,0 a ■O- X V . .^^ 1^^ '^ ,y^t:a^^ POEMS, WILLIAM COWPEll, OF THE INNER TEMPLE, ESQ. CONTAINING HIS POSTHUMOUS POETRY A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. BY HIS KINSMAN, JOHS iOHNSON, L.L.D. RECTOR OF YAXHAM WITH WELBOUKNE, IN NORFOLK. His virtues form'd the luagick of his song. Cawper''s Epitapii. BOSTON : PIBLISHED BV WELLS ANC LILLY. 18 1/). JA TO THE RT. HON. EARL SPENCER. MY LORD, A GENERAL Fcquest liaviug encourag- ed me to become the Editor of a more complete collection of the posthumous Compositions of mj^ revered Relation, the Poet CowPER, than has hitherto appeared, I consider it as my duty to the deceased, to inscribe the Volume that contains them to his exalted Friend, by whom the genius of the Poet was as justly appreciated, as I lie virtues of the Moralist were eiiectua:- ly patronized. It would be imperti- uent in me to attempt any new enco- mium on a Writer so highly endeared to every cultivated mind in' that coun- try which it was (he favourite exercise of his patriotlck s,>iiit to describe an4 to celebrate : but ! may be allovveiJ lo observe, that one of the few additions inserted in this collection will be par- ticularly welcome to every reader of sensibility, as an eulogy on that attrac- tive quality so gracefully visible in all the writings of Cowper. Permit me to close this imperfect tribute of my respect, by saying, it is my deep sense of those important ser- vices, for which the afflicted Poet was indebted to the kindness of Lord Spen- cer, that impels nie to the liberty I am* now taking, of thus publickly de- claring myself Your Lordship's Highly obliged and Very faithful servant, JOHN JOHNSON. PREFACE. It is incumbent on me to apprize the Reader, that by far the greater part of the Poems, to whicii I have now the hon- our to introduce him, have been ah-eady published by Mr. Hayley. That endear- ed friend of the deceased Poet having en- riched his copious and faithCu! Life of Him with a large collection of his minor Pieces, soon after his death, and having since giv- en to the world a distinct Edition of his Translations from the Latin and Italian verses of Milton, every thing seemed ac_ complished that the merits and memory of a Poet so justly popular as Cowper, ap- peared to require. But of late years a fresh and detached Collection of all his Poems being wished for by his friends, I was flattered by their request, that I would present them to the publick as the Editor of his third poetical volume. IV PREFACE. Having accepted this honourable invi- tation, ray first care was to assemble as many of the editions of the two former Volumes as I could possibly meet with, that nothing might be admitted into their projected companion, which the publick al- ready possessed in them. With one slight exception I believe I secured that desir- able point. My next employment was to make such a copious but careful selection from the unpublished Poetry of Cowper, which I happily possessed, and which I had only imparted to a few friends, as while it gratified his admirers, might in no instance detract from his poetical re. putation. I should tremble for the haz- ard to which my partiality to the compo- sitions of my beloved Relation exposed me in discharging this part of my office, if I did not hope to find in the reader a fondness of the same kind ; and if I were not assured that a careless or slovenly habit, in the production of his verses, has PREFACE. V never been imputed to the Author of the Task. The materials of the Volume being thus provided, the ascertaining their dates was my remaining concern. In a few in- stances, I found them affixed to the Poems by their author ; a few more I collected from intimations in his Letters : bui in several the difficulty of discovering them pressed upon myself. This was especial- ly the case with the very interesting ad- ditional Poem addressed by Cowper to an unknown Lady, on reading " the Prayer for Indifference.''