Chapter 11

ODE I.

THE REMONSTRANCE OF SHAKSPEARE:

SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, WHILE THE FRENCH COMEDIANS WERE ACTING BY SUBSCRIPTION. 1749.

If, yet regardful of your native land, Old Shakspeare's tongue you deign to understand, Lo, from the blissful bowers where heaven rewards Instructive sages and unblemish'd bards, I come, the ancient founder of the stage, Intent to learn, in this discerning age, What form of wit your fancies have embraced, And whither tends your elegance of taste, That thus at length our homely toils you spurn, That thus to foreign scenes you proudly turn, 10 That from my brow the laurel wreath you claim To crown the rivals of your country's fame.

What though the footsteps of my devious Muse The measured walks of Grecian art refuse? Or though the frankness of my hardy style Mock the nice touches of the critic's file? Yet, what my age and climate held to view, Impartial I survey'd and fearless drew. And say, ye skilful in the human heart, Who know to prize a poet's noblest part, 20 What age, what clime, could e'er an ampler field For lofty thought, for daring fancy, yield? I saw this England break the shameful bands Forged for the souls of men by sacred hands: I saw each groaning realm her aid implore; Her sons the heroes of each warlike shore: Her naval standard (the dire Spaniard's bane) Obey'd through all the circuit of the main. Then, too, great Commerce, for a late found world, Around your coast her eager sails unfurl'd! 30 New hopes, new passions, thence the bosom fired; New plans, new arts, the genius thence inspired; Thence every scene, which private fortune knows, In stronger life, with bolder spirit, rose.

Disgraced I this full prospect which I drew, My colours languid, or my strokes untrue? Have not your sages, warriors, swains, and kings, Confess'd the living draught of men and things? What other bard in any clime appears Alike the master of your smiles and tears? 40 Yet have I deign'd your audience to entice With wretched bribes to luxury and vice? Or have my various scenes a purpose known Which freedom, virtue, glory, might not own?

Such from the first was my dramatic plan; It should be yours to crown what I began: And now that England spurns her Gothic chain, And equal laws and social science reign, I thought, Now surely shall my zealous eyes View nobler bards and juster critics rise, 50 Intent with learned labour to refine The copious ore of Albion's native mine, Our stately Muse more graceful airs to teach, And form her tongue to more attractive speech, Till rival nations listen at her feet, And own her polish'd as they own her great.

But do you thus my favourite hopes fulfil? Is France at last the standard of your skill? Alas for you! that so betray a mind Of art unconscious and to beauty blind. 60 Say, does her language your ambition raise, Her barren, trivial, unharmonious phrase, Which fetters eloquence to scantiest bounds, And maims the cadence of poetic sounds? Say, does your humble admiration choose The gentle prattle of her Comic Muse, While wits, plain-dealers, fops, and fools appear, Charged to say nought but what the king may hear? Or rather melt your sympathising hearts Won by her tragic scene's romantic arts, 70 Where old and young declaim on soft desire, And heroes never, but for love, expire?

No. Though the charms of novelty, a while, Perhaps too fondly win your thoughtless smile, Yet not for you design'd indulgent fate The modes or manners of the Bourbon state. And ill your minds my partial judgment reads, And many an augury my hope misleads, If the fair maids of yonder blooming train To their light courtship would an audience deign, 80 Or those chaste matrons a Parisian wife Choose for the model of domestic life; Or if one youth of all that generous band, The strength and splendour of their native land, Would yield his portion of his country's fame, And quit old freedom's patrimonial claim, With lying smiles oppression's pomp to see, And judge of glory by a king's decree.

O bless'd at home with justly-envied laws, O long the chiefs of Europe's general cause, 90 Whom heaven hath chosen at each dangerous hour To check the inroads of barbaric power, The rights of trampled nations to reclaim, And guard the social world from bonds and shame; Oh! let not luxury's fantastic charms Thus give the lie to your heroic arms: Nor for the ornaments of life embrace Dishonest lessons from that vaunting race, Whom fate's dread laws (for, in eternal fate Despotic rule was heir to freedom's hate), 100 Whom in each warlike, each commercial part, In civil council, and in pleasing art, The judge of earth predestined for your foes, And made it fame and virtue to oppose.

ODE II.

TO SLEEP.

1 Thou silent power, whose welcome sway Charms every anxious thought away; In whose divine oblivion drown'd, Sore pain and weary toil grow mild, Love is with kinder looks beguiled, And grief forgets her fondly cherish'd wound; Oh, whither hast thou flown, indulgent god? God of kind shadows and of healing dews, Whom dost thou touch with thy Lethaean rod? Around whose temples now thy opiate airs diffuse?

2 Lo, Midnight from her starry reign Looks awful down on earth and main. The tuneful birds lie hush'd in sleep, With all that crop the verdant food, With all that skim the crystal flood, Or haunt the caverns of the rocky steep. No rushing winds disturb the tufted bowers; No wakeful sound the moonlight valley knows, Save where the brook its liquid murmur pours, And lulls the waving scene to more profound repose.

3 Oh, let not me alone complain, Alone invoke thy power in vain! Descend, propitious, on my eyes; Not from the couch that bears a crown, Not from the courtly statesman's down, Nor where the miser and his treasure lies: Bring not the shapes that break the murderer's rest, Nor those the hireling soldier loves to see, Nor those which haunt the bigot's gloomy breast: Far be their guilty nights, and far their dreams from me!

4 Nor yet those awful forms present, For chiefs and heroes only meant: The figured brass, the choral song, The rescued people's glad applause, The listening senate, and the laws Fix'd by the counsels of Timoleon's [1] tongue, Are scenes too grand for fortune's private ways; And though they shine in youth's ingenuous view, The sober gainful arts of modern days To such romantic thoughts have bid a long adieu.

5 I ask not, god of dreams, thy care To banish Love's presentments fair: Nor rosy cheek nor radiant eye Can arm him with such strong command That the young sorcerer's fatal hand Should round my soul his pleasing fetters tie. Nor yet the courtier's hope, the giving smile (A lighter phantom, and a baser chain) Did e'er in slumber my proud lyre beguile To lend the pomp of thrones her ill-according strain.

6 But, Morpheus, on thy balmy wing Such honourable visions bring, As soothed great Milton's injured age, When in prophetic dreams he saw The race unborn with pious awe Imbibe each virtue from his heavenly page: Or such as Mead's benignant fancy knows When health's deep treasures, by his art explored, Have saved the infant from an orphan's woes, Or to the trembling sire his age's hope restored.

[Footnote: 1: After Timoleon had delivered Syracuse from the tyranny of Dionysius, the people on every important deliberation sent for him into the public assembly, asked his advice, and voted according to it. --_Plutarch_.]

ODE III.

TO THE CUCKOO.

1 O rustic herald of the spring, At length in yonder woody vale Fast by the brook I hear thee sing; And, studious of thy homely tale, Amid the vespers of the grove, Amid the chanting choir of love, Thy sage responses hail.

2 The time has been when I have frown'd To hear thy voice the woods invade; And while thy solemn accent drown'd Some sweeter poet of the shade, Thus, thought I, thus the sons of care Some constant youth or generous fair With dull advice upbraid.

3 I said, 'While Philomela's song Proclaims the passion of the grove, It ill beseems a cuckoo's tongue Her charming language to reprove'-- Alas, how much a lover's ear Hates all the sober truth to hear, The sober truth of love!

4 When hearts are in each other bless'd, When nought but lofty faith can rule The nymph's and swain's consenting breast, How cuckoo-like in Cupid's school, With store of grave prudential saws On fortune's power and custom's laws, Appears each friendly fool!

5 Yet think betimes, ye gentle train Whom love, and hope, and fancy sway, Who every harsher care disdain, Who by the morning judge the day, Think that, in April's fairest hours, To warbling shades and painted flowers The cuckoo joins his lay.

ODE IV.

TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES TOWNSHEND; IN THE COUNTRY. 1750.

I.--1.

How oft shall I survey This humble roof, the lawn, the greenwood shade, The vale with sheaves o'erspread, The glassy brook, the flocks which round thee stray? When will thy cheerful mind Of these have utter'd all her dear esteem? Or, tell me, dost thou deem No more to join in glory's toilsome race, But here content embrace That happy leisure which thou hadst resign'd?

I.--2.

Alas, ye happy hours, When books and youthful sport the soul could share, Ere one ambitious care Of civil life had awed her simpler powers; Oft as your winged, train Revisit here my friend in white array, Oh, fail not to display Each fairer scene where I perchance had part, That so his generous heart The abode of even friendship may remain.

I.--3.

For not imprudent of my loss to come, I saw from Contemplation's quiet cell His feet ascending to another home, Where public praise and envied greatness dwell. But shall we therefore, O my lyre, Reprove ambition's best desire,-- Extinguish glory's flame? Far other was the task enjoin'd When to my hand thy strings were first assign'd: Far other faith belongs to friendship's honour'd name.

II.--1.

Thee, Townshend, not the arms Of slumbering Ease, nor Pleasure's rosy chain, Were destined to detain; No, nor bright Science, nor the Muse's charms. For them high heaven prepares Their proper votaries, an humbler band: And ne'er would Spenser's hand Have deign'd to strike the warbling Tuscan shell, Nor Harrington to tell What habit an immortal city wears;

II.--2.

Had this been born to shield The cause which Cromwell's impious hand betray'd, Or that, like Vere, display'd His redcross banner o'er the Belgian field; Yet where the will divine Hath shut those loftiest paths, it next remains, With reason clad in strains Of harmony, selected minds to inspire, And virtue's living fire To feed and eternise in hearts like thine.

II.--3.

For never shall the herd, whom envy sways, So quell my purpose or my tongue control, That I should fear illustrious worth to praise, Because its master's friendship moved my soul. Yet, if this undissembling strain Should now perhaps thine ear detain With any pleasing sound, Remember thou that righteous Fame From hoary age a strict account will claim Of each auspicious palm with which thy youth was crown'd.

III.--1.

Nor obvious is the way Where heaven expects thee nor the traveller leads; Through flowers or fragrant meads, Or groves that hark to Philomela's lay. The impartial laws of fate To nobler virtues wed severer cares. Is there a man who shares The summit next where heavenly natures dwell? Ask him (for he can tell) What storms beat round that rough laborious height.

III.--2.

Ye heroes, who of old Did generous England Freedom's throne ordain; From Alfred's parent reign To Nassau, great deliverer, wise and bold; I know your perils hard, Your wounds, your painful marches, wintry seas, The night estranged from ease, The day by cowardice and falsehood vex'd, The head with doubt perplex'd, The indignant heart disdaining the reward,

III.--3.

Which envy hardly grants. But, O renown, O praise from judging heaven and virtuous men, If thus they purchased thy divinest crown, Say, who shall hesitate, or who complain? And now they sit on thrones above: And when among the gods they move Before the Sovereign Mind, 'Lo, these,' he saith, 'lo, these are they Who to the laws of mine eternal sway From violence and fear asserted human kind.'

IV.--1.

Thus honour'd while the train Of legislators in his presence dwell; If I may aught foretell, The statesman shall the second palm obtain. For dreadful deeds of arms Let vulgar bards, with undiscerning praise, More glittering trophies raise: But wisest Heaven what deeds may chiefly move To favour and to love? What, save wide blessings, or averted harms?

IV.--2.

Nor to the embattled field Shall these achievements of the peaceful gown, The green immortal crown Of valour, or the songs of conquest, yield. Not Fairfax wildly bold, While bare of crest he hew'd his fatal way Through Naseby's firm array, To heavier dangers did his breast oppose Than Pym's free virtue chose, When the proud force of Strafford he controll'd.

IV.--3.

But what is man at enmity with truth? What were the fruits of Wentworth's copious mind, When (blighted all the promise of his youth) The patriot in a tyrant's league had join'd? Let Ireland's loud-lamenting plains, Let Tyne's and Humber's trampled swains, Let menaced London tell How impious guile made wisdom base; How generous zeal to cruel rage gave place; And how unbless'd he lived and how dishonour'd fell.

V.--1.

Thence never hath the Muse Around his tomb Pierian roses flung: Nor shall one poet's tongue His name for music's pleasing labour choose. And sure, when Nature kind Hath deck'd some favour'd breast above the throng, That man with grievous wrong Affronts and wounds his genius, if he bends To guilt's ignoble ends The functions of his ill-submitting mind.

V.--2.

For worthy of the wise Nothing can seem but virtue; nor earth yield Their fame an equal field, Save where impartial freedom gives the prize. There Somers fix'd his name, Enroll'd the next to William. There shall Time To every wondering clime Point out that Somers, who from faction's crowd, The slanderous and the loud, Could fair assent and modest reverence claim.

V.--3.

Nor aught did laws or social arts acquire, Nor this majestic weal of Albion's land Did aught accomplish, or to aught aspire, Without his guidance, his superior hand. And rightly shall the Muse's care Wreaths like her own for him prepare, Whose mind's enamour'd aim Could forms of civil beauty draw Sublime as ever sage or poet saw, Yet still to life's rude scene the proud ideas tame.

VI.--1.

Let none profane be near! The Muse was never foreign to his breast: On power's grave seat confess'd, Still to her voice he bent a lover's ear. And if the blessed know Their ancient cares, even now the unfading groves, Where haply Milton roves With Spenser, hear the enchanted echoes round Through farthest heaven resound Wise Somers, guardian of their fame below.

VI.--2.

He knew, the patriot knew, That letters and the Muse's powerful art Exalt the ingenuous heart, And brighten every form of just and true. They lend a nobler sway To civil wisdom, than corruption's lure Could ever yet procure: They, too, from envy's pale malignant light Conduct her forth to sight, Clothed in the fairest colours of the day.

VI.--3.

O Townshend, thus may Time, the judge severe, Instruct my happy tongue of thee to tell: And when I speak of one to Freedom dear For planning wisely and for acting well, Of one whom Glory loves to own, Who still by liberal means alone Hath liberal ends pursued; Then, for the guerdon of my lay, 'This man with faithful friendship,' will I say, 'From youth to honour'd age my arts and me hath view'd.'

ODE V.

ON LOVE OF PRAISE.

1 Of all the springs within the mind Which prompt her steps in fortune's maze, From none more pleasing aid we find Than from the genuine love of praise.

2 Nor any partial, private end Such reverence to the public bears; Nor any passion, virtue's friend, So like to virtue's self appears.

3 For who in glory can delight Without delight in glorious deeds? What man a charming voice can slight, Who courts the echo that succeeds?

4 But not the echo on the voice More than on virtue praise depends; To which, of course, its real price The judgment of the praiser lends.

5 If praise, then, with religious awe From the sole perfect judge be sought, A nobler aim, a purer law, Nor priest, nor bard, nor sage hath taught.

6 With which in character the same, Though in an humbler sphere it lies, I count that soul of human fame, The suffrage of the good and wise.

ODE VI.

TO WILLIAM HALL, ESQUIRE; WITH THE WORKS OF CHAULIEU.

1 Attend to Chaulieu's wanton lyre; While, fluent as the skylark sings When first the morn allures its wings, The epicure his theme pursues: And tell me if, among the choir Whose music charms the banks of Seine, So full, so free, so rich a strain E'er dictated the warbling Muse.

2 Yet, Hall, while thy judicious ear Admires the well-dissembled art That can such harmony impart To the lame pace of Gallic rhymes; While wit from affectation clear, Bright images, and passions true, Recall to thy assenting view The envied bards of nobler times;

3 Say, is not oft his doctrine wrong? This priest of Pleasure, who aspires To lead us to her sacred fires, Knows he the ritual of her shrine? Say (her sweet influence to thy song So may the goddess still afford), Doth she consent to be adored With shameless love and frantic wine?

4 Nor Cato, nor Chrysippus here Need we in high indignant phrase From their Elysian quiet raise: But Pleasure's oracle alone Consult; attentive, not severe. O Pleasure, we blaspheme not thee; Nor emulate the rigid knee Which bends but at the Stoic throne.

