The Works of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland

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Such critics, Ramfay, jealous for our fame,
Will not with malice infolently blame,
But lur'd by praife the haggard Mufe reclaim.
Retouch each line till all is juft and neat,
A work of proper parts, a whole almost compleat.
So when tome beautcous dame, a reigning toast,
The flower of Forth, and proud Edina'. boast,-
Stands at her toilet in her tartan plaid,
In all her, richeft head-geer trimly clad,
The curious hand-maid with obfervant eye,
Corrects the fwelling hoop that hangs awry ;
Through every plait her buly fingers rove,
And now the plics below, and then above,
With pleafing tattle entertains the fair,
Each ribbon fmooths, adjufts each rambling hair,
Till the gay nymph in her full luftre shine,
And Homer's Juno was not half fo fine.

To the AUTHOR of the ESSAY ON MAN.

WAS ever work to fuch perfection wrought

How elegant the diction! pure the thought!
Not fparingly adorn'd with scatter'd rays,
But one bright beauty, one collected blaze :
So breaks the day upon the fhades of night,
Enlivening all with one unbounded light.

To humble man's proud heart, thy great de-
fign;

But who can read this wondrous work divine,
So juftly plann'd, and fo politely writ,
And not be proud, and boaft of human wit?

Yet juft to thee, and to thy precepts true,
Let us know man, and give to God his due;
His image we, but mix'd with coarfe allay,
Our happiness to love, adore, obey;

To praife him for each gracious boon bestow'd,
For this ty work, for every leffer good,
With proftrate hearts before his throne to fall,
And own the great Creator all in all.

The Mufe, which thould infruct, now enter

tains,

On trifling fubje&, in enervate ftrains;
Be it thy talk to let the wanderer right,
Point out her way in her aerial flight;

Her noble mein, her honours loft restore,
And hid her ecply think, and proudly foar.
Thy theme fublime, and eafy verie, will prove
Her high defcent, and miffion from above.

Let others now tranfate; thy abler pen
Shall vindicate the ways of God to men;
In Virtue's caufe fhall glorioully prevail,
When the bench frowns in vain, and pulpits fail.
Made wife by thee, whofe ha py flyle conveys
The pure morals in the fofteft lays,

As angels once, fo now we mortals bold
Shal climb the ladder Jacob v'ew'd of old;

Thy kind reforming Mufe fhall lead the way
To the bright regions of eternal day.

EPISTLE to Mr. THOMSON,

On the first Edition of his SEASONS.

So bright, fo dark, upon an April day,
The fun darts forth, or hides his various ray;

So high. fo low, the lark afpiring fings,
Or drops to earth again with folded wings;
So fmooth, fo rough, the fea that laves our fhores,
Smiles in a calm, or in a tempelt roars.
Believe me, Thomson, 'tis not thus I write,
Severely kind, by envy four'd or spite :
Nor would I rob thy brows to grace my own;
Such arts are to my honeft foul unknown.
I read thee over as a friend ihould read,
Griev'd when you fail, o'erjoyed when you fuc-
ceed

Why fhould thy Mufe, born fo divinely fair,
Want the reforming toilet's daily care?
Drefs the gay maid, improve each native grace,
| And call forth all the glories of her face:
Studienfly plain, and elegantly clean,
With unaffected speech and easy mein,
Th' accomplish'a nymph, in all her belt attire,
Courts fhall applaud, and proftrate crowds admire.
Difcrectly daring with a stiffen'd rein,
Firm in thy feat the flying feed refrain.
Though few thy faults, who can perfection boast?
Spots in the fun are in his lure loft:
Yot ev'n thofe fpots expunge with patient care,
Nor fondly the minuteft error fpare.
For kind and wife the parent, who reproves
The flightest blemish in the child he loves.
Read Philips much, confider Milto: more;
But from their drefs extract the purer ore.
To coin new words, or to restore the old,
In fouthern bards is dangerous and bold;
But rarely, very rarely, will fucceed,
When minted on the other fide of Tweed.
Let perfpicuity o'er all prefide-

Soon theit thou be the nation s joy and pride.
The rhiming gingling tribe, with bells and fong,
Who drive their limping Pegafus along,
Shall learn from thee in bolder flights to rife
To fcorn the beaten road, and range the skies.
A genius fo refin'd, fo juit, fo great,

In Britain's ille fhall fix the Mule's feat,
And new Parnaffus fhall at home create:
Rules from thy works each future bard fhall
draw,

Thy works, above the critic's nicer law,
And rich in brilliant gems without a flaw.