* Of the existence of these verses I had not even heard, till I was called on to superintend the Vol- ume, in which they make their first pub- lick appearance. I am inclined to believe that during the ten yearsofmy doraestick intercourse with the poet, they had never occurred to his recollection. He appears to have imparted them only to his highly valued and affectionate relative, the Rev- VI PREFACE. erend Martin Madan, brother of the late Bishop of Peterborough, from whose Com- mon-place Book they were transcribed by his daughter, and kindly comnaunicated to me. There being nothing in Mr. IVIadan's copy of these verses, from which their date could be inferred, it was only by a minute comparison of the poem itself, with the various local and mental circum- stances, which his Life exhibits, that I was enabled to discover the year of their production. The labour attending this and other instances of research, in which I have been obliged to engage for the pur- pose of ascertaining the dates of several minor poems, will be best understood by those who are practically acquainted with similar investigations. After all, there are some of which no diligence of mine could develope the exact time ; but with the greater number I trust their p'oper order of succession has been carefully se- cured to them. PREFACE. VU From this brief account of the Volume before the reader, 1 pass on to the Me- moir of its Author. Had 1 not already embarked in a preparation of the Poems, when I was requested to prefix a sketch o^ the poet's life, an unaffected distrust of ray ability to achieve it wouid have pre- cluded me from making such an attempt ; but a peculiar interest in these relicks of Cowper havinji been wrought into my feelings, while I was arranging them for the Press, I was unwilling to shrink from a proposed task, by which I might hope to contribute, in some degree, to the ex- panding renown of my revered relation. I therefore ventured to advance on the only path in the wide field of Biography, in which my humble steps could accompa- ny Cowper, namely that, in which I could simply retrace " ( \s In a map the voyager his course) " The windings of his way thro' many year?." Vlll PREFACE. Into this path it might seem presump- tuous in me to invite those whom my kind and constant friend Mr. Hayley has made intimately acquainted with Cowper by his extensive and just Biography ; but to such readers as happen not to have pe- rused his more copious Work. I may ven- ture to recommend the following " Map of Cowper's Life," as possessng one of its prime characteristicks, namely. Fidelity of Delineation. Bedford, Jpril, 1815. CONTENTS, Memoir OF THE Author xi Verses written on finding the heel of a shoe 1 Stanzas on the first Publication of Sir Charles Grandison 3 Epistle to Robert Lloyd, Esq 4 Fifth Satire of the First Book of Horace . 8 Wint!] Satire of the First Book of Horace 16 Address to Miss on reading the Prayer for Indifference 22 Translation from Virgil ...... 27 Ovid. Trist. Lib. V. Eleg. XII. ... 41 A Tale founded on a Fact 44 Translation of a simile in Paradise Lost . 46 of Drydeu's Epigram on Milton ib To the Rev. Mr. Newton, on his Return from Ramsgate 47 Love Abused 48 Poetical Epistle to Lady Austen ... 49 Fioni a Letter to the Rev. Mr, Newton . b3 TheColubriad 54 On Friendsiiip 36 On the Loss of the Royal George ... 63 In SubmersioneraNavIgii, cui Georgius Re- gale Nomen, inditum 65 Song on Peace 66 written at the request of Lady Aus- ten 67 Verses from a Poem entlt'ed Valediction 68 In Brevitatem Vits Spatii Hominlbns con- ce.'si ' 70 On tiie Shortness of Human Life ... 71 Epitaph on Johnson 72 X CONTENTS. To Miss C , on her Birth Day . . 72 Gratitude , . . 73 The Flatting Mill 75 Lines for a Memorial of Ashley Cowper, Esq 77 On the Queen's Visit to London ... 78 Tlie Cock- fighter's Garland 82 On thf Benefit received by his Majesty f; om Sea-bathing 85 Hor. L\K I. Ode IX 86 Hor. Lib. 1. Ode XXXVIII 87 Hor. B. I. Ode XXXVIIl Hor. Lib. II. Ode XVI 88 Lalin Verses to the Memory of Dr. Lloyd 90 The same in English 91 To Mrs Throckmorton 92 Inscription for a Slone erected at the sow- ing of a Grove of Oaks 93 Another, for a Stone erected on a similar occasion 94 Hymn for the Sunday School at Olney 95 On tlie late indecent 1 iberties taken with the Remains of Milton 96 To Mrs. King 98 Anrcdote of Homer 100 In Memory of the late J. Thornton, Esq. 101 The Four Ages 104 The Jiidgmpnt of the Poets 106 To Charles Deodati Ill On the death of the University Beadle at Cambridge . , 115 On the Death of the Bishop of Winchester 1 17 To his Tutor, Thomas Young .... 120 On the Approach of Spring I2b To Charles Deodati 130 Composed in the Author'* Nineteenth Year 134 Epigrams. — On the Inventor of Guns . . 138 : To Leonora singing at Rome 139 To the same ib CONTENTS. . XI The Cottager ^nd his T.-anrllord .... 140 To ChristiiiH.QiRvn of Sweden .... 141 On the Death of a Physician .... ib On the Death of the Bishop of Ely . . 144 Nrvture unimpaired by Time .... 146 On the Platonick Idea 149 To his' Father 151 To Saltfillus, a Roman Poet .... 157 To riiovanni B -ttista Manso, Marquis of Villa 159 On the Death of Damon 169 An Ode addressed to Mr. John Rouse 176 Sormet 181 Sonetto ib Sonnet 182 Sf>nrtto 133 Ci.iione . 1S4 Cinzoue ib Sonnet.