The land of the muses: a poem, in the manner of Spenser. With poems on several occasions. By Hugh Downman, ...

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- [halftitle]

- TO Dr THOMAS BLACKLOCK.

- PREFACE.

- The Land of the MUSES: A POEM, In the Manner of SPENSER; As if to be inserted in the 2d Book of the FAIRY QUEEN, between the 11th and 12th Cantos.

- [poem]

- A GLOSSARY.

- POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

- An ODE. Occasioned by the Coronation 1761.

- To the LYRIC MUSE. An ODE.

- ODE.

- ODE.

- SONNETS. Wrote at Inversnaid, in Scotland, in the year 1767.

- SONNET I.

- SONNET II.

- SONNET III.

- SONNET IV.

- A Picture of HUMAN LIFE.

- ODE.

- The Madness of ASPASIA.

- An ELEGY. Transposed from SPENSER.

- INSCRIPTION for an ARBOUR.

- INSCRIPTION on a TREE in the centre of a Grove.

- A RANT.

- An ODE.

- On the Dead Sparrow of LESBIA. From Catullus.

- TO SLEEP.

- ELEGY.

- ELEGY.

- ELEGY.

- ELEGY.

- ELEGY.

FINIS.

THE LAND OF THE MUSES: A POEM, In the Manner of SPENSER.

WITH POEMS on several Occasions.

By HUGH DOWNMAN, A.B.

EDINBURGH: Printed for the AUTHOR. Sold by A. KINCAID & J. BELL, Edinburgh; and by R. BALDWIN, and RICHARDSON & URQUHART, London. MDCCLXVIII.

THE LAND OF THE MUSES: A POEM, In the Manner of SPENSER.

TO Dr THOMAS BLACKLOCK.

TO thee, to whom the equal hand of Heaven,

Though it depriv'd thee of external sight,

The better graces of the mind has given,

Genius, and Learning's thews, and Judgement's light,

And Fortitude, mid undeserved ills,

And wide-embracing Liberality,

Each thought humane which the sweet bosom fills,

And decks the form of saintly Charity,

These rhymes, all roughly woven, do I bear,

Which thee alone t' amuse first framed were.

Flattery pursues the great; when thee I praise,

Who nought but thy good spirit hast t'impart,

While Truth approves, deny not of my lays,

The guerdon, thy esteem, and friendly heart.

PREFACE.

IF the author should say, he did not heartily approve of compositions of this kind, or admire the construction of the stanza, or think the more highly of any person for clothing his thoughts in the phraseology of Spenser; it might be asked, what induced him to write the following poem? and how he came to lay it before the public? As to the first question, it owes its birth to accident alone. As to the second, he frankly owns, that he flattered himself some merit would be found in it, independent of the uncouth manner and antiquated dress in which it was to appear: and this only he is sensible can justify the publication of it to a reader of taste and discernment.

It may be proper perhaps just to mention the prior part of the fable, of which this is to be supposed a consequence. In the 9th Canto of the 2d Book of the Fairy Queen, Guyon and Arthur journeying together, arrive at the castle of Alma, which they find besieged by Malaeger and his crew, whom they engage, and put to the rout. They are courteously received by Alma, who shews them her castle. In the chamber of Memory they find two books, one called, The Briton Moniments; the other, The Antiquity of Fairy Lond; an account of these takes up the 10th Canto. In the 11th, Guyon departs on his adventures against the Bower of Bliss, upon which the enemies of Alma, being emboldened, return to the siege. Arthur sallies out against them, and after a severe engagement overcomes their chief, by squeezing him to death. His squire brings him back to the castle covered with wounds:

Where many grooms and squires ready were,

To take him from his steed full tenderly;

And eke the fairest Alma met him there

With balm, and wine, and costly spicerie,

To comfort him in his infirmitie:

Eftsoons she caus'd him up to be convey'd,

And of his arms despoiled easily;

In sumptuous bed she made him to be laid,

And all the while his wounds were dressing, by him staid.

The Land of the MUSES: A POEM, In the Manner of SPENSER;
As if to be inserted in the 2d Book of the FAIRY QUEEN, between the 11th and 12th Cantos.

ARGUMENT.

The Prince nigh cur'd of mortal stowers,

Alma to entertain,

Shows him Dan Phoebus' magick bowers,

Where the Nine Ladies reign.

I.

FOOLS they who vainly ween that Temperaunce

Her joyous sweet amenities denies

To human kind, or looks with sight ascaunce

Whan they with liberal delights devise

Their ears to feed, or gratify their eyes;

Nothing she bids witholden that behoves

Him to ensue who nould be dempt unwise,

All sports, and rational pleasaunce she loves,

But hateth idle Lust who ay at random roves.

II.

When as the Prince, by fairest Alma's care,

Was nigh recured of his woundez sore,

Which he in hardy conflict had while-e'er

Endur'd, as gainst thilke felon arms he bare,

But him subdued withouten sword or spear;

As prudent Leaches all in this agree,

That mind and body are conjoined near,

Ne one without the other can be free,

She bent her thought to keep his mind in goodly gree.

III.

So seated by his side, unto his ear

She framed her discourse in words most meet,

At times of chevisaunce and warlike geer,

And warrior knights who underneath their feet

Did trample death, immortal fame to greet;

Tho sagely would she change her talk, and ply

His list'ning sense, with speech so honey'd sweet

And moral thews of wise philosophy,

That he was rapt, and inly ravished thereby.

IV.

And ever and anon wou'd Praise-Desire

Open her rubin lips, and featly sing

Her pensive notes, but such as mought inspire

Calm moods of tranquil stedfastness, and bring

To truest test, and justest tempering;

Ye would have sworn one of the heav'nly throng,

Was slid to earth upon melodious wing,

Sich silver sounds weft the mild air along,

And sich the blandishment of her slow-ditted song.

V.

And eke Shamesacedness with mellow lute,

Her strains harmonious accompanied;

For she her instrument full well could suit,

New wanted in well-doing comely pride.

The Prince his secret pleasure ne mought hide,

But smit with love of glorious emprise,

Felt his spright mov'd past utterance, and figh'd;

The living fire flasht from his gazing eyes,

And drench'd in bliss unknown to vulgar soul he lies.

VI.

It chaunced out one evening as these four

Did walk by thilke same river's winding side,

From whence Sir Guyon launch'd, which there did pour

His bounteous stream watering the country wide,

The Prince the coast which them opposed spied,

Woods and fair hills in beautiful array,

And lawns which now the setting Phoebus eyed,

Beaming the last remains of golden day,

He saw, and ask'd what land that was which yonder lay.

VII.

That is the land, the gentlest Alma said,

In which Apollo and the Muses dwell,

On which their blessings with great bountihed

They cast abroad: there by the living well

Of Hippocrene they fix their happy sell;

There wonne at distaunce from the profane world,

With whose assairs they never mind to mell,

Als Jovisaunce is there with face unfurl'd,

And care, and grief, and carking pain far off are hurl'd.

VIII.

And thousand dainty shapes inhabit there,

And unimagin'd forms by common mind,

To every single one of which, a peer

In other place on earth may no man find,

Of purest nature, and aethereal kind,

By the three Graces seemingly bedight;

For in that realm their girdes the Graces bind,

And Liberty ay sporteth in their sight,

And there the Virtues stray yrob'd in stoles of white.

IX.

How may, said then the Prince, a straunger gain

Thilke place which thou descriven hast to see?

Perdy most rarely brave is that domain:

(Ne speak I out of vaunting susquedry

And losty vain conceit), yet is in me

A heart in which good nurture fix'd the thew

And love of seemly liberality;

Not as a faytour false, or spy, I sue

These Bonnibels, and fair depeinten Imps to view.

X.

To me, O Briton Prince, she said, is given

(Alma then smil'd, and smil'd those other twain),

Free enteraunce into that earthly heav'n,

By young Apollo's self, who there doth reign;

Als he to me hath ordered to restrain,

And keepen back by force the rascal rout

Of noisy Riotise his drunken train,

But never the ingenuous mind to flout,

Ne wight of fair demeanour ever shutten out.

XI.

But now is well nigh time hence to be gone,

And, supper ended, take ourselves to rest:

Now wakeful man wends by himself alone;

For bird and beast by Somnus are yblest;

All but the beast of prey, which is addrest

To cruel slaughter on the helpless crew,

And Philomela, who with woe imprest

Her dolorous fate wails in sad measure due,

But softer than descent of night's fast-falling dew.

XII.

Early the morn we will forth yede yfere,

And in a gondelay to yonder shore

Across the intervening ferry steer,

There on the many delices to pore,

Of which 'twere tedious to recount the store;

Thanks render'd, tho the Prince in manner'd wise,

For he was skill'd in every courtly lore,

That night did sleep seant close his wakeful eyes,

And in the morn he rose with the bright sun's uprise.

XIII.

Alma prepared he already found,

For never she indulg'd in slothful bed,

But when the lark soar'd upward from the ground,

She ay wou'd bid adieu to drowsihed;

Tho forth they issued from that goodly sted,

And in due season to the ferry came,

Fast by its brink the gondelay moored

They see, and eke the wight who steer'd the same,

Of most well-looked mien, Good-Culture was his name.

XIV.

The Knight and Lady he with joy on board

Did take, then pushed with strong arm away,

And launch'd the vessel far into the ford:

Tho he his painted canvas did display,

While kind gales in its swelling bosom play,

With speed they cut the stream as chrystal clear,

Or as the bright-eyed Titan's piercing ray,

For not the smallest stain of spot was there;

But tho' the waves were deep, the bottom did appear.

XV.

When as they did that shore approachen near,

Girt with the cestus of eternal spring,

Its ever-virid banks; th' ambrosial air

Odours most exquisitely sweet did bring;

For Zephyrus there ever fann'd his wing,

And there did Flora plentifully strew

The ground with flowers which fragrance round them fling,

Sweet-scented flowers of every various hue,

That whilom in Adonis' happy gardens grew.

XVI.

How bin they landed in that pleasaunt place,

And now along the lilied shore proceed,

Far as their eyne the wide-stretch'd coast can trace,

The blithsome scenery they in silence read;

The Prince in wonder lost gave fixed heed

At every turn, at every turn amaze

Sat on his cheek, delightsome awe and dreed;

Well might that prospect frailer wight have daz'd;

He gaz'd, and thought that there he could for ay have gaz'd.

XVII.