Thofe quit their chain, and thefe refign their palm,

While Britain's awful flag commands a calm.

The curious fage, nor gain nor fame pursues, With other eyes the holing deep he views; Hangs o'er the cliff inquisitive to know The fecret caufes of its ebb and flow: Whence breathe the winds that ruffle its fmooth face,

Or ranks in claffes all the fihy race,

From thofe enormous monfters of the main,
Who in the world, like other tyrants, reign,
To the poor cockle tribe, that humble hand,
Who cleave to rocks, or loiter on the ftrand.
Yet ev❜n their fhells the forming hand divine
Has, with diflinguifh'd lustre, taught to fhine.
What bright enamel! and what various dyes!
What lively tints del ght our wondering eyes!
Th' Almighty Painter glows in every hoe:
How mean, alas! is Rapheal's bold defign,
And Titian's colouring, if compar'd to thine!
Juftly fupreme let us thy power revere,
Thou fill' all space! all eauteous every where!
Thy rifing fan with blushes paints the morn,
Thy fhining lamps the face of night adorn;
Thy flowers the meads thy nodding trees the ills;
The vales thy paftures green, and bubbling rills;
Thy coral groves, thy rocks that amber weep,
Deck all the gloomy manfions of the deep:
Thy yellow fands diftin&t with golden ore,
And these thy variegated fhells the hore.
To all thy works fuch grandeur halt thou lent,
And fuch extravagance of ornament.
For the faife traitor, man this pomp and fhow!
A fcene fo gay, for us poor worms below!
No-for thy glory all thefe beauties rife,
Yet may improve the good, inftruct the wife.

You, madam, fprung from B aufort's royal line,
Who, lot to courts, cao in your cofet fhine,
Bcft known to use each bleffing he bettows,
Best known to praife the power from whence it
flows.

Shells in your hand the Parian rock defy,
Or agat, or Egyptian porphyry—
More glofly they, their veins of brighter dye.
See! where your rifing pyramids afpire,
Your guetis furpriz'd the fhining pile admire!
In future times, if fome great Phidias rife,
Whofe chiffel with his mitrefs Nature vies,
Who, with fuperior kill, can lightly trace
In the hard marble block the fofteft face:
To crown this piece, fo elegantly neat,
Your well-wrought bufto fhall the whole compleat;
O'er your own work from age to age prefide,
Its author once, and then its greateft pride.

True, thou art fpruce and fine, a very beau; But what are trappings and external show? To real worth alone I make my court; Knaves are my fcorn, and coxcombs are my fport. Once I beheld thee far lefs trim and gay; Ragged, disjointed, and to worms a prey; The fafe retreat of every lurking moufe: Derided, fhunn'd; the lumber of my houfe! Thy robe how chang'd from what it was before! Thy velvet robe, which pleas'd my fires of yore! 'Tis thus capricious Fortune wheels us round; Aloft we mount-then tumble to the ground. Yet grateful 15, my constancy I prov'd; I knew thy worth; my friend in rags I lov'd; I love thee, more; nor, like a courtier, fpurn'd My bencfader, when the tide was turn'd. With confcious fhame, yet frankly, I confefs, hat in my youthful days-1 lov'd thee lefs. Where vanity, where pleafure call'd, I ftray'd; And every wayward appetite obey'd. But fage experience taught me how to prize Myfelf; and how, this world: the bade me rife To nobler flights regardless of a race Of factious emmets; pointed where to place My blifs, and lodg'd me in thy foft embrace.

Here on thy yielding down I fit fecure; And, patiently, what heaven has fint, endure; From all the futile cares of buliness free; Not fond of life, but yet content to be: Here mark the fleeting hours; regret the past; And seriously prepare to meet the laft.

