Part 7

When now, mature in classic knowledge, The joyful youth is sent to college, His father comes, an humble suitor, With bows and speeches to his tutor, "Sir, give me leave to recommend him, "I'm sure you cannot but befriend him; "I'll warrant that his good behav'our "Shall justify your future favour; "And for his parts, to tell the truth, "My son's a very forward youth; "He's young indeed, but has a spirit, "And wants but means, to shew his merit; "Has _Horace_ all by heart,--you'd wonder, "And mouths out _Homer_'s greek like thunder. "If you'd but venture to admit him, "A scholarship would nicely fit him; "That he succeeds 'tis ten to one, "Your vote and interest, Sir,--'tis done." Our candidate at length gets in, A hopeful scholar of Coll. Trin. A scholarship not half maintains, And college-rules are heavy chains; So scorning the late wish'd-for prize, For a fat fellowship he sighs. When, nine full tedious winters past, His utmost wish is crown'd at last; That utmost wish no sooner got, Again he quarrels with his lot.-- "These fellowships are pretty things, "We live indeed like petty kings; "But who can bear to spend his whole age "Amid the dullness of a college; "Debarr'd the common joys of life, "And what is worse than all--a wife! "Would some snug benefice but fall, "Ye feasts, and gaudies, farewell all! "To offices I'd bid adieu "Of Dean, Vice-Præs,--nay Bursar too; "Come tithes, come glebe, come fields so pleasant, "Come sports, come partridge, hare and pheasant." Well--after waiting many a year, A living falls,--two hundred clear. With breast elite beyond expression, He hurries down to take possession; With rapture views the sweet retreat,-- "What a convenient house! how neat! "The garden how compleatly plann'd! "And is all this at my command! "For fuel here's good store of wood,-- "Pray god, the cellars be but good! Continuing this fantastic farce on, He now commences country parson; To make his character entire, He weds a----cousin of the 'squire; Not over-weighty in the purse; But many doctors have done worse. Content at first,--he taps his barrel, Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel; Finds his church-wardens have discerning Both in good liquor and good learning; With tythes his barns replete he sees, And chuckles o'er his surplice-fees; Studies to find out latent dues, Smokes with the 'squire,--and clips his yews; Of Oxford pranks, facetious tells, And, but on sundays, hears no bells. But ah! too soon his thoughtless breast By cares domestic is opprest; Each day some scene of woe commences By new and unforeseen expences; And soon the butcher's bill, and brewing, Threaten inevitable ruin; For children more expences yet, And Dickey now for school is fit. "Why did I sell my college life (He cries) "for benefice and wife! "Oh could the days once more but come, "When calm I smoak'd in common room, "And din'd with breast untroubled, under "The picture of our pious founder; "When, for amusement, my tyrannic "Sway could put freshmen in a pannic; "When impositions were supplied "To light my pipe--or sooth my pride! "No cares of family oppress'd me, "Nor wife by day--nor night distress'd me. "Each day receiv'd successive pleasure, "Or spent in reading, or in leisure; "And every night I went to bed "Without a christ'ning in my head."

O trifling head, and fickle heart!-- Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art! A dupe to follies yet untry'd, And sick of pleasure's scarce enjoy'd; Each prize obtain'd, thy rapture ceases, And in the search alone it pleases.

ODE[14]

TO

ARTHUR ONSLOW, ESQ.

I.

This goodly frame what virtue so approves, And testifies the pure etherial spirit As mild Benevolence? She with her sister Mercy still awaits Beside th' eternal throne of Jove, And measures forth with unwithdrawing hand The blessings of the various year, Sunshine or show'r, and chides the madding tempest.

II.

With her the heaven-bred nymph meek Charity, Shall fashion ONSLOW forth in fairest portrait; And with recording care Weave the fresh wreath that flow'ring virtue claims. But oh, what muse shall join the band? He long has sojourn'd in the sacred haunts, And knows each whisp'ring grot and glade Trod by Apollo, and the light-foot Graces.

III.

How then shall awkward gratitude And the presumption of untutor'd duty Attune my numbers all too rude? Little he recks the meed of such a song; Yet will I stretch aloof, And when I tell of Courtesy, Of well-attemper'd Zeal, Of awful Prudence soothing fell Contention, Where shall the lineaments agree But in thee, ONSLOW? You, your wonted leave Indulge me, nor misdeem a Soldier's bold emprize;

IV.