His fair conductress bade him cast his eyes,

To waken him from out his rapturous traunce,

To where before the path they took, cross-wise,

Over a velvet meadow, did advaunce

Two beings of most pleasing amenaunce;

Upon their foreheads gayety did sit,

Their joyous girlonds in the wind did daunce,

Their cheeks were blooming red, their feet were flit,

And treading the soft turf did leave no print on it.

XVIII.

The one y-clep'd was Youth, the down began

His features to aguise with decent pride,

Ne mought he older wax, ne grow to man;

Yet was that other giv'n him for his bride:

Of whom he got a son, who by his side

Renning in merry mood for ay did smile:

Hygeia did his spouse the name betide,

With her he took no note of time, the while

It passed by, so well each hour she could beguile.

XIX.

That tender Imp he guided by the hand

With face speaking his heart so airy light,

He hath benempt Content, tho' he be scann'd

A boy, great power dwelleth with that wight;

For whomsoe'er he looketh on, his spright

Is with complacence fill'd, and jocund glee,

An infant babe, Simplicity behight

The mother bore, of lovely hue to see,

Stretching his little arms, and telling his cale free.

XX.

Them Alma gracefully y-bording, said,

Tell me, ye gentle pair, if ye have seen

Where widely your enchaunted feet have stray'd

Emong the mazes of this flowery green,

Where Fancy wonneth now? for well I ween

She hath no certain biding-place of rest;

But now the shade she seeketh, now the sheen,

Now flitteth north, now south, now east, now west,

All pleasure she doth love, variety the best.

XXI.

To her with count'nance blithe did Youth reply,

(The words from his quick tongue y-dropping fast),

If Fancy you do seek, fair dame, perdy,

In yonder glen with high rocks over-cast,

From whence a tumbling torrent froth hath brast,

I saw her even now: so louting low,

He with his bellamour away did haste;

Right onward Alma, and the Prince did go:

Then why she Fancy sought he fain of her would know.

XXII.

Without her aid, O Prince, said Alma fair,

To travel thro' this coast were endless stower;

Ne without her direction would I dare

Convoy thee as behoves a single hour:

Besides she builded hath a wond'rous tow'r,

Which hence thou seest high in the air y-pight,

From whence is view'd distinctly dell and bower,

And rock, and stream, and every living wight,

And every goodly thing with which these realms are dight.

XXIII.

Unto the which if thee she will convey,

In portion small of time she can unfold

What else would take up many a weary day,

And many a sleepless night for to behold;

Ne ever so at last you prosper would:

But after muchell labour and sojourn,

Some forest dark your wilder'd feet would hold,

Or ye would sink crossing some roaring bourn,

Or to the whence ye came ye idly would return.

XXIV.

Soon mought they now behold that Maid divine;

Upon a craggy cliff she took her stand,

Above her head spread a broad branching pine,

Which sent a dark shade round; on either hand

Down many a thousand yarde of rising land

From rock to rock a strong stream forc'd its way,

Which there was blent in one accoiled band;

She joyant stood over the foaming bay,

And bath'd her forehead in the floating dewy spray.

XXV.

When as the tread of stranger feet she heard,

Eftsoons her eyes she thitherwards enhaunc'd,

Which as the glitterand sun-beam bright appear'd,

And quicker than the quivering levin glaunc'd,

And strait toward them with light step advaunc'd;

Her golden-tendrill'd locks down from her head

Hung loosely wav'ring as to them bechaunc'd,

She never them confin'd in tye or brede,

But they most comely seem'd whan most dishevelled.

XXVI.

In thin habiliment she was bedight,

Of cunningly inwoven goss'mer twin'd,

Most curious was that garment to the sight,

And on the lap of the soft dalliaunt wind,

Which it sustain'd, disported far behind;

Its colour was of every various dye,

Which in the glorious bow of heaven we find,

And every intermingled shade the eye

Could ever ken, was there, in vast complexity.

XXVII.

In that retired vale oftimes she sate,

Where Nature strayed wild by Art not found;

But not therein immewed was her state,

Nor yet y-pent in any fixed bound,

Free and at large she raung'd creation round,

Or breaking thro the brazen gyre would steer

Her flight, with cheek not blanch'd, nor heart astound,

The din of Chaos and Confusion hear,

Ne all the ever-bickering elements would fear.

XXVIII.

There if she will'd, new worldes of her own

She would create, and them impeople too,

And in the midst upbuild her splendent throne,

Exacting from her subjects homage due:

Tho in a moment's space these worldes new,

And each thing in them would annihilate,

Her pregnant will she ever would pursue,

For she alone, most wond'rous to relate,

Except high-reigning God, was uncontroul'd by fate.

XXIX.

Oft to the heav'n of heav'ns she would ascend,

And thro th' impenetrable blaze would try

Boldly her peering vision to extend,

And into the mysterious Godhead pry,

Where far above the star-y-flaming sky,

His seat is circled deep with glory bright,

" In his trinal triplicity on high,"

But never could she pass that lustrous light,

High-reigning God alone escap'd her thrillant sight.

XXX.

Yet sich her sway that she to earth could bring,

From their eternal steds, Angelic Quires,

Who round about her gently hovering,

Tun'd at her will their golden-stringed lyres;

Or maugre dernful Pluto's grisly fires,

Would cleave the earth and rowse to upper air

The Furies with their whips of iron wires,

And snakes loud hissing in their troubled hair,

And Hecate at her call would her dread front uprear.

XXXI.

With them all ills would rise that shun the light,

Stern-look'd Revenge, Hate by wild frenzy torn,

And each abhorred child of ugly Night,

Lust ever restless, Jealousy o'erworn,

Mean Murder, of each generous mind the scorn,

And pining Care, which in her sickly plume

Inshrouds while yet alive the wretch forlorn,

And Woe, whose heart by inches does consume,

Hanging with face all pale o'er her dead lovers tomb.

XXXII.

And she would call th' unbodied Ghosts around

With shrieking note utt'ring their dolorous wail,

And Witchcraft mumbling forth her rites profound,

Might make the stoutest living wight to quail,

And conscious Fear, who secretly doth steal,

Keeping close watch beside the murderer's bed,

And when Sleep gins his tired lids to veil,

And wrap the poppied purfle o'er his head,

Rings her alarum wild, and rends his soul with dread.

XXXIII.

Yet nothing was there fearful in her face,

Or terrible to the beholders view,

But in her was an amiable grace,

A lovely, and a modest blushing hue,

Which mingled with respect love's passion drew,

And winning smiles her features freed from scorn,

And ye might read her straying veins quite through

Her alabaster skin, and so adorn,

She looked like the eldest daughter of the Morn.

XXXIV.

Now she the gentlest Alma first addrest:

Welcome, fair virgin, to these blissful bowers,

(Then tenderly did clasp her to her breast),

And hail to thee, Sir Knight, can aught the pow'rs,

Who here inherit, aught the winged Hours,

The Graces, and the Virtues thee to please?

For thee to please, belov'd of heaven, no stow'rs

They would refuse, Apollo's self would seize

Th' occasion, and myself thy servant am always.

XXXV.

O passing fair, Alma to her replied;

This gentle Knight, (the Knight full low did bend),

No Impe of Riotise, or boastful Pride,

I to thy favour strenuously commend,

My strong deliverer, and stedfast friend,

O bear him to thy tow'r y-pight on high,

Or with him through these dainty regions wend,

That he the deft inhabitants may spy,

And feed with wonderment his knowledge-searching eye.

XXXVI.

She answer'd not: but with most sweet aspect,

Taking the Prince and Lady by the honde,

Eftsoons she did them from the ground erect,

And thro the air, swift as the Levin-Bronde,

Or if than it can swifter thing be conn'd,

Darted upright: ne did she stop, ne stay,

Till on her lofty espial they did stonde,

Whence they the girding heavens might survey,

And earth, and ocean wide, which low unneath them lay.

XXXVII.

It was a noble work for to behold,

For neither was it built of stone ne lime,

Ne was there ir'n, ne brass, ne lead, ne gold,

Ne Roman cement, ne Asphaltile slime,

To bind the parts, and knit withouten rime,

But it was all one piece of lucent glass,

And edifyed by her in shortest time,

Yet though both thin, and seeming frail it was,

No work on earth could it in lastingness surpass.

XXXVIII.

With rare imagin'd portraicts it was strow'd,

Landscapes and histories by her design'd,

For what she saw when raunging far abroad,

She took her flight and left thilke tow'r behind,

That from the store-house of her heedful mind,

She would display before a painter fair,

Who every form with skilful hand defin'd,

And fetisely bedight with colours rare,

Description was her name, a virgin debonair.

XXXIX.

Her pencil was most delicately fine,

And light and strong the sketches which it drew,

And beautifully did her colours shine,

For the clouds checquer'd tints she in them threw,

And the first drops of pearly morning dew;

Aurora's blush too when she first did wake,

From Venus' smiles, from Cynthia's silver hue,

From Flora's mantle, from the green-sea lake,

And all Dame Nature's works she did her colours take.

XL.

A reverend Eld the palat there did hold,

And every colour set in proper place,

His piersent eye his perfect senses told,

The wrinkles did become his auntient face,

And eke his hoary beard hung down with grace;

Judgement he hight: his precept she obey'd,

For he could teach her every stroke to trace;

Full many a time her youthful hand he stay'd,

When wantonly, or when thro carelessness it stray'd.

XLI.

The Briton Prince, with curious regard,

The labours of these busied twain did see,

Till Fancy, calling him away, debarr'd

His eyne intent on that imagery:

Forthwith to her his step he hasted free:

Tho he and Alma seated by her side

On a high battlement's extremity,

She wav'd her hand; then bid them throwen wide

Their looks toward the right, and see the country's pride.

XLII.

They looked, and beheld a country rare;

The laughing meadows were with flow'rs bespread,

The rose their shining Queen, the lily fair,

The cowslip drooping down his fainting head,

The pink, and tulip gay embroidered,

Daisies and violets, and all the crew,

Which sweet impunging smells odorous bred,

Or Nature with bright staines did imbrue,

There 'sdaining touch of Art uncultivated grew.

XLIII.

And here and there did murm'ring rivers stray,

Flowing entrailed in meanders clear,

Now all so smoothly making gentle way,

With dimpling surface, that though placed near

The swain their progress onward ne mought hear:

Now broke by mossy stones, did hoarsly brawl,

And prisoner took the willing thralled ear,

Or bounding o'er a ragged rocky wall,

From rift to rift in many a cascade did fall.

XLIV.

