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THE

Of Genius oft, and Learning, worse the lot;

For them no care, to them do honour shown 2 :

Alive neglected, and when dead forgot,
AUTHOR TO HIS WIFE.

Even Collins slumbers in a grave unknown.
1776.

Flow, Lavant, fow! along thy sedgy shore

Beartbe fraught vessel from the neighb'ring main! Friend of my heart, by fav’ring Heav'n bestow'd,

Enrich thy sons !-but on thy banks no more
My lov'd companion on life's various road !

May lofty poet breathe his tuneful strain!
Now six swift years have wing'd their flight away
Since yon bright Sun adorn'd our nuptial day-
For thy sweet smiles, that all my cares remove,

VERSES
Sooth all my griefs, and all my joys improve;
For thy sweet converse, ever fram'd to please,
With prudence lively, sensible with ease;

TO A FRIEND, PLANTING.
To thee the Muse awakes her tuneful lay,
The thanks of gratitude sincere to pay!

Proceed, my friend, pursue thy healthful toil, Thus long may Hymen hold for us his reign,

Dispose thy ground, and meliorate thy soil; [ers, And twine with wreaths of flowers his easy chain;

Range thy young plants in walks, or clumps, or boxStill may fond love and firmest faith be mine,

Diffuse o'er sunny banks thy fragrant flowers; Still health, and peace, and happiness be thine !

And, while the new creation round thee springs,
Enjoy uncheck'd the guiltless bliss it brings:
But hope no more. Though Fancy forward stray,
There scenes of distant pleasure to survey,

To expatiate fondly o'er the future grove,
STANZAS

The happy haunt of Friendship and of Love;

Know, each fair image form’d within thy mind, WRITTEN AT MEDHURST, IN SUSSEX, Far wide of truth thy sick’ning sight shall find !

ON THE AUTHOR'S RETURN FROM CHICHESTER, WHERE HE

HAD ATTEMPTED IN VAIN TO FIND THE BURIAL-PLACE
OF COLLINS.

TO AN ABSENT FRIEND.

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To view the beauties of my native land,

While thou far hence on Albion's southern shore O'er many a pleasing distant scene I rove;

View'st her white rocks, and hear'st her ocean roar; Now climb the rock, or wander on the strand,

Through scenes, where we together stray'd, I stray, Or trace the rill, or penetrate the grove.

And think o'er talk of many a long-past day.

That fav’rite park now tempts my steps again,

On whose green turf so oft at ease we 've lain; From Baja's hills, from Portsea's spreading wave, While Hertford's turrets rose in prospect fair, To fair Cicestria's lonely walls I stray ;

And my fond thought beheld my Sylvia there; To her fam'd poet's venerated grave,

And much the Muse rehears'd in careless lays Anxious my tribute of respect to pay'.

The lover's sufferings and the beauty's praise.

Those elm-crown'd fields, now oft my walk invite, O'er the dim pavement of the solemn fane,

Whence Lee's wide vale lies pleasant to the sight; Midst the rude stones that crowd th' adjoining Where, as our view o'er towns and villas rollid, The sacred spot I seek, but seek in vain; (space, Our fancy imag'd how they look'd of old ; In vain I ask-for none can point the place.

When Gothic mansions there upreard their towers,

Their halls for banquet, and for rest their bowers. What boots the eye whose quick observant glance

But, O my friend! whene'er I seek these scenes

Of lovely prospects and delightful greens; Marks ev'ry nobler, ev'ry fairer form?

Regardless idly of the joys possessid, What the skill'd ear that sound's sweet charms en

I dream of days to come, of days more bless'd, trance,

When thou with me shalt wander here once more, And the fond breast with gen'rous passion warm?

And we shall talk again our fav’rite topics o'er.

On Time's smooth current as we glide along, What bouts the power each image to portray,

Thus Expectation ever tunes ber song: The power with force each feeling to express ?