~To Cliarles Deodati ... 185 Soiietto ib Sonnet - 186 Sonetto . ib Sofin'-t 187 Soneito 188 Ep!f;iph on Mrs. M. Hisigins, of Weston ib The Retired Cat . . ^ 189 YarHlevOalv 193 Tothe'Ni2;htin,a:ale ■ - ^' • • ... 200 Lines written for insertion in a Collection of hTnd-writings Mid signatures made by Miss Patty, sister of Hannah More 201 Epitaph on a Redbreast 202 Sonnet to W. W'ilberforce, Esq. ... 293 Epitirani 204 To Dr. Austin 205 Sonnet addressed to William Hayley,Esq. 206 Catharina 207 An Epitaph 208 Epitaph ou jFop 209 Xll CONTENTS. Sonnet to George Romney, Esq. . . . 210 On receiving H lyley's Picture ... ib Epitaph on Mr. Chester, of Chichely . ib On a Plant of Virgin's bower .... 212 To my Cousin, Anne Bodham . . . iil3 Inscription for an hermitage in the Au- thor's Garden 214 To Mrs. Unwin ib To John Johnson 215 To a Young Friend 216 A Tale 217 To William Hayley, Esq. . . . . . 221 Ou a Spaniel called Beau killing a Bird 222 Beau's Reply 223 Answer to Stanzas addressed to Lady Hesketh ...» 224 To the Spanish Admiral, Count Gravina 225 0)1 Flaxman's Penelope ..... 226 On Receiving Heyne's Virgil ... ib To Mary 227 Montes Glaciales 229 On the ice Islands 231 The Cast-Away 234 Thrax 237 The Thracian ib Mutua Beuevolentia 2 58 Reciprocal Kindnofs 'z39 M;!n!ii!e » . . . 241 AMinuil 242 iEnitima 245 An Enigma ib Passeres Indigen* 247 Sparrows seii-domesticated 248 IV ulli te facias niinis sod'alem .... 249 Familiarity Dangerous ib Ad Rubec'ulam Invitafio 250 lnvilat;on tothe Red-breast .... 251 Stradae Philomela 25? CONTENTS. Xiii Strada's Nightingale 253 Anus Saecularis 254 Ode on the Death of a Lady .... 256 Victoria Forensis 258 The Cause Won lb Bonibyx 259 The Silk Worm 2t)0 Innocens Praedatrix 261 The Innocent Thief 262 Denneri Anus 263 Denner's Old Woman 264 Lacrymae Pictoris ...:.... 265 The Tears of a Painter 266 Spe Finis 268 The Maze ib Nemo Miser nisi coraparatus .... 269 No Sorrow peculiar to the Sufferer . . ib Limax 270 The iSnail ib Eques Academicus 271 The Cantab 272 The Salad, by Virgil 274 From the Greek of Julianus 281 On the same by Palladas ib An Epitaph 282 Anotner ib 2i53 ib By Callimachus ib On Miltiades 284 On an Infant ib By Heraclides ib On the Reed 285 To Health ib On ihe Astrologers ' , 280 On an Old Woman ib On Invalids 287 On Flatterers ib Xiv CO^^TENTS. Oil the Swallow . ^^^ 0n late acquiiert Wealth ^^^ Oh a true t riend .. On a Batii, by Plato '" On a Fowler, by Isidorus . .^i. . • ^^^ OnNjobe |P On a Good Man 2y0 On a Miser *.^ Anotlier 291 On Female Inconstancy 292 On the Grasshopper 293 On rlci-mocratia ' From Meuaiider . . - 0^4 On Pallas Bathing 295 To Demosthenes • • ., On a similar Character On an Cgly Fellow ^-^^ On a Battered Beauty jj On a 'I hief On Pedigree ^^^ On Envy ^-J^ By Philemon ,.„„ ByMoschus ^ In i^Moratitem arrj^autem Lmnm ... "^Vy On one ignorant and arrogant .... | Prudens Simplicilas Prudent Simplicity ...:••• »° Ad Amicum Pauperem -^V' To a Friend in Distress !jj LexTalionis ' Ketaiiition • . • • jf De Ortu et Occasu I" Sunset and Sunrise ' Lepus ii.uWis Amicus ;^"^ Avarus et Plutns ^i PapiiioetLimax • '^^ SKETCH LIFE OF COWPER. William Cowper, the subject of the following brief Memoir, was born at Great Berkhampstead, in Hertfordshire, ■on the fifteenth of November, 1731. His father, the Rev. John Cowper, D.D. Rector of that place, and one of the chap- lains of King George the Second, married Anne, daughter of Roger Donne, Esq. of Ludham-hall, in the county of Norfolk. She died in childbed on the thirteenth of November, 1737 ; and he, of a paralytick seizure on the tenth of July, 1756. Of five sons and two daughters, the issue of this marriage, William and John only survived their parents : the rest died ii? their infancy. SH SKETCH OP THt: Such was his origin ;--but it must be added, that the highest blood of the realm flowed in the veins of the modest and un- assuming Cowper. It is perhaps alreatly known that his grandfather, Spencer Cowper, was Chief Justice of the Com- mon Pleas, and next brother to William, first Earl Cowper, and Lord High Chan- cellor of England : but his mother was de- scended through the families of Hippes- ley of Throughley, in Sussex, and Pellet of Boleney, in the same county, from the several noble houses of West, Knol- lys, Carey, Bullen, Howard, and Mow- bray ; and so by four different lines from Henry the Third, King of England. Dis- tinctions of this nature can shed no addi- tional lustre on the memory of Cowper ; but genius, however exalted, disdains not, while it boasts not, the splendour of ancestry; and royalty itself may be flat- tered, and perhaps benefited, by