5 We own, had fate to man assign'd Nor sense, nor wish but what obey, Or Venus soft, or Bacchus gay, Then might our bard's voluptuous creed Most aptly govern human kind: Unless perchance what he hath sung Of tortured joints and nerves unstrung, Some wrangling heretic should plead.

6 But now, with all these proud desires For dauntless truth and honest fame; With that strong master of our frame, The inexorable judge within, What can be done? Alas, ye fires Of love; alas, ye rosy smiles, Ye nectar'd cups from happier soils,-- Ye have no bribe his grace to win.

ODE VII.

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND BENJAMIN, LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. 1754.

I.--l.

For toils which patriots have endured, For treason quell'd and laws secured, In every nation Time displays The palm of honourable praise. Envy may rail, and Faction fierce May strive; but what, alas, can those (Though bold, yet blind and sordid foes) To Gratitude and Love oppose, To faithful story and persuasive verse?

I.--2.

O nurse of freedom, Albion, say, Thou tamer of despotic sway, What man, among thy sons around, Thus heir to glory hast thou found? What page, in all thy annals bright, Hast thou with purer joy survey'd Than that where truth, by Hoadly's aid, Shines through imposture's solemn shade, Through kingly and through sacerdotal night?

I.--3.

To him the Teacher bless'd, Who sent religion, from the palmy field By Jordan, like the morn to cheer the west, And lifted up the veil which heaven from earth conceal'd, To Hoadly thus his mandate he address'd: 'Go thou, and rescue my dishonour'd law From hands rapacious, and from tongues impure: Let not my peaceful name be made a lure, Fell persecution's mortal snares to aid: Let not my words be impious chains to draw The freeborn soul in more than brutal awe, To faith without assent, allegiance unrepaid.'

II.--1.

No cold or unperforming hand Was arm'd by Heaven with this command. The world soon felt it; and, on high, To William's ear with welcome joy Did Locke among the blest unfold The rising hope of Hoadly's name; Godolphin then confirm'd the fame; And Somers, when from earth he came, And generous Stanhope the fair sequel told.

II.--2.

Then drew the lawgivers around (Sires of the Grecian name renown'd), And listening ask'd, and wondering knew, What private force could thus subdue The vulgar and the great combined; Could war with sacred folly wage; Could a whole nation disengage From the dread bonds of many an age, And to new habits mould the public mind.

II.-3.

For not a conqueror's sword, Nor the strong powers to civil founders known, Were his; but truth by faithful search explored, And social sense, like seed, in genial plenty sown. Wherever it took root, the soul (restored To freedom) freedom too for others sought. Not monkish craft, the tyrant's claim divine, Not regal zeal, the bigot's cruel shrine, Could longer guard from reason's warfare sage; Nor the wild rabble to sedition wrought, Nor synods by the papal Genius taught, Nor St. John's spirit loose, nor Atterbury's rage.

III.--1.

But where shall recompense be found? Or how such arduous merit crown'd? For look on life's laborious scene: What rugged spaces lie between Adventurous Virtue's early toils And her triumphal throne! The shade Of death, meantime, does oft invade Her progress; nor, to us display'd, Wears the bright heroine her expected spoils.

III.--2.

Yet born to conquer is her power;-- O Hoadly, if that favourite hour On earth arrive, with thankful awe We own just Heaven's indulgent law, And proudly thy success behold; We attend thy reverend length of days With benediction and with praise, And hail thee in our public ways Like some great spirit famed in ages old.

III.--3.

While thus our vows prolong Thy steps on earth, and when by us resign'd Thou join'st thy seniors, that heroic throng Who rescued or preserved the rights of human kind, Oh! not unworthy may thy Albion's tongue Thee still, her friend and benefactor, name: Oh! never, Hoadly, in thy country's eyes, May impious gold, or pleasure's gaudy prize, Make public virtue, public freedom, vile; Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim That heritage, our noblest wealth and fame, Which thou hast kept entire from force and factious guile.

ODE VIII.

1 If rightly tuneful bards decide, If it be fix'd in Love's decrees, That Beauty ought not to be tried But by its native power to please, Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell, What fair can Amoret excel?

2 Behold that bright unsullied smile, And wisdom speaking in her mien: Yet (she so artless all the while, So little studious to be seen) We nought but instant gladness know, Nor think to whom the gift we owe.

3 But neither music, nor the powers Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer, Add half that sunshine to the hours, Or make life's prospect half so clear, As memory brings it to the eye From scenes where Amoret was by.

4 Yet not a satirist could there Or fault or indiscretion find; Nor any prouder sage declare One virtue, pictured in his mind, Whose form with lovelier colours glows Than Amoret's demeanour shows.

5 This sure is Beauty's happiest part: This gives the most unbounded sway: This shall enchant the subject heart When rose and lily fade away; And she be still, in spite of time, Sweet Amoret in all her prime.

ODE IX.

AT STUDY.

1 Whither did my fancy stray? By what magic drawn away Have I left my studious theme, From this philosophic page, From the problems of the sage, Wandering through a pleasing dream?

2 'Tis in vain, alas! I find, Much in vain, my zealous mind Would to learned Wisdom's throne Dedicate each thoughtful hour: Nature bids a softer power Claim some minutes for his own.

3 Let the busy or the wise View him with contemptuous eyes; Love is native to the heart: Guide its wishes as you will; Without Love you'll find it still Void in one essential part.

4 Me though no peculiar fair Touches with a lover's care; Though the pride of my desire Asks immortal friendship's name, Asks the palm of honest fame, And the old heroic lyre;

5 Though the day have smoothly gone, Or to letter'd leisure known, Or in social duty spent; Yet at eve my lonely breast Seeks in vain for perfect rest; Languishes for true content.

ODE X.

TO THOMAS EDWARDS, ESQ.; ON THE LATE EDITION OF MR. POPE'S WORKS. 1751.

1 Believe me, Edwards, to restrain The licence of a railer's tongue Is what but seldom men obtain By sense or wit, by prose or song: A task for more Herculean powers, Nor suited to the sacred hours Of leisure in the Muse's bowers.

2 In bowers where laurel weds with palm, The Muse, the blameless queen, resides: Fair Fame attends, and Wisdom calm Her eloquence harmonious guides: While, shut for ever from her gate, Oft trying, still repining, wait Fierce Envy and calumnious Hate.

3 Who, then, from her delightful bounds Would step one moment forth to heed What impotent and savage sounds From their unhappy mouths proceed? No: rather Spenser's lyre again Prepare, and let thy pious strain For Pope's dishonour'd shade complain.

4 Tell how displeased was every bard, When lately in the Elysian grove They of his Muse's guardian heard, His delegate to fame above; And what with one accord they said Of wit in drooping age misled, And Warburton's officious aid:

5 How Virgil mourn'd the sordid fate To that melodious lyre assign'd, Beneath a tutor who so late With Midas and his rout combined By spiteful clamour to confound That very lyre's enchanting sound, Though listening realms admired around:

6 How Horace own'd he thought the fire Of his friend Pope's satiric line Did further fuel scarce require From such a militant divine: How Milton scorn'd the sophist vain, Who durst approach his hallow'd strain With unwash'd hands and lips profane.

7 Then Shakspeare debonair and mild Brought that strange comment forth to view; Conceits more deep, he said and smiled, Than his own fools or madmen knew: But thank'd a generous friend above, Who did with free adventurous love Such pageants from his tomb remove.

8 And if to Pope, in equal need, The same kind office thou wouldst pay, Then, Edwards, all the band decreed That future bards with frequent lay Should call on thy auspicious name, From each absurd intruder's claim To keep inviolate their fame.

ODE XI.

TO THE COUNTRY GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND. 1758.

1 Whither is Europe's ancient spirit fled? Where are those valiant tenants of her shore, Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped, Or with firm hand the rapid pole-axe bore? Freeman and soldier was their common name, Who late with reapers to the furrow came, Now in the front of battle charged the foe: Who taught the steer the wintry plough to endure, Now in full councils check'd encroaching power, And gave the guardian laws their majesty to know.

2 But who are ye? from Ebro's loitering sons To Tiber's pageants, to the sports of Seine; From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's thrones And cities looking on the Cimbric main, Ye lost, ye self-deserted? whose proud lords Have baffled your tame hands, and given your swords To slavish ruffians, hired for their command: These, at some greedy monk's or harlot's nod, See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod: These are the Public Will, the Reason of the land.

3 Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas, the while Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms, Yet vain of Freedom, how dost thou beguile, With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms? Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd, The praise and envy of the nations round, What care hast thou to guard from Fortune's sway? Amid the storms of war, how soon may all The lofty pile from its foundations fall, Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day!

4 No: thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales Add Industry's wise gifts to Nature's store, And every port is crowded with thy sails, And every wave throws treasure on thy shore. What boots it? If luxurious Plenty charm Thy selfish heart from Glory, if thy arm Shrink at the frowns of Danger and of Pain, Those gifts, that treasure is no longer thine. Oh, rather far be poor! Thy gold will shine Tempting the eye of Force, and deck thee to thy bane.

5 But what hath Force or War to do with thee? Girt by the azure tide, and throned sublime Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see, With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime Dash'd ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe Are thy fair fields: athwart thy guardian prow No bold invader's foot shall tempt the strand-- Yet say, my country, will the waves and wind Obey thee? Hast thou all thy hopes resign'd To the sky's fickle faith, the pilot's wavering hand?

6 For, oh! may neither Fear nor stronger Love (Love, by thy virtuous princes nobly won) Thee, last of many wretched nations, move, With mighty armies station'd round the throne To trust thy safety. Then, farewell the claims Of Freedom! Her proud records to the flames Then bear, an offering at Ambition's shrine; Whate'er thy ancient patriots dared demand From furious John's, or faithless Charles' hand, Or what great William seal'd for his adopted line.

7 But if thy sons be worthy of their name, If liberal laws with liberal arts they prize, Let them from conquest, and from servile shame, In War's glad school their own protectors rise. Ye chiefly, heirs of Albion's cultured plains, Ye leaders of her bold and faithful swains, Now not unequal to your birth be found; The public voice bids arm your rural state, Paternal hamlets for your ensigns wait, And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth around.

8 Why are ye tardy? what inglorious care Detains you from their head, your native post? Who most their country's fame and fortune share, 'Tis theirs to share her toils, her perils most. Each man his task in social life sustains. With partial labours, with domestic gains, Let others dwell: to you indulgent Heaven By counsel and by arms the public cause To serve for public love and love's applause, The first employment far, the noblest hire, hath given.

9 Have ye not heard of Lacedemon's fame? Of Attic chiefs in Freedom's war divine? Of Rome's dread generals? the Valerian name? The Fabian sons? the Scipios, matchless line? Your lot was theirs: the farmer and the swain Met his loved patron's summons from the plain; The legions gather'd; the bright eagles flew: Barbarian monarchs in the triumph mourn'd; The conquerors to their household gods return'd, And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer'd the Sabine plough.

10 Shall, then, this glory of the antique age, This pride of men, be lost among mankind? Shall war's heroic arts no more engage The unbought hand, the unsubjected mind? Doth valour to the race no more belong? No more with scorn of violence and wrong Doth forming Nature now her sons inspire, That, like some mystery to few reveal'd, The skill of arms abash'd and awed they yield, And from their own defence with hopeless hearts retire?

11 O shame to human life, to human laws! The loose adventurer, hireling of a day, Who his fell sword without affection draws, Whose God, whose country, is a tyrant's pay, This man the lessons of the field can learn; Can every palm, which decks a warrior, earn, And every pledge of conquest: while in vain, To guard your altars, your paternal lands, Are social arms held out to your free hands: Too arduous is the lore: too irksome were the pain.

12 Meantime by Pleasure's lying tales allured, From the bright sun and living breeze ye stray; And deep in London's gloomy haunts immured, Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's decay. O blind of choice and to yourselves untrue! The young grove shoots, their bloom the fields renew, The mansion asks its lord, the swains their friend; While he doth riot's orgies haply share, Or tempt the gamester's dark, destroying snare, Or at some courtly shrine with slavish incense bend.

13 And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng; That the rude village inmates now disdain Those homely ties which ruled their fathers long. Alas, your fathers did by other arts Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts, And led in other paths their ductile will; By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer, Won them the ancient manners to revere, To prize their country's peace and heaven's due rites fulfil.

14 But mark the judgment of experienced Time, Tutor of nations. Doth light discord tear A state, and impotent sedition's crime? The powers of warlike prudence dwell not there; The powers who to command and to obey, Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway The rising race to manly concord tame? Oft let the marshall'd field their steps unite, And in glad splendour bring before their sight One common cause and one hereditary fame.

15 Nor yet be awed, nor yet your task disown, Though war's proud votaries look on severe; Though secrets, taught erewhile to them alone, They deem profaned by your intruding ear. Let them in vain, your martial hope to quell, Of new refinements, fiercer weapons tell, And mock the old simplicity, in vain: To the time's warfare, simple or refined, The time itself adapts the warrior's mind: And equal prowess still shall equal palms obtain.

16 Say then, if England's youth, in earlier days, On glory's field with well-train'd armies vied, Why shall they now renounce that generous praise? Why dread the foreign mercenary's pride? Though Valois braved young Edward's gentle hand, And Albert rush'd on Henry's way-worn band, With Europe's chosen sons in arms renown'd, Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd, Nor Audley's squires, nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd: They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound.

17 Such were the laurels which your fathers won: Such glory's dictates in their dauntless breast;-- Is there no voice that speaks to every son? No nobler, holier call to you address'd? Oh! by majestic Freedom, righteous Laws, By heavenly Truth's, by manly Reason's cause, Awake; attend; be indolent no more: By friendship, social peace, domestic love, Rise; arm; your country's living safety prove; And train her valiant youth, and watch around her shore.

ODE XII.

ON RECOVERING FROM A FIT OF SICKNESS; IN THE COUNTRY. 1758.

1 Thy verdant scenes, O Goulder's Hill, Once more I seek, a languid guest: With throbbing temples and with burden'd breast Once more I climb thy steep aerial way. O faithful cure of oft-returning ill, Now call thy sprightly breezes round, Dissolve this rigid cough profound, And bid the springs of life with gentler movement play.

2 How gladly, 'mid the dews of dawn, My weary lungs thy healing gale, The balmy west or the fresh north, inhale! How gladly, while my musing footsteps rove Round the cool orchard or the sunny lawn, Awaked I stop, and look to find What shrub perfumes the pleasant wind, Or what wild songster charms the Dryads of the grove!

3 Now, ere the morning walk is done, The distant voice of Health I hear, Welcome as beauty's to the lover's ear. 'Droop not, nor doubt of my return,' she cries; 'Here will I, 'mid the radiant calm of noon, Meet thee beneath yon chestnut bower, And lenient on thy bosom pour That indolence divine which lulls the earth and skies.'

4 The goddess promised not in vain. I found her at my favourite time. Nor wish'd to breathe in any softer clime, While (half-reclined, half-slumbering as I lay) She hover'd o'er me. Then, among her train Of Nymphs and Zephyrs, to my view Thy gracious form appear'd anew, Then first, O heavenly Muse, unseen for many a day.

5 In that soft pomp the tuneful maid Shone like the golden star of love. I saw her hand in careless measures move; I heard sweet preludes dancing on her lyre, While my whole frame the sacred sound obey'd. New sunshine o'er my fancy springs, New colours clothe external things, And the last glooms of pain and sickly plaint retire.

6 O Goulder's Hill, by thee restored Once more to this enliven'd hand, My harp, which late resounded o'er the land The voice of glory, solemn and severe, My Dorian harp shall now with mild accord To thee her joyful tribute pay, And send a less ambitious lay Of friendship and of love to greet thy master's ear.

7 For when within thy shady seat First from the sultry town he chose, And the tired senate's cares, his wish'd repose, Then wast thou mine; to me a happier home For social leisure: where my welcome feet, Estranged from all the entangling ways In which the restless vulgar strays, Through Nature's simple paths with ancient Faith might roam.