“ Fair these green banks with gaudy flow'rets bloom, How vain the hope that through life's little day,

Sweet breathe these gales, diffusing rich perfume; The soul with thought of future fame can bless ? Heed, heed them not, but carelessly pass by,

To morrow fairer, sweeter will supply."
While Folly frequent boasts th’insculptur'd tomb,
By Flattery's pen inscrib’d with purcbas d praise;

This censure may seem too general-perhaps Wbile rustic Labour's undistinguish'd doom

it is so. But must it not be allowed that the Fond Friendship's hand records in humble phrase; public is capricious in bestowing its honours? Does

not Westminster Abbey show monuments erect

ed to men, as poets, who had little or no title Collins was born at Chichester, died, and pro- to the name, while it contains no memorials of bably was interred there.

writers of far superior merit?

THE SHEPHERD'S ELEGY...ON THE INGENIOUS MR. JONES, &c. 499 To morrow comes—the same the Syren's lay They sing not all of streams and bowers, “ To morrow sweeter gales, and flow'rets still more Or banquet scenes, or social hours; gay.”

Nor all of Beauty's blooming charms,
Or War's rude fields, or feats of arms;
But Freedom's lofty notes sincere,
And Virtue's moral lore severe,

But ah! they sing for us no more !
THE SHEPHERD'S ELEGY.

The scarcely-tasted pleasure 's o'et!

For he, the bard whose tuneful art
OCCASIONED BY

Can best their vary'd themes impart-
THE DEATH OF AN INGENIOUS FRIEND. For he, alas! the task declines;

And Taste, at loss irreparable, repines.
Upon a bank with spreading boughs o'erhung,
Of pollard oak, brown elm, and hornbeam grey,
The faded fern and russet grass among,
While rude winds swept the yellow leaves away,

HYMN
And scatter'd o'er the ground the wild fruits lay ;
As from the churchyard came the village throng,
Down sat a rural bard, and rais'd his mournful song.

FROM PSALM VIII. “ Nature's best gifts, alas, in vain we prize!

ALMIGHTY Power! amazing are thy ways, The powers that please, the powers that pleasure Above our knowledge, and above our praise ! For, 0, with them, in full proportion, rise [gain! How all thy works thy excellence display! The powers of giving and of feeling pain!

How fair, how great, how wonderful are they ! Why from my breast now bursts this plaintive strain? Thy hand yon wide-extended Heav'n upraisid, Genius, my friend! with all its charms was thine,

Yon wide-extended Heav'n with stars emblaz'd, And sensibility too exquisite is mine!

Where each bright orb, since Time his course begun,

Has rollid a mighty world, or shin'd a sun: “ There low he lies !—that head in dust repos'd

Stupendous thought! how sinks all human race! Whose active thought scann'd every various theme! A point an atom in the field of space! Clos'd is that eye, for ever, ever clos'd,

Yet ev'n to us, O Lord, thy care extends, Whence wont the blaze of sentiment to beam!

Thy bounty feeds us, and thy pow'r defends; Mute is that tongue, whence flow'd the copious Yet e’en to us, as delegates of thee, Of eloquence, whose moral lore so rare (stream

Thou giv'st dominion over land and sea; Delighted and improv'd the list'ning young and fair. Whate'er, or walks on earth, or fits in air;

Whate'er of life the wat’ry regions bear;

All these are ours, and for th' exteasive claim, Witness for me, ye rain-polluted rills;

We owe due homage to thy sacred name ! Ye desert meads, that one brown hue display; Almighty Pow'r ! how wondrous are thy ways! Yerude east-winds, whose breath the dank air chills; How far above our knowledge and our praise ! Ye hov'ring clouds, that veil the Sun's faint ray! Witness, as annual here my steps shall stray, How his dear image thought shall still recall, And oft the sigh shall heave, and oft the tear shall fall !"

CONCLUSION. '.

As cease the murmurs of the mantling pool,

TO A FRIEND.
As cease the whispers of the poplar spray,
While o'er the vale the white mist rises cool
at the calm sunset of a summer's day-.

WAEN erst the enthusiast Fancy's reign,
So softly, sweetly ceas'd the shepherd's lay:

Indulg'd the wild, romantic thought, While down the pathway to the hamlet plain

That wander'd midst Arcadian vales,
Return’d, with livg'ring steps, the pensive rural train. Sicilian streams, Arabian gales;

Bless'd climes, with wondrous pleasures fraught,
Swect pleasures, unalloy'd with pain!