discov- ering its kindred to such piety, such pu- rity, such talents as his. The simplicity of the times that wit- nessed the childhood of Cowper, assigned him his first instruction at a day-school lilFE OF COWPER. XIU in his native village. The reader may recollect an allusion to this circumstance in his beautiful Monody on the receipt of his mother's Picture, " the gard'ner Robin, day by day *' Drew me to school along the publick way, " Delighted with my bawble coach, and wrapt " In scarlet mantle warm and velvet capt." On the death of the beloved parent, who is so tenderly commemorated in that ex- quisite poem, and who just lived to see him complete his sixth year, he was pla- ced under the care of Dr. Pitman of Mar- ket-street, a few miles distant from the paternal roof. At this respectable aca- demy he remained till he was eight years of age, when the alarming appearance of specks on both his eyes induced his father to send him to the house of a female oculist in London. Her attempts, however, to relieve him, were unsuccessful, and at the expiration of two years he exchanged her residence for that of Westminster school, where, some time afterwards, a remedy was unexpectedly provided for him in the small pox, which, as he says XIV SKETCH OP THE in a letter to Mr. Hayfey, " proved the better oculist of the two." What de- gree of proficiency as to the rudiments of education, he carried with him to this venerable establishment, at the head of which was Dr. Nichols, does not appear, but that he left it in the year 1749, with scholastick attainments of the first order, is i-eyond a doubt. After spending three months with his fatherat Berkharastead, he was placed in the family of a Mr. Chapman, a solicitor in London, with a view to his instruction in the practice of the law. To this gen- tleman he was engaged by articles for three years. The opportunities, howev- er, which a residence in the house of his legal tutor afforded him, for attaining the skill that he was supposed to be in search of, w-re so far from attaching him to legal studies, tlsat he spent the greater part of his time in the house of a near relation. This he playfully confesses in the following passage of a letter to a daughter of that relative, more than thir- ty years after the time he describes : " I did actually live three years with Mr. LIFE OF COWPER. XV Chapman, a solicitor, that is to say, I slept three years in his house ; but I lived, that is to say, I spent my days in Southampton-row, as you very well re- member. There was I, and the future Lord Chancellor, constantly employed from morning to night in giggling and making giggle, instead of studying the law. Oh fie, Cousin ! how could you do so ?" The subject of this sprightly remonstrance was the Lady Hesketh, who so materially contributed to the comfort of the dejected Poet in his declining years ; and the Chancellor alluded to was Lord Thurlow. This trifling anecdote is no otherwise worthy of record, than as it may serve to shew, that the profession which his friends had selected for him, had nothing in it congenial with the mind of Cowper. The three years for which he had been consigned to the office of the Solicitor being expired, at the age of twenty-one he took possession of a set of chambers in the Inner Temple. By this step he became, or rather ought to have become, a regular student of law ; but it soon ap- B ^ XVI SKETCH OF THE peared that the higher pursuits of juriy- pnidence were as little capable of fixing his alteration, as the elementaiy parts of that science had proved. It is not to be supposed, indeed, that at this maturer age, he continued those habits of idleness and dissipation, which already have beeit noticed ; but it is certain from a colloquial account of hi's early years with which he favoured his friend Mr. Hayley, that literature, and particularly of a poetical kind, was his principal pursuit in the Temple. In the cultivation of studies so agreeable to his taste, he could not fail to associate occasionally with such of his Westminster school-fellows as were resi- dent in London, and whom he knew to be eminent literary characters. The elder dohnan, Bonnel Thornton, and Lloyd, were especially of this description. With these therefore he seems to have con- tracted the greatest intimacy, assisting the two former in their periodical publi- cation. The Connoisseur ; and the latter, as Mr. Hayley conjectures, in the works wiiich his slender finances obliged him to engage in. TJie Buncombes also, father LIFE OF COWPER. XVIl and son, two amiable scholars of Stocks in Hertfordshire, and intimate friends of his