot.[4] + But, lo! a swarm of harpies intervene, + To ravage, mangle, and pollute the scene! + Gorged with our plunder, yet still gaunt for spoil, + Rapacious Gideon fastens on our isle; + Insatiate Lascelles, and the fiend Vaneck, + Rise on our ruins, and enjoy the wreck; + While griping Jasper glories in his prize, + Wrung from the widow's tears and orphan's cries. 130 + + FRIEND. + + Relapsed again! strange tendency to rail! + I fear'd this meekness would not long prevail. + + POET. + + You deem it rancour, then? Look round and see + What vices flourish still unpruned by me: + Corruption, roll'd in a triumphant car, + Displays his burnish'd front and glittering star, + Nor heeds the public scorn, or transient curse, + Unknown alike to honour and remorse. + Behold the leering belle, caress'd by all, + Adorn each private feast and public ball, 140 + Where peers attentive listen and adore, + And not one matron shuns the titled whore. + At Peter's obsequies[5] I sung no dirge; + Nor has my satire yet supplied a scourge + For the vile tribes of usurers and bites, + Who sneak at Jonathan's, and swear at White's. + Each low pursuit, and slighter folly, bred + Within the selfish heart and hollow head, + Thrives uncontroll'd, and blossoms o'er the land, + Nor feels the rigour of my chastening hand. 150 + While Codrus shivers o'er his bags of gold, + By famine wither'd, and benumb'd by cold, + I mark his haggard eyes with frenzy roll, + And feast upon the terrors of his soul; + The wrecks of war, the perils of the deep, + That curse with hideous dreams the caitiff's sleep; + Insolvent debtors, thieves, and civil strife, + Which daily persecute his wretched life, + With all the horrors of prophetic dread, + That rack his bosom while the mail is read. 160 + Safe from the road, untainted by the school, + A judge by birth, by destiny a fool, + While the young lordling struts in native pride, + His party-colour'd tutor by his side, + Pleased, let me own the pious mother's care, + Who to the brawny sire commits her heir. + Fraught with the spirit of a Gothic monk, + Let Rich, with dulness and devotion drunk, + Enjoy the peal so barbarous and loud, + While his brain spews new monsters to the crowd; 170 + I see with joy the vaticide deplore + A hell-denouncing priest and ... whore; + Let every polish'd dame and genial lord, + Employ the social chair and venal board; + Debauch'd from sense, let doubtful meanings run, + The vague conundrum, and the prurient pun, + While the vain fop, with apish grin, regards + The giggling minx half-choked behind her cards: + These, and a thousand idle pranks, I deem + The motley spawn of Ignorance and Whim. 180 + Let Pride conceive, and Folly propagate, + The fashion still adopts the spurious brat: + Nothing so strange that fashion cannot tame; + By this, dishonour ceases to be shame: + This weans from blushes lewd Tyrawley's face, + Gives Hawley[6] praise, and Ingoldsby disgrace, + From Mead to Thomson shifts the palm at once, + A meddling, prating, blundering, busy dunce! + And may, should taste a little more decline, + Transform the nation to a herd of swine. 190 + + FRIEND. + + The fatal period hastens on apace. + Nor will thy verse the obscene event disgrace; + Thy flowers of poetry, that smell so strong, + The keenest appetites have loathed the song, + Condemn'd by Clark, Banks, Barrowby, and Chitty, + And all the crop-ear'd critics of the city: + While sagely neutral sits thy silent friend, + Alike averse to censure or commend. + + POET. + + Peace to the gentle soul that could deny + His invocated voice to fill the cry! 200 + And let me still the sentiment disdain + Of him who never speaks but to arraign, + The sneering son of Calumny and Scorn, + Whom neither arts, nor sense, nor soul adorn; + Or his, who, to maintain a critic's rank, + Though conscious of his own internal blank, + His want of taste unwilling to betray, + 'Twixt sense and nonsense hesitates all day, + With brow contracted hears each passage read, + And often hums, and shakes his empty head, 210 + Until some oracle adored pronounce + The passive bard a poet or a dunce; + Then in loud clamour echoes back the word, + 'Tis bold, insipid--soaring, or absurd. + These, and the unnumber'd shoals of smaller fry, + That nibble round, I pity and defy. + + +[Footnote 1: 'Williamson:' governor of the Tower.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Vanquished knight:' Sir John Cope.