And up and down were many tufty groves

Lifting their heads in glory flourishing,

Around whose trunks the honeysuckle roves,

And scented jessamine is wandering,

And purple grapes hung thickly clustering,

And thousand thousand feather'd songsters lay

Concealed, and melodiously did sing,

While every bough and every treeen spray,

Wav'd their consenting leaves, and gladlier seem'd to play.

XLV.

And on the flowery meads and plains they spy,

Fair flocks of sheep nibbling the tender green,

Or ruminating as adown they lye,

Or wanton sporting in the sunny sheen;

And where or rock or rising hill is seen,

The frisking goats their antick gambols made,

And jolly keepers, both did keep from teen,

Who in the open sun, or secret shade,

Tuning uneven pipes their amorous descants play'd.

XLVI.

Soon did they see, where from a grove issued,

The goat-foot Pan playing a merry fit;

Pleasaunt it was, but rather rustic rude.

Him follow'd dancing trimly to that dit,

A croud of Fawns and Satyrs, who with flit

And active giambeaux beat the hollow ground:

While with them hand in hand their partners knit,

The loosely-robed Dryades rebound,

Their hair with oaken wreaths, and palm and ivy crown'd.

XLVII.

They passed on, and next, most pleasing sight,

The God of Love, borne on a gentle lamb;

Not he who armed dire by savage Spite,

And taught those cursed arts, which sure I am

Have with disgraces shent his cruel Dam,

And als himself; and crouds of wretches slain,

With whose sad carcases the grave to cram,

And crouds of wretches who alive remain,

Have mur'd up with Despair, and ever-gnarring Pain.

XLVIII.

This Winged Boy a gentle mind did bear,

As gentle as the beast which him up-bore,

Ne could he see th' unhappy drop a tear

But it would make his breast with pity sore,

And he himself would weep and grieve therefore.

He was not blind; and from his looks did fly

The horrid face of Lust emboss'd with gore,

And groveling mean Deceit, and Calumny,

And by his side did wonne the maid Sincerity.

XLIX.

Before her breast she bore a chrystal vase,

In which her inmost thoughts were all pourtray'd,

That ye each hidden sentiment mought trace:

With this she oft hath Villainy warray'd,

And made him stooping hide his felon head;

Guarded with this she fears no secret harms,

But walks secure as tho she were array'd

In strong defence by force of magick charms,

Or girded firm with coat of mail and scaled arms.

L.

On t'other side, holding a rosy band,

With which that lamb she guided in the way,

Or when his rider list him still to stand,

Did softly check his pace and mildly sway,

Wended fair Innocence; her to survey

The angels would from heav'n on balmy wing

Gliding, in mortal air their limbs embay:

In t'other hand a serpent with fell sting

She held, which lick'd her face, ne any scathe did bring.

LI

The next a nymph her countenaunce display'd,

Blithe was her look, unequal was her air,

Her lineaments mought no one ever read,

Ne yet the colour of her garb declare,

Both of them every moment chaunging were:

That fickle nymph, had Novelty to name,

Of Admiration she the loved feare,

Her frequent chaunge did his light heart inflame,

And looking on her greedily he onward came.

LII.

Behind them one twisting with all his might,

A skein of silk, which in his hand he bore,

Yet tho he alway strained it full tight,

No single thread would yield, or break therefore,

A swain who Friendship hight in human lore.

And by his side another goodly swain,

Call'd Sans-Self-love of mind most firm and sure;

For he that other to secure from pain,

Would naked rush on spears, or plunge into the main.

LIII.

And now advanc'd the wight whom first they met,

And with her babe that spouse so fair to see,

To him full firmly bound in wedlock's net,

And eke that other pledge of mutual gree;

And close behind was virgin Chastity,

Bearing in her cold hands a lump of snow,

Which though the warm west winds around her flee,

Received no impuritie or flaw,

Ne ever lost its white, ne ever would it thaw.

LIV.

Long time she had betrothed bin I ween,

Unto a comely youth of mickle praise,

Fidelity, full steady was his mien,

His eyes on her engrafted were always,

Yet sich their look they ne mought her displease;

This hand a golden sun-flower did sustain,

Still turning to the sun her constant rays,

That a cameleon in a diamond chain,

Which him in's native hue for ever did restrain.

LV.

And many more whom time to tell would fail,

The Prince and Alma from their airy height,

Might see with thilke same bevy fair to sail:

There passed by the sister Graces bright,

And Liberty unveil'd her peerless light,

Benevolence and Gratitude y-fere,

Beauty all over lovely to the sight,

There heart-felt Ease, and Leisure ever dear,

And happy Indolence and Peace brought up the rear.

LVI.

Then Fancy wav'd her hand: but oh how strange

What at that potent motion ensued!

Alack a day, how suddain was the change!

Black was the sky, the blust'ring wind blew rude,

Instead of company was solitude,

Instead of gladsome sights a doleful glade,

In which no chearful vision might intrude,

For luckless Plaint as it beseemed made;

Ah woe is me, so soon all human glories fade!

LVII.

Forth came an hundred Nymphs with solemn tread,

And flaming tedes in hand, and then a Queen,

As seemed by the crown upon her head,

Of beaten gold, and her right royal mien,

Her eyes with aweful dignity gave sheen,

Her crimson vestment flow'd in stately pride,

Which likest Scythian Tomyris was seen,

When stain'd with Persian blood she Cyrus eyed,

Or bold Bonduca when in Roman slaughter died.

LVIII.

Her left hand held a bowl with poison fraught,

Which working quick dispatch was sure to kill;

Her right, a dreadful dagger sharply wrought,

Which to the wight who list his blood to spill,

She gave, and bade him execute his will;

Or if the bowl he chose to end his days,

She stoop'd it down, and told him drink his fill;

Impurpled buskins on her legs she wore,

Which with a golden clasp y-clasped were before.

LIX.

Behind her was a wretch with garments rent,

Hollow his cheeks, and pale his dreary face,

He mov'd as tho with weakness all forespent;

Yet not uncomely was his weary pace;

And his eyes gleamed with a languid grace,

Misfortune hight, him in a brazen chain

Adversity most cruelly did brace,

And tho he seemed faint, and well nigh slain,

She nould him ever spare, but dragg'd him on amain.

LX.

And ever and anon her arm on high

She would uplift, which with an iron whip

Adaw'd, and scowl on him with threat'ning eye;

And oftimes would his cloaths with fury strip,

And to the bones the skin therewith would rip,

That he poor man would miserably groan;

Yet not an evil word would he let slip:

His virtue she not heeded, nor his moan;

Her heart had long y-go transmewed bin to stone.

LXI.

Behind him came, with sweet aspect and bland,

The fairest and the loveliest maid I ween,

That ever yet on earthly mold did stand,

Or ever was by mortal eyesight seen;

When as she view'd that miser's doleful teen,

O God, how did she lift the heavy sigh!

What would she give he mought relieved been!

For him she could almost with pity die,

So feeling was the soul of tender Sympathy.

LXII.

Her beauty shew'd more lovely for the tears

Which all besprinkled had her face most meek,

As for that wight beset with cruel fears,

In vain they ren down o'er her heav'nly cheek:

And blushing Pudency sat mantling there,

Darting her beams the pearled moisture through,

So seemingly enshrin'd, as does appear

Through a thin cloud Aurora to the view,

Or a sweet rosy bud thro' the clear ambient dew.

LXIII.

Two little Cherubs did afore her fly:

One in his hand a golden censer bare,

Which underneath her face he did apply,

And therein latched every precious tear;

Which fill'd, he gave up to the others care;

Who to the throne of all o'er-swaying Jove,

Plying his purple plumes aloft did steer;

He thilke same offering receiv'd with love,

And shook with gracious sign his nectar'd locks above.

LXIV.

Next came Remorse: his haggard eyes down bent,

In ghastly silence glar'd upon the ground;

But soon inflected, inwardly were sent,

As if to perse into his breast profound;

There, as tho tenting to the quick a wound,

Would wring his hands in agony of pain,

Or wildly toss them in the air around;

Ah! foredone wight, thou but turmoilst in vain!

The sore full deep hath fret, and ever shall remain.

LXV.

Now Indignation, with his eyen on fire,

Welding a glitterand faulchion o'er his head,

His red cheeks blushing with becoming ire,

His stern brow frowning with a comely dread,

For, ay he was by Reason maistered;

He with that faulchion fain would do to die

A snaky monster foul, ill-favoured,

Guilt, who distraught with fear away did fly,

Nor tho at distaunce got, dar'd turn her craven eye.

LXVI.

Next Horrour: harrows in his hand he bore,

With which he felly harrowed up the soul,

And all her finer senses rent and tore,

So that his ravin she might not controul;

But he there reigned King and Kesar sole.

And Hopeless Love, a shaft quite thro her heart

Had pass'd, the wound she wrapped in her stole,

Still struggling to conceal her deadly smart,

And like a stricken deer pined away apart.

LXVII.

And many more attendant on that Queen,

Their resience in thilke dark glade did keep:

There wonn'd Suspect, her face all sickly green;

Excess of Grief, from whom no tears could creep;

Vengeance, who both his hands in blood did steep;

Envy, to her own mind the kestrel slave;

Dissemblaunce, who like crocodile could weep;

Madness, as wild as the enchauffed wave;

And Melancholy, silent as the midnight grave.

LXVIII.

There too was Brave Disdain of deed that's base;

And there of tried spirit, Conscious Pride;

And Emulation, which no second place

Would graunt; and Mercy, to the gods allied;

And Stoic Rigour, which all vice defied;

And Seemly Zeal, by True Religion drest;

And Wedded Love, which death cannot divide;

And Justice, well-spring pure of public rest;

And Filial Piety, with Heav'n's first promise blest.

LXIX.

All that mought rowse the soul of man was there,

All that to goodness mought his bosom sway,

And rescue him from Vice's per'lous meir;

For Virtue marshall'd all in just array:

That Queen herself does her behests obey;

To her from first her origin she owes,

Ne without her could reign a single day;

By her she order from confusion draws,

And all that diverse Croud acts as she gives them laws.

LXX.

And now at Fancy's bid gan disappear

The darksome dreriness which erst had blent

The sun of heav'n, and hid his beamez clear;

And with it all that foreseen Many went,

While he his chearing rays more clear outsent.

And now a public road before them lay,

It seemed as there was some city near,

For many a goodly troop pass'd by that way,

Some rode, some laughing walk'd, some sung, and some did play.

LXXI.