surviving parent, were among the writers of the time, to whose poetical productions Cowper contributed. In short, the twelve years which he spent in the Temple, were, if not entirely devot- ed to classical pursuits, yet so much engrossed by them as to add little or nothing to the slender stock of legal knowledge which he had previously ac- quired in the house of the Solicitor. The prospect of a professional income of his own acquiring, under circumstances lik« these, being out of the question, and his patrimonial resources being near- ly exhausted, it occurred to him, towards the end of the above-mentioned period, that not only was his long cherished wish of settling in matrimonial life thus pain- fully precluded, but he was even in dan- ger of personal want. It is not unlike- ly that his friends were aware of the probability of such an event, from the nniform inattention he had shewn to his legal studies ; for in the thirty-first year of his age, they procui;cd him a nomiHa- XVlll SKETCH OF THE tion to the offices of Reading Clerk, and Clerk of the Private Committees in the House of Lords. But he was by no means qualified for discharging the duties annexed to either of these employments ; nature having assigned him such an ex- treme tenderness of spirit, as, to use his own powerful expression, made a publick exhibition of himself, under any circum- stances, " mortal poison" to him. No sooner, therefore, had he adverted to the consequence of his accepting so conspi- cuous an appointment, the splendour of which he confesses to have dazzled him into a momentary consent, than, it forci- bly striking him at the same time that such a favourable opportunity for his marrying might never occur again, his mind became the scat of the most con- flicting sensations. These continued and increased, for the space of a week, to such a painful degree, that, seeing no pos- sible way of recovering any measure of his former tranquillity, except by resign- ing the situation which the kindness of his friends had procured him, he most eafnestiv entreated that tliev would al- LIFE OF COWPER. XIX fow him to do so. To this, though with great reluctance, they at length consent- ed, he having offered to exchange it for a much less lucrative indeed, but, as he flattered himself, a less irksome office, which was also vacant at that time, namely, the Clerkship of the Journals la the House of Lords. The return of something like compo- sure to the mind of Cowper was the con- sequeiK;e of this arrangement between him and his friends. It was a calm, how- ever, but of short duration ; for he had scarcely been possessed of it three days, when an unhappy and untbreseen incident Hot only robbed him of this semblance of comfort, but involved him in more than his former distress. A dispute in parlia- ment, in reference to the last mentioned appointment, laid him under the formi- dable necessity of a personal appearance at the bar of the House of Lords, that his fitness for the undertaking might be pub- lickly acknowledged. The trembling apprehension with which the timid and exquisitely sensible mind of this amia- ble man could not fail to look forward to XX SKETCH OF THE an event of this sort, rendered every in- termediate attempt to prepare himself for the examination completely abortive ; and the consciousness that it did so ac- cumulated his terrours. These had risen, in short, to a confusion of mind so incom- patible with the integrity of reason, whea the eve of the dreaded ceremony actual- ly arrived, that his intellectual powers sunk under it. He was no longer himself. In this distressing situation, it waa found necessary, in the month of Hecem- ber, 1768, to remove him to St. Alban's; from whence, through the skilful and hu- mane treatment of Dr. Cotton, under whose care he was placed, his friends hoped that he would soon return in the full enjoyment of his former faculties. In the most material part of their wish it pleased God to indulge them, his recove- ry being happily effected in somewhat less than eight months. Instead, however, of revisiting the scenes in which his pain- ful calamity had first occurred, he re- mained with his amiable physician near- ly a twelvemonth. after he had pronounc- LIFE OP COWPER. XXI cd his cure ; and that from motives al- together of a devotional kind. On this part of the poet's history it may be proper to observe, that although, if viewed as an originating cause, the sub- ject of religion had not the remotest con- nexion with his mental calamity ; yet no sooner had the disorder assumed the shape of hypochondryasis, which it did in a very early stage