So lafe on thore the penfion'd failor lies; And all the malice of the ftorm defies : With cafe of body bleft, and peace of mind, Pities the reflefs crew he left behind; Whilft, in his cell, he meditates alone On his great voyage, to the world unknown,

In thy fmiling cordial bowl,
Drown the forrows of my foul,
All thy deity employ,

Gild each gloomy thought with joy,
Jolly Bacchus! fave, oh fave,
From the deep devouring grave,
A poor, despairing, dying (wain.
Hafte away,
Hafte away,

Lafh thy tigers, do not stay,
I'm undone if thou delay.

If I view these eyes once more,
Still fhall love, and ftill adore,

And be more wretched than before.
See the glory round her face!
See her move!

With what a grace!-
Ye gods above!

Is the not one of your immortal race?-
Fly, ye winged Cupids, fly,

Dart like lightning through the fky:
Would you in marble temples dwell,
The dear one to my arms compcl;
Bring her in bans of myrtle tied;
Bid her forget, and hid her hide,
All her fcorn, and all her pride.
Would ye that your flave repay
A fmoaking hecatomb each day;
O restore

The beauteous Goddess I adore ;
O restore, with all her charms,
The faithless vagrant to my arms!

And

HOR.

EAR knight, how great a drudge is he
Who would excel in poetry!
yet how few have learnt the art,
T' inform the head, or touch the heart!
Some, with a dry and barren brain,
Poor rogues like coftive lap-dogs strain;
While others with a flux of wit,

The reader and their friends befh-t.

Would you (Sir Knight) my judgment know?
He ftill writes worst who writes fo-fo.
In this the mighty fecret lies,

To elevate and to furprize;
Thus far my pen at random run,

The file was out, the clock ftruck one.
When, lo ftrange hollow murmurs from without,
Invade my ears. In every quarter rouz'd,

The warring winds rush from their rocky caves
Tumultuous; the vapours dank, or dry,
Beneath their standards rang'd, with lowering

front

With flakes of ruddy fire; fierce elements
In ruin reconcil'd! redoubled peals

Of ceafelefs thunder roar. Convulfions rend
The firmament. The whole creation ftands
Mute and appall'd, and trembling waits its doom.
And now perhaps, dear friend, you wonder
In this dread fcene of wind rain, thunder,
What a poor guilty wretch could do;
Then hear-(for, faith, I tell you true)
I water'd, fhook my giddy head,
Gravely broke wind, and went to bed.

UPON MIRANDA'S LEAVING THE COUNTRY.

HE fun departing hides his head,
The lily and the rose are dead,
The birds forget to fing;

The cooing turtles now no more
Repeat their amorous ditties o'er,

But watch th' approaching spring.
For foon the merry month of May
Reftores the bright all-chearing ray;

Soft notes charm every grove: The flowers ambrofial incenfe breathe, And all above, and all beneath,

Is fragrance, joy, and love.

So when Miranda hence retires,
Each fhepherd only not expires:
How rueful is the scene!
How the dull moments creep along!
No fportive dance, no rural fong,
No gambols on the green.
Yet, when the radiant nymph appears,
Each field its richest livery wears,
All nature's blithe and gay;
The fwains tranfported with delight,
After a long and gloomy night,

Blefs the reviving day.

While thus, indulgent to our prayer
Kind heaven permitted us to fhare
A bleffing fo divine;
While fmiling hope gave fome relief,
And joys alternate footh'd our grief,
What fhepherd could repine?
But now-her fatal lofs we mourn,
Never, oh! never to return

To thefe deferted plains;
Undone, abandon'd to defpair,
Alas! 'tis winter all the year

To us unhappy fwains.
Ye little Loves, lament around;
With empty quivers ftrew the ground,
Your bows unbent lay down;
Harmless your wounds, pointless your darts.
And frail your empire o'er our hearts,

Till the your triumphs crown.
Ye Nymphs, ye Fawns, complaining figh;
Ye Graces, let your treffes fly,

The sport of every wind:
Ye mimic Echoes tell the woods,
Repeat it to the murmuring floods,

She's gone! fhe's gone! unkind!