Close by the road an Archer took his stand,

His low'ring brow announced vengeful ire,

Two female forms were seen on either hand,

Who him restrain'd within a certain gyre,

With sober counsel smothering his fire,

Candour and Truth, but he was Satire hight;

They taught him against whom he war should stire;

And when they pointed out the destin'd wight,

He drew his bow, and him imperst with arrow bright.

LXXII.

Those whom he so amerc'd with rigorous wound,

By an old beldam had been bred a pest,

Y-cleped Vice, some in disguises found,

Others more openly that road t' infest,

And unsuspecting passengers molest:

But now did halt with limping pace along,

While Infamy sat grinning on their crest,

They joined not in daunce or jovial song,

But shun'd, and hated, skulk'd at distaunce from the throng.

LXXIII.

Nathless when as his two companions cast

Their eyne aside, he would with motion sly

A shaft from forth his quiver snatch in haste,

And with insatiable cruelty,

At travellers of goodly grace let fly;

Which rueful scathe when as the virgins scann'd,

To their assistance renning hastily,

They pour'd in oil and balm with healing hand,

But him with threats affray'd and bitter reprimand.

LXXIV.

Onward a little space there wonn'd a Dame,

Behind a vizor she aguis'd her face,

Socks on her feet she had as her became,

And her loose garb fell down with easy grace.

Always attending constant on her pace

A selcouth hag, a flaming brond who bore,

Her name was Secret Knowledge of Disgrace;

A dwarf hight Ridicule, was plac'd before,

Who a large burnish'd mirrour stead of target wore.

LXXV.

Into thilke mirrour, led by Vanity

And Folly vain, their semblaunces to view,

Most of the silly croud who passed by,

With idle mirth and wantonness nigh drew;

But so deformed did they therein shew,

They nould confess themselves to be the same,

Until that Hag sprong from her hidden mew,

Who dasht into their cheeks her brond of flame,

And they retreated thence all covered with shame.

LXXVI.

But, oh! what tongue what language may suffice,

With ample spirit fitly to express

The scenes that Potent Queen now bid arise!

My simple numbers cannot aptly dress

In meet array, ne yet their glory guess,

When she the Briton Prince, and eke his guide,

With liberal kindness bounteously to bless,

Unfolded to their sight (ne yet envied)

The regions where the lofty Epic doth reside.

LXXVII.

As though by pow'r past human from his bed,

In nightly sleep a wight should snatched be,

And cross the sounding seas be hurried,

Then waking in the morn with wonder see

Himself in an unknown and strange country,

Afore, the Amazons huge floud late-found,

Beyond, an open realm, uprising free,

By the vast towering Cordilleras bound,

And on the other side th' Atlantic waste profound.

LXXVIII.

So in amaze the Briton Prince was lost;

For now down deep-sunk vallies rough and steep,

Huge rapid streams rolling his vision cross'd;

Now without meir an ocean wide and deep,

On which the lingering winds did seem to sleep;

But soon with angry mood a whirlwind blew,

No longer mought it now its calmness keep,

But all with foamy wrath enraged grew,

And from the fould'ring clouds the levin gaunt out-slew.

LXXIX.

Now on the champion ground he might behold

Castles which seated were in pleasaunt site,

And single Knights armed in glist'ring gold,

With Ladies by their sides of beauty bright,

To whom they told fair tales of love's delight;

Or else for their protection combating,

With monsters fell courageously did fight;

Or in round lists each other conquering,

To them the trophies of their victory did bring.

LXXX.

Now heard he braying trumpets numberless,

(The martial blast did his bold bosom thrill),

Eftsoons two large enraunged armies press

The plain; they shout, they join, they fight, they kill,

And the engorged earth with carnage fill;

Tho saw he where the mountains rose on high,

Striding from rock to rock, from hill to hill,

A giant form, whose head arraught the sky,

Emong the stars empight, his name Sublimity.

LXXXI.

These doen away, a cloud of blazing sheen,

Floating upon a forked hill, appear'd,

The brightness well nigh blent his feeble eyen,

And from behind sich music was there heard,

He thought himself to heaven's height uprear'd,

And the great weight of pleasure scarce could bear;

Ne wonder was't that he sich rapture shar'd,

Whan Jove himself would often stoop his ear,

From high Olympus top thilke harmony to hear.

LXXXII.

Where the thin edges of that cloud did reach,

He might as 'twere part of a temple see;

But though he strain'd his eyes to th' utmost stretch,

They nould its shape distinguish perfectly,

Yet it most gorgeous seemed for to be.

But thro the middle of that cloud so bright,

From whence issued the dulcet melody,

He could by no means cast at all his sight;

The oftener he look'd, the stronger blaz'd the light.

LXXXIII.

And now said she, O Prince, what to thy view

I might disclose, thine eyes have briefly seen,

So much was to thy fair conductress due:

To perse that dazling cloud thou see'st I ween,

Thou must all over have besprinkled been,

When thou wert born with dews of Castaly,

And thrice three times been dipp'd in Hippocrene,

There on his throne Apollo now I see,

And there the Muses sit each in their just degree.

LXXXIV.

Yet even these thou shalt behold in time,

But first thou many hardy fights must wage,

And travel over many various clime,

And with thy country's deadly foes engage,

And curb the Saxons haught with strong menage

Tho they themselves shall take thee by the hand,

And to that building with safe tutelage

Conducted, thou in Glory's Fane shalt stand,

And thy renowned name be read in every land.

LXXXV.

This saying, she a privy door unbarr'd,

Which led a winding passage to the ground;

For though to climb up to that tow'r was hard,

Down to descend was alway easy found;

When they now touch'd the bottom of the mound,

Many great thanks gave Alma to that Dame,

And eke the Prince, with humbless most profound,

She upward shot like to an arrowy flame,

They back returned by the way in which they came.

A GLOSSARY.

- Stowers, harms, troubles.

- Dan, a term of honour.

- Nould, would not.

- Leach, physician.

- Gree, satisfaction.

- Thilke, that.

- Tho, then.

- Thews, instructions.

- Mought, might.

- Bowntihed, bounteousness.

- Sell, seat.

- Wonne, dwell.

- Mell, mingle.

- Perdy, (French, par Dieu), an old oath or affirmation.

- Surquedry, pride.

- False faytor, deceiver.

- Bonnibels, fair dames.

- Imps, children, or offspring.

- Demeanour, behaviour.

- Wends, walks.

- Yede yfere, go together.

- Gondelay, a little bark.

- Sted, mansion.

- Depeinten, pourtray'd.

- Whilom, formerly.

- Amenaunce, carriage, gesture.

- Aguise, cover.

- Benempt, called.

- Y-bord, accost.

- Brast, burst.

- Louting, bowing.

- Bellamour, partner in affection.

- Y-pight, fixed.

- Dell, vale.

- Bourn, stream.

- Blent, blended, mingled.

- Joyant, glad.

- Enhaunce, lift up.

- Levin, light'ning.

- Gossimer, filaments like cobweb, which we frequently find cross our path.

- Immew'd, inclosed.

- Gyre, circle.

- Thrillant, strongly piercing.

- Dernful, gloomy.

- Grisly, dreadful.

- Purfle, mantle.

- Levin brond, thunderbolt.

- Espial, watch-tower.

- Rime, chink.

- Fetisely, beautifully.

- Impunging, piercing.

- Fit, tune.

- Dit, music.

- Giambeaux, legs.

- Shent, ill affected.

- Als, also.

- Gnarring, snarling.

- Warray'd, attacked.

- Embay, bathe.

- Scath, harm.

- Feare, wife.

- Bevy, company.

- Teen, affliction.

- Y-fere, together.

- Tedes, torches.

- Sheen, shine.

- Forespent, tired out.

- Adaw'd, terrified.

- Scowl, frown.

- Transmewed, transformed.

- Miser, an unhappy person.

- Pudency, modesty.

- Latched, catched.

- Craven, coward.

- Ravin, destruction.

- Stole, mantle.

- Resience, residence.

- Kestrel, base. It signifies properly, the worst kind of hawk.

- Meir, any think that incloses.

- Announced, proclaimed.

- Stire, stir.

- Amerc'd, punished.

- Affray'd, kept in awe.

- Selcouth, uncommon, i. e. seldom known.

- Mew, hiding-place.

- Fould'ring, thundering.

- Site, situation.

- Eftsoons, immediately.

- Menage, government.

- Guerdon, reward.

POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

An ODE.
Occasioned by the Coronation 1761.

I. 1.

SLEEP'ST thou, fair maid,

Aeolian Virgin, sleep'st thou in the cave

Of drowsy silence, all array'd

In indolence supine?

Does listless Morpheus wave

His torpid-striking wand thy brows around,

Damping thy faculties divine?

Arise, fair maid, arise!

Shake off the tardiness of dull delay;

Quick bid the sacred lyre resound,

Quick tune th' harmonious lay:

'Tis Brunswick claims the verse, prepare

Thine eagle-plumes, and light as air

Sail through the azure-vaulted skies.

I. 2.

But first remove

Far from thy hallow'd presence, the base train

Of fawning Flattery; she to prove

Her love, falls bestial down

Licking the dust: disdain

So lowly to debase thine honest head,

And soil thy verdant laurel crown;

Back to thy shades retire,

Immerge in solitude thy form august;

Thy shining locks with darkness braid;

Still rest in silence, if the lust

Of fame entice thy voice to sing

The meanest of mankind, a King,

Whom vice and tyranny inspire.

I. 3.

The worthless great to praise

Befits the hireling's prostituted pen,

Who sells for fordid gold his venal lays.

Though oft along the winding Seine,

Though oft in days of elder date,

On the green margin of the Tuscan stream,

Dazzled by pomp's external state,

Th' ignoble bard has strung the glozing lyre

Of specious falsehood; yet the British Muse,

Free-born, should spurn th' illusive theme;

And fraught with conscious dignity, refuse

On Folly's sons to waste her sacred fire,

Or soothing regal grandeur, weave

For undeserving Pride her ever-blooming wreathe.

II. 1.

Such caution here

Is vain: those fabling strains nor George requires,

Neither art thou inclin'd to spare.

Where Truth shall point the way,

Thy progress he desires,

And thou secure from harm shalt onward fly:

Directed by her steady ray,

Should meager Envy scowl

Thy steps before, and grimly-threat'ning lance

Keen arrows from her poisonous eye,

Unmov'd thou shalt advance,

Smile in her face, without a wound

Hear her fierce serpents hiss around,

And all her ill-shap'd monsters howl.