Who in the dissonance of barb'rous war, Long train'd, revisits oft the sacred treasures Of antique memory; Or where sage Pindar reins his fiery car, Through the vast vault of heaven secure, Or what the Attic muse that Homer fill'd, Her other son, thy Milton taught, Or range the flow'ry fields of gentle Spenser.

V.

And ever as I go, allurements vain Cherish a feeble fire, and feed my idle Fancy: O cou'd I once Charm to their melody my shrilling reeds! To HENRYS and to EDWARDS old, Dread names! I'd meditate the faithful song; Or tell what time BRITANNIA, Whilom the fairest daughter of old Ocean,

VI.

In loathly disarray, dull eyes, And faded cheek, wept o'er her abject sons: Till WILLIAM, great deliverer, Led on the comely train, gay Liberty, Religion, matron staid, With all her kindred goddesses; Justice with steady brow, Trim Plenty, laureat Peace, and green-hair'd Commerce, In flowing vest of thousand hues. Fain would I shadow out old Bourbon's pile Tott'ring with doubtful weight, and threat'ning cumbrous fall;

VII.

Or trace our navy, where in tow'ring pride O'er the wide-swelling waste it rolls avengeful. As when collected clouds Forth from the gloomy south in deep array, Athwart the dark'ning landscape throng, Fraught with loud storms, and thunder's dreadful peal, At which the murd'rer stands aghast, And wasting Riot ill dissembles terror.

VIII.

How headlong Rhone and Ebro erst distain'd With moorish carnage, quakes thro' all her branches! Soon shall I greet the morn, When, Europe sav'd, BRITAIN and GEORGE'S name Shall sound o'er Flandria's level field, Familiar in domestic meriment; Or by the jolly mariner Be carol'd loud adown the echoing Danube.

IX.

The just memorial of fair deeds Still flourishes, and like th' untainted soul Blossoms in freshest age, above The weary flesh, and envy's rankling wound. Such after years mature In full account shall be thy meed. O! may your rising hope Well principled in ev'ry virtue bloom! Till a fresh-springing flock implore With infant hands a grandsire's pow'rful pray'r, Or round your honour'd couch their prattling sports persue.

FOOTNOTE:

[14] This elegant Poem was written by a Gentleman well known in the Learned World, as a token of gratitude for favours conferred on his father, during the last war, whose character he has therein affirmed.

JOB, CHAPTER XXXIX.

BY A GENTLEMAN OF OXFORD.

Declare, if heav'nly wisdom bless thy tongue, When teems the MOUNTAIN-GOAT with promis'd young; The stated seasons tell, the month explain, When feels the bounding HIND a mother's pain; While, in th' oppressive agonies of birth, Silent they bow the sorrowing head to earth? Why crop their lusty seed the verdant food? Why leave their dams, to search the gloomy wood? Say, whence the WILD-ASS wantons o'er the plain, Sports uncontroul'd, unconscious of the rein? 'Tis his o'er scenes of solitude to roam, The waste his house, the wilderness his home; He scorns the crouded city's pomp and noise, Nor heeds the driver's rod, nor hears his voice; At will on ev'ry various verdure fed, His pasture o'er the shaggy cliffs is spread. Will the fierce UNICORN obey thy call, Enslav'd to man, and patient of the stall? Say, will he stubborn stoop thy yoke to bear, And thro' the furrow drag the tardy share? Say, canst thou think, O wretch of vain belief, His lab'ring limbs will draw thy weighty sheaf? Or canst thou tame the temper of his blood With faithful feet to trace the destin'd road? Who paints the PEACOCK'S train with radiant eyes, And all the bright diversity of dies? Whose hand the stately OSTRICH has supply'd With glorious plumage, and her snowy pride? Thoughtless she leaves amid the dusty way, Her eggs, to ripen in the genial ray; Nor heeds, that some fell beast, who thirsts for blood, Or the rude foot may crush the future brood. In her no love the tender offspring share, No soft remembrance, no maternal care: For God has steel'd her unrelenting breast, Nor feeling sense, nor instinct mild imprest, Bade her the rapid-rushing steed despise, Outstrip the rider's rage, and tow'r amidst the skies. Didst thou the HORSE with strength and beauty deck? Hast thou in thunder cloath'd his nervous neck? Will he, like groveling grashoppers afraid, Start at each sound, at ev'ry breeze dismay'd? A cloud of fire his lifted nostrils raise, And breathe a glorious terror as they blaze. He paws indignant, and the valley spurns, Rejoycing in his might, and for the battle burns. When quivers rattle, and the frequent spear Flies flashing, leaps his heart with languid fear? Swallowing with fierce and greedy rage the ground, "Is this, he cries, the trumpet's warlike sound?" Eager he scents the battle from afar, And all the mingling thunder of the war. Flies the fierce HAWK by thy supreme command, To seek soft climates, and a southern land? Who bade th' aspiring EAGLE mount the sky, And build her firm aerial nest on high? On the bare cliff, or mountain's shaggy steep, Her fortress of defence she dares to keep; Thence darts her radiant eye's pervading ray, Inquisitive to ken the distant prey. Seeks with her thirsty brood th' ensanguin'd plain, There bathes her beak in blood, companion of the slain.