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Stanhope:' the Earl of Chesterfield.] + +[Footnote 4; 'Scot, Gideon,' &c.: forgotten contractors, +money-lenders, &c.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Peter's obsequies:' Peter Waters, Esq.] + +[Footnote 6: 'Hawley:' discomfited at Falkirk in 1746.] + + * * * * * + + + THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND. + + WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1746. + + 1 Mourn, hapless Caledonia! mourn + Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn! + Thy sons, for valour long renown'd, + Lie slaughter'd on their native ground; + Thy hospitable roofs no more + Invite the stranger to the door; + In smoky ruins sunk they lie, + The monuments of cruelty. + + 2 The wretched owner sees afar + His all become the prey of war; + Bethinks him of his babes and wife, + Then smites his breast, and curses life. + Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks, + Where once they fed their wanton flocks: + Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain; + Thy infants perish on the plain. + + 3 What boots it, then, in every clime, + Through the wide-spreading waste of Time, + Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, + Still shone with undiminish'd blaze? + Thy towering spirit now is broke, + Thy neck is bended to the yoke. + What foreign arms could never quell, + By civil rage and rancour fell. + + 4 The rural pipe and merry lay + No more shall cheer the happy day: + No social scenes of gay delight + Beguile the dreary winter night. + No strains but those of sorrow flow, + And nought be heard but sounds of woe, + While the pale phantoms of the slain + Glide nightly o'er the silent plain. + + 5 Oh! baneful cause, oh! fatal morn, + Accursed to ages yet unborn! + The sons against their father stood, + The parent shed his children's blood. + Yet, when the rage of battle ceased, + The victor's soul was not appeased: + The naked and forlorn must feel + Devouring flames, and murdering steel! + + 6 The pious mother, doom'd to death, + Forsaken wanders o'er the heath, + The bleak wind whistles round her head, + Her helpless orphans cry for bread; + Bereft of shelter, food, and friend, + She views the shades of night descend, + And, stretch'd beneath the inclement skies, + Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies. + + 7 While the warm blood bedews my veins, + And unimpair'd remembrance reigns, + Resentment of my country's fate, + Within my filial breast shall beat; + And, spite of her insulting foe, + My sympathising verse shall flow: + Mourn, hapless Caledonia! mourn + Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn! + + * * * * * + + + VERSES ON A YOUNG LADY + + PLAYING ON A HARPSICHORD AND SINGING. + + 1 When Sappho struck the quivering wire, + The throbbing breast was all on fire; + And when she raised the vocal lay, + The captive soul was charm'd away! + + 2 But had the nymph possess'd with these + Thy softer, chaster power to please, + Thy beauteous air of sprightly youth, + Thy native smiles of artless truth-- + + 3 The worm of grief had never prey'd + On the forsaken love-sick maid; + Nor had she mourn'd a hapless flame, + Nor dash'd on rocks her tender frame. + + * * * * * + + + LOVE ELEGY. + + IN IMITATION OF TIBULLUS. + + 1 Where now are all my flattering dreams of joy? + Monimia, give my soul her wonted rest; + Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye, + Heart-gnawing cares corrode my pensive breast. + + 2 Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call, + With festive songs beguile the fleeting hour; + Lead beauty through the mazes of the ball, + Or press her, wanton, in Love's roseate bower. + + 3 For me, no more I'll range the empurpled mead, + Where shepherds pipe, and virgins dance around, + Nor wander through the woodbine's fragrant shade, + To hear the music of the grove resound. + + 4 I'll seek some lonely church, or dreary hall, + Where fancy paints the glimmering taper blue, + Where damps hang mouldering on the ivied wall, + And sheeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew: + + 5 There, leagued with hopeless anguish and despair, + A while in silence o'er my fate repine: + Then with a long farewell to love and care, + To kindred dust my weary limbs consign. + + 6 Wilt thou, Monimia, shed a gracious tear + On the cold grave where all my sorrows rest? + Strew vernal flowers, applaud my love sincere, + And bid the turf lie easy on my breast? + + * * * * * + + + BURLESQUE ODE.