II. 2.

Chaste Virgin, say

Where shall begin the song? before my eyes

So various are the Forms which stray,

That all confus'd my mind,

And smit with wild surprise,

Scarce keeps its proper function. Here behold,

Upon a craggy rock reclin'd,

High stretch'd out o'er the main,

Despair and Horrour on her faded brow,

Sits Gallia! while her arms enfold

The anguish of her breast, as now

Wide o'er the deep she looks, now o'er

Th' exhausted land, her humbled power

She weeps, thick falls the briny rain.

II. 3.

Chang'd is the scene, and here

Suppliant the savage chiefs of Indian race,

In lowly guise, with aspect meek appear,

The rugged features of their face

No more with death and terror clad,

Oft wont with wild foot through the dreary shade

To range with Slaughter, oft when mad

With rage, and hot revenge, and fierce desire

Of blood and prey, in the dead silent night,

For still repose and slumber made,

Have rais'd th' awakening yell of dread affright,

Have basely slain the unresisting sire,

The babe from its fond mother tore,

Soon welt'ring in her own, and her lov'd infants' gore.

III. 1.

Well skill'd in guile,

And treacherous as th' unsteady gale, which waves

Its fickle pinion with a smile

Now o'er the tranquil sea;

But soon with fury raves,

And lifts its tortur'd billows to the sky;

Where the bright chariot of the day

Bursts from his eastern goal,

Striking the face of darkness with affright,

And makes her ghastly shadows fly

Before the piercing light:

Dread Eastern Tyrants wear the chain,

Trust their deep policy in vain,

And crafty wiliness of soul.

III. 2.

Where-e'er his arms

Proceed, the blooming form of Victory

Array'd in her full blaze of charms,

Girds laurels round the brow

Of British Mars; his eye

Gazes entranc'd upon the lovely maid,

And rapturous thoughts endow

His soul with ecstasy.

Say then, bright Queen of song, wilt thou entwine

A chaplet for his honour'd head?

Wilt thou among th' assembled Nine

Extol th' intrepid deeds of War,

The thunder of his rapid car,

His spear, and brazen panoply.

III. 3.

Ah, no; for what though here,

No vile ambition instigates to fight;

Yet learn, O Brunswick, name for ever dear

To Albion's sons, that at the sight

Of angry Justice from the eye

Of mild Humanity the pitying drop

Descends; with tenderest sympathy

Each mourning Virtue casts the head aside,

And every child of Reason and of Sense;

Ah then, be 't thine with haste to stop

The fatal steps of War and Death, dispense

With generous thought, and true heroic pride,

The blessings which attend the train

Of hallow'd Peace, and dignify her glorious reign.

IV. 1.

And, lo, they come!

Soft o'er the flowers of the velvet mead

Content and meck-ey'd Quiet roam,

Or join the choral dance

By frolic Laughter led:

And liberal Science rears her blushing face,

And Merit dares advance

From the dark haunt of Scorn,

Where she stray'd pensive many a long long day:

And every Muse and sister Grace

On thee shall beam the living ray:

Thy memory priz'd, when those whose reign

Ambition guided, shall remain

The curse of ages yet unborn.

IV. 2.

And see, to bless

Thy life, to soften Grandeur's aking fears

With the chaste conjugal caress,

To soothe the weighty toils

Of state, and ease its cares,

Where Charlotte every female virtue brings!

Oh happy state, in mutual smiles,

Where souls communion mingle! there

Love revels all-luxuriant and free,

There modest Transport waves her wing,

There dwells exulting Harmony

With chaste Delight, there ne'er is seen

Angry Suspicion's coward mien,

Nor doubts nor jealousies appear.

IV. 3.

Hail'd by a nation's voice,

Long happy pair, long may you wear the crown,

By merit yours; long may the land rejoice,

Rul'd by a Prince who boasts himself her own.

And when, howe'er belov'd, howe'er

Call'd on to stay, the laws of fate,

Which not transcendent goodness spare,

Shall snatch you hence from a lamenting world;

Heir to his father's virtues, may a son,

Another George, direct th' affairs of state,

And mount with glory his paternal throne,

As now, far off be angry Faction hurl'd,

Diffusive Peace, oh spread thy bounties wide!

And may another nymph like Charlotte be his bride.

To the LYRIC MUSE. An ODE.

1. 1.

SAY, will the Lyric Muse

The themes of tender love refuse?

Though she with haughty state presides

Over the big tumultuous tides,

Which down the sacred mountain pour,

And stun the ear with deafening roar;

Yet where more gentle currents stray,

And through the slowery vallies play,

Laughing with transport as they flow,

Where roses and where myrtles grow,

She has e'er now been often found

To scatter her enchanting blessings round.

1. 2.

Long in the Grecian isles,

Retain'd by Cytheraea's smiles,

Enamour'd of her rosy hue,

While frolic pleasures round her flew,

Stole from her lips the nectar'd kiss,

And bath'd their light-plum'd wings in bliss;

While Hebe danc'd with graceful tread,

And the soft airs, and passions led;

While sallying from her temple's porch,

Young Love wav'd high his magic torch,

Thou too with sweetest look appear'd,

And often thy melodious voice was heard.

1. 3.

Hast thou forgot the melting strain

Which taught by thee thy Sappho sung,

When stretch'd upon the Lesbian plain,

O'er her the form of tender Pity hung?

Didst thou not bountifully shed

Thy visions o'er Anacreon's head?

And e'en the frozen breast of age,

In amorous nets and toils engage,

While all the virgins wondering stood,

And laugh'd, yet found themselves subdu'd?

And when he immaturely died,

Say, did not Grief thy heavenly beauties hide?

II. 1.

On what wide-seated shore

Do mortals now thy name adore,

Celestial Love? Thy haunts of old,

What clouds of darkness now enfold,

Instead of the pure incense bright,

Which then diffus'd a genial light!

Within th'incircled Haram reign

Tyrannic Lust, and jealous Pain,

Bitter Constraint, internal Fears,

Lean Anguish, and corroding Cares;

Unknown are there the mutual sighs

Which from the sympathetic breast arise.

II. 2.

Thy more than human mien

By Tiber has of yore been seen;

And ere the Roman eagle flew

The sons of Britain to subdue,

With native Innocence allied,

Haply thy power did there reside:

But big with plentitude of woes,

From the rank earth a pest arose;

Nature his shape with grief espied,

And for her death-doom'd offspring sigh'd;

They sunk beneath, an easy prey,

And Love fled far from Avarice away.

II. 3.

Didst thou then seek Columbia's strand,

There thy propitious forehead shew,

While rais'd by thy creative hand,

The blooming flowers of social rapture grew?

Too short a time, alas! from thence

Didst thou thy radiant gifts dispense:

Behold, th' impetuous monster haste,

Rapine, and Violence, and Waste,

Follow attendant on his flight:

And lo, before thy pitying sight,

Welt'ring in blood thy people lies,

To cursed gold the fated sacrifice.

III. 1.

By force exil'd, ah! where

Did thy insulted steps repair!

Some island in the southern main,

Perhaps enjoy'd thy bounteous reign;

Or didst thou steer thy vagrant course

To Orellana's distant source?

There while in artlessness array'd,

The youth beholds his sun-burnt maid;

There while of every wish possest,

He leans with fondness on her breast,

Thou seest them in the palmy grove,

And o'er their heads thy purple pinions move.

III. 2.

There too the heavenly Muse

Showers perchance her kindly dews,

While thus some Indian Horace sings,

As to his love he strikes the strings.

" Ah, when you praise my rival's charms,

" His jetty neck, and sable arms,

" With passion swells my fervid breast,

" With passion hard to be supprest:

" My senses float in terrors vain,

" My blood retreats, and comes again;

" The tears steal down my cheeks, and say,

" With what slow fires I totally decay."

III. 3.

Oh, if with me, ye gentle powers,

Ye sometimes would but deign to dwell,

Born by the quickly-circling hours,

If ye would visit my sequester'd cell:

One who with purest passion glows,

Who not the face of Avarice knows,

Nor by Ambition drawn aside,

But owning Nature for his guide;

Who from his earliest day of youth,

Confess'd her charms, and worshipp'd Truth;

Ye in that secret cell should find,

And subject to your laws, a willing mind.

ODE.

I. 1.

WHO with ungovern'd tongue will blame

The verse th' eternal Muse inspires?

The soul-illuminating flame,

Kindled at heaven's own sacred fires?

Who but the wretch of narrow mind,

Whose sentiments were ne'er refin'd

From the vile dross, whose base alloy

Condemns him still to plod along

But one degree above the bestial throng,

Unconscious of each nobler source of joy

I. 2.

Yet though unto the srigid ear

Of native Dallness every strain

Of melody uncouth appear,

And all the gists of Science vain;

Though dazzled by the blaze of light,

Vice starting, turns away her sight

From where the Muses fix their sway;

Though Cruelty, Revenge, and Strife,

And all the plagues which harrass human life,

Keep far aloof, and tread a distant way:

I. 3.

Thy sons, O Virtue, with respect sincere,

Bend lowly down before their holy shrine,

To them they offer up the spotless prayer,

And bless the influence of the powers divine.

All who with more exalted thought

Have Wisdom's valued precepts sought;

All who with pure emotions bless'd,

Love Beauty by the Graces dress'd;

All who to bounteous Nature just,

Dare her instinctive feelings trust,

The Muses hallow'd votary approve,

Enjoy his considence, and share his love.

II. 1.

Hence then away, ye vulgar crew!

Such would I have condemn my lays;

But hither turn ye worthier few,

Embold'ned by whose genuine praise,

Let the half-soul'd, cold-blooded friend,

Sneer, while assecting to commend,

Let the unfeeling fool laugh loud,

To you alone the bard his lyre

Shall strike, and quitting every mean desire,

Soar far beyond the falsely-judging croud.

II. 2.

Unhappy is the poet's fate,

Th' intrinsic value of whose name

All will pretend to estimate,

And at their will commend, or blame.

Empty deceit! as if their eye

Could trace the light'ning through the sky,

Pursue the comet's devious maze,

Or looking on the blue profound,

Where not the fathom-line could ever sound,

Pierce to the bottom with a single gaze.

II. 3.

Ah wretch, to whom 'tis given to possess

Superior strength and energy of mind,

Unless he's planted in a sphere to bless,

Even against their wills, perverse mankind!