of its progress, than those sacred truths which prove an unfailing source of the most salutary contempla- tion to the undisturbed mind, were, through the influence of that distorting medium, converted into a vehicle of in- tellectual poison. A most erroneous and unhappy idea has occupied the minds of some persons, that those views of Christianity which Cowper adopted, and of which, when en- joying the intervals of reason, he was so bright an ornament, had actually contrib- uted to excite the malady with which he was aflBlicted. It is capable of the clear- est demonstration that nothing was fur- ther from the truth. On the contrary, all those alleviations of sorrow, those de- XXU SKETCH OP THE lightful anticipations of heavenly rest, these healing consolations to a wounded spirit, of which he was permitted to taste, at the periods when uninterrupted reasoa resumed its sway, were unequivocally to be ascribed to the operation of those very principles and views of religion, which, in the instance before us, have been charged with producing so opposite an effect. The primary aberrations of his mental faculties were wholly to be at* tributed to other causes. But the time was at hand, when, by the happy inter- position of a gracious Providence, lie was to be the favoured subject of a double emancipation. The captivity of his rea- son was about to terminate ; and a bond- age, though hitherto unraentioned, yet of a much longer standing, was on the point of being exchanged for the most delightful of all freedom, " A liberty unsung " By poets, and by senators unprais'dj E'en "liberty of heart, * derived from heav'n j '• Bought vsrita His blood who gave it to mankind, " And seai'd with the same token I" f * Ram, viu 21. t The Task, Book V LilKE OF COWPER. >.Xm To the invalua])le blessing of such a change he was as yet a stranger. He had been for some time convinced, and that on scriptural grounds, how much he stood in need of it, from a perception of the fetters with which, so long as he was ca- pable of enjoying them, the pleasures of the world and of sense had bound his heart, but, till the moment of his afflic- tion, he had remained spiritually a priso- ner. The hour was now come when his prison-doors were to be unfolded ; when *'he that openeth and no man shutteth," was to give him a blessed experience of what " Is liberty :— a flight into his arms " Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way. " A clear escape from tyrannizing" sin, " And full immunity from penal wo I" * On the 25th of July, 1764, his brother, the Reverend John Cowper, Fellow of Bene't College, Cambridge, having been informed by Dr. Cotton, tliat his patient was greatly amended, came to visit him. * The Task, Book V. C xaiv sketch 01'- the The first sight of so dear a relative in the enjoyment of licalth and happiness, ac- companied as it was with an instantane- ous reference to his own very difierent ]ot, occasioned in the breast of Cowper many painful sensations. For a (iew mo- ments, the cloud of despondency which had been gradually removing, involved his mind in his former darkness. Light, however, was approaching. His brother invited him to walk in tlie garden ; where so effectually did he protest to him, that the apprehensions he felt were all a delu- sion, that he burst into tears, and cried out, " if it be a delusion, then am I the happiest of beings." During the remain- der of the day which he spent with this affectionate brother, the truth of the above assertion became so incre?isingly evident to him, that when he arose the next morning, he was perfectly well. This, however, was but a part of the happiness which the memorable day we are now arrived at had in store for the interesting and amiable Cowper. Before he left the room in which he had break- fasted, he observed a Bible lying in the LIFE Ot' CO^Vl'ER. XXV window-seat. He took it up. Except in a sirgle instance, and that two months beiore, he had not ventured to open one, since the early days ol' his abode at St. Aiban's. But the time was now corae when he might do it to purpose. The prontabJe perusal of that L'ivioe book had been provided for in the most effectual manner, by the restoration at once of the powers of his unders landing, and the su- peradded gift of a spiri'ual discernment. Under these favourable circumstances, he opened the sacred volume at that passage of the Epistle to the Fomans where the Apostle says, that Jesus Christ is " set forth to be a propitiation through faith in his blood, to declare bis right- eousne -s ibr the remission of sins that are past, through the forbearance of God.'