[1] + + Where wast thou, wittol Ward, when hapless fate + From these weak arms mine aged grannam tore? + These pious arms essay'd too late + To drive the dismal phantom from the door. + Could not thy healing drop, illustrious quack, + Could not thy salutary pill prolong her days, + For whom so oft to Marybone, alack! + Thy sorrels dragg'd thee, through the worst of ways? + Oil-dropping Twickenham did not then detain + Thy steps, though tended by the Cambrian maids; 10 + Nor the sweet environs of Drury Lane; + Nor dusty Pimlico's embowering shades; + Nor Whitehall, by the river's bank, + Beset with rowers dank; + Nor where the Exchange pours forth its tawny sons; + Nor where, to mix with offal, soil, and blood, + Steep Snowhill rolls the sable flood; + Nor where the Mint's contamined kennel runs: + Ill doth it now beseem, + That thou should'st doze and dream, 20 + When Death in mortal armour came, + And struck with ruthless dart the gentle dame. + Her liberal hand and sympathising breast + The brute creation kindly bless'd; + Where'er she trod, grimalkin purr'd around, + The squeaking pigs her bounty own'd; + Nor to the waddling duck or gabbling goose + Did she glad sustenance refuse; + The strutting cock she daily fed, + And turkey with his snout so red; 30 + Of chickens careful as the pious hen, + Nor did she overlook the tom-tit or the wren, + While red-breast hopp'd before her in the hall, + As if she common mother were of all. + + For my distracted mind, + What comfort can I find; + O best of grannams! thou art dead and gone, + And I am left behind to weep and moan, + To sing thy dirge in sad and funeral lay, + Oh! woe is me! alack! and well a-day! 40 + + +[Footnote 1: Smollett, imagining himself ill-treated by Lord +Lyttelton, wrote the above burlesque on that nobleman's Monody on the +death of his lady.] + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO MIRTH. + + Parent of joy! heart-easing Mirth! + Whether of Venus or Aurora born, + Yet Goddess sure of heavenly birth, + Visit benign a son of grief forlorn: + Thy glittering colours gay, + Around him, Mirth, display, + And o'er his raptured sense + Diffuse thy living influence: + So shall each hill, in purer green array'd, + And flower adorn'd in new-born beauty glow, 10 + The grove shall smooth the horrors of the shade, + And streams in murmurs shall forget to flow. + Shine, Goddess! shine with unremitted ray, + And gild (a second sun) with brighter beam our day. + Labour with thee forgets his pain, + And aged Poverty can smile with thee; + If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain, + And weak the uplifted arm of Tyranny. + The morning opes on high + His universal eye, 20 + And on the world doth pour + His glories in a golden shower; + Lo! Darkness trembling 'fore the hostile ray, + Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn: + The brood obscene that own her gloomy sway + Troop in her rear, and fly the approaching morn; + Pale shivering ghosts that dread the all-cheering light, + Quick as the lightning's flash glide to sepulchral night. + But whence the gladdening beam + That pours his purple stream 30 + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO SLEEP. + + Soft Sleep, profoundly pleasing power, + Sweet patron of the peaceful hour! + Oh, listen from thy calm abode, + And hither wave thy magic rod; + Extend thy silent, soothing sway, + And charm the canker care away: + Whether thou lov'st to glide along, + Attended by an airy throng + Of gentle dreams and smiles of joy, + Such as adorn the wanton boy; 10 + Or to the monarch's fancy bring + Delights that better suit a king, + The glittering host, the groaning plain, + The clang of arms, and victor's train; + Or should a milder vision please, + Present the happy scenes of peace, + Plump Autumn, blushing all around, + Rich Industry, with toil embrown'd, + Content, with brow serenely gay, + And genial Art's refulgent ray. 20 + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO LEVEN WATER. + + On Leven's banks, while free to rove, + And tune the rural pipe to love, + I envied not the happiest swain + That ever trod the Arcadian plain. + + Pure stream, in whose transparent wave + My youthful limbs I wont to lave, + No torrents stain thy limpid source; + No rocks impede thy dimpling course, + That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, + With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread; 10 + While, lightly poised, the scaly brood + In myriads cleave thy crystal flood; + The springing trout, in speckled pride, + The salmon, monarch of the tide, + The ruthless pike, intent on war, + The silver eel, and mottled par. + Devolving from thy parent lake, + A charming maze thy waters make, + By bowers of birch, and groves of pine, + And edges flower'd with eglantine. 