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POSTSCRIPT.

The author, in the course of his literary inquiries, In sumptuous cars accompanied his march, has had reason to believe that the productions of

Leonidas, book vii. some writers have not unfrequently received very zonsiderable alterations and improvements from

And his wild eye-balls roll with horrid glare. the hands of their friends. What he has been told

Arabian Eclogue, p. 473. wit others, may possibly be suspected of himself;

And his red eye-balls roll with living fire. he therefore takes the liberty to observe, that, al

Dryden's Meleąger and Atalanta. thougb he has often derived advantage from the judicious remarks of a few kind acquaintance, to

And one forlorn inhabitant contain'd. ihom his MSS. have been shown, he is not in

Indian Eclogue, p. 475. lebted to them, nor indeed to any person, for the insertion of a single line.

The cities no inhabitant contain'd. From the works of preceding poets, memory has

Fawke's Song of Deborah; Poems, p. 100 sometimes supplied him with turns of expression, which, at the instant of composing, he imagined Again he look'd, again he sigh'd. were his own; and at other times he has happened

Ode ii. p. 475. on lines used by writers, whose performances he had not then seen. Some instances of such uncon

And sigh'd and look'd. cious plagiarism, and accidental coincidence, are

Dryden's Alexander's Feast. Here pointed out, as matter of curiosity; others

Then Poverty, grim spectre! rose. inay possibly exist, though he is not apprised of

Ode xxi. p. 484. them.

Scar'd at the spectre of pale Poverty.

Pope, Imitation of Horace, b. ii. epist. L Blows not a flow'ret in the enameli'd vale, Shines not a pebble, &c.

Each pastoral sight, and every pastoral sound.
Elegies, Descriptive and Moral, p. 459.

Epistle i. p. 489.
Lurks not a stone enrich'd with lively stain,
Blooms not a flower amid the vernal store,

Designedly imitated from Milton:
Falls not a plume on India's distant plain,

Each rural sight, each rural sound.-
Glows not a shell on Adria's rocky shore-
Shenstone's Works, vol. i. 8vo. p. 140.

And pure as vemal blossoms newly blown. terhaps Shenstone was indebted to Akenside :

Elegy written at Amwell, 1768, p. 462 Not a breeze

All pure as blossoms which are newly blown. Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes

W. Browne's Britannia's Pastorals, v. i. p. 101. The setting Sun's effulgence, not a strain l'rom all the tenants of the warbling shade Davies's edition of Browne's Works was published Ascends......

in 1772. The author had never seen any of the Pleasures of Imagination, b. iii. 1. 593. old editions, nor any extract from them. But claims their wonder and excites their praise.

Haste, brings my steed supreme in strength and Elegies, Descriptive and Moral, p. 459.

grace, Provoke our wonder and transcend our praise. First in the fight, and feetest in the chase. Addison to Dryden, Works, vol. i. p. 3.

Arabian Eclogue, p. 473. Or rear the new-bound sheaves along the lands. This eclogue was written in 1777. In a volume Elegies, Descriptive and Moral, p. 460.

of poems by the ingenious Mr. Maurice, prioted Or range my sheaves along the sunny land. in 1779, the author met with the following near Hammond, Elegy xiii. 1. 12.

resemblance: No more those nostrils breathe the vital air.

Full fifty steeds I boast of swiftest pace,
Elegies, Descriptive and Moral, p. 461.

Fierce in the fight, and foremost in the race.
That while my nostrils draw the vital air.
Pope, Rape of the Lock, canto iv.

In the Amoebaean Eclogue, entitled, The De

scribers, p. 467, a part of the imagery bears a In one sad spot where kindred ashes lie.

considerable resemblance to some descriptions in Elegy written at Amwell, 1768, p. 462. a little collection of pleasing sonnets, by Mr. BamIn one lone spot their mouldering ashes lie. fylde, 1778; which collection the author never Mr. Keate's Ruins of Netley Abbey, 1764. saw till after his own volume was printed. This is

a proof that two writers, both painting from NaOf classic lore accompanied my walk.

ture, will often unknowingly coincide very nearly Amwell, p. 465.

in selection, arrangement, and expression.

THE

POEMS

OF

WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.

1

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