Break

Break, fhepherds, break each tuneless reed,
Let all your flocks at random feed,

Each flowery garland tear;
Since Wit and Beauty quit the plain,
Paft pleasures but enhance our pain,

And life's not worth our care.

TO PHYLLIS.

HOUGH clofe immur'd, poor captive maid!
Young Danae play'd a wanton part;

The gold that in her lap was laid,

Soon found a paffage to her heart.
Ambitious Semele, beguil'd
By Juno's unrelenting hate,
Amid the bright destruction fmil'd,
Enjoy'd her God, and dy'd in ftate.
The fwan on Leda's whiter breast,
Artful deceiver! nestling lay,
With joy the clasp'd her downy guef,
Fond of a bird fo foft and gay.
What boon can faithful merit fhare,

Where intereft reigns, or pride, or show? "Tis the rich banker wins the fair,

The garter'd knight, or feather'd beau.
No more my panting heart fhall beat,
Nor Phyllis claim one parting groan ;
Her tears, her vows, are all a cheat,
For woman loves herfelf alone.

To the Right Hon. the EARL of HALIFAX,
With the Fable of the Two Springs.

HALIFAX! a name for et de Ni

To Phœbus, and which all the Nine revere, Accept this humble pledge of my esteem, So justly thine, benevolence my theme.

In myftic tales, and parables, of old Grave Eaftern Seers inftructive leffons told; Wife Greece from them receiv'd the happy plan, And taught the brute to pedagogue the man. The matron truth appears with better grace, When well-wrought fables veil her reverend face : Dry precept may inftruct, but can't delight, While pleafing fictions all our powers excite. Our bufy minds each faculty employ,

And range around, and start their game with joy; Pleas'd with the chace, make the rich prey their

own,

And glory in the conquefts they have won.
Fable alone can crown the poet's brow,
Upon his works immortal charms bestow :
And 'twere a fin that method to difprove,
Which Heaven has fixed by sanctions from above.
My humble Mufe in calm retirement roves
Near mofly fountains, and near fhady groves:
Yet there, ev'n there, her loyal hands would raife

Some rural trophy to her monarch's praise;
Inftruct those fountains and those groves to fhow,
What copious bleffings from his bounty flow;
While flowers and thrubs blefs his propitious aid,
His urn refreshing, or protecting shade.

Great friend of human kind! thy pious hand
Nor wounds to kill, nor conquers to command.
Let haughty tyrants of false glory dream,
Without remorfe purfue the bloody scheme;
To fame forbidden tread the lawless way,
And o'er the ravag'd world extend their sway:
'Tis thine, great George, to guard thy favou-
rite ifle,

From open force, and every secret wile,

Toraife th'opprefs'd, to make the captive fmile;
To pay just heaven what righteous monarchs owe,
And, like that heaven, to bless the world below:
To build new temples, to repair the old,
To bring the straggling fheep into the fold,
And by wife laws reftore an age of gold.
Ye blissful feats where Tame and Ifis join,
Lovely retirement of the facred Nine,
Parent of arts, and once my sweet abode,
Can ye forget the bleffings he bestow'd?
Can fophiftry prevail against that prince,
Whose mercy and benevolence convince?
Oh! touch each tuneful ftring, let every Muse
From all her ftores her noblest Pæans chufe;
Pay what she can in tributary lays,

And to his virtue grant supplies of praise.

To all the world your grateful hearts make known,
And in your monarch's fame record your own.
His fame-which Envy's breath can never blast,
But ages yet to come fhall join the past,
And Brunswick's glory with the world fhall last.

A SONG FOR THE LUTE.