20 + + Still on thy banks, so gaily green, + May numerous herds and flocks be seen, + And lasses, chanting o'er the pail, + And shepherds, piping in the dale, + And ancient faith, that knows no guile, + And Industry, embrown'd with toil, + And hearts resolved, and hands prepared, + The blessings they enjoy to guard. + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO BLUE-EYED ANN. + + 1 When the rough north forgets to howl, + And ocean's billows cease to roll; + When Lybian sands are bound in frost, + And cold to Nova-Zembla's lost; + When heavenly bodies cease to move, + My blue-eyed Ann I'll cease to love! + + 2 No more shall flowers the meads adorn, + Nor sweetness deck the rosy thorn, + Nor swelling buds proclaim the spring, + Nor parching heats the dog-star bring, + Nor laughing lilies paint the grove, + When blue-eyed Ann I cease to love. + + 3 No more shall joy in hope be found, + Nor pleasures dance their frolic round, + Nor love's light god inhabit earth, + Nor beauty give the passion birth, + Nor heat to summer sunshine cleave, + When blue-eyed Nanny I deceive. + + 4 When rolling seasons cease to change, + Inconstancy forgets to range; + When lavish May no more shall bloom, + Nor gardens yield a rich perfume; + When Nature from her sphere shall start, + I'll tear my Nanny from my heart. + + * * * * * + + + ODE TO INDEPENDENCE. + + STROPHE. + + Thy spirit, Independence! let me share, + Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye; + Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare, + Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky. + Deep in the frozen regions of the north, + A goddess violated brought thee forth, + Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime, + Hath bleach'd the tyrant's cheek in every varying clime. + What time the iron-hearted Gaul, + With frantic Superstition for his guide, 10 + Arm'd with the dagger and the pall, + The sons of Woden to the field defied; + The ruthless hag, by Weser's flood, + In Heaven's name urged the infernal blow, + And red the stream began to flow: + The vanquished were baptised with blood![1] + + ANTISTROPHE. + + The Saxon prince in horror fled + From altars stain'd with human gore; + And Liberty his routed legions led + In safety to the bleak Norwegian shore. 20 + There in a cave asleep she lay, + Lull'd by the hoarse resounding main; + When a bold savage pass'd that way, + Impell'd by destiny, his name Disdain. + + Of ample front the portly chief appear'd: + The hunted bear supplied a shaggy vest; + The drifted snow hung on his yellow beard, + And his broad shoulders braved the furious blast. + He stopp'd; he gazed; his bosom glow'd, + And deeply felt the impression of her charms; 30 + He seized the advantage Fate allow'd, + And straight compress'd her in his vigorous arms. + + STROPHE. + + The curlew scream'd, the Tritons blew + Their shells to celebrate the ravish'd rite; + Old Time exulted as he flew, + And Independence saw the light; + The light he saw in Albion's happy plains, + Where, under cover of a flowering thorn, + While Philomel renew'd her warbled strains, + The auspicious fruit of stolen embrace was born. 40 + The mountain Dyriads seized with joy + The smiling infant to their charge consign'd; + The Doric Muse caress'd the favourite boy; + The hermit Wisdom stored his opening mind: + As rolling years matured his age, + He flourish'd bold and sinewy as his sire; + While the mild passions in his breast assuage + The fiercer flames of his maternal fire. + + ANTISTROPHE. + + Accomplish'd thus he wing'd his way, + And zealous roved from pole to pole, 50 + The rolls of right eternal to display, + And warm with patriot thoughts the aspiring soul; + On desert isles 'twas he that raised + Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave,[2] + Where Tyranny beheld, amazed, + Fair Freedom's temple where he mark'd her grave: + He steel'd the blunt Batavian's arms + To burst the Iberian's double chain; + And cities rear'd, and planted farms, + Won from the skirts of Neptune's wide domain.