8 And while around his sylvan scene My Dyson led the white-wing'd hours, Oft from the Athenian Academic bowers Their sages came: oft heard our lingering walk The Mantuan music warbling o'er the green: And oft did Tully's reverend shade, Though much for liberty afraid, With us of letter'd ease or virtuous glory talk.

9 But other guests were on their way, And reach'd ere long this favour'd grove; Even the celestial progeny of Jove, Bright Venus, with her all-subduing son, Whose golden shaft most willingly obey The best and wisest. As they came, Glad Hymen waved his genial flame, And sang their happy gifts, and praised their spotless throne.

10 I saw when through yon festive gate He led along his chosen maid, And to my friend with smiles presenting said:-- 'Receive that fairest wealth which Heaven assign'd To human fortune. Did thy lonely state One wish, one utmost hope, confess? Behold, she comes, to adorn and bless: Comes, worthy of thy heart, and equal to thy mind.'

ODE XIII.

TO THE AUTHOR OF MEMOIRS OF THE HOUSE OF BRANDENBURG. 1751.

1 The men renown'd as chiefs of human race, And born to lead in counsels or in arms, Have seldom turn'd their feet from glory's chase To dwell with books, or court the Muse's charms. Yet, to our eyes if haply time hath brought Some genuine transcript of their calmer thought, There still we own the wise, the great, or good; And Caesar there and Xenophon are seen, As clear in spirit and sublime of mien, As on Pharsalian plains, or by the Assyrian flood.

2 Say thou too, Frederic, was not this thy aim? Thy vigils could the student's lamp engage, Except for this, except that future Fame Might read thy genius in the faithful page? That if hereafter Envy shall presume With words irreverent to inscribe thy tomb, And baser weeds upon thy palms to fling, That hence posterity may try thy reign, Assert thy treaties, and thy wars explain, And view in native lights the hero and the king.

3 O evil foresight and pernicious care! Wilt thou indeed abide by this appeal? Shall we the lessons of thy pen compare With private honour or with public zeal? Whence, then, at things divine those darts of scorn? Why are the woes, which virtuous men have borne For sacred truth, a prey to laughter given? What fiend, what foe of Nature urged thy arm The Almighty of his sceptre to disarm, To push this earth adrift and leave it loose from Heaven?

4 Ye godlike shades of legislators old, Ye who made Rome victorious, Athens wise, Ye first of mortals with the bless'd enroll'd, Say, did not horror in your bosoms rise, When thus, by impious vanity impell'd, A magistrate, a monarch, ye beheld Affronting civil order's holiest bands, Those bands which ye so labour'd to improve, Those hopes and fears of justice from above, Which tamed the savage world to your divine commands?

ODE XIV.

THE COMPLAINT.

1 Away! away! Tempt me no more, insidious love: Thy soothing sway Long did my youthful bosom prove: At length thy treason is discern'd, At length some dear-bought caution earn'd: Away! nor hope my riper age to move.

2 I know, I see Her merit. Needs it now be shown, Alas, to me? How often, to myself unknown, The graceful, gentle, virtuous maid Have I admired! How often said, What joy to call a heart like hers one's own!

3 But, flattering god, O squanderer of content and ease, In thy abode Will care's rude lesson learn to please? O say, deceiver, hast thou won Proud Fortune to attend thy throne, Or placed thy friends above her stern decrees?

ODE XV.

ON DOMESTIC MANNERS.

(UNFINISHED.)

1 Meek Honour, female shame, Oh! whither, sweetest offspring of the sky, From Albion dost thou fly, Of Albion's daughters once the favourite fame? O beauty's only friend, Who giv'st her pleasing reverence to inspire; Who selfish, bold desire Dost to esteem and dear affection turn; Alas, of thee forlorn What joy, what praise, what hope can life pretend?

2 Behold, our youths in vain Concerning nuptial happiness inquire: Our maids no more aspire The arts of bashful Hymen to attain; But with triumphant eyes And cheeks impassive, as they move along, Ask homage of the throng. The lover swears that in a harlot's arms Are found the self-same charms, And worthless and deserted lives and dies.

3 Behold, unbless'd at home, The father of the cheerless household mourns: The night in vain returns, For Love and glad Content at distance roam; While she, in whom his mind Seeks refuge from the day's dull task of cares, To meet him she prepares, Through noise and spleen and all the gamester's art, A listless, harass'd heart, Where not one tender thought can welcome find.

4 'Twas thus, along the shore Of Thames, Britannia's guardian Genius heard, From many a tongue preferr'd, Of strife and grief the fond invective lore: At which the queen divine Indignant, with her adamantine spear Like thunder sounding near, Smote the red cross upon her silver shield, And thus her wrath reveal'd; (I watch'd her awful words, and made them mine.)

* * * * *

NOTES.

BOOK FIRST.

ODE XVIII, STANZA II.--2.

Lycurgus the Lacedemonian lawgiver brought into Greece from Asia Minor the first complete copy of Homer's works. At Plataea was fought the decisive battle between the Persian army and the united militia of Greece under Pausanias and Aristides. Cimon the Athenian erected a trophy in Cyprus for two great victories gained on the same day over the Persians by sea and land. Diodorus Siculus has preserved the inscription which the Athenians affixed to the consecrated spoils, after this great success; in which it is very remarkable that the greatness of the occasion has raised the manner of expression above the usual simplicity and modesty of all other ancient inscriptions. It is this:--

[Greek: EX. OU. G. EUROPAeN. ASIAS. DIChA. PONTOS. ENEIME. KAI. POLEAS. ONAeTON. ThOUROS. ARAeS. EPEChEI. OUDEN. PO. TOIOUTON. EPIChThONION. GENET. ANDRON. ERGON. EN. AePEIROI. KAI. KATA. PONOTON. AMA. OIAE. GAR. EN. KUPROI. MAeDOUS. POLLOUS. OLESANTES. PhOINIKON. EKATON. NAUS. ELON. EN. PELAGEI. ANDRON. PLAeThOUSAS. META. D. ESENEN. ASIS. UP. AUTON. PLAeGEIS. AMPhOTERAIS. ChERSI. KRATEI. POLEMOU.]

The following translation is almost literal:--

Since first the sea from Asia's hostile coast Divided Europe, and the god of war Assail'd imperious cities; never yet, At once among the waves and on the shore, Hath such a labour been achieved by men Who earth inhabit. They, whose arms the Medes In Cyprus felt pernicious, they, the same, Have won from skilful Tyre an hundred ships Crowded with warriors. Asia groans, in both Her hands sore smitten, by the might of war.

STANZA II.--3.

Pindar was contemporary with Aristides and Cimon, in whom the glory of ancient Greece was at its height. When Xerxes invaded Greece, Pindar was true to the common interest of his country; though his fellow-citizens, the Thebans, had sold themselves to the Persian king. In one of his odes he expresses the great distress and anxiety of his mind, occasioned by the vast preparations of Xerxes against Greece (_Isthm_. 8). In another he celebrates the victories of Salamis, Plataea, and Himera (_Pyth_. 1). It will be necessary to add two or three other particulars of his life, real or fabulous, in order to explain what follows in the text concerning him. First, then, he was thought to be so great a favourite of Apollo, that the priests of that deity allotted him a constant share of their offerings. It was said of him, as of some other illustrious men, that at his birth a swarm of bees lighted on his lips, and fed him with their honey. It was also a tradition concerning him, that Pan was heard to recite his poetry, and seen dancing to one of his hymns on the mountains near Thebes. But a real historical fact in his life is, that the Thebans imposed a large fine upon him on account of the veneration which he expressed in his poems for that heroic spirit shown by the people of Athens in defence of the common liberty, which his own fellow-citizens had shamefully betrayed. And as the argument of this ode implies, that great poetical talents and high sentiments of liberty do reciprocally produce and assist each other, so Pindar is perhaps the most exemplary proof of this connexion which occurs in history. The Thebans were remarkable, in general, for a slavish disposition through all the fortunes of their commonwealth; at the time of its ruin by Philip; and even in its best state, under the administration of Pelopidas and Epaminondas: and every one knows they were no less remarkable for great dulness and want of all genius. That Pindar should have equally distinguished himself from the rest of his fellow-citizens in both these respects seems somewhat extraordinary, and is scarce to be accounted for but by the preceding observation.

STANZA III.--3.

Alluding to his defence of the people of England against Salmasins. See particularly the manner in which he himself speaks of that undertaking, in the introduction to his reply to Morus.

STANZA IV.--3.

Edward the Third; from whom descended Henry Hastings, third Earl of Huntingdon, by the daughter of the Duke of Clarence, brother to Edward the Fourth.

STANZA V.--3.

At Whittington, a village on the edge of Scarsdale in Derbyshire, the Earls of Devonshire and Danby, with the Lord Delamere, privately concerted the plan of the Revolution. The house in which they met is at present a farmhouse, and the country people distinguish the room where they sat by the name of _the plotting parlour_.

* * * * *

BOOK SECOND.

ODE VII. STANZA II.--1.

Mr. Locke died in 1704, when Mr. Hoadly was beginning to distinguish himself in the cause of civil and religious liberty: Lord Godolphin in 1712, when the doctrines of the Jacobite faction were chiefly favoured by those in power: Lord Somers in 1716, amid the practices of the nonjoining clergy against the Protestant establishment; and Lord Stanhope in 1721, during the controversy with the lower house of convocation.

ODE X. STANZA V.

During Mr. Pope's war with Theobald, Concanen, and the rest of their tribe, Mr. Warburton, the present Lord Bishop of Gloucester, did with great zeal cultivate their friendship, having been introduced, forsooth, at the meetings of that respectable confederacy--a favour which he afterwards spoke of in very high terms of complacency and thankfulness. At the same time, in his intercourse with them, he treated Mr. Pope in a most contemptuous manner, and as a writer without genius. Of the truth of these assertions his lordship can have no doubt, if he recollects his own correspondence with Concanen, a part of which is still in being, and will probably be remembered as long as any of this prelate's writings.

ODE XIII.

In the year 1751 appeared a very splendid edition, in quarto, of 'Memoires pour servir a l'Histoire de la Maison de Brandebourg, a Berlin et a la Haye,' with a privilege, signed Frederic, the same being engraved in imitation of handwriting. In this edition, among other extraordinary passages, are the two following, to which the third stanza of this ode more particularly refers:--

'Il se fit une migration' (the author is speaking of what happened at the revocation of the Edict of Nantes), 'dont on n'avoit guere vu d'exemples dans l'histoire: un peuple entier sortit du royaume par l'esprit de parti en haine du pape, et pour recevoir sous un autre ciel la communion sous les deux especes: quatre cens mille ames s'expatrierent ainsi et abandonnerent tous leur biens pour detonner dans d'autres temples les vieux pseaumes de Clement Marot.'--Page 163.

'La crainte donna le jour a la credulite, et l'amour propre interessa bientot le ciel au destin des hommes.'--Page 242.

HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 1746.

ARGUMENT.

The Nymphs, who preside over springs and rivulets, are addressed at daybreak, in honour of their several functions, and of the relations which they bear to the natural and to the moral world. Their origin is deduced from the first allegorical deities, or powers of nature, according to the doctrine of the old mythological poets, concerning the generation of the gods and the rise of things. They are then successively considered, as giving motion to the air and exciting summer breezes; as nourishing and beautifying the vegetable creation; as contributing to the fulness of navigable rivers, and consequently to the maintenance of commerce; and by that means to the maritime part of military power. Next is represented their favourable influence upon health when assisted by rural exercise, which introduces their connexion with the art of physic, and the happy effects of mineral medicinal springs. Lastly, they are celebrated for the friendship which the Muses bear them, and for the true inspiration which temperance only can receive, in opposition to the enthusiasm of the more licentious poets.

O'er yonder eastern bill the twilight pale Walks forth from darkness; and the God of day, With bright Astraea seated by his side, Waits yet to leave the ocean. Tarry, Nymphs, Ye Nymphs, ye blue-eyed progeny of Thames, Who now the mazes of this rugged heath Trace with your fleeting steps; who all night long Repeat, amid the cool and tranquil air, Your lonely murmurs, tarry, and receive My offer'd lay. To pay you homage due, 10 I leave the gates of sleep; nor shall my lyre Too far into the splendid hours of morn Engage your audience; my observant hand Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam Approach you. To your subterranean haunts Ye then may timely steal; to pace with care The humid sands; to loosen from the soil The bubbling sources; to direct the rills To meet in wider channels; or beneath Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon 20 To slumber, shelter'd from the burning heaven.

Where shall my song begin, ye Nymphs, or end? Wide is your praise and copious--first of things, First of the lonely powers, ere Time arose, Were Love and Chaos. Love,[A] the sire of Fate; [B] Elder than Chaos. [C] Born of Fate was Time, [D] Who many sons and many comely births Devour'd, [E] relentless father; till the child Of Rhea [F] drove him from the upper sky, [G] And quell'd his deadly might. Then social reign'd 30 The kindred powers, [H] Tethys, and reverend Ops, And spotless Vesta; while supreme of sway Remain'd the Cloud-Compeller. From the couch Of Tethys sprang the sedgy-crowned race, [I] Who from a thousand urns, o'er every clime, Send tribute to their parent; and from them Are ye, O Naiads: [J] Arethusa fair, And tuneful Aganippe; that sweet name, Bandusia; that soft family which dwelt With Syrian Daphne; [K] and the honour'd tribes 40 Beloved of Paeon. [L] Listen to my strain, Daughters of Tethys: listen to your praise.

You, Nymphs, the winged offspring, [M] which of old Aurora to divine Astraeus bore, Owns, and your aid beseecheth. When the might Of Hyperion, [N] from his noontide throne, Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you They ask; Pavonius and the mild South-west Prom you relief implore. Your sallying streams [O] Fresh vigour to their weary wings impart. 50 Again they fly, disporting; from the mead Half-ripen'd and the tender blades of corn, To sweep the noxious mildew; or dispel Contagious steams, which oft the parched earth Breathes on her fainting sons. From noon to eve. Along the river and the paved brook, Ascend the cheerful breezes: hail'd of bards Who, fast by learned Cam, the AEolian lyre Solicit; nor unwelcome to the youth Who on the heights of Tibur, all inclined 60 O'er rushing Arno, with a pious hand The reverend scene delineates, broken fanes, Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp Of ancient Time; and haply, while he scans The ruins, with a silent tear revolves The fame and fortune of imperious Rome.

You too, O Nymphs, and your unenvious aid The rural powers confess, and still prepare For you their choicest treasures. Pan commands, Oft as the Delian king [P] with Sirius holds 70 The central heavens, the father of the grove Commands his Dryads over your abodes To spread their deepest umbrage. Well the god Remembereth how indulgent ye supplied Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime.

Pales, the pasture's queen, where'er ye stray, Pursues your steps, delighted; and the path With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts The laughing Chloris, [Q] with profusest hand, Throws wide her blooms, her odours. Still with you 80 Pomona seeks to dwell; and o'er the lawns, And o'er the vale of Richmond, where with Thames Ye love to wander, Amalthea [R] pours, Well-pleased, the wealth of that Ammonian horn, Her dower; unmindful of the fragrant isles Nysaean or Atlantic. Nor canst thou (Albeit oft, ungrateful, thou dost mock The beverage of the sober Naiad's urn, O Bromius, O Lenaean), nor canst thou Disown the powers whose bounty, ill repaid, 90 With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me, Yet, blameless Nymphs, from my delighted lyre, Accept the rites your bounty well may claim, Nor heed the scoffings of the Edonian band. [S]

For better praise awaits you. Thames, your sire, As down the verdant slope your duteous rills Descend, the tribute stately Thames receives, Delighted; and your piety applauds; And bids his copious tide roll on secure, For faithful are his daughters; and with words 100 Auspicious gratulates the bark which, now His banks forsaking, her adventurous wings Yields to the breeze, with Albion's happy gifts Extremest isles to bless. And oft at morn, When Hermes, [T] from Olympus bent o'er earth To bear the words of Jove, on yonder hill Stoops lightly sailing; oft intent your springs He views: and waving o'er some new-born stream His bless'd pacific wand, 'And yet,' he cries, 'Yet,' cries the son of Maia, 'though recluse 110 And silent be your stores, from you, fair Nymphs, Flows wealth and kind society to men. By you my function and my honour'd name Do I possess; while o'er the Boetic rale, Or through the towers of Memphis, or the palms By sacred Ganges water'd, I conduct The English merchant; with the buxom fleece Of fertile Ariconium while I clothe Sarmatian kings; or to the household gods Of Syria, from the bleak Cornubian shore, 120 Dispense the mineral treasure [U] which of old Sidonian pilots sought, when this fair land Was yet unconscious of those generous arts, Which wise Phoenicia from their native clime Transplanted to a more indulgent heaven.'