ODE

ON THE

DEATH OF MR. THOMSON,

BY MR. COLLINS.

THE SCENE OF THE FOLLOWING STANZAS

IS SUPPOSED TO LIE ON THE

THAMES, NEAR RICHMOND.

I.

In yonder grave a Druid lies Where slowly winds the stealing wave! The year's best sweets shall duteous rise To deck its Poet's sylvan grave!

II.

In yon deep bed of whisp'ring reeds His airy harp[15] shall now be laid, That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds, May love thro' life the soothing shade.

III.

Then maids and youths shall linger here, And while its sounds at distance swell, Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear To hear the Woodland Pilgrim's knell.

IV.

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore When Thames in summer wreaths is drest, And oft suspend the dashing oar To bid his gentle spirit rest!

V.

And oft as Ease and Health retire To breezy lawn, or forest deep, The friend shall view yon whitening [16]spire, And 'mid the varied landscape weep.

VI.

But Thou, who own'st that earthy bed, Ah! what will every dirge avail? Or tears, which Love and Pity shed That mourn beneath the gliding sail!

VII.

Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimm'ring near? With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die; And Joy desert the blooming year.

VIII.

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide No sedge-crown'd Sisters now attend, Now waft me from the green hill's side Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!

IX.

And see, the fairy valleys fade, Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view! Yet once again, dear parted shade, Meek Nature's Child, again adieu!

X.

The genial meads assign'd to bless The life, shall mourn thy early doom, Their hinds, and shepherd-girls shall dress With simple hands thy rural tomb.

XI.

Long, long, thy stone, and pointed clay Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes, O! vales, and wild woods, shall He say In yonder grave Your Druid lies!

FOOTNOTES:

[15] The harp of ÆOLUS, of which see a description in the CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.

[16] RICHMOND Church.

THE CHILD BIRTH.

IN THE MANNER OF GAY.

The doleful dumps I sing, and tearful woes, Of MARIAN teeming with unlawful throes: The sheenest lass in Berkshire was she known, Of all that butter sell to Reading town: Not the seven sisters could o'er her prevail, The golden farmer's daughters of the vale, Tho' every Oxford muse their charms has sung And gravest doctors[17] join'd the tuneful throng.

Ye peers! who careless of ambition, chuse To court the labours of the past'ral muse; And all the wond'rous bards who try the lay Where black Cam rolls, or Isis' eddies play, Assist the labours of an humble swain, Rude to the pipe, and novice on the plain.