[3] 60 + He with the generous rustics sate + On Uri's rocks[4] in close divan; + And wing'd that arrow sure as fate, + Which ascertain'd the sacred rights of man. + + STROPHE. + + Arabia's scorching sands he cross'd, + Where blasted Nature pants supine, + Conductor of her tribes adust + To Freedom's adamantine shrine; + And many a Tartar horde forlorn, aghast, + He snatch'd from under fell Oppression's wing, 70 + And taught amidst the dreary waste + The all-cheering hymns of liberty to sing. + He virtue finds, like precious ore, + Diffused through every baser mould; + E'en now he stands on Calvi's rocky shore,[5] + And turns the dross of Corsica to gold. + He, guardian Genius! taught my youth + Pomp's tinsel livery to despise; + My lips, by him chastised to truth, + Ne'er paid that homage which my heart denies. 80 + + ANTISTROPHE. + + Those sculptured halls my feet shall never tread, + Where varnish'd Vice and Vanity, combined + To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread, + And forge vile shackles for the freeborn mind; + While Insolence his wrinkled front uprears, + And all the flowers of spurious Fancy blow; + And Title his ill-woven chaplet wears, + Full often wreath'd around the miscreant's brow; + Where ever-dimpling Falsehood, pert and vain, + Presents her cup of stale Profession's froth; 90 + And pale Disease, with all his bloated train, + Torments the sons of gluttony and sloth. + + STROPHE. + + In Fortune's car behold that minion ride, + With either India's glittering spoils oppress'd; + So moves the sumpter-mule in harness'd pride, + That bears the treasure which he cannot taste. + For him let venal bards disgrace the bay, + And hireling minstrels wake the tinkling string; + Her sensual snares let faithless Pleasure lay; + And jingling bells fantastic Folly ring; 100 + Disquiet, doubt, and dread shall intervene, + And Nature, still to all her feelings just, + In vengeance hang a damp on every scene, + Shook from the baneful pinions of Disgust. + + ANTISTROPHE. + + Nature I'll court in her sequester'd haunts, + By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or cell, + Where the poised lark his evening ditty chaunts, + And Health, and Peace, and Contemplation dwell. + There Study shall with Solitude recline, + And Friendship pledge me to his fellow swains, 110 + And Toil and Temperance sedately twine + The slender cord that fluttering life sustains; + And fearless Poverty shall guard the door, + And Taste unspoil'd the frugal table spread, + And Industry supply the humble store, + And Sleep unbribed his dews refreshing shed; + White-mantled Innocence, ethereal sprite! + Shall chase far off the goblins of the night, + And Independence o'er the day preside, + Propitious power! my patron and my pride! 120 + + +[Footnote 1: 'Baptised with blood:' Charlemagne obliged four thousand +Saxon prisoners to embrace the Christian religion, and immediately +after they were baptized, ordered their throats to be cut. Their +prince, Vitikind, fled for shelter to Gotrick, king of Denmark.] + +[Footnote 2: 'Adriatic wave:' although Venice was built a considerable +time before the era here assigned for the birth of Independence, the +republic had not yet attained to any great degree of power and +splendour.] + +[Footnote 3: 'Neptune's wide domain:' the Low Countries, and their +revolt from Spain, are here alluded to.] + +[Footnote 4: 'Uri's rocks:' alluding to the known story of William +Tell and his associates.] + +[Footnote 5: 'Calvi's rocky shore:' the noble stand made by Paschal +Paoli, and his associates, against the usurpations of the +French king.] + + * * * * * + + +SONG. + + 1 While with fond rapture and amaze, + On thy transcendent charms I gaze, + My cautious soul essays in vain + Her peace and freedom to maintain: + Yet let that blooming form divine, + Where grace and harmony combine, + Those eyes, like genial orbs that move, + Dispensing gladness, joy, and love, + In all their pomp assail my view, + Intent my bosom to subdue, + My breast, by wary maxims steel'd, + Not all those charms shall force to yield. + + 2 But when, invoked to Beauty's aid, + I see the enlighten'd soul display'd; + That soul so sensibly sedate + Amid the storms of froward fate, + Thy genius active, strong, and clear, + Thy wit sublime, though not severe, + The social ardour, void of art, + That glows within thy candid heart; + My spirits, sense, and strength decay, + My resolution dies away, + And, every faculty oppress'd, + Almighty Love invades my breast! + + * * * * * + + + SONG. + + 1 To fix her!