Such are the words of Hermes: such the praise, O Naiads, which from tongues celestial waits Your bounteous deeds. From bounty issueth power: And those who, sedulous in prudent works, Relieve the wants of nature, Jove repays 130 With noble wealth, and his own seat on earth, Pit judgments to pronounce, and curb the might Of wicked men. Your kind unfailing urns Not vainly to the hospitable arts Of Hermes yield their store. For, O ye Nymphs, Hath he not won [V] the unconquerable queen Of arms to court your friendship You she owns The fair associates who extend her sway Wide o'er the mighty deep; and grateful things Of you she littereth, oft as from the shore 140 Of Thames, or Medway's vale, or the green banks Of Vecta, she her thundering navy leads To Calpe's [W] foaming channel, or the rough Cantabrian surge; her auspices divine Imparting to the senate and the prince Of Albion, to dismay barbaric kings, The Iberian, or the Celt. The pride of kings Was ever scorn'd by Pallas; and of old Rejoiced the virgin, from the brazen prow Of Athens o'er AEgina's gloomy surge, [X] 150 To drive her clouds and storms; o'erwhelming all The Persian's promised glory, when the realms Of Indus and the soft Ionian clime, When Libya's torrid champaign and the rocks Of cold Imaues join'd their servile bands, To sweep the sons of Liberty from earth. In vain; Minerva on the bounding prow Of Athens stood, and with the thunder's voice Denounced her terrors on their impious heads, And shook her burning aegis. Xerxes saw; [Y] 160 From Heracleum, on the mountain's height Throned in his golden car, he knew the sign Celestial; felt unrighteous hope forsake His faltering heart, and turn'd his face with shame.

Hail, ye who share the stern Minerva's power; Who arm the hand of Liberty for war, And give to the renown'd Britannic name To awe contending monarchs: yet benign, Yet mild of nature, to the works of peace More prone, and lenient of the many ills 170 Which wait on human life. Your gentle aid Hygeia well can witness; she who saves, From poisonous dates and cups of pleasing bane, The wretch, devoted to the entangling snares Of Bacchus and of Comus. Him she leads To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To spread the toils, To beat the coverts, with the jovial horn At dawn of day to summon the loud hounds, She calls the lingering sluggard from his dreams, And where his breast may drink the mountain breeze, 180 And where the fervour of the sunny vale May beat upon his brow, through devious paths Beckons his rapid courser. Nor when ease, Cool ease and welcome slumbers have becalm'd His eager bosom, does the queen of health Her pleasing care withhold. His decent board She guards, presiding, and the frugal powers With joy sedate leads in; and while the brown Ennaean dame with Pan presents her stores, While changing still, and comely in the change, 190 Vertumnus and the Hours before him spread The garden's banquet, you to crown his feast, To crown his feast, O Naiads, you the fair Hygeia calls; and from your shelving seats, And groves of poplar, plenteous cups ye bring, To slake his veins, till soon a purer tide Flows down those loaded channels, washeth off The dregs of luxury, the lurking seeds Of crude disease, and through the abodes of life Sends vigour, sends repose. Hail, Naiads, hail! 200 Who give to labour, health; to stooping age, The joys which youth had squander'd. Oft your urns Will I invoke; and frequent in your praise, Abash the frantic thyrsus [Z] with my song.

For not estranged from your benignant arts Is he, the god, to whose mysterious shrine My youth was sacred, and my votive cares Belong, the learned Paeon. Oft when all His cordial treasures he hath search'd in vain; When herbs, and potent trees, and drops of balm 210 Rich with the genial influence of the sun (To rouse dark fancy from her plaintive dreams, To brace the nerveless arm, with food to win Sick appetite, or hush the unquiet breast Which pines with silent passion), he in vain Hath proved; to your deep mansions he descends. Your gates of humid rock, your dim arcades, He entereth; where empurpled veins of ore Gleam on the roof; where through the rigid mine Your trickling rills insinuate. There the god 220 From your indulgent hands the streaming bowl Wafts to his pale-eyed suppliants; wafts the seeds Metallic and the elemental salts Wash'd from the pregnant glebe. They drink, and soon Flies pain; flies inauspicious care; and soon The social haunt or unfrequented shade Hears Io, Io Paean, [AA] as of old, When Python fell. And, O propitious Nymphs, Oft as for hapless mortals I implore Your sultry springs, through every urn, 230 Oh, shed your healing treasures! With the first And finest breath, which from the genial strife Of mineral fermentation springs, like light O'er the fresh morning's vapours, lustrate then The fountain, and inform the rising wave.

My lyre shall pay your bounty. Scorn not ye That humble tribute. Though a mortal hand Excite the strings to utterance, yet for themes Not unregarded of celestial powers, I frame their language; and the Muses deign 240 To guide the pious tenor of my lay. The Muses (sacred by their gifts divine) In early days did to my wondering sense Their secrets oft reveal; oft my raised ear In slumber felt their music; oft at noon, Or hour of sunset, by some lonely stream, In field or shady grove, they taught me words Of power from death and envy to preserve The good man's name. Whence yet with grateful mind, And offerings unprofaned by ruder eye, 250 My vows I send, my homage, to the seats Of rocky Cirrha, [BB] where with you they dwell, Where you their chaste companions they admit, Through all the hallow'd scene; where oft intent, And leaning o'er Castalia's mossy verge, They mark the cadence of your confluent urns, How tuneful, yielding gratefullest repose To their consorted measure, till again, With emulation all the sounding choir, And bright Apollo, leader of the song, 260 Their voices through the liquid air exalt, And sweep their lofty strings; those powerful strings That charm the mind of gods, [CC] that fill the courts Of wide Olympus with oblivion sweet Of evils, with immortal rest from cares, Assuage the terrors of the throne of Jove, And quench the formidable thunderbolt Of unrelenting fire. With slacken'd wings, While now the solemn concert breathes around, Incumbent o'er the sceptre of his lord 270 Sleeps the stern eagle, by the number'd notes, Possess'd, and satiate with the melting tone, Sovereign of birds. The furious god of war, His darts forgetting, and the winged wheels That bear him vengeful o'er the embattled plain, Relents, and soothes his own fierce heart to ease, Most welcome ease. The sire of gods and men In that great moment of divine delight, Looks down on all that live; and whatsoe'er He loves not, o'er the peopled earth and o'er 280 The interminated ocean, he beholds Cursed with abhorrence by his doom severe, And troubled at the sound. Ye, Naiads, ye With ravish'd ears the melody attend Worthy of sacred silence. But the slaves Of Bacchus with tempestuous clamours strive To drown the heavenly strains, of highest Jove Irreverent, and by mad presumption fired Their own discordant raptures to advance With hostile emulation. Down they rush 290 From Nysa's vine-empurpled cliff, the dames Of Thrace, the Satyrs, and the unruly Fauns, With old Silenus, reeling through the crowd Which gambols round him, in convulsions wild Tossing their limbs, and brandishing in air The ivy-mantled thyrsus, or the torch Through black smoke flaming, to the Phrygian pipe's [DD] Shrill voice, and to the clashing cymbals, mix'd With shrieks and frantic uproar. May the gods From every unpolluted ear avert 300 Their orgies! If within the seats of men, Within the walls, the gates, where Pallas holds [EE] The guardian key, if haply there be found Who loves to mingle with the revel-band And hearken to their accents, who aspires From such instructors to inform his breast With verse, let him, fit votarist, implore Their inspiration. He perchance the gifts Of young Lyaeus, and the dread exploits, May sing in aptest numbers; he the fate 310 Of sober Pentheus, [FF] he the Paphian rites, And naked Mars with Cytherea chain'd, And strong Alcides in the spinster's robes, May celebrate, applauded. But with you, O Naiads, far from that unhallow'd rout, Must dwell the man whoe'er to praised themes Invokes the immortal Muse. The immortal Muse To your calm habitations, to the cave Corycian[GG] or the Delphic mount, [HH] will guide His footsteps, and with your unsullied streams 320 His lips will bathe; whether the eternal lore Of Themis, or the majesty of Jove, To mortals he reveal; or teach his lyre The unenvied guerdon of the patriot's toils, In those unfading islands of the bless'd, Where sacred bards abide. Hail, honour'd Nymphs; Thrice hail! For you the Cyrenaic shell, [II] Behold, I touch, revering. To my songs Be present ye with favourable feet, And all profaner audience far remove. 330

NOTES.

* * * * *

[Footnote A: '_Love,.... Elder than Chaos_.'--L. 25. Hesiod in his Theogony gives a different account, and makes Chaos the eldest of beings, though he assigns to Love neither father nor superior; which circumstance is particularly mentioned by Phaedrus, in Plato's Banquet, as being observable not only in Hesiod, but in all other writers both of verse and prose; and on the same occasion he cites a line from Parmenides, in which Love is expressly styled the eldest of all the gods. Yet Aristophanes, in 'The Birds,' affirms, that 'Chaos, and Night, and Erebus, and Tartarus were first; and that Love was produced from an egg, which the sable-winged Night deposited in the immense bosom of Erebus.' But it must be observed, that the Love designed by this comic poet was always distinguished from the other, from that original and self-existent being the TO ON [Greek] or AGAThON [Greek] of Plato, and meant only the DAeMIOURGOS [Greek] or second person of the old Grecian Trinity; to whom is inscribed a hymn among those which pass under the name of Orpheus, where he is called Protogonos, or the first-begotten, is said to have been born of an egg, and is represented as the principal or origin of all these external appearances of nature. In the fragments of Orpheus, collected by Henry Stephens, he is named Phanes, the discoverer or discloser, who unfolded the ideas of the supreme intelligence, and exposed them to the perception of inferior beings in this visible frame of the world; as Macrobius, and Proclus, and Athenagoras, all agree to interpret the several passages of Orpheus which they have preserved.

But the Love designed in our text is the one self-existent and infinite mind; whom if the generality of ancient mythologists have not introduced or truly described in accounting for the production of the world and its appearances, yet, to a modern poet, it can be no objection that he hath ventured to differ from them in this particular, though in other respects he professeth to imitate their manner and conform to their opinions; for, in these great points of natural theology, they differ no less remarkably among themselves, and are perpetually confounding the philosophical relations of things with the traditionary circumstances of mythic history; upon which very account Callimachus, in his hymn to Jupiter, declareth his dissent from them concerning even an article of the national creed, adding, that the ancient bards were by no means to be depended on. And yet in the exordium of the old Argonautic poem, ascribed to Orpheus, it is said, that 'Love, whom mortals in later times call Phanes, was the father of the eternally-begotten Night;' who is generally represented by these mythological poets as being herself the parent of all things; and who, in the 'Indigitamenta,' or Orphic Hymns, is said to be the same with Cypris, or Love itself. Moreover, in the body of this Argonautic poem, where the personated Orpheus introduceth himself singing to his lyre in reply to Chiron, he celebrateth 'the obscure memory of Chaos, and the natures which it contained within itself in a state of perpetual vicissitude; how the heaven had its boundary determined, the generation of the earth, the depth of the ocean, and also the sapient Love, the most ancient, the self-sufficient, with all the beings which he produced when he separated one thing from another.' Which noble passage is more directly to Aristotle's purpose in the first book of his metaphysics than any of those which he has there quoted, to show that the ancient poets and mythologists agreed with Empedocles, Anaxagoras, and the other more sober philosophers, in that natural anticipation and common notion of mankind concerning the necessity of mind and reason to account for the connexion, motion, and good order of the world. For though neither this poem, nor the hymns which pass under the same name, are, it should seem, the work of the real Orpheus, yet beyond all question they are very ancient. The hymns, more particularly, are allowed to be older than the invasion of Greece by Xerxes, and were probably a set of public and solemn forms of devotion, as appears by a passage in one of them which Demosthenes hath almost literally cited in his first oration against Aristogiton, as the saying of Orpheus, the founder of their most holy mysteries. On this account, they are of higher authority than any other mythological work now extant, the Theogony of Hesiod himself not excepted. The poetry of them is often extremely noble; and the mysterious air which prevails in them, together with its delightful impression upon the mind, cannot be better expressed than in that remarkable description with which they inspired the German editor, Eschenbach, when he accidentally met with them at Leipsic: --'Thesaurum me reperisse credidi,' says he, 'et profecto thesaurum reperi. Incredibile dictu quo me sacro horrore afflaverint indigitamenta ista deorum: nam et tempus ad illorum lectionem eligere cogebar, quod vel solum horrorem incutere animo potest, nocturnum; cum enim totam diem consumserim in contemplando urbis splendore, et in adeundis, quibus scatet urbs illa, viris doctis; sola nox restabat, quam Orpheo consecrare potui. In abyesum quendam mysteriorum venerandae antiquitatis descendere videbar, quotiescunque silente mundo, solis vigilantibus astris et luna, [Greek: melanaephutous] istos hymnos ad manus sumsi.']

[Footnote B: '_Love, the sire of Fate_.'--L. 25. Fate is the universal system of natural causes; the work of the Omnipotent Mind, or of Love: so Minucius Felix:--'Quid enim aliud est fatum, quam quod de unoquoque nostrum deus fatus est.' So also Cicero, in the First Book on Divination:--'Fatum autem id appello, quod Graeci EIMAPMENIIN: id est, ordinem seriemque causarum, cum causa causae nexa rem ex se gignat--ex quo intelligitur, ut fatum sit non id quod superstitiose, sed id quod physice dicitur causa asterna rerum.' To the same purpose is the doctrine of Hierocles, in that excellent fragment concerning Providence and Destiny. As to the three Fates, or Destinies of the poets, they represented that part of the general system of natural causes which relates to man, and to other mortal beings: for so we are told in the hymn addressed to them among the Orphic Indigitamenta, where they are called the daughters of Night (or Love), and, contrary to the vulgar notion, are distinguished by the epithets of gentle and tender-hearted. According to Hesiod, Theog. ver. 904, they were the daughters of Jupiter and Themis: but in the Orphic hymn to Venus, or Love, that goddess is directly styled the mother of Necessity, and is represented, immediately after, as governing the three Destinies, and conducting the whole system of natural causes.]

[Footnote C: '_Chaos_.'--L. 26. The unformed, undigested mass of Moses and Plato; which Milton calls 'The womb of nature.']

[Footnote D: '_Born of Fate was Time_.'--L. 26. Chronos, Saturn, or Time, was, according to Apollodorus, the son of Caelum and Tellus. But the author of the hymns gives it quite undisguised by mythological language, and calls him plainly the offspring of the earth and the starry heaven; that is, of Fate, as explained in the preceding note.]

[Footnote E: '_Who many sons ... devour'd_.'--L. 27. The known fable of Saturn devouring his children was certainly meant to imply the dissolution of natural bodies, which are produced and destroyed by Time.]

[Footnote F: '_The Child of Rhea_.'-L. 29. Jupiter, so called by Pindar.]

[Footnote G: '_Drove him from the upper sky_.'--L. 29. That Jupiter dethroned his father Saturn is recorded by all the mythologists. Phurnutus, or Cornutus, the author of a little Greek treatise on the nature of the gods, informs us that by Jupiter was meant the vegetable soul of the world, which restrained and prevented those uncertain alterations which Saturn, or Time, used formerly to cause in the mundane system.]