Else mingling with the common train

Full of themselves, he speaks in vain:

Of if they hear his voice, is styl'd

Extravagant, excentric, wild,

Because his reason does not lie

Level with their capacity,

Because his active sense springs 'tward the goal,

And dwelling not on parts, takes in the whole.

III. 1.

Or if their weakness to befriend,

O'er his own thoughts he cast a veil,

Reflection's serious brow unbend,

And her intenser rays conceal;

They view him with familiar eyes,

And being like themselves despise.—

O contradicting law! the chain

Of Nature, draws with all its power,

To mix in life, and seek the social hour;

Indignant Reason goads us thence again.

III. 2.

She proves how vague the hope, how blind,

Which on external good relies;

Which seeks for aught among mankind,

To gratify the just and wise.

Ah! where then should the Bard remove,

Whose song the choral Nine approve?

Or where the Sage, whose breast disdains

The holy juggler's wily cheats?

Where but to those retir'd and still retreats,

Where Solitude close leagued with Virtue reigns?

III. 3.

Hers are the Graces, hers the winning charms,

Which the fix'd bosom from conviction please;

From necessary choice, within her arms

We wish to spend the remnant of our days;

Not so in our first greener years,

New to this world of vice and cares,

By Flattery taught: for what is Fame,

But a delusive idle name,

Fading before the living breath?—

Though having pass'd the vale of Death,

She may with vain solicitude return,

And deck with fruitless wreathes the funeral urn.

ODE.

I.

HOW lives the man, whose thoughts have broke

Imperious Custom's servile yoke?

Him Nature guiding by the hand,

Leads on where Truth and Reason stand;

Virtue her mantle round him flings,

And Honour waves her silver wings:

He does not yield to foreign laws,

But wisely courts his own applause:

Health sits inthroned in his eye,

And Innocence walks smiling by.

II.

When sunk into the vale of years

His head the hoary foliage bears,

He backward casts his tranquil sight

And views each scene reflected bright;

No sullen damps his joy infest,

No plagues of Avarice tear his breast;

Him willing Duty hastes to serve,

And strains with zeal each lab'ring nerve,

While Love sits gazing on his face,

Intent the latent wish to trace.

SONNETS.
Wrote at Inversnaid, in Scotland, in the year 1767.

SONNET I.

HENCE Sickness, nor about my weary head

Thy languid vapours wrap, and drooping wings:

Better would'st thou thy baleful poison shed

In some dark cave where the Night-raven sings,

Where heavy sits the gloom-delighted Owl,

Where Aconite its loathsome juices throws;

Where dwells the Bat, and Serpents hissing foul,

And fell Despair, who never knows repose:

There drag with thee the wretch, who has betray'd

His trust, has ruin'd innocence, or spilt

The sacred blood of him who gave him life;

Him torture there: nor will the lovely maid,

The sweet-ey'd Mercy, conscious of his guilt,

Restrain thy hand, or blunt thy sharpen'd knife.

SONNET II.

Though here almost eternal Winter reigns,

And piercing deep the womb of Nature chills;

Though born far off under a milder sky,

The northern blast e'en through my marrow thrills,

And freezes up the life-blood in my veins;

The hardy natives o'er the mountains high,

Trace out the step of Health amid the snow;

Or where o'er the gray moss her bare feet stray:

Hence active nerves, and scorn of danger flow;

Hence when of late, call'd forth to mortal fray,

At their approach, Revenge more furious grew,

War smil'd, while triple Rage new steel'd his heart,

Pale bloodless Fear turn'd to a ghastlier hue,

And Death more dreadful shook his pointed dart.

SONNET III.

When Recollection stirs up in the mind

And sets before her eye past scenes of woe,

In vain will the wise men their sayings bring

Dead, unimpassion'd, wrote in the full flow

Of health and strength, to nicer feelings blind:

In vain against Reflection's piercing sting,

They urge a formal phrase, or adage quaint,

And with a shrewd and well-turn'd point of wit,

Or a laborious studied argument,

Think to chase far away the fretful fit:

They might as well drink the wide ocean dry,

Or rob cold Winter of his snowy beard:

Spite of the vain saws of Philosophy,

Nature is prevalent, and will be heard.

SONNET IV.

Now is the feudal vassalage destroy'd,

By which the haughty Thane his subject train

Held at his will, and in consinement strong

Fetter'd the servile crew, and with stern reign

Led them in in shackles like brute beasts along:

No will they ever of their own enjoy'd,

But bent implicitly to his controul.

Now by degrees they find that Liberty

Opens the narrow foldings of the soul,

And they too dare to boast that they are free.

No more with rapine they the fields infest,

Or seek out Slaughter in her secret den;

But by the laws of equal Justice blest,

Humanely think, and feel that they are men.

A Picture of HUMAN LIFE.

ELATE with Hope, and her enlivening fires,

I rush'd impetuous o'er the fields of youth,

I gave up all my soul to gay desires,

And Fancy's dazzling form mistook for Truth.

She held her magick glass, and strait I saw

A youth with rare accomplishments endued;

Perfect he seem'd; nor quickly did I know

That struck with wonder of myself I stood.

When known, a transient blush o'erspread my face:

Self-love soon took the sanguine stain away,

Increas'd each mental visionary grace,

And deck'd each feature with a brighter ray.

Well-pleas'd the treacherous Nymph, O youth, she cried,

Point thy ideas to the highest aim:

Why are superiour virtues still untried?

Why does not Worth its lawful honours claim?

Inactive rise! lift thy aspiring brow;

Thine be the joys of wealth, of power, of fame;

Let thy young breast with emulation glow;

Behold the noblest, and be thou the same.

Fool that I was, with giddy transport blind,

I swallow'd the sweet sound with eager ear;

My eyes the latent poison could not find,

Nor heart think evil of a shape so fair.

Drunk as with wine, methought I could attain

To be of each admiring tongue the theme,

Whether I will'd th' heroick palm to gain,

Or haunt the laurell'd shade of Academe.

Whether with Love to waste the smiling hours,

To melt the captiv'd virgin's icy breast,

Or wander in the Muses roseate bowers,

Weave the proud wreathe, and dignify my crest.

Methought my penetrating eye could dart

Through the black plots and mysteries of state,

Pierce the thick foldings of the human heart,

And rule with Judgement's voice the deep debate.

Wildly fantastick; the fierce northern blast,

I might as soon with guiding rein have taught,

Or dry-shod o'er the billowy sea have past,

As into form have chang'd unbodied thought.

Ye gay delusions, whither are ye fled,

Begot by Health on Fiction's lovely form?

Will ye ne'er gently hover o'er my head?

With rapture ne'er again my bosom warm?

Say, canst thou bid old Time with stealthy pace,

Retread the paths his feet have trod before?

The sun mete backward his celestial race?

And we'll again our pleasing dreams restore.

Again, from the full fount of life thy blood,

Swift bursting forth, shall swell each turgid vein;

Th' enthusiastic spirits in a flood,

From each strong nerve shall fire thy kindling brain.

This Fate withstands;—and Reason, sternest guide,

Contracts in narrower bounds th' excursive view;

She plainly shews, throughout the fleeting tide

Of Life, what airy bubbles we pursue.

By her does conscious Diffidence and Fear

Ambition's rage, and Fancy's whims controul,

The flighty purposes to youth so dear,

And that wild elasticity of soul.

Hence then, ye vain, ye unsubstantial joys,

Able the self-deluded soul to bless.—

Yet when, alas, among life's real toys,

Shall I such soothing happiness possess!

ODE.

I.

PUT on, O Vice, thy proper hue,

In thy own native likeness stand,

Soon shalt thou find thy subjects few,

Thy throne uprear'd on sand:

Abhorrent Nature with surprise

Would turn away her loathing eyes;

Ingenuous Youth with pain

Thy monstrous shape would see

Cover'd with each toad-spotted stain;

While writhing Anguish, and pale Infamy,

Stalk close behind, too desperate to complain.

II.

But cunning as thou art,

Well dost thou know the human heart;

Its intimate recesses lie

Open to thy wily eye.

Hence thou with many a mimick grace,

Stol'n from the Virtues, as of old,

Unconscious of an enemy so near,

Always open and sincere,

They stripp'd themselves to lave

Beneath a grot in the translucent wave,

Hast deck'd thy odious face.

III.

Thy unsuspecting lover thinks them true:

Of cloudy vapours made,

A thousand dazzling forms parade

Before his cheated view:

A thousand pleasures move,

Breathing Mirth, and social Love;

Some with quick-doubling feet,

And winning smiles, advance

In the mazy circling dance;

And then with more alluring step retreat.

IV.

Others on waving wing,

Such notes of lively transport sing;

Or varying now their strain,

With such dying melody complain;

That guided by th' enchanting sound,

And swallowed up in hearing, every sense,

The cheated victim o'er the magick ground,

Straying without defence,

His careless progress takes;

Till lost among inextricable brakes,

Or in the midst of some wild heath forlorn,

He finds himself at last;

Hears nothing but the wintry blast,

Which all his idle moanings flouts with scorn.

V.

Fatigu'd and spiritless he lies,

Nor dares from the cold earth to rise;

Night closes in.—Ah, where art thou,

Celestial Hope! thy face the darkness shrouds;—

Oh! through the quick-disparting clouds

Appear, and by the moon's clear ray

Let him behold thy placid brow:

Faithful companion of thy way,

By his golden lance well known,

And firm-ingirding adamantine zone,

Bring Resolution, in a purple vest

By the young unfledg'd Moments drest.

VI.

O raise him in your arms! and while his veins

Yet flow with life, while any strength remains,

Bear him away with swiftest course:

For should Sleep on him steal,

And with its dew his eye-lids seal,

Not even an immortal force

Could open them again; no more

Shall he behold the sun of Virtue pour

Its radiance from the morning-sky;

Black mists shall round him ever fly;

Or he shall fall from some steep mountain's brow,

O'erwhelm'd by the deep flood that roars below.

The Madness of ASPASIA.

CURSE on the wretch, whoe'er he be,

That the fond maid betrays,

Blasts unsuspecting Innocence,

And snares for Virtue lays;

Who works upon an easy mind,

Causes of anger feigns,

And to the Fair who loves him well,

Of cold disdain complains;

And when she opens all her soul,

Seizes th' unguarded time,

The sudden start of generous love,

And glories in his crime.

Such Cynthio, such Aspasia was,

In prime of earliest youth;

She a devoted victim fell

To his pretended truth.

Pall'd by possession, though her soul

Was worth a kingdom's price;

Yet all its charms could not retain

The harden'd slave of Vice.