GE as my fighe, reveal my pain,

ENTLY, my lute, move every fl:iag,

While I, in plaintive numbers, fing

Of flighted vows, and cold difdain.
In vain her airs, in vain her heart,

In vain the frowns when I appear,
Thy notes fhall melt her frozen heart;
She cannot hate, if fhe can hear.
And fee fhe fmiles! through all the groves
Triumphant lo-Pæans found:
Clap all your wings, ye little Loves;

Ye sportive Graces, dauce areund.
Ye liftening oaks, bend to my fong,

Nor Orpheus play'd a nobler lay: Ye favages, about me tarong;

Ye rocks, and harder hearts, obey. She comes, fhe comes, relenting fair! To fill with joy my longing arms; What faithful lover can defpair,

Who thus with verfe, and mulick, charms?

Thus in a fea of doubt I'm tofs'd,
Now funk, now thrown upon the coaft;
What wretch can long endure
Such odd, perplexing pangs as these,
When neither mortal the difeafe,

Nor yet compleat the cure?
Proud tyrant! fince to fave, or kill,
Depends on thy capricious will,

This milder fentence give; Reverse my range, untoward fate, Oh! let me perifh by thy hate,

Or by thy kindness live!

THE SUPERANUATED LOVER.

EAD to the foft delights of love,

Spare me, O fpare me, cruel boy; Nor feck in vain that heart to move, Which pants no more with amorous joy. Of old, thy faithful hardy fwain,

(When fmit with fair Paftora's charms) I ferv'd thee many a long campaign, And wide spread thy conquering arms. Now, mighty god, difmifs thy flave,

To feeble age let youth fucceed; Recruit among the ftrong and brave, And kindly fpare an invalide. Adieu, fond hopes, fantaftic cares,

Ye killing joys, ye pleasing pains! My foul for better guests prepares, Reafon reftor'd, and virtue reigns. But why, my Cloe, tell me why?

Why trickles down this filent tear? Why do thefe blufhes rife and die? Why ftand I mute when thou art here? Ev'n fleep affords my foul no reft,

Thee bathing in the ftream I view; With thee I dance, with thee I feaft, Thee through the gloomy grove pursue. Triumphant God of gay defires!

Thy vaffal's raging pains remove; Iburn, I burn, with fiercer fires,

Oh! take my life, or crown my love.

Her fighs, and fond wifhes, and aukward repining! What a pother is here, with her amorous glances, Soft fragments of Ovid, and scraps of romances! A nice prude at fifteen! and a romp in decay! Cold December affects the sweet bloffoms of May; To fawn in her dotage, and in her bloom spurnus, Is to quench love's bright torch, and with touchwood to burn us.`

Believe me, dear maids, there's no way of evading; While ye pifh, and cry nay, your roles are fading: Though your paffion furvive, your beauty will dwindle,

And our languishing embers can never rekindle.

When bright in your zeniths we proftrate before ye, When ye fet in a cloud, what fool will adore ye? Then, ye fair,be advifed, and fnatch the kind bleffing, And fhew your good conduct by timely poffeffing.

ANACREONTIC.-To CLOE DRINKING.
THEN, my dear Cloe, you refign

One happy hour to mirth and wine,
Each glafs you drink fill paints your face
With fome new viderious grace:
Charms in ref rve my foul furprize,
And by fresh wounds your lover dies.
Who can refift thee, lovely fair!
That wit! that foft engaging air!
Each panting heart its homage pays,
And all the vaffal world obeys.
God of the grape, boaft now no more,
Thy triumphs on far Indus' fhore:
Each ufelefs weapon now lay down,
Thy tigers, car, and ivy-crown;
Give but this juice in 'ull fupplies,
And truft thy fame to Cioe's eyes.

TO A DISCARDED TOAST. NELIA, confefs 'tis all in vain,

Ce patch the ruins of thy face;

Nor of ill-natur'd Tinie complain,

That robs it of each blooming grace. If Love no more can bend his bow,

Nor point his arrows from thine eye, If no lac'd fop, nor feather'd beau,

Detpairing at thy feet fhall die: Yet fill, my e' armer, wit like thine

Shall triumph over age and fate; Thy fetting beams with luftre fhine, And rival their meridian height. Beauty, fair flower! foon fades away,

And tranfient are the joys of love; But wit, and virtue, ne'er decay, Ador d below, and blefs'd above.

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The Works of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland, Volume 5