[Footnote H: '_Then social reign'd The kindred powers_.'--L. 31. Our mythology here supposeth, that before the establishment of the vital, vegetative, plastic nature (represented by Jupiter), the four elements were in a variable and unsettled condition, but afterwards well-disposed, and at peace among themselves. Tethys was the wife of the Ocean; Ops, or Rhea, the Earth; Vesta, the eldest daughter of Saturn, Fire; and the Cloud-Compeller, or [Greek: Zeus nephelaegeretaes], the Air, though he also represented the plastic principle of nature, as may be seen in the Orphic hymn inscribed to him.]

NOTE I.

'_The sedgy-crowned race_.'--L. 34.

The river-gods, who, according to Hesiod's Theogony, were the sons of Oceanus and Tethys.

NOTE J.

'_From them are ye, O Naiads_.'--L. 37.

The descent of the Naiads is less certain than most points of the Greek mythology. Homer, Odyss. xiii. [Greek: kourai Dios]. Virgil, in the eighth book of the AEneid, speaks as if the Nymphs, or Naiads, were the parents of the rivers: but in this he contradicts the testimony of Hesiod, and evidently departs from the orthodox system, which represented several nymphs as retaining to every single river. On the other hand, Callimachus, who was very learned in all the school-divinity of those times, in his hymn to Delos, maketh Peneus, the great Thessalian river-god, the father of his nymphs: and Ovid, in the fourteenth book of his Metamorphoses, mentions the Naiads of Latium as the immediate daughters of the neighbouring river-gods. Accordingly, the Naiads of particular rivers are occasionally, both by Ovid and Statius, called by patronymic, from the name of the river to which they belong.

NOTE K.

'_Syrian Daphne_.'--L. 40.

The grove of Daphne in Syria, near Antioch, was famous for its delightful fountains.

NOTE L.

'_The tribes beloved by Paeon_.'--L. 40.

Mineral and medicinal springs. Paeon was the physician of the gods.

NOTE M.

'_The winged offspring_.'--L. 43.

The winds; who, according to Hesiod and Apollodorus, were the sons of Astraeus and Aurora.

NOTE N.

'_Hyperion_.'--L. 46.

A son of Caelum and Tellus, and father of the Sun, who is thence called, by Pindar, Hyperionides. But Hyperion is put by Homer in the same manner as here, for the Sun himself.

NOTE O.

'_Your sallying streams_.'--L. 49.

The state of the atmosphere with respect to rest and motion is, in several ways, affected by rivers and running streams; and that more especially in hot seasons: first, they destroy its equilibrium, by cooling those parts of it with which they are in contact; and secondly, they communicate their own motion: and the air which is thus moved by them, being left heated, is of consequence more elastic than other parts of the atmosphere, and therefore fitter to preserve and to propagate that motion.

NOTE P.

'_Delian king_.'--L. 70.

One of the epithets of Apollo, or the Sun, in the Orphic hymn inscribed to him.

NOTE Q.

'_Chloris_.'--L. 79.

The ancient Greek name for Flora.

NOTE R.

'_Amalthea_.'--L. 83.

The mother of the first Bacchus, whose birth and education was written, as Diodorus Siculus informs us, in the old Pelasgic character, by Thymoetes, grandson to Laomedon, and contemporary with Orpheus. Thymoetes had travelled over Libya to the country which borders on the western ocean; there he saw the island of Nysa, and learned from the inhabitants, that 'Ammon, King of Libya, was married in former ages to Rhea, sister of Saturn and the Titans: that he afterwards fell in love with a beautiful virgin whose name was Amalthea; had by her a son, and gave her possession of a neighbouring tract of land, wonderfully fertile; which in shape nearly resembling the horn of an ox, was thence called the Hesperian horn, and afterwards the horn of Amalthea: that fearing the jealousy of Rhea, he concealed the young Bacchus in the island of Nysa;' the beauty of which, Diodorus describes with great dignity and pomp of style. This fable is one of the noblest in all the ancient mythology, and seems to have made a particular impression on the imagination of Milton; the only modern poet (unless perhaps it be necessary to except Spenser) who, in these mysterious traditions of the poetic story, had a heart to feel, and words to express, the simple and solitary genius of antiquity. To raise the idea of his Paradise, he prefers it even to--

'That Nysean isle Girt by the river Triton, where old Cham (Whom Gentiles Ammon call, and Libyan Jove) Hid Amalthea and her florid son, Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye.'

NOTE S.

'_Edonian band_.'--L. 94.

The priestesses and other ministers of Bacchus: so called from Edonus, a mountain of Thrace, where his rites were celebrated.

NOTE T.

'_When Hermes_.'--L. 105.

Hermes, or Mercury, was the patron of commerce; in which benevolent character he is addressed by the author of the Indigitamenta in these beautiful lines:--

[Greek: _Ermaeuen panton, kerdempore, lusimerimue, O? cheiresthiu echei? oplun aremphe_?]

NOTE U.

_'Dispense the mineral treasure'_.--L. 121.

The merchants of Sidon and Tyre made frequent voyages to the coast of Cornwall, from whence they carried home great quantities of tin.

NOTE V.

_'Hath he not won'_?--L. 136.

Mercury, the patron of commerce, being so greatly dependent on the good offices of the Naiads, in return obtains for them the friendship of Minerva, the goddess of war: for military power, at least the naval part of it, hath constantly followed the establishment of trade; which exemplifies the preceding observation, that 'from bounty issueth power.'

NOTE W.

_'C'alpe ... Cantabrian surge'_--L. 143.

Gibraltar and the Bay of Biscay.

NOTE X.

_'AEgina's gloomy surge'_--L. 150.

Near this island, the Athenians obtained the victory of Salamis, over the Persian navy.

NOTE Y.

_'Xerxes saw'_--L. 160.

This circumstance is recorded in that passage, perhaps the most splendid among all the remains of ancient history, where Plutarch, in his Life of Themistocles, describes the sea-fights of Artemisium and Salamis.

NOTE Z.

_'Thyrsus'_--L. 204.

A staff, or spear, wreathed round with ivy: of constant use in the bacchanalian mysteries.

NOTE AA.

_'Io Paean.'_--L. 227.

An exclamation of victory and triumph, derived from Apollo's encounter with Python.

NOTE BB.

_'Rocky Cirrha'_--L. 252.

One of the summits of Parnassus, and sacred to Apollo. Near it were several fountains, said to be frequented by the Muses. Nysa, the other eminence of the same mountain, was dedicated to Bacchus.

NOTE CC.

_'Charm the mind of gods'_--L. 263.

This whole passage, concerning the effects of sacred music among the gods, is taken from Pindar's first Pythian ode.

NOTE DD.

'_Phrygian pipe_.'--L. 297.

The Phrygian music was fantastic and turbulent, and fit to excite disorderly passions.

NOTE EE.

'_The gates where Pallas holds The guardian key_.'--L. 302.

It was the office of Minerva to be the guardian of walled cities; whence she was named IIOAIAS and HOAIOYXOS, and had her statues placed in their gates, being supposed to keep the keys; and on that account styled KAHAOYXOS.

NOTE FF.

'Fate of sober Pentheus.'--L. 311.

Pentheus was torn in pieces by the bacchanalian priests and women, for despising their mysteries.

NOTE GG.

'The cave Corycian:--L. 318.

Of this cave Pausanias, in his tenth book, gives the following description:--'Between Delphi and the eminences of Parnassus is a road to the grotto of Corycium, which has its name from the nymph Corycia, and is by far the most remarkable which I have seen. One may walk a great way into it without a torch. 'Tis of a considerable height, and hath several springs within it; and yet a much greater quantity of water distils from the shell and roof, so as to be continually dropping on the ground. The people round Parnassus hold it sacred to the Corycian nymphs and to Pan.'

NOTE HH.

'Delphic mount.'--L. 319.

Delphi, the seat and oracle of Apollo, had a mountainous and rocky situation, on the skirts of Parnassus.

NOTE II.

'Cyrenaic shell.'--L. 327.

Cyrene was the native country of Callimachus, whose hymns are the most remarkable example of that mythological passion which is assumed in the preceding poem, and have always afforded particular pleasure to the author of it, by reason of the mysterious solemnity with which they affect the mind. On this account he was induced to attempt somewhat in the same manner; solely by way of exercise: the manner itself being now almost entirely abandoned in poetry. And as the mere genealogy, or the personal adventures of heathen gods, could have been but little interesting to a modern reader, it was therefore thought proper to select some convenient part of the history of nature, and to employ these ancient divinities as it is probable they were first employed; to wit, in personifying natural causes, and in representing the mutual agreement or opposition of the corporeal and moral powers of the world: which hath been accounted the very highest office of poetry.

INSCRIPTIONS.

I.

FOR A GROTTO.

To me, whom in their lays the shepherds call Actaea, daughter of the neighbouring stream, This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine, Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot, Were placed by Glycou. He with cowslips pale, Primrose, and purple lychnis, deck'd the green Before my threshold, and my shelving walls With honeysuckle cover'd. Here at noon, Lull'd by the murmur of my rising fount, I slumber; here my clustering fruits I tend; Or from the humid flowers, at break of day, Fresh garlands weave, and chase from all my bounds Each thing impure or noxious. Enter in, O stranger, undismay'd. Nor bat, nor toad Here lurks; and if thy breast of blameless thoughts Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread My quiet mansion; chiefly, if thy name Wise Pallas and the immortal Muses own.

II.

FOR A STATUE OF CHAUCER AT WOODSTOCK.

Such was old Chaucer; such the placid mien Of him who first with harmony inform'd The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls Have often heard him, while his legends blithe He sang; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles Of homely life; through each estate and age, The fashions and the follies of the world With cunning hand portraying. Though perchance From Blenheim's towers, O stranger, thou art come Glowing with Churchill's trophies; yet in vain Dost thou applaud them if thy breast be cold To him, this other hero; who, in times Dark and untaught, began with charming verse To tame the rudeness of his native land.

III.

Whoe'er thou art whose path in summer lies Through yonder village, turn thee where the grove Of branching oaks a rural palace old Embosoms. There dwells Albert, generous lord Of all the harvest round. And onward thence A low plain chapel fronts the morning light Fast by a silent rivulet. Humbly walk, O stranger, o'er the consecrated ground; And on that verdant hillock, which thou seest Beset with osiers, let thy pious hand Sprinkle fresh water from the brook, and strew Sweet-smelling flowers. For there doth Edmund rest, The learned shepherd; for each rural art Famed, and for songs harmonious, and the woes Of ill-requited love. The faithless pride Of fair Matilda sank him to the grave In manhood's prime. But soon did righteous Heaven, With tears, with sharp remorse, and pining care, Avenge her falsehood. Nor could all the gold And nuptial pomp, which lured her plighted faith From Edmund to a loftier husband's home, Relieve her breaking heart, or turn aside The strokes of death. Go, traveller; relate The mournful story. Haply some fair maid May hold it in remembrance, and be taught That riches cannot pay for truth or love.

IV.

O youths and virgins: O declining eld: O pale misfortune's slaves: O ye who dwell Unknown with humble quiet; ye who wait In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings: O sons of sport and pleasure: O thou wretch That weep'st for jealous love, or the sore wounds Of conscious guilt, or death's rapacious hand Which left thee void of hope: O ye who roam In exile; ye who through the embattled field Seek bright renown; or who for nobler palms Contend, the leaders of a public cause; Approach: behold this marble. Know ye not The features'? Hath not oft his faithful tongue Told you the fashion of your own estate, The secrets of your bosom? Here then, round His monument with reverence while ye stand, Say to each other:-'This was Shakspeare's form; Who walk'd in every path of human life, Felt every passion; and to all mankind Doth now, will ever, that experience yield Which his own genius only could acquire.'

V.

GVLIELMVS III. FORTIS, PIVS, LIBERATOR, CVM INEVNTE AETATE PATRIAE LABENTI ADFVISSET SALTS IPSE VNICA; CVM MOX ITIDEM REIPVBLICAE BRITANNICAE VINDEX RENVNCIATVS ESSET ATQVE STATOR; TVM DENIQVE AD ID SE NATVM RECOGNOVIT ET REGEM FACTVM, VT CVRARET NE DOMINO IMPOTENTI CEDERENT PAX, FIDES, FORTVNA, GENERIS HVMANI. AVCTORI PVBLICAE FELICITATIS P.G. A.M. A.

VI.

FOR A COLUMN AT RUNNYMEDE.

Thou, who the verdant plain dost traverse here, While Thames among his willows from thy view Retires; O stranger, stay thee, and the scene Around contemplate well. This is the place Where England's ancient barons, clad in arms And stern with conquest, from their tyrant king (Then render'd tame) did challenge and secure The charter of thy freedom. Pass not on Till thou hast bless'd their memory, and paid Those thanks which God appointed the reward Of public virtue. And if chance thy home Salute thee with a father's honour'd name, Go, call thy sons; instruct them what a debt They owe their ancestors; and make them swear To pay it, by transmitting down entire Those sacred rights to which themselves were born.

VII.

THE WOOD NYMPH.

Approach in silence. 'Tis no vulgar tale Which I, the Dryad of this hoary oak, Pronounce to mortal ears. The second age Now hasteneth to its period, since I rose On this fair lawn. The groves of yonder vale Are all my offspring: and each Nymph who guards The copses and the furrow'd fields beyond, Obeys me. Many changes have I seen In human things, and many awful deeds Of justice, when the ruling hand of Jove Against the tyrants of the land, against The unhallow'd sons of luxury and guile, Was arm'd for retribution. Thus at length Expert in laws divine, I know the paths Of wisdom, and erroneous folly's end Have oft presaged; and now well-pleased I wait Each evening till a noble youth, who loves My shade, a while released from public cares, Yon peaceful gate shall enter, and sit down Beneath my branches. Then his musing mind I prompt, unseen; and place before his view Sincerest forms of good; and move his heart With the dread bounties of the Sire Supreme Of gods and men, with freedom's generous deeds, The lofty voice of glory and the faith Of sacred friendship. Stranger, I have told My function. If within thy bosom dwell Aught which may challenge praise, thou wilt not leave Unhonour'd my abode, nor shall I hear A sparing benediction from thy tongue.

VIII.

Ye powers unseen, to whom, the bards of Greece Erected altars; ye who to the mind More lofty views unfold, and prompt the heart With more divine emotions; if erewhile Not quite uupleasing have my votive rites Of you been deem'd, when oft this lonely seat To you I consecrated; then vouchsafe Here with your instant energy to crown My happy solitude. It is the hour When most I love to invoke you, and have felt Most frequent your glad ministry divine. The air is calm: the sun's unveiled orb Shines in the middle heaven. The harvest round Stands quiet, and among the golden sheaves The reapers lie reclined. The neighbouring groves Are mute, nor even a linnet's random strain Echoeth amid the silence. Let me feel Your influence, ye kind powers. Aloft in heaven, Abide ye? or on those transparent clouds Pass ye from hill to hill? or on the shades Which yonder elms cast o'er the lake below Do you converse retired? From what loved haunt Shall I expect you? Let me once more feel Your influence, O ye kind inspiring powers: And I will guard it well; nor shall a thought Rise in my mind, nor shall a passion move Across my bosom unobserved, unstored By faithful memory. And then at some More active moment, will I call them forth Anew; and join them in majestic forms, And give them utterance in harmonious strains; That all mankind shall wonder at your sway.

IX.

Me though in life's sequester'd vale The Almighty Sire ordain'd to dwell, Remote from glory's toilsome ways, And the great scenes of public praise; Yet let me still with grateful pride Remember how my infant frame He temper'd with prophetic flame, And early music to my tongue supplied. 'Twas then my future fate he weigh'd, And, this be thy concern, he said, At once with Passion's keen alarms, And Beauty's pleasurable charms, And sacred Truth's eternal light, To move the various mind of Man; Till, under one unblemish'd plan, His Reason, Fancy, and his Heart unite.

AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. [1]

Thrice has the spring beheld thy faded fame, And the fourth winter rises on thy shame, Since I exulting grasp'd the votive shell, In sounds of triumph all thy praise to tell; Bless'd could my skill through ages make thee shine, And proud to mix my memory with thine. But now the cause that waked my song before, With praise, with triumph, crowns the toil no more. If to the glorious man whose faithful cares, Nor quell'd by malice, nor relax'd by years, 10 Had awed Ambition's wild audacious hate, And dragg'd at length Corruption to her fate; If every tongue its large applauses owed, And well-earn'd laurels every Muse bestow'd; If public Justice urged the high reward, And Freedom smiled on the devoted bard; Say then, to him whose levity or lust Laid all a people's generous hopes in dust; Who taught Ambition firmer heights of power, And saved Corruption at her hopeless hour; 20 Does not each tongue its execrations owe? Shall not each Muse a wreath of shame bestow, And public Justice sanctify th' award, And Freedom's hand protect the impartial bard?

Yet long reluctant I forbore thy name, Long watch'd thy virtue like a dying flame, Hung o'er each glimmering spark with anxious eyes, And wish'd and hoped the light again would rise. But since thy guilt still more entire appears, Since no art hides, no supposition clears; 30 Since vengeful Slander now too sinks her blast, And the first rage of party-hate is past; Calm as the judge of truth, at length I come To weigh thy merits, and pronounce thy doom: So may my trust from all reproach be free; And Earth and Time confirm the fair decree.

There are who say they view'd without amaze The sad reverse of all thy former praise: That through the pageants of a patriot's name, They pierced the foulness of thy secret aim; 40 Or deem'd thy arm exalted but to throw The public thunder on a private foe. But I, whose soul consented to thy cause, Who felt thy genius stamp its own applause, Who saw the spirits of each glorious age Move in thy bosom, and direct thy rage; I scorn'd the ungenerous gloss of slavish minds, The owl-eyed race, whom Virtue's lustre blinds. Spite of the learned in the ways of vice, And all who prove that each man has his price, 50 I still believed thy end was just and free; And yet, even yet, believe it--spite of thee. Even though thy mouth impure has dared disclaim, Urged by the wretched impotence of shame, Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid To laws infirm, and liberty decay'd; Has begg'd Ambition to forgive the show; Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe; Has boasted in thy country's awful ear, Her gross delusion when she held thee dear; 60 How tame she follow'd thy tempestuous call, And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted all-- Rise from your sad abodes, ye cursed of old For laws subverted, and for cities sold! Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt, The oaths you perjured, and the blood you spilt; Yet must you one untempted vileness own, One dreadful palm reserved for him alone; With studied arts his country's praise to spurn, To beg the infamy he did not earn, 70 To challenge hate when honour was his due, And plead his crimes where all his virtue knew. Do robes of state the guarded heart enclose From each fair feeling human nature knows? Can pompous titles stun the enchanted ear To all that reason, all that sense would hear? Else couldst thou e'er desert thy sacred post, In such unthankful baseness to be lost? Else couldst thou wed the emptiness of vice, And yield thy glories at an idiot's price? 80

When they who, loud for liberty and laws, In doubtful times had fought their country's cause, When now of conquest and dominion sure, They sought alone to hold their fruits secure; When taught by these, Oppression hid the face, To leave Corruption stronger in her place, By silent spells to work the public fate, And taint the vitals of the passive state, Till healing Wisdom should avail no more, And Freedom loathe to tread the poison'd shore: 90 Then, like some guardian god that flies to save The weary pilgrim from an instant grave, Whom, sleeping and secure, the guileful snake Steals near and nearer through the peaceful brake; Then Curio rose to ward the public woe, To wake the heedless, and incite the slow, Against Corruption Liberty to arm, And quell the enchantress by a mightier charm.

Swift o'er the land the fair contagion flew, And with thy country's hopes thy honours grew. 100 Thee, patriot, the patrician roof confess'd; Thy powerful voice the rescued merchant bless'd; Of thee with awe the rural hearth resounds; The bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns; Touch'd in the sighing shade with manlier fires, To trace thy steps the love-sick youth aspires; The learn'd recluse, who oft amazed had read Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead, With new amazement hears a living name Pretend to share in such forgotten fame; 110 And he who, scorning courts and courtly ways, Left the tame track of these dejected days, The life of nobler ages to renew In virtues sacred from a monarch's view, Roused by thy labours from the bless'd retreat, Where social ease and public passions meet, Again ascending treads the civil scene, To act and be a man, as thou hadst been.

Thus by degrees thy cause superior grew, And the great end appear'd at last in view: 120 We heard the people in thy hopes rejoice, We saw the senate bending to thy voice; The friends of freedom hail'd the approaching reign Of laws for which our fathers bled in vain; While venal Faction, struck with new dismay, Shrunk at their frown, and self-abandon'd lay. Waked in the shock the public Genius rose, Abash'd and keener from his long repose; Sublime in ancient pride, he raised the spear Which slaves and tyrants long were wont to fear; 130 The city felt his call: from man to man, From street to street, the glorious horror ran; Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power, And, murmuring, challenged the deciding hour.

Lo! the deciding hour at last appears; The hour of every freeman's hopes and fears! Thou, Genius! guardian of the Roman name, O ever prompt tyrannic rage to tame! Instruct the mighty moments as they roll, And guide each movement steady to the goal. 140 Ye spirits by whose providential art Succeeding motives turn the changeful heart, Keep, keep the best in view to Curio's mind, And watch his fancy, and his passions bind! Ye shades immortal, who by Freedom led, Or in the field or on the scaffold bled, Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye, And view the crown of all your labours nigh. See Freedom mounting her eternal throne! The sword submitted, and the laws her own: 150 See! public Power chastised beneath her stands, With eyes intent, and uncorrupted hands! See private Life by wisest arts reclaim'd! See ardent youth to noblest manners framed! See us acquire whate'er was sought by you, If Curio, only Curio will be true.

'Twas then--o shame! O trust how ill repaid! O Latium, oft by faithless sons betray'd!-- 'Twas then--What frenzy on thy reason stole? What spells unsinewed thy determined soul?-- 160 Is this the man in Freedom's cause approved, The man so great, so honour'd, so beloved, This patient slave by tinsel chains allured, This wretched suitor for a boon abjured, This Curio, hated and despised by all, Who fell himself to work his country's fall? O lost, alike to action and repose! Unknown, unpitied in the worst of woes! With all that conscious, undissembled pride, Sold to the insults of a foe defied! 170 With all that habit of familiar fame, Doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in shame! The sole sad refuge of thy baffled art To act a statesman's dull, exploded part, Renounce the praise no longer in thy power, Display thy virtue, though without a dower, Contemn the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind, And shut thy eyes that others may be blind.-- Forgive me, Romans, that I bear to smile, When shameless mouths your majesty defile, 180 Paint you a thoughtless, frantic, headlong crew, And cast their own impieties on you. For witness, Freedom, to whose sacred power My soul was vow'd from reason's earliest hour, How have I stood exulting, to survey My country's virtues, opening in thy ray! How with the sons of every foreign shore The more I match'd them, honour'd hers the more! O race erect! whose native strength of soul, Which kings, nor priests, nor sordid laws control, 190 Bursts the tame round of animal affairs, And seeks a nobler centre for its cares; Intent the laws of life to comprehend, And fix dominion's limits by its end. Who, bold and equal in their love or hate, By conscious reason judging every state, The man forget not, though in rags he lies, And know the mortal through a crown's disguise: Thence prompt alike with witty scorn to view Fastidious Grandeur lift his solemn brow, 200 Or, all awake at pity's soft command, Bend the mild ear, and stretch the gracious hand: Thence large of heart, from envy far removed, When public toils to virtue stand approved, Not the young lover fonder to admire, Not more indulgent the delighted sire; Yet high and jealous of their free-born name, Fierce as the flight of Jove's destroying flame, Where'er Oppression works her wanton sway, Proud to confront, and dreadful to repay. 210 But if to purchase Curio's sage applause, My country must with him renounce her cause, Quit with a slave the path a patriot trod, Bow the meek knee, and kiss the regal rod; Then still, ye powers, instruct his tongue to rail, Nor let his zeal, nor let his subject fail: Else, ere he change the style, bear me away To where the Gracchi [2], where the Bruti stay!

O long revered, and late resign'd to shame! If this uncourtly page thy notice claim 220 When the loud cares of business are withdrawn, Nor well-dress'd beggars round thy footsteps fawn; In that still, thoughtful, solitary hour, When Truth exerts her unresisted power, Breaks the false optics tinged with fortune's glare, Unlocks the breast, and lays the passions bare; Then turn thy eyes on that important scene, And ask thyself--if all be well within. Where is the heart-felt worth and weight of soul, Which labour could not stop, nor fear control? 230 Where the known dignity, the stamp of awe, Which, half-abash'd, the proud and venal saw? Where the calm triumphs of an honest cause? Where the delightful taste of just applause? Where the strong reason, the commanding tongue, On which the senate fired or trembling hung? All vanish'd, all are sold--and in their room, Couch'd in thy bosom's deep, distracted gloom, See the pale form of barbarous Grandeur dwell, Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell! 210 To her in chains thy dignity was led; At her polluted shrine thy honour bled; With blasted weeds thy awful brow she crown'd, Thy powerful tongue with poison'd philters bound, That baffled Reason straight indignant flew, And fair Persuasion from her seat withdrew: For now no longer Truth supports thy cause; No longer Glory prompts thee to applause; No longer Virtue breathing in thy breast, With all her conscious majesty confess'd, 250 Still bright and brighter wakes the almighty flame, To rouse the feeble, and the wilful tame, And where she sees the catching glimpses roll, Spreads the strong blaze, and all involves the soul; But cold restraints thy conscious fancy chill, And formal passions mock thy struggling will; Or, if thy Genius e'er forget his chain, And reach impatient at a nobler strain, Soon the sad bodings of contemptuous mirth Shoot through thy breast, and stab the generous birth, 260 Till, blind with smart, from truth to frenzy toss'd, And all the tenor of thy reason lost, Perhaps thy anguish drains a real tear; While some with pity, some with laughter hear.-- Can art, alas! or genius, guide the head, Where truth and freedom from the heart are fled? Can lesser wheels repeat their native stroke, When the prime function of the soul is broke?

But come, unhappy man! thy fates impend; Come, quit thy friends, if yet thou hast a friend; 270 Turn from the poor rewards of guilt like thine, Renounce thy titles, and thy robes resign; For see the hand of Destiny display'd To shut thee from the joys thou hast betray'd! See the dire fane of Infamy arise! Dark as the grave, and spacious as the skies; Where, from the first of time, thy kindred train, The chiefs and princes of the unjust remain. Eternal barriers guard the pathless road To warn the wanderer of the cursed abode; 280 But prone as whirlwinds scour the passive sky, The heights surmounted, down the steep they fly. There, black with frowns, relentless Time awaits, And goads their footsteps to the guilty gates; And still he asks them of their unknown aims, Evolves their secrets, and their guilt proclaims; And still his hands despoil them on the road Of each vain wreath, by lying bards bestow'd, Break their proud marbles, crush their festal cars, And rend the lawless trophies of their wars. 290

At last the gates his potent voice obey; Fierce to their dark abode he drives his prey; Where, ever arm'd with adamantine chains, The watchful demon o'er her vassals reigns, O'er mighty names and giant-powers of lust, The great, the sage, the happy, and august [3]. No gleam of hope their baleful mansion cheers, No sound of honour hails their unbless'd ears; But dire reproaches from the friend betray'd, The childless sire and violated maid; 300 But vengeful vows for guardian laws effaced, From towns enslaved, and continents laid waste; But long posterity's united groan, And the sad charge of horrors not their own, For ever through the trembling space resound, And sink each impious forehead to the ground.

Ye mighty foes of liberty and rest, Give way, do homage to a mightier guest! Ye daring spirits of the Roman race, See Curio's toil your proudest claims efface!-- 310 Awed at the name, fierce Appius [4] rising bends, And hardy Cinna from his throne attends: 'He comes,' they cry, 'to whom the fates assign'd With surer arts to work what we design'd, From year to year the stubborn herd to sway, Mouth all their wrongs, and all their rage obey; Till own'd their guide, and trusted with their power, He mock'd their hopes in one decisive hour; Then, tired and yielding, led them to the chain, And quench'd the spirit we provoked in vain.' 320

But thou, Supreme, by whose eternal hands Fair Liberty's heroic empire stands; Whose thunders the rebellious deep control, And quell the triumphs of the traitor's soul, Oh! turn this dreadful omen far away: On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay: Relume her sacred fire so near suppress'd, And fix her shrine in every Roman breast: Though bold Corruption boast around the land, 'Let virtue, if she can, my baits withstand!' 330 Though bolder now she urge the accursed claim, Gay with her trophies raised on Curio's shame; Yet some there are who scorn her impious mirth, Who know what conscience and a heart are worth.-- O friend and father of the human mind, Whose art for noblest ends our frame design'd! If I, though fated to the studious shade Which party-strife, nor anxious power invade, If I aspire in public virtue's cause, To guide the Muses by sublimer laws, 340 Do thou her own authority impart, And give my numbers entrance to the heart. Perhaps the verse might rouse her smother'd flame, And snatch the fainting patriot back to fame; Perhaps by worthy thoughts of human kind, To worthy deeds exalt the conscious mind; Or dash Corruption in her proud career, And teach her slaves that Vice was born to fear.

[Footnote 1: Curio was a young Roman senator, of distinguished birth and parts, who, upon his first entrance into the forum, had been committed to the care of Cicero. Being profuse and extravagant, he soon dissipated a large and splendid fortune; to supply the want of which, he was driven to the necessity of abetting the designs of Csesar against the liberties of his country, although he had before been a professed enemy to him. Cicero exerted himself with great energy to prevent his ruin, but without effect, and he became one of the first victims in the civil war. This epistle was first published in the year 1744, when a celebrated patriot, after a long and at last successful opposition to an unpopular minister, had deserted the cause of his country, and became the foremost in support and defence of the same measures he had so steadily and for such a length of time contended against.]

[Fotnote 2: The two brothers, Tiberius and Caius Gracchus, lost their lives in attempting to introduce the only regulation that could give stability and good order to the Roman republic. L. Junius Brutus founded the commonwealth, and died in its defence.]

[Footnote 3: Titles which have been generally ascribed to the most pernicious of men.]

[Footnote 4: Appius Claudius the Decemvir, and L. Cornelius Cinna both attempted to establish a tyrannical dominion in Rome, and both perished by the treason.]

THE VIRTUOSO.

IN IMITATION OP SPENSER'S STYLE AND STANZA.

'Videmus Nugari solitos.'--PERSIUS.

1 Whilom by silver Thames's gentle stream, In London town there dwelt a subtile wight; A wight of mickle wealth, and mickle fame, Book-learn'd and quaint; a Virtuoso hight. Uncommon things, and rare, were his delight; From musings deep his brain ne'er gotten ease, Nor ceasen he from study, day or night; Until (advancing onward by degrees) He knew whatever breeds on earth, or air, or seas.

2 He many a creature did anatomise, Almost unpeopling water, air, and land; Beasts, fishes, birds, snails, caterpillars, flies, Were laid full low by his relentless hand, That oft with gory crimson was distain'd: He many a dog destroy'd, and many a cat; Of fleas his bed, of frogs the marshes drain'd, Could tellen if a mite were lean or fat, And read a lecture o'er the entrails of a gnat.

3 He knew the various modes of ancient times, Their arts and fashions of each different guise, Their weddings, funerals, punishments for crimes, Their strength, their learning eke, and rarities; Of old habiliments, each sort and size, Male, female, high and low, to him were known; Each gladiator-dress, and stage disguise; With learned, clerkly phrase he could have shown How the Greek tunic differ'd from the Roman gown.

4 A curious medalist, I wot, he was, And boasted many a course of ancient coin; Well as his wife's he knewen every face, From Julius Caesar down to Constantine: For some rare sculptor he would oft ypine (As green-sick damosels for husbands do); And when obtained, with enraptured eyne, He'd run it o'er and o'er with greedy view, And look, and look again, as he would look it through.