He gave her up to all the pangs

Which Delicacy knows,

Which, conscious of reproach and shame,

From nicest feeling flows.

Yet shall avengement sure, though slow,

Harass his guilty mind;

That pity he denied to her,

Will be from him confin'd.

The grief, th' unutterable grief,

Which to her sire befell,

No pen, no other tongue but that

Of a fond sire can tell.

Let us, my friends, says he, find out

Where the afflicted strays;

Let us, if possible, at least,

Give her some little ease;

Her bosom with the lenient balm

Of tender Pity fill,

Or sit in silent woe around,

As the mute mourner, still.

But stay, she comes along this path:

Oh, thou heart-breaking sight!

Before my eyes this hour had seen,

Would they'd been steep'd in night!

She's mad, my friends, I see it well,

I read it in her eye;

That wild glance thrown around, bespeaks

Th' extreme of misery.

She opes her pallid lips to speak;

O ruin'd Excellence!

Pour forth thy unconnected thoughts,

And reave me of my sense.

I've been to yonder wood to gather flowers,

There on a bank so steep,

I saw him lying fast asleep;

I stole on softly to the bowers,

No ear

My silent step could hear:

For why should I awake,

Or cause him from his sleep to start?

But a fierce snake

My footsteps did pursue,

I nothing of it knew,

And springing on me, eat out all my heart,

See what a frightful wound!

Ah! no, it cannot now be found.

So I snatch'd up my flowers in haste,

And round my head have trac'd;

But they're too bright and gay,

As I wear them in my hair,

They make my complexion more faded appear:

Away! away! away!

Yet I have been as fair as they;—

But should they be betrayed,—

Depriv'd of their bloom,

They'd sink down to the tomb,

And be pale and wan like me.

Be sure with them let my hearse be drest,

And strew them o'er my earthly bed,

Where I shall shortly lie:

When the cold turf supports my head,

I'll take my fill of rest;

The worm sha'n't hear me sigh.

But I pray you secret prove:

Tell it not to my love,

Nor let him that way go,—

For should he come in,

And see me look so thin,

His heart would burst in two.

No;—he has quite forgot,

He says he knows me not

Now in my misery.

And will you believe him too?

Has madness seiz'd your mind?

Though you may think him true,

The faithless seas and wind,

Are not more false than he.

Methinks I can't but smile,

That he should you beguile.—

I heed not what he says,

But stop up my ears,

And am deaf to his prayers.

In vain his slatteries he displays,

And tells me I am fair

As the new-fallen snow,

That my keen eyes have pierc'd him through,

That me alone he loves.—No, no,

When once deceiv'd, beware.

Fool that I was! I thought him true.—

Oh snatch him, snatch him from my view—

Yet ye tormentors set him free,

Give him his liberty:

The pain his conscience brings,

Is worse than all your racks of steel,

Your whips and cruel stings:

I know what he must feel.—

He swore, so holy was his flame,

That I should never know

A pleasure or a woe,

But he should feel the same.

So bid the bride-maids come;

I'll be dress'd all in white:—

We'll take the damask room;—

'Tis long before 'tis night.—

What say you? Lost! 'tis all a jest;

It is not yet quite dark:

He stays till I'm undrest.—

Is that the morning lark?

Not yet return'd? where fled? where fled?

Alas, I knew it well;

I knew that he was dead,

Although you would not tell.

I'm wonderous cold: My hands are clay,—

My blood in frost is bound;—

Yet force me not away:

We'll lie in the same spot of ground:

Under this marble stone,

I shall enjoy him all alone.

Oh! help, my friends! her shuddering limbs,

Her interrupted breath,

And those convulsive strugglings, speak

The quick approach of death.

And are there powers in heaven above?

Will they this sight behold?

Then Virtue droop thy fearful head,

Exulting Vice be bold.

Oh take her gently from the ground,

Alas! she moves no more,

Her mortal pilgrimage is past,

And mine will soon be o'er.

An ELEGY.
Transposed from SPENSER.

WHEN first before my youthful eyes,

I saw the form of Sylvia move,

I gaz'd upon her with surprise,

But not one thought had I of love.

My soul grew fond of fancies vain,

Tetchy and froward, nought could please,

Yet knew I not what gave me pain,

Nor thought it love, but some disease.

Soon as the beauty of the sky

Night had defac'd with pallid hue,

Striving to sleep I down should lie,

But sleep away far from me flew.

Instead thereof sad sighs and fears

About me cruel watch maintain'd,

Forth gush'd th' involuntary tears,

And Sorrow then triumphant reign'd.

If any drop of slumb'ring rest

Into my weary soul distill'd,

What frightful dreams would then infest!

What horrour through my bosom thrill'd!

Then up I from my bed should start,

And all my former grief renew,

Think on that image in my heart,

And all its heavenly charms review.

All night a stranger to repose,

To ease a stranger all the day,

No sports, no company I chose,

To Solitude a willing prey.

Thus car'd I not abroad to spread

Youth's plant when in its fairest prime,

But let it all neglected, shed

Both fruit and flower before its time.

Alas, should this be love, I cried!

Too late the fatal cause I found,

In vain each lenient art I tried,

Too deep had pierc'd the rankling wound.

Nor other cure had I for grief,

But my hard fortune to deplore,

To languish like the fallen leaf,

And feed with plaints th' impoison'd sore.

Thus t'ward the silent grave I pac'd,

Thus by degrees decay'd my frame,

Till by the long and lingering waste,

I like a pined ghost became.

INSCRIPTION for an ARBOUR.

ENTER, of welcome sure, beneath this shade,

Ye sacred few, whose eyes can see with scorn

The pomp of Luxury; who unseduc'd

Can leave behind the city's noisy hum;

And smitten with the charms of Innocence,

Pleas'd with the lowly glen, and verdant lawn,

The leafy covert, and secure retreat,

Can hear with calm delight the thrush attune

His wildly-warbled note; can hear with joy

The village hind whistle his uncouth tune;

And th' herd loud-lowing in the dale beneath.

INSCRIPTION on a TREE in the centre of a Grove.

THE Hamadryads, who inform this grove,

Are pure, nor underneath their sheltering boughs

Harbour a thing profane; you they invite,

Ye virtuous Indolent, who scorn to act

In the corrupted scenes of public life,

The friends of heart-felt joy; with open arms

Receive Benevolence: hear the Muse pour

Her artless song well-pleas'd; and in their shade

Bid Love's blithe form sport all the summer long.

A RANT.

WINE, I feel thy rapt'ring power!

Thine is all the present hour.

Strong Delight tumultuous reigns,

And throbs throughout my bursting veins.

All my heart is open wide,

Every bar is thrown aside.

Prudence hence; it loaths to trace

The features of thy simpering face,

Thy sober-measur'd gait to spy,

And leaden joy-forbidding eye.

Prudence hence; thy laws I scorn,

Thou of mean Deceit art born,

By fly Hypocrisy begot;

Noble Frankness heeds thee not.

Yet though all my sallying soul

Expatiates wide, and hates controul;

Though my thoughts unbridled dare

Forward fly in wild career;

In their most impetuous course,

Let me, Reason, own thy force:

Though thou totter'st on thy throne,

Let me call thee still my own;

For so mad I would not be,

As quite to lose the sight of thee.

An ODE.

NO; ye beckon me in vain,

Your allurements I disdain,

Powers of riot! God of wine,

Though thy glist'ning forehead shine

Through the garland which around

Is so negligently bound;

Though Joy flashes from thy eye;

Though the purple goblet high

Foams with wine; on thy right hand

Though the soul of Pleasure stand,

And Wit, and unlac'd Gaiety,

Which, with Humour ever free,

Jest delighted; while beside

Laughter sits, and ope'ing wide

His mouth, lets forth a pealing din,

And shakes his jolly double chin:

God of wine, thou call'st in vain,

Thy allurements I disdain.

Lo, she comes, the Cyprian Queen

Mark her soul-inflaming mien;

Thinly clad, the Luscious Fair

In Modesty's dissembled air;

Hear the faintly-broken sighs;

See her panting bosom rise;

Two twin orbs of snowy white

Gently swelling to the sight;

Languid eyes, extinct their fire,

Well they speak intense desire.

Does not maddening Fancy rove

Through every vein provoking love:

Snatch, O snatch, me to thy arms;

Feast on willing Beauty's charms,

Luxurious feast without controul,

And bathe in rapture all thy soul.

Cyprian Venus, hence away,

Scorn attends thy longer stay;

I detest the bought embrace;

Well I know thy practis'd face:

Hence to unsuspicious Youth,

Palm on him pretence for truth.

By Experience rightly taught,

Mine be Reason's sober thought;

Temperance, and her srugal hoard,

Slender fare, and homely board;

Mine be calm, domestick life,

The nuptial bed, the tender wife;

The smiling infant on my knee,

Chirping its little tale with glee.

So shall Health attend me still,

So shall Pleasure drink her fill

From the purest source of joy;

So shall Love without alloy,

Frolick o'er the hallow'd ground,

And wave his genial wing around.

Cyprian Venus, to my eyes,

When these home-felt transports rise,

Bacchus' riot-breeding train,

And thy embraces I disdain.

On the Dead Sparrow of LESBIA.
From Catullus.

O Venus! O ye Loves bewail!

And all who finer passions feel!

Dead is the sparrow of my Fair,

The sparrow, who her tender care,

Who her excess of fondness prov'd,

Whom dearer than her eyes she lov'd.

For he the sweetest mind possess'd;

Conscious by whom he was caress'd,

He ne'er from her endearments flew;

Not she her mother better knew;

But leaping round in wanton play,

Twitter'd to her the live-long day.

Now goes he to the gloomy bourn,

Whence no one ever may return.

Perish, ye fatal shades, who spare

Nothing that's either good or fair!

Now have ye snatch'd with ruthless mind

The best and fairest of his kind.

O Impious Deed! from chearful Day

To force the little wretch away!

For whom my Girl finds no relief,

Her swelling eyes are red with grief.

TO SLEEP.

WHERE are the downy slumbers fled

Which hover'd nightly o'er my head,

And soon as I my pillow prest,

Clos'd my eyes in sweetest rest?

By wakeful Love forbid to stay,

Alas! too long ye keep away!

O come, ye vagrant slumbers, spread

Again your pinions o'er my head!

O, long unchear'd by sweet repose,

Again my fainting eye-lids close!

ELEGY.