--'twere a task as vain + To count the April drops of rain, + To sow in Afric's barren soil, + Or tempests hold within a toil. + + 2 I know it, friend, she's light as air, + False as the fowler's artful snare, + Inconstant as the passing wind, + As winter's dreary frost unkind. + + 3 She's such a miser, too, in love, + Its joys she'll neither share nor prove, + Though hundreds of gallants await + From her victorious eyes their fate. + + 4 Blushing at such inglorious reign, + I sometimes strive to break her chain, + My reason summon to my aid, + Resolved no more to be betray'd. + + 5 Ah! friend, 'tis but a short-lived trance, + Dispell'd by one enchanting glance; + She need but look, and, I confess, + Those looks completely curse or bless. + + 6 So soft, so elegant, so fair, + Sure something more than human's there; + I must submit, for strife is vain, + 'Twas Destiny that forged the chain. + + * * * * * + + SONG. + + 1 Let the nymph still avoid and be deaf to the swain, + Who in transports of passion affects to complain; + For his rage, not his love, in that frenzy is shown, + And the blast that blows loudest is soon overblown. + + 2 But the shepherd whom Cupid has pierced to the heart, + Will submissive adore, and rejoice in the smart; + Or in plaintive, soft murmurs his bosom-felt woe, + Like the smooth-gliding current of rivers, will flow. + + 3 Though silent his tongue, he will plead with his eyes, + And his heart own your sway in a tribute of sighs: + But when he accosts you in meadow or grove, + His tale is all tenderness, rapture, and love. + + * * * * * + + SONG. + + 1 From the man whom I love though my heart I disguise, + I will freely describe the wretch I despise; + And if he has sense but to balance a straw, + He will sure take the hint from the picture I draw. + + 2 A wit without sense, without fancy a beau, + Like a parrot he chatters, and struts like a crow; + A peacock in pride, in grimace a baboon, + In courage a hind, in conceit a Gascon. + + 3 As a vulture rapacious, in falsehood a fox, + Inconstant as waves, and unfeeling as rocks; + As a tiger ferocious, perverse as a hog, + In mischief an ape, and in fawning a dog. + + 4 In a word, to sum up all his talents together, + His heart is of lead, and his brain is of feather; + Yet, if he has sense but to balance a straw, + He will sure take the hint from the picture I draw. + + * * * * * + + SONG. + + 1 Come listen, ye students of every degree; + I sing of a wit and a tutor _perdie,_ + A statesman profound, a critic immense, + In short, a mere jumble of learning and sense; + And yet of his talents though laudably vain, + His own family arts he could never attain. + + 2 His father, intending his fortune to build, + In his youth would have taught him the trowel to wield. + But the mortar of discipline never would stick, + For his skull was secured by a facing of brick; + And with all his endeavours of patience and pain, + The skill of his sire he could never attain. + + 3 His mother, a housewife, neat, artful, and wise, + Renown'd for her delicate biscuit and pies, + Soon alter'd his studies, by flattering his taste, + From the raising of wall to the rearing of paste; + But all her instructions were fruitless and vain, + The pye-making mystery he could ne'er attain. + + 4 Yet, true to his race, in his labours were seen + A jumble of both their professions, I ween; + For when his own genius he ventured to trust, + His pies seem'd of brick, and his houses of crust; + Then, good Mr Tutor, pray be not so vain, + Since your family arts you could never attain. + + +END OF SMOLLETT'S POEMS. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, +Gray, and Smollett, by Samuel Johnson, Thomas Parnell, Thomas Gray, and Tobias Smollett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS *** + +***** This file should be named 11254.txt or 11254.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/1/2/5/11254/ + +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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