5 His rich museum, of dimensions fair, With goods that spoke the owner's mind was fraught: Things ancient, curious, value-worth, and rare, From sea and land, from Greece and Rome were brought, Which he with mighty sums of gold had bought: On these all tides with joyous eyes he pored; And, sooth to say, himself he greater thought, When he beheld his cabinets thus stored, Than if he'd been of Albion's wealthy cities lord.

6 Here in a corner stood a rich scrutoire, With many a curiosity replete; In seemly order furnish'd every drawer, Products of art or nature as was meet; Air-pumps and prisms were placed beneath his feet, A Memphian mummy-king hung o'er his head; Here phials with live insects small and great, There stood a tripod of the Pythian maid; Above, a crocodile diffused a grateful shade.

7 Fast by the window did a table stand, Where modern and antique rarities, From Egypt, Greece, and Rome, from sea and land, Were thick-besprent, of every sort and size: Here a Bahaman-spider's carcass lies, There a dire serpent's golden skin doth shine; Here Indian feathers, fruits, and glittering flies; There gums and amber found beneath the line, The beak of Ibis here, and there an Antonine.

8 Close at his back, or whispering in his ear, There stood a sprite ycleped Phantasy; Which, wheresoe'er he went, was always near: Her look was wild, and roving was her eye; Her hair was clad with flowers of every dye; Her glistering robes were of more various hue Than the fair bow that paints the cloudy sky, Or all the spangled drops of morning dew; Their colour changing still at every different view.

9 Yet in this shape all tides she did not stay, Various as the chameleon that she bore; Now a grand monarch with a crown of hay, Now mendicant in silks and golden ore: A statesman, now equipp'd to chase the boar, Or cowled monk, lean, feeble, and unfed; A clown-like lord, or swain of courtly lore; Now scribbling dunce, in sacred laurel clad, Or papal father now, in homely weeds array'd.

10 The wight whose brain this phantom's power doth fill, On whom she doth with constant care attend, Will for a dreadful giant take a mill, Or a grand palace in a hog-sty find: (From her dire influence me may heaven defend!) All things with vitiated sight he spies; Neglects his family, forgets his friend, Seeks painted trifles and fantastic toys, And eagerly pursues imaginary joys.

AMBITION AND CONTENT.

A FABLE.

'Optat quietem.'-HOR.

While yet the world was young, and men were few, Nor lurking fraud, nor tyrant rapine knew, In virtue rude, the gaudy arts they scorn'd, Which, virtue lost, degenerate times adorn'd: No sumptuous fabrics yet were seen to rise, Nor gushing fountains taught to invade the skies; With nature, art had not begun the strife, Nor swelling marble rose to mimic life; No pencil yet had learn'd to express the fair; The bounteous earth was all their homely care. 10

Then did Content exert her genial sway, And taught the peaceful world her power to obey-- Content, a female of celestial race, Bright and complete in each celestial grace. Serenely fair she was, as rising day, And brighter than the sun's meridian ray; Joy of all hearts, delight of every eye, Nor grief nor pain appear'd when she was by; Her presence from the wretched banish'd care, Dispersed the swelling sigh, and stopp'd the falling tear. 20

Long did the nymph her regal state maintain, As long mankind were bless'd beneath her reign; Till dire Ambition, hellish fiend, arose To plague the world, and banish man's repose, A monster sprung from that rebellious crew Which mighty Jove's Phlegraean thunder slew. Resolved to dispossess the royal fair, On all her friends he threaten'd open war; Fond of the novelty, vain, fickle man In crowds to his infernal standard ran; 30 And the weak maid, defenceless left alone, To avoid his rage, was forced to quit the throne.

It chanced, as wandering through the fields she stray'd, Forsook of all, and destitute of aid, Upon a rising mountain's flowery side, A pleasant cottage, roof'd with turf, she spied: Fast by a gloomy, venerable wood Of shady planes and ancient oaks it stood. Around, a various prospect charm'd the sight; Here waving harvests clad the field with white, 40 Here a rough shaggy rock the clouds did pierce, From which a torrent rush'd with rapid force; Here mountain-woods diffused a dusky shade; Here flocks and herds in flowery valleys play'd, While o'er the matted grass the liquid crystal stray'd. In this sweet place there dwelt a cheerful pair, Though bent beneath the weight of many a year; Who, wisely flying public noise and strife, In this obscure retreat had pass'd their life; The husband Industry was call'd, Frugality the wife. 50 With tenderest friendship mutually bless'd, No household jars had e'er disturbed their rest. A numerous offspring graced their homely board, That still with nature's simple gifts was stored.

The father rural business only knew; The sons the same delightful art pursue. An only daughter, as a goddess fair, Above the rest was the fond mother's care, Plenty; the brightest nymph of all the plain, Each heart's delight, adored by every swain. 60 Soon as Content this charming scene espied, Joyful within herself the goddess cried:-- 'This happy sight my drooping heart doth raise; The gods, I hope, will grant me gentler days. When with prosperity my life was bless'd, In yonder house I've been a welcome guest: There now, perhaps, I may protection find; For royalty is banish'd from my mind; I'll thither haste: how happy should I be, If such a refuge were reserved for me!' 70

Thus spoke the fair; and straight she bent her way To the tall mountain, where the cottage lay: Arrived, she makes her changed condition known; Tells how the rebels drove her from the throne; What painful, dreary wilds she'd wander'd o'er; And shelter from the tyrant doth implore.

The faithful, aged pair at once were seized With joy and grief, at once were pain'd and pleased; Grief for their banish'd queen their hearts' possess'd, And joy succeeded for their future guest: 80 'And if you'll deign, bright goddess, here to dwell, And with your presence grace our humble cell, Whate'er the gods have given with bounteous hand, Our harvest, fields, and flocks, our all command.'

Meantime, Ambition, on his rival's flight, Sole lord of man, attain'd his wish's height; Of all dependence on his subjects eased, He raged without a curb, and did whate'er he pleased; As some wild flame, driven on by furious winds, Wide spreads destruction, nor resistance finds; 90 So rush'd the fiend destructive o'er the plain, Defaced the labours of th' industrious swain; Polluted every stream with human gore, And scatter'd plagues and death from shore to shore.

Great Jove beheld it from the Olympian towers, Where sate assembled all the heavenly powers; Then with a nod that shook the empyrean throne, Thus the Saturnian thunderer begun:-- 'You see, immortal inmates of the skies, How this vile wretch almighty power defies; 100 His daring crimes, the blood which he has spilt, Demand a torment equal to his guilt. Then, Cyprian goddess, let thy mighty boy Swift to the tyrant's guilty palace fly; There let him choose his sharpest, hottest dart, And with his former rival wound his heart. And thou, my son (the god to Hermes said), Snatch up thy wand, and plume thy heels and head; Dart through the yielding air with all thy force, And down to Pluto's realms direct thy course; 110 There rouse Oblivion from her sable cave, Where dull she sits by Lethe's sluggish wave; Command her to secure the sacred bound. Where lives Content retired, and all around Diffuse the deepest glooms of Stygian night, And screen the virgin from the tyrant's sight; That the vain purpose of his life may try Still to explore, what still eludes his eye.' He spoke; loud praises shake the bright abode, And all applaud the justice of the god. 120

THE POET. A RHAPSODY.

Of all the various lots around the ball, Which fate to man distributes, absolute, Avert, ye gods! that of the Muse's son, Cursed with dire poverty! poor hungry wretch! What shall he do for life? He cannot work With manual labour; shall those sacred hands, That brought the counsels of the gods to light; Shall that inspired tongue, which every Muse Has touch'd divine, to charm the sons of men; These hallow'd organs! these! be prostitute 10 To the vile service of some fool in power, All his behests submissive to perform, Howe'er to him ungrateful? Oh! he scorns The ignoble thought; with generous disdain, More eligible deeming it to starve, Like his famed ancestors renown'd in verse, Than poorly bend to be another's slave,-- Than feed and fatten in obscurity.-- These are his firm resolves, which fate, nor time, Nor poverty can shake. Exalted high 20 In garret vile he lives; with remnants hung Of tapestry. But oh! precarious state Of this vain transient world! all-powerful Time, What dost thou not subdue? See what a chasm Gapes wide, tremendous! see where Saul, enraged, High on his throne, encompass'd by his guards, With levell'd spear, and arm extended, sits, Ready to pierce old Jesse's valiant son, Spoil'd of his nose!--around in tottering ranks, On shelves pulverulent, majestic stands 30 His library; in ragged plight, and old; Replete with many a load of criticism, Elaborate products of the midnight toil Of Belgian brains; snatch'd from the deadly hands Of murderous grocer, or the careful wight, Who vends the plant, that clads the happy shore Of Indian Patomac; which citizens In balmy fumes exhale, when, o'er a pot Of sage-inspiring coffee, they dispose Of kings and crowns, and settle Europe's fate. 40

Elsewhere the dome is fill'd with various heaps Of old domestic lumber; that huge chair Has seen six monarchs fill the British throne: Here a broad massy table stands, o'erspread With ink and pens, and scrolls replete with rhyme: Chests, stools, old razors, fractured jars, half-full Of muddy Zythum, sour and spiritless: Fragments of verse, hose, sandals, utensils Of various fashion, and of various use, With friendly influence hide the sable floor. 50

This is the bard's museum, this the fane To Phoebus sacred, and the Aonian maids: But, oh! it stabs his heart, that niggard fate To him in such small measure should dispense Her better gifts: to him! whose generous soul Could relish, with as fine an elegance, The golden joys of grandeur, and of wealth; He who could tyrannise o'er menial slaves, Or swell beneath a coronet of state, Or grace a gilded chariot with a mien, 60 Grand as the haughtiest Timon of them all.

But 'tis in vain to rave at destiny: Here he must rest and brook the best he can, To live remote from grandeur, learning, wit; Immured amongst th' ignoble, vulgar herd, Of lowest intellect; whose stupid souls But half inform their bodies; brains of lead And tongues of thunder; whose insensate breasts Ne'er felt the rapturous, soul-entrancing fire Of the celestial Muse; whose savage ears 70 Ne'er heard the sacred rules, nor even the names Of the Venusian bard, or critic sage Full-famed of Stagyra: whose clamorous tongues Stun the tormented ear with colloquy, Vociferate, trivial, or impertinent; Replete with boorish scandal; yet, alas! This, this! he must endure, or muse alone, Pensive and moping o'er the stubborn rhyme, Or line imperfect--No! the door is free, And calls him to evade their deafening clang, 80 By private ambulation;--'tis resolved: Off from his waist he throws the tatter'd gown, Beheld with indignation; and unloads His pericranium of the weighty cap, With sweat and grease discolour'd: then explores The spacious chest, and from its hollow womb Draws his best robe, yet not from tincture free Of age's reverend russet, scant and bare; Then down his meagre visage waving flows The shadowy peruke; crown'd with gummy hat 90 Clean brush'd; a cane supports him. Thus equipp'd He sallies forth; swift traverses the streets, And seeks the lonely walk.--'Hail, sylvan scenes, Ye groves, ye valleys, ye meandering brooks, Admit me to your joys!' in rapturous phrase, Loud he exclaims; while with the inspiring Muse His bosom labours; and all other thoughts, Pleasure and wealth, and poverty itself, Before her influence vanish. Rapt in thought, Fancy presents before his ravish'd eyes 100 Distant posterity, upon his page With transport dwelling; while bright learning's sons That ages hence must tread this earthly ball, Indignant, seem to curse the thankless age, That starved such merit. Meantime swallow'd up, In meditation deep, he wanders on, Unweeting of his way.--But, ah! he starts With sudden fright! his glaring eyeballs roll, Pale turn his cheeks, and shake his loosen'd joints; His cogitations vanish into air, 110 Like painted bubbles, or a morning dream. Behold the cause! see! through the opening glade, With rosy visage, and abdomen grand, A cit, a dun!--As in Apulia's wilds, Or where the Thracian Hebrus rolls his wave, A heedless kid, disportive, roves around, Unheeding, till upon the hideous cave On the dire wolf she treads; half-dead she views His bloodshot eyeballs, and his dreadful fangs, And swift as Eurus from the monster flies. 120 So fares the trembling bard; amazed he turns, Scarce by his legs upborne; yet fear supplies The place of strength; straight home he bends his course, Nor looks behind him till he safe regain His faithful citadel; there, spent, fatigued, He lays him down to ease his heaving lungs, Quaking, and of his safety scarce convinced. Soon as the panic leaves his panting breast, Down to the Muse's sacred rites he sits, Volumes piled round him; see! upon his brow 130 Perplex'd anxiety, and struggling thought, Painful as female throes: whether the bard Display the deeds of heroes; or the fall Of vice, in lay dramatic; or expand The lyric wing; or in elegiac strains Lament the fair; or lash the stubborn age, With laughing satire; or in rural scenes With shepherds sport; or rack his hard-bound brains For the unexpected turn. Arachne so, In dusty kitchen corner, from her bowels 140 Spins the fine web, but spins with better fate, Than the poor bard: she! caitiff! spreads her snares, And with their aid enjoys luxurious life, Bloated with fat of insects, flesh'd in blood: He! hard, hard lot! for all his toil and care, And painful watchings, scarce protracts a while His meagre, hungry days! ungrateful world! If with his drama he adorn the stage, No worth-discerning concourse pays the charge. Or of the orchestra, or the enlightening torch. 150 He who supports the luxury and pride Of craving Lais; he! whose carnage fills Dogs, eagles, lions; has not yet enough, Wherewith to satisfy the greedier maw Of that most ravenous, that devouring beast, Ycleped a poet. What new Halifax, What Somers, or what Dorset canst thou find, Thou hungry mortal? Break, wretch, break thy quill, Blot out the studied image; to the flames

Commit the Stagyrite; leave this thankless trade; 160 Erect some pedling stall, with trinkets stock'd, There earn thy daily halfpence, nor again Trust the false Muse; so shall the cleanly meal Repel intruding hunger.--Oh! 'tis vain, The friendly admonition's all in vain; The scribbling itch has seized him, he is lost To all advice, and starves for starving's sake.

Thus sung the sportful Muse, in mirthful mood, Indulging gay the frolic vein of youth; But, oh! ye gods, avert th' impending stroke 170 This luckless omen threatens! Hark! methinks I hear my better angel cry, 'Retreat, Rash youth! in time retreat; let those poor bards, Who slighted all, all! for the flattering Muse, Yet cursed with pining want, as landmarks stand, To warn thee from the service of the ingrate.'

A BRITISH PHILIPPIC.

OCCASIONED BY THE INSULTS OF THE SPANIARDS, AND THE PRESENT PREPARATIONS FOR WAR. 1738.

Whence this unwonted transport in my breast? Why glow my thoughts, and whither would the Muse Aspire with rapid wing? Her country's cause Demands her efforts: at that sacred call She summons all her ardour, throws aside The trembling lyre, and with the warrior's trump She means to thunder in each British ear; And if one spark of honour or of fame, Disdain of insult, dread of infamy, One thought of public virtue yet survive, 10 She means to wake it, rouse the generous flame, With patriot zeal inspirit every breast, And fire each British heart with British wrongs.

Alas, the vain attempt! what influence now Can the Muse boast! or what attention now Is paid to fame or virtue? Where is now The British spirit, generous, warm, and brave, So frequent wont from tyranny and woe To free the suppliant nations? Where, indeed! If that protection, once to strangers given, 20 Be now withheld from sons? Each nobler thought, That warrn'd our sires, is lost and buried now In luxury and avarice. Baneful vice! How it unmans a nation! yet I'll try, I'll aim to shake this vile degenerate sloth; I'll dare to rouse Britannia's dreaming sons To fame, to virtue, and impart around A generous feeling of compatriot woes.