* To use the expression employed by Cow- pcr himself in a wriiten document from which this portion of his history is ex- tracted, he " received strength to believe it;" to see the suitableness of the atone- ment of his own necessity, and to embrace the gospel with gratitude and joy. X\Y1 SKETH OF THE That the happiest portion of Cowper's life was that on which he liad now en- tered, appears partly from his own ac- count of the first eighteen months of the succeeding period, and partly from the testimony of an endeared friend in a let- ter to the writer of this brief memoir ; a friend, who, during the six or seven years that immediately followed, was sel- dom removed from him four hours in the day. But not to anticipate what remains to be offered, the devotional spirit of his late skilful physician, and now valuable host. Dr. Cotton, was so completely in unison with the feelings of Cowper, that he did not take his departure from St. Alban's till the 17th of June, 1765. Du- ring the latter part of his residence there, and subsequent to the happy change just described, he exljibited a proof of the in- teresting and scriptural character of those views of religion which he had embraced, in the composition of two hymns. These hymns he himself styled " specimens" of his " first christian thoughts ;" a cir- cumstance which will greatly enhance their value in the minds of those to whom LIFE OP COAVPER. XXVll they have been long endeared by their own intrinsiek excellence. The subject of the first of these hymns is taken from Revelation xxi. 5. " Behold I make all things new," and begins " How blest thy creature is, O God." The second, under the title of "Retirement," begins "Far from the world, O Lord, I flee." Early in the morning of the day above- mentioned he set out for Cambridge, on his way to Huntingdon, the nearest place to his own residence at which his brother had been able to secure him an asyhim. He adverts with peculiar emphasis to the sweet communion with his divine Benefactor which, though not alone, he enjoyed in silence during the whole of this journey ; on the Saturday succeeding which he repaired with his brother to his destination at Huntingdon. No sooner had Mr. John Cowper left him, and returned to Cambridge, than, to his own words, "find ng himself sur- rounded by strangers, in a place with which he was utterly unacquainted, his spirits began to sink, and he i'elt like a traveller in the mif'st of an inhospitable XXVlll SKETCH OP THE desert, vv ithout a friend to comlbrt or a guide to direct him. He walked forth towards the close of the day, in this me- lancholy frame of mind, and having wan- dered a mile from the town, he was ena-^ bled to trust in Him who careth for the stranger, and to rest assured that wherever He might cast his lot, the God of ail con- solation would still be near him. To the question which the foregoing pathetick passage will naturally give rise to in every feeling mind, namely, why was not Mr. Cowper advised, instead of hazarding his tender and cohvalescent spirit among the strangers of Huntingdon, to recline it on the bosom of his friends in London ? It is incumbent on the wri- ter to venture a reply. It is presumed, therefore, that no inducement to his re- turn to them, V. liicli, with a view to their mutual satisfaction, his affectionate re- latives, and most intimate friends could devise, was either omitted on their part. or declined without reluctance on his. But in the cultivation of the religious principle which, with the recovery of his reason, he had lately imbibed, and which LTPE OP COWPER. XXIX ill SO distinguished a manner it had pleas- ed God to bless to the re-establishment of his peace, he had an interest to provide for of a much higher order. This it was that inclined him to a lite of seclusion; a measure in the adoption of which, though, in ordinary cases, he is certainly not to be quoted as an example, yet, con- sidering the extreme peculiarity of his own, it seems equally certain that he is not to be censured. There can be no doubt indeed, from the following passage of his Poem on Retirement, that had his mind been the repository of less exqui- sitely tender sensibilities, he would have returned to his duties in the Inner Tem- ple : " Truth is not local, God alike pervades " And fills the world of traffick and the shades, " And maybe fear'd amidst the bu'^icst scenes, " Or scorn'd where business never intervenes." Of the first two months of his abode in Huntingdon, nothing is recorded, except that he gradually mixed with a few of its inhabitants, and corresponded with some of his early friomls. But at the end