Nine months successive now had rolled round, Since MARIAN first the pleasing mischief found; In vain her hands had cull'd th' abortive weed, Nor aught avail'd the 'pothecary's aid. Her womb began with fatal size to swell, And sick'ning qualms the blushful secret tell: Then all in sad despair she made her moan, Lodona's waters echoed groan for groan. "Ah! faithless COLIN CLOUT! ah, luckless I! "And canst thou, cruel! from thy MARIAN fly? "How often hast thou suck'd my panting breath? "How often swore to love me true till death? "But to the Justice I'll reveal my plight, "And with a constable pursue thy flight. "Ah! how unequal, as our parson preaches, "Are this world's goods! and sure he rightly teaches; "For what to maidens brings eternal stain, "(Sad management!) gives honour to the swain. "'Twas on the blithest morn of all the year, "When new-born May bids every shepherd chear; "When artful maids their rival fancies shew, "And well-wrought garlands bloom on ev'ry bough; "When gaudy fairs bespangle every street, "And lowing cows the novel pasture greet; "Fresh rose I, MARIAN hight, from rustic bed, "The morning dream still hov'ring o'er my head; "Gay shews and sweethearts had employ'd my thought, "The kiss imprinted, and the fairing bought! "From lavander I drew the tucker'd smock, "And hosen boastful of a various clock; "The silver'd knot well scollop'd on my head, "And donn'd the sunday gown berob'd with red. "Thus all bedight, and ready for the fair, "I sat impatient with a wistful air, "Expecting COLIN CLOUT, my perjur'd swain, "Who always follow'd MARIAN on the plain: "With him the moon-light walk I us'd to tread, "With him I danc'd upon the sportive mead; "That very morn had taught the snails to crawl, "And print mysterious letters on the wall. "At length he came, and I with joyous meed "Mounted behind him on the pillion'd steed: "Sweetly I sung, he whistled to the lay, "Sweetly I sung the song, and sung the day: "_What beauteous scenes_ began the tuneful tale! "And next I humm'd _the sweets of Arno's vale_; "Then MOLLY MOGG, fair damsel of the Rose, "And _lovely_ PEGGY, taste of London beaux. "And now in view gay Reading strikes our eyes, "And all the dainties of the fair arise: "Here Birmingham its boasted ware displays, "There leather breeches hight, and bodice stays; "Here posied garters flutter'd in the way, "There painted hobby-horses seem to neigh; "Here belles in gingerbread all gilded over, "And little gew-gaw H----YS act the lover. "Shepherds and nymphs from every part repair, "All who from Oxford hills direct the share, "Who fell the forest, or who mow the mead, "Or drag in little boats the finny breed: "Her wide-mouth'd sons low-seated Henley sends, "And smoky Okingham it's tribute lends. "But far did MARIAN all the rest outvie, "No cheek so ruddy, nor so black an eye; "Scarce DOLLY C----K the daughter of the may'r, "With all the flaxen ringlets of her hair, "With all the snowy fulness of her breast, "In blithsome features might with me contest. "All youths ambitiously around me strove, "Each gave some chosen emblem of his love; "One queintly bought the garters for my thighs, "While simple archness sparkled in his eyes. "But all their fairings unsuccessful prove, "Still true to COLIN CLOUT I held my love. "----Ah! sly deceiver! you enclasp'd my arm, "And seem'd my saviour, while you meant my harm; "Far too unequal was the high reward, "My maidenhead must pay thee for thy guard; "Already warm'd with joy you win my heart, "And stamp a little COLIN e'er we part. "--Yet now, when nature fills my womb, to fly-- "Nor yet one tear to issue from thine eye-- "My slighted love to quick resentment turns; "Lo my blood rises, and my cheek all burns! "O I could tear thee as I tear this glove-- "Go, horrid monster! I despise thy love, "Thy oaths I quit, thy fairings I resign, "Forget, renounce thee, hate whate'er was thine. "[18]No christian mother bound thy infant head, "Some Turk begat thee, or some Papist bred; "Or dropt on Cambrian hills, a squalid brat, "Some she-goat suckled thee with savage teat. "[19]--Go to thy drab, whoe'er has won thy heart, "And may the pox devouring make thee smart; "[20]My vengeful ghost shall haunt thee o'er the plain, "Yes, thou shalt suffer, villain, for my pain. "--But ah! my rage relents, my sorrow flows; "Come COLIN! faithless shepherd! ease my woes. "And must I in the sheet opprobrious stand? "Thy plight is troth'd, ah! come and give thy hand: "My conscience starts, whene'er I hear a knell, "And is a little love deserving hell? "Too hard a penance for a sin so slight! "Ah how my heart misgives me every night! "When sleep has clos'd my sorrow-streaming eyes, "Then ghastly dreams, and hateful thoughts arise: "[21]All unaccompany'd methinks I go "O'er Irish bogs, a wilderness of woe! "Ah! my wits turn! strange phantoms round me fly! "Lo! I am chang'd into a goosb'ry pye! "Forbear to eat me up, inhuman rabble! "Cocks crow, ducks quake, hens cackle, turkies gabble."