Come, then, the various powers of forceful speech, All that can move, awaken, fire, transport! 30 Come the bold ardour of the Theban bard! The arousing thunder of the patriot Greek! The soft persuasion of the Roman sage! Come all! and raise me to an equal height, A rapture worthy of my glorious cause! Lest my best efforts, failing, should debase The sacred theme; for with no common wing The Muse attempts to soar. Yet what need these? My country's fame, my free-born British heart, Shall be my best inspirers, raise my flight 40 High as the Theban's pinion, and with more Than Greek or Roman flame exalt my soul. Oh! could I give the vast ideas birth Expressive of the thoughts that flame within, No more should lazy Luxury detain Our ardent youth; no more should Britain's sons Sit tamely passive by, and careless hear The prayers, sighs, groans, (immortal infamy!) Of fellow Britons, with oppression sunk, In bitterness of soul demanding aid, 50 Calling on Britain, their dear native land, The land of Liberty; so greatly famed For just redress; the land so often dyed With her best blood, for that arousing cause, The freedom of her sons; those sons that now Far from the manly blessings of her sway, Drag the vile fetters of a Spanish lord. And dare they, dare the vanquish'd sons of Spain Enslave a Briton? Have they then forgot, So soon forgot, the great, the immortal day, 60 When rescued Sicily with joy beheld The swift-wing'd thunder of the British arm Disperse their navies? when their coward bands Fled, like the raven from the bird of Jove, From swift impending vengeance fled in vain? Are these our lords? And can Britannia see Her foes oft vanquish'd, thus defy her power, Insult her standard, and enslave her sons, And not arise to justice? Did our sires, Unawed by chains, by exile, or by death, 70 Preserve inviolate her guardian rights, To Britons ever sacred, that her sons Might give them up to Spaniards?--Turn your eyes, Turn, ye degenerate, who with haughty boast Call yourselves Britons, to that dismal gloom, That dungeon dark and deep, where never thought Of joy or peace can enter; see the gates Harsh-creaking open; what a hideous void, Dark as the yawning grave, while still as death A frightful silence reigns! There on the ground 80 Behold your brethren chain'd like beasts of prey: There mark your numerous glories, there behold The look that speaks unutterable woe; The mangled limb, the faint, the deathful eye, With famine sunk, the deep heart-bursting groan, Suppress'd in silence; view the loathsome food, Refused by dogs, and oh! the stinging thought! View the dark Spaniard glorying in their wrongs, The deadly priest triumphant in their woes, And thundering worse damnation on their souls: 90 While that pale form, in all the pangs of death, Too faint to speak, yet eloquent of all, His native British spirit yet untamed, Raises his head; and with indignant frown Of great defiance, and superior scorn, Looks up and dies.--Oh! I am all on fire! But let me spare the theme, lest future times Should blush to hear that either conquer'd Spain Durst offer Britain such outrageous wrong, Or Britain tamely bore it-- 100 Descend, ye guardian heroes of the land! Scourges of Spain, descend! Behold your sons; See! how they run the same heroic race, How prompt, how ardent in their country's cause, How greatly proud to assert their British blood, And in their deeds reflect their fathers' fame! Ah! would to heaven ye did not rather see How dead to virtue in the public cause, How cold, how careless, how to glory deaf, They shame your laurels, and belie their birth! 110

Come, ye great spirits, Candish, Raleigh, Blake! And ye of latter name, your country's pride, Oh! come, disperse these lazy fumes of sloth, Teach British hearts with British fires to glow! In wakening whispers rouse our ardent youth, Blazon the triumphs of your better days, Paint all the glorious scenes of rightful war In all its splendours; to their swelling souls Say how ye bow'd th' insulting Spaniards' pride, Say how ye thunder'd o'er their prostrate heads, 120 Say how ye broke their lines and fired their ports, Say how not death, in all its frightful shapes, Could damp your souls, or shake the great resolve For right and Britain: then display the joys The patriot's soul exalting, while he views Transported millions hail with loud acclaim The guardian of their civil, sacred rights. How greatly welcome to the virtuous man Is death for others' good! the radiant thoughts That beam celestial on his passing soul, 130 The unfading crowns awaiting him above, The exalting plaudit of the Great Supreme, Who in his actions with complacence views His own reflected splendour; then descend, Though to a lower, yet a nobler scene; Paint the just honours to his relics paid, Show grateful millions weeping o'er his grave; While his fair fame in each progressive age For ever brightens; and the wise and good Of every land in universal choir 140 With richest incense of undying praise His urn encircle, to the wondering world His numerous triumphs blazon; while with awe, With filial reverence, in his steps they tread, And, copying every virtue, every fame, Transplant his glories into second life, And, with unsparing hand, make nations bless'd By his example. Vast, immense rewards! For all the turmoils which the virtuous mind Encounters here. Yet, Britons, are ye cold? 150 Yet deaf to glory, virtue, and the call Of your poor injured countrymen? Ah! no: I see ye are not; every bosom glows With native greatness, and in all its state The British spirit rises: glorious change! Fame, virtue, freedom, welcome! Oh, forgive The Muse, that, ardent in her sacred cause, Your glory question'd; she beholds with joy, She owns, she triumphs in her wish'd mistake. See! from her sea-beat throne in awful march 160 Britannia towers: upon her laurel crest The plumes majestic nod; behold, she heaves Her guardian shield, and terrible in arms For battle shakes her adamantine spear: Loud at her foot the British lion roars, Frighting the nations; haughty Spain full soon Shall hear and tremble. Go then, Britons, forth, Your country's daring champions: tell your foes Tell them in thunders o'er their prostrate land, You were not born for slaves: let all your deeds 170 Show that the sons of those immortal men, The stars of shining story, are not slow In virtue's path to emulate their sires, To assert their country's rights, avenge her sons, And hurl the bolts of justice on her foes.

HYMN TO SCIENCE.

'O vitas Philosophia dux! O virtutis indagatrix, expultrixque vitiorum. Tu urbes peperisti; tu inventrix legum, tu magistra morum et disciplinae fuisti: ad te confugimus, a te opem petimus.'-- _Cic. Tusc. Quaest_.

1 Science! thou fair effusive ray From the great source of mental day, Free, generous, and refined! Descend with all thy treasures fraught, Illumine each bewilder'd thought, And bless my labouring mind.

2 But first with thy resistless light, Disperse those phantoms from my sight, Those mimic shades of thee: The scholiast's learning, sophist's cant, The visionary bigot's rant, The monk's philosophy.

3 Oh! let thy powerful charms impart The patient head, the candid heart, Devoted to thy sway; Which no weak passions e'er mislead, Which still with dauntless steps proceed Where reason points the way.

4 Give me to learn each secret cause; Let Number's, Figure's, Motion's laws Reveal'd before me stand; These to great Nature's scenes apply, And round the globe, and through the sky, Disclose her working hand.

5 Next, to thy nobler search resign'd, The busy, restless, Human Mind Through every maze pursue; Detect Perception where it lies, Catch the Ideas as they rise, And all their changes view.

6 Say from what simple springs began The vast ambitious thoughts of man, Which range beyond control, Which seek eternity to trace, Dive through the infinity of space, And strain to grasp the whole.

7 Her secret stores let Memory tell, Bid Fancy quit her fairy cell, In all her colours dress'd; While prompt her sallies to control, Reason, the judge, recalls the soul To Truth's severest test.

8 Then launch through Being's wide extent; Let the fair scale with just ascent And cautious steps be trod; And from the dead, corporeal mass, Through each progressive order pass To Instinct, Reason, God.

9 There, Science! veil thy daring eye; Nor dive too deep, nor soar too high, In that divine abyss; To Faith content thy beams to lend, Her hopes to assure, her steps befriend And light her way to bliss.

10 Then downwards take thy flight again, Mix with the policies of men, And social Nature's ties; The plan, the genius of each state, Its interest and its powers relate, Its fortunes and its rise.

11 Through private life pursue thy course, Trace every action to its source, And means and motives weigh: Put tempers, passions, in the scale; Mark what degrees in each prevail, And fix the doubtful sway.

12 That last best effort of thy skill, To form the life, and rule the will, Propitious power! impart: Teach me to cool my passion's fires, Make me the judge of my desires, The master of my heart.

13 Raise me above the Vulgar's breath, Pursuit of fortune, fear of death, And all in life that's mean: Still true to reason be my plan, Still let my actions speak the man, Through every various scene.

14 Hail! queen of manners, light of truth; Hail! charm of age, and guide of youth; Sweet refuge of distress: In business, thou! exact, polite; Thou giv'st retirement its delight, Prosperity its grace.

15 Of wealth, power, freedom, thou the cause; Foundress of order, cities, laws, Of arts inventress thou! Without thee, what were human-kind? How vast their wants, their thoughts how blind! Their joys how mean, how few!

16 Sun of the soul! thy beams unveil: Let others spread the daring sail On Fortune's faithless sea: While, undeluded, happier I From the rain tumult timely fly, And sit in peace with thee.

LOVE. AN ELEGY.

Too much my heart of Beauty's power hath known, Too long to Love hath reason left her throne; Too long my genius mourn'd his myrtle chain, And three rich years of youth consumed in vain. My wishes, lull'd with soft inglorious dreams, Forgot the patriot's and the sage's themes: Through each Elysian vale and fairy grove, Through all the enchanted paradise of love, Misled by sickly Hope's deceitful flame, Averse to action, and renouncing fame. 10

At last the visionary scenes decay, My eyes, exulting, bless the new-born day, Whose faithful beams detect the dangerous road In which my heedless feet securely trod, And strip the phantoms of their lying charms That lured my soul from Wisdom's peaceful arms.

For silver streams and banks bespread with flowers, For mossy couches and harmonious bowers, Lo! barren heaths appear, and pathless woods, And rocks hung dreadful o'er unfathom'd floods: 20 For openness of heart, for tender smiles, Looks fraught with love, and wrath-disarming wiles; Lo! sullen Spite, and perjured Lust of Gain, And cruel Pride, and crueller Disdain; Lo! cordial Faith to idiot airs refined, Now coolly civil, now transporting kind. For graceful Ease, lo! Affectation walks; And dull Half-sense, for Wit and Wisdom talks. New to each hour what low delight succeeds, What precious furniture of hearts and heads! 30 By nought their prudence, but by getting, known, And all their courage in deceiving shown.

See next what plagues attend the lover's state, What frightful forms of Terror, Scorn, and Hate! See burning Fury heaven and earth defy! See dumb Despair in icy fetters lie! See black Suspicion bend his gloomy brow, The hideous image of himself to view! And fond Belief, with all a lover's flame, Sink in those arms that point his head with shame! 40 There wan Dejection, faltering as he goes, In shades and silence vainly seeks repose; Musing through pathless wilds, consumes the day, Then lost in darkness weeps the hours away. Here the gay crowd of Luxury advance, Some touch the lyre, and others urge the dance: On every head the rosy garland glows, In every hand the golden goblet flows. The Syren views them with exulting eyes, And laughs at bashful Virtue as she flies. 50 But see behind, where Scorn and Want appear, The grave remonstrance and the witty sneer; See fell Remorse in action, prompt to dart Her snaky poison through the conscious heart; And Sloth to cancel, with oblivious shame, The fair memorial of recording Fame.

Are these delights that one would wish to gain? Is this the Elysium of a sober brain? To wait for happiness in female smiles, Bear all her scorn, be caught with all her wiles, 60 With prayers, with bribes, with lies, her pity crave, Bless her hard bonds, and boast to be her slave; To feel, for trifles, a distracting train Of hopes and terrors equally in vain; This hour to tremble, and the next to glow; Can Pride, can Sense, can Reason, stoop so low: When Virtue, at an easier price, displays The sacred wreaths of honourable praise; When Wisdom utters her divine decree, To laugh at pompous Folly, and be free? 70

I bid adieu, then, to these woeful scenes; I bid adieu to all the sex of queens; Adieu to every suffering, simple soul, That lets a woman's will his ease control. There laugh, ye witty; and rebuke, ye grave! For me, I scorn to boast that I'm a slave. I bid the whining brotherhood be gone; Joy to my heart! my wishes are my own! Farewell the female heaven, the female hell; To the great God of Love a glad farewell. 80 Is this the triumph of thy awful name? Are these the splendid hopes that urged thy aim, When first my bosom own'd thy haughty sway? When thus Minerva heard thee, boasting, say-- 'Go, martial maid, elsewhere thy arts employ, Nor hope to shelter that devoted boy. Go teach the solemn sons of Care and Age, The pensive statesman, and the midnight sage; The young with me must other lessons prove, Youth calls for Pleasure, Pleasure calls for Love. 90 Behold, his heart thy grave advice disdains; Behold, I bind him in eternal chains.'-- Alas! great Love, how idle was the boast! Thy chains are broken, and thy lessons lost; Thy wilful rage has tired my suffering heart, And passion, reason, forced thee to depart. But wherefore dost thou linger on thy way? Why vainly search for some pretence to stay, When crowds of vassals court thy pleasing yoke, And countless victims bow them to the stroke? 100 Lo! round thy shrine a thousand youths advance, Warm with the gentle ardours of romance; Each longs to assert thy cause with feats of arms, And make the world confess Dulcinea's charms. Ten thousand girls with flowery chaplets crown'd, To groves and streams thy tender triumph sound: Each bids the stream in murmurs speak her flame, Each calls the grove to sigh her shepherd's name. But, if thy pride such easy honour scorn, If nobler trophies must thy toil adorn, 110 Behold yon flowery antiquated maid Bright in the bloom of threescore years display'd; Her shalt thou bind in thy delightful chains, And thrill with gentle pangs her wither'd veins, Her frosty cheek with crimson blushes dye, With dreams of rapture melt her maudlin eye.

Turn then thy labours to the servile crowd, Entice the wary, and control the proud; Make the sad miser his best gains forego, The solemn statesman sigh to be a beau, 120 The bold coquette with fondest passion burn, The Bacchanalian o'er his bottle mourn; And that chief glory of thy power maintain, 'To poise ambition in a female brain.' Be these thy triumphs; but no more presume That my rebellious heart will yield thee room: I know thy puny force, thy simple wiles; I break triumphant through thy flimsy toils; I see thy dying lamp's last languid glow, Thy arrows blunted and unbraced thy bow. 130 I feel diviner fires my breast inflame, To active science, and ingenuous fame; Resume the paths my earliest choice began, And lose, with pride, the lover in the man.

TO CORDELIA.

JULY 1740.

1 From pompous life's dull masquerade, From Pride's pursuits, and Passion's war, Far, my Cordelia, very far, To thee and me may Heaven assign The silent pleasures of the shade, The joys of peace, unenvied, though divine!

2 Safe in the calm embowering grove, As thy own lovely brow serene; Behold the world's fantastic scene! What low pursuits employ the great, What tinsel things their wishes move, The forms of Fashion, and the toys of State.

3 In vain are all Contentment's charms, Her placid mien, her cheerful eye, For look, Cordelia, how they fly! Allured by Power, Applause, or Gain, They fly her kind protecting arms; Ah, blind to pleasure, and in love with pain!

4 Turn, and indulge a fairer view, Smile on the joys which here conspire; O joys harmonious as my lyre! O prospect of enchanting things, As ever slumbering poet knew, When Love and Fancy wrapt him in their wings!

5 Here, no rude storm of Passion blows, But Sports and Smiles, and Virtues play, Cheer'd by Affection's purest ray; The air still breathes Contentment's balm, And the clear stream of Pleasure flows For ever active, yet for ever calm.

SONG.

1 The shape alone let others prize, The features of the fair; I look for spirit in her eyes, And meaning in her air;

2 A damask cheek, an ivory arm, Shall ne'er my wishes win: Give me an animated form, That speaks a mind within;

3 A face where awful honour shines, Where sense and sweetness move, And angel innocence refines The tenderness of love.

4 These are the soul of Beauty's frame; Without whose vital aid, Unfinish'd all her features seem, And all her roses dead.

5 But, ah! where both their charms unite, How perfect is the view, With every image of delight, With graces ever new:

6 Of power to charm the greatest woe, The wildest rage control, Diffusing mildness o'er the brow, And rapture through the soul.

7 Their power but faintly to express, All language must despair; But go, behold Arpasia's face, And read it perfect there.

END OF AKENSIDE'S POETICAL WORKS.

End of Project Gutenberg's Poetical Works of Akenside, by Mark Akenside