of XXX SKETCH OF THE that time, as he was one day coming ont of church, after morning prayers, at which he appears to have been a constant at- tendant, he was accosted by a young gen- tleman of engaging manners, who exceed- ingly desired to cultivate his acquaintance. This pleasing youth, known afterwards to the publick as the Reverend VVillian» Cawthorne Unwin, Rector of Stock in Essex, to whom the author of the Task inscribed his Poem of Tirocinium, was so intent upon accomplishing the object of his wishes, that when he took leave of the. interesting stranger, after sharing his walk under a row of trees, he had obtained his permission to drink tea with him that day. This was the origin of the introduction of Cowper to the family of the Reverend Morley Unwin, consisting of himself, his wife, the son already named, and a daugh- ter : an event, which, when viewed in con- nexion with his remaining years, will scarcely yield in importance to any fea- ture of his life. Concerning these engag- ing persons, whose general habits of life, and especially whose piety rendered them the very associates that Cowper want- d. I^IFE OF CO\VPER. XXXI he thus expresses himself in a letter writ- ten two months after to one of his earli- est and warmest friends;* " JVow I know them, I wonder that I liked Hunt- ingdon so well before I knew them, and am apt to think I should find every place disagreeable that had not an Unwin be- longing to it." The house which Mr. Unwin inhabited was a large and convenient dwelling in the High-Street, in which he had been in the habit of receiving a few domestick pupils to prepare them for the Universi- ty. At the division of the October Term, one of these students being called to Cambridge, it was proposed that the soli- tary lodging which Cowper occupied, should be exchanged for the possession of the vacant place. On the 1 1 th of ?^ovem- bcr, therefore, in the same year, he com- menced his residence in this agreeable family. But the calamitous death of Mr. Unwin by a fall from his horse, as he was going to his church on a Sunday- morning, the July twelvemonth follow- • Joseph HUl, Esq. XXX U SKETCH OF THE ing, proved the signal of a further remo- val to Cowper, who, by a series of provi- dential incidents, was conducted with the family of his deceased friend to the town of Olney in Buckinghamshire, on the 14th of October, 1767. The instrument whom it pleased God principally to em- ploy in bringing about this important event, was the Keverend John Newton, then Curate of that parish, and afterwards Rector of St. Mary Woolnoth in London : a most exemplary divine, indefatigable in the discharge of his ministerial duties ; in which, so far as was consistent with the province of a Layman, it became the hap- piness of Cowper to strengthen his hands. Great was the value which Cowper set on the friendship and intercourse which for some years he had the privilege of enjoying with the estimable author of Cardiphonia. This appears by the fol- lowing passage in one of his Letters to that venerable pastor; "The honour of your Preface prefixed to my poems will be on my side, for surely to be known as the friend of a much favoured minister of God's word, is a more illustrious dis- LIFE OF COWPER. XXXUl tinction in reality than to liave the friend- ship of any poet in the world to boast of." A correspondent testimony of the estima- tion in which our poet was held by his friend Mr. Newton is clearly deducible from the introductory words of the prece- ding sentence ; and is abundantly furnish- ed in the Preface itself. A very interesting part of the connex- ion thus happily established between Mr. Cowper and Mr. Newton, was after- wards brought to light in the publication of the Olney Hymns, which was intended as a monument of the endeared and joint labours of these exemplary Christians. To this collection Mr. Cowper contribu- ted sixty-eight compositions. From the commencement of his resi- dence at Olney till January, 1773, a period of live years and a quarter, it does not appear that there was any meterial interruption either of the health or re- ligious comfort of this excellent man. His feelings, however, must have receiv- ed a severe shock in February 1770, when he was twice summoned to Cambridge by the illness of his beloved brother, which aXXIV sketch of Till:: terminated fatally on the ^th of the fol- lovving month. Mow far this aiBictire event might conduce to such a melan- choly catastrophe, it is impossible to judge; but certain it is, that at this period a renewed attack of his former hypochondriacal complaint took place. It is remarkable that