Thus as she rav'd, her womb with rueful throes Did to the light a lusty babe disclose: Long while she doubted of the smirking boy, Or on her knee to dandle, or destroy; Love prompted her to save, and Pride to drown, At length Pride conquer'd, and she dropt her son.

FOOTNOTES:

[17] The Rev. Dr. WILKES wrote a poem upon them.

[18] _Nec tibi diva parens, generis nec Dardanus auctor, Perfide, sed duris genuit te cautibus horrens Caucasus, Hyrcanæque admorunt ubera tigres._

[19] _I, sequere Italiam ventis, &c. Spero equidem mediis, siquid pia numina, &c._

[20] _Omnibus umbra locis adero, dabis, improbe, poenas._ Æn. 4.

[21] _----Semperque relinqui Sola sibi, semper longam_ incomitata _videtur Ire viam, & Tyrios desertâ quærere terrâ, Eumenidum veluti demens videt agmina Pentheus, &c._ Æn. 4.

ON A

LADY'S

PRESENTING A SPRIG OF MYRTLE

TO A

GENTLEMAN.

BY MR. HAMMOND.

What fears, what terrors does thy gift create! Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate! The myrtle, ensign of supreme command, (Consign'd by VENUS to MELISSA'S hand) Not less capricious than a reigning fair, Oft favours, oft rejects the lover's care. In myrtle groves oft sings the happy swain, In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain; The myrtle crowns the happy lovers heads, Th' unhappy lovers graves the myrtle spreads; Oh! then the meaning of thy gift impart, And cure the throbbings of an anxious heart; Soon must this bough, as you shall fix his doom, Adorn PHILANDER'S head, or grace his tomb.

TO

A YOUNG LADY

WITH

FONTENELLE'S PLURALITY OF WORLDS.

In this small work all nature's wonders see, The soften'd features of philosophy. In truth by easy steps you here advance, Truth, as diverting as the best romance. Long had these arts to sages been confin'd, None saw their beauty, till by poring blind; By studying spent, like men that cram too full, From Wisdom's feast they rose not chear'd, but dull: The gay and airy smil'd to see 'em grave, And fled such wisdom like TROPHONIUS' cave. Justly they thought they might those arts despise, Which made men sullen, ere they could be wise. Brought down to sight, with ease you view 'em here; Tho' deep the bottom, yet the stream is clear. Your flutt'ring sex still valued science less; Careless of any, but the arts of dress. Their useless time was idly thrown away On empty novels, or some new-born play. The best, perhaps, a few loose hours might spare For some unmeaning thing, miscall'd a pray'r. In vain the glittering orbs, each starry night, With mingling blazes shed a flood of light: Each nymph with cold indiff'rence saw 'em rise; And, taught by fops, to them preferr'd her eyes. None thought the stars were suns so widely sown, None dreamt of other worlds, besides our own. Well might they boast their charms, when ev'ry fair Thought this world all, and hers the brightest here. Ah! quit not the large thoughts this book inspires, For those thin trifles which your sex admires; Assert your claim to sense, and shew mankind, That reason is not to themselves confin'd. The haughty belle, whose beauty's awful shrine. 'Twere sacrilege t' imagine not divine, Who thought so greatly of her eyes before, Bid her read this, and then be vain no more. How poor ev'n You, who reign without controul, If we except the beauties of your soul! Should all beholders feel the same surprize; Should all who see you, see you with my eyes; Were no such blasts to make that beauty less; Should you be what I think, what all confess: 'Tis but a narrow space those charms engage; One Island only, and not half an Age.

ODE

ON THE FIFTH OF DECEMBER,

Being the BIRTH-DAY of a very beautiful YOUNG LADY.

BY MR. CHRISTOPHER SMART.

I.

Hail eldest of the monthly train, Sire of the winter drear, DECEMBER, in whose iron reign Expires the chequer'd year: Hush all the blust'ring blasts that blow, And proudly plum'd in silver snow Smile gladly on this blest of days; The livery'd clouds shall on thee wait, And PHOEBUS shine in all his state, With more than summer rays.

II.