THE truest Love is still reserv'd and shy,

No look of confidence or boldness wears,

Known by the humble brow, and soften'd eye,

And full of wavering doubts, and anxious fears.

When I perceiv'd that Thespia had o'ercome

My yielding heart, and fixt her empire there,

That from her hands I must receive my doom,

And all my future weal must flow from her:

What dreadful strugglings did I undergo

'Twixt native bashfulness and strong desire!

How did my senses fluctuate to and fro,

'Twixt soft respectful Love, and Passion's fire!

Oft did I wish the secret to have told,

But awe and modest dread too much prevail'd;

Her presence all my faculties controul'd,

And every settled resolution fail'd.

At length with firm intent I sought the Fair,

With firm intent to pour out all my heart,

To let her know the story of my care,

And the long misery of consuming smart.

Her steps I to a secret garden drew,

She without guile, went innocently free,

No ill suspecting, for no ill she knew,

Nor fear'd to trust herself alone with me.

At first to talk as usual I assay'd,

Hoping thereby to gain a tranquil air,

And as along the walk we slowly stray'd,

Pluck'd frequent flowers, and stuck them in her hair.

But still my shorten'd breath fast went and came,

O'er my embarrass'd limbs a stiffness hung,

My heart throbb'd strong, and shook my lab'ring frame,

And fears, I know not how, unnerv'd my tongue.

Resolv'd to speak, some secret power restrain'd;

Asham'd, and angry with myself I grew,

With crimson consciousness my cheeks were stain'd,

And quick again the conscious stains withdrew.

She whether unobservant all the while,

Or else my strange confusion to relieve,

Indifferently talk'd with careless smile,

But I to what she said no heed could give.

Then chang'd my sickle mind its first design,

Determin'd sudden on some future day,

Then would I each perplexity untwine,

And every ardent with before her lay.

A transient calm succeeded in my breast;

Yet sure, thought I, I have not so conceal'd,

But she th' emotions of my soul has guess'd;

Perhaps she wishes too they were reveal'd.

Though now my faultering tongue its aid denies,

She must have read the language of my soul,

Nor have I mark'd displeasure in her eyes,

When forth from mine the glance of Love has stole.

Then turning round in haste, as if afraid

Lest Diffidence again might intervene,

Not daring to erect my timid head,

My hesitating lips disclos'd my pain.

ELEGY.

IN nothing was I learn'd, but only how

To pen my flocks, and drive them to the field,

In the strait furrow how to guide my plough,

And how my hoe and pruning-hook to wield.

Uncultivated was my mind, and mean,

My abject thoughts low fasten'd to the earth,

Till Love, with hand benign, broke Custom's chain,

And bade me soar beyond my humble birth.

With beauty fir'd, I look'd around, and saw

The charms of Nature never seen before;

O Love, a willing vassal to thy law

I bend, I feel thy blessings, and adore.

Prompted by thee, as yet with trembling tongue

I call'd the Muses, and desir'd their aid,

My wood-notes in the hazel copse I sung,

And caught th' attention of the listening maid.

She listen'd to my strains, she heard my tale,

While deepening blushes o'er her cheeks arise,

The soft consenting sigh my lips inhale,

I see the yielding languor of her eyes.

No; true to Love, if ever I estrange

For any other Fair, my thoughts from thee—

Why utter needless vows? I cannot change,

It is impossible, nor e'er will be.

O Love, I own thy sway, by thee my mind

The face of low-liv'd Avarice disdains,

The common vice of Passion unrefin'd,

The common vice among our country Swains.

Hence cares, and troubles: hence do they behold

The state of riches with an envious eye,

They think not aught beyond the power of gold,

Nor know how Love can lift the soul on high.

O come, my Fair-one; I have thatch'd above,

And whiten'd all around my little cot,

I've shorn the hedges leading to the grove,

Nor is the seat, and willow bower forgot.

Low is the path of life in which I move,

Thou might'st perhaps have reach'd the higher sphere

Of Wealth and noisy Pride; but faithful Love,

And Innocence, and sweet Content, are here.

ELEGY.

STILL, Blooming Health, upon my Thespia's face,

Through the clear surface let thy tints appear,

O'er every feature shed thy modest grace,

And let thy balmy smiles be ever there.

Protect her where she goes, ye Gentle Powers,

Pure Denizons of undulating air,

Whether from glowing noon-tides sultry hours,

Or Evening's dewy shades, protect the Fair.

'Tis true, my Thespia, I indeed confess

That selfish are the prayers and vows I pay,

With no disinterested voice I bless

The Gods, or pour the supplicating lay.

For, ah! from thee, and from thy looks, I find,

Warm to my heart each cordial joy must flow,

Sweet'ning the ills of Life; from thee my mind

Must taste its keenest sense of piercing woe.

Thine is the master-key each spring to rule,

Each hidden movement of my secret thought;

Sure thou wert bred in some Enchanter's school,

Who all his spells and mystick charms has taught.

Yet then would Holy Truth with thee reside,

Truth which unbounded Confidence may trust?

Yet then would mean Deceit fly far aside?

And wild Caprice confounding false and just?

Wouldst thou have said, as I, struck dumb with fear,

Tremblingly pointed out my humble bower,

Haply Tranquillity and Peace are there,

For them I scorn the gawdy farce of Power?

O thou sincerest! how shall I repay

The endless debt of gratitude I owe?

Quickly, my Fair, point out to me the way,

And shew the path, for thou alone canst shew.

Though silent is thy tongue, thy speaking eye,

The modest blushes o'er thy cheeks which rove,

That deep-drawn breath, that panting breast reply,

The sole return is tenderness and love.

And is that all? and dost thou ask no more?

Whether I will or no, I needs must give

That gift, nay lavish on thee all my store,

Nor cease to love thee till I cease to live.

For ever rivetted within my heart

Thy lov'd, thy dearest image shall remain:

Whene'er from thence I bid it to depart,

May I by some tremendous stroke be slain!

No common death I shall deserve to die,

To pine by inches on a barren strand,

Scorch'd by the 'vengeful Sun's severest eye,

Nor by one sportive wandering Zephyr fann'd:

To freeze on some bleak rock: to glut the rage

Of howling beasts within the dreary waste:

Or live, in youth despis'd, in helpless age

Th' extremities of want and woe to taste:

To walk a moving plague among mankind,

Shun'd, hated, and refus'd the alms I crave,

The only thing I wish for not to find,

A still retirement in the peaceful grave:

In that fond hope to be deceiv'd, to hear

With soul yet conscious, in the church-yard way

The fierce invective cast upon my bier,

And Scornful Laughter dancing o'er my clay:

All this, and more, I shall deserve to prove,

When led by changesul Fancy's wanton eye,

I turn a faithless truant to thy love,

And on the wings of vagrant Falsehood fly.

ELEGY.

AH! whence, my Thespia, can that anguish flow,

That silent anguish of expressive woe?

That sigh which from thy struggling bosom stole?

That look which pierces to my inmost soul?

Ah! say, my Thespia, I conjure thee say,

To me the hidden cause thou mayst display:

Half of thyself, I claim my lawful share;

Yet would to Heaven that I the whole might bear!

Pour out thy thoughts in confidence to me;

Thou must not hide from me thy misery:

From thee would I my labouring heart confine?

And are not all its deepest secrets thine?

Wretch that I am! am I (who thee from pain

To shield, would pour out life at every vein),

Am I the cause? and couldst thou ever spy

A look of coldness glancing from my eye?

To thee a cold blank look? O too refin'd,

And subtile errour of thy feeling mind!

A delicacy apt too deep to dive,

To each nice touch too tenderly alive!

Though I esteem it as a blessing sent,

As the more polish'd mind's chief ornament,

A sacred spark kindled by Heaven's own ray,

Yet let not Sensibility betray.

Thou weep'st; where did my tongue profanely rove?

How could I blame thee? 'twas excess of Love.

O let me circle thee with strict embrace,

Warm breast to breast, and glowing face to face,

(My fixed lips while speechless rapture ties),

Imbibe the lucid moisture of thine eyes,

Thy melting spirit in each breath inhale,

Gaze on thee till my cracking eye-strings fail,

And quite o'erpower'd by Love's imperious sway,

Feel all my fainting soul dissolve away.

ELEGY.

WHAT have I done, what crime in me is found,

What secret evil lurking in my breast,

That while all Nature else is smiling round,

Heaven has on me its heaviest stroke impress'd?

Have I e'er dropp'd a wish of other's harm?

Or done an ill though ne'er to be reveal'd?

Have I not always breath'd th' emotion warm

On the chaste lip of Social Virtue seal'd?

Ah! is it not enough that far away

From my own native happy fields I rove,

Far from each friendly name condemn'd to stray,

And torn by cruel force from her I love?

But must through her the barbed steel be sent,

Which piercing, with severest torture wounds?

Must she I love convey the punishment

Which Justice' self must own exceeds its bounds?

On me rain all your woes, ye righteous Powers!

Though hard, I'll strive the misery to bear;

View Sickness steal away my lingering hours

On tainted wing, nor drop a pining tear:

But, ah! the gentle Virgin's tender frame—

O Bright-hair'd Chastity! O Angel Truth!

If ye are aught beyond an empty name,

Save, save in pity Innocence and Youth.

Shield, shield me from the racking thought! I spy

From her cold cheeks the bland suffusion fled,

Dead is the piercing magick of her eye,

The lustre-darting beam of sense is dead.

She calls on me.—Oh, snatch the last embrace!

Woods, rivers, mountains, countries intervene;

Oh curse of curses! ne'er that lovely face

Again shall I behold; e'en the last scene.

Some dreary satisfaction might afford,

Some solace to the madness of Despair,

Gloating in secret on his gloomy hoard,

With eye intorted viewing what is there.

Information about this book

Title statement

The land of the muses: a poem, in the manner of Spenser. With poems on several occasions. By Hugh Downman, ...

Downman, Hugh, 1740-1809.

Publication

Distributor

University of Oxford Text Archive
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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4762

ID [isbn10]

1106017617

ID [isbn13]

9781106017611

ID [TCP]

K074629.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3313112837

ID [ECLL]

0516500100

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— The land of the muses: a poem, in the manner of Spenser. With poems on several occasions. By Hugh Downman, ..., Downman, Hugh, 1740-1809.. [8],84p. ; 4⁰. Edinburgh :: printed for the author. Sold by A. Kincaid & J. Bell, Edinburgh; and by R. Baldwin, and Richardson & Urquhart, London,. 1768.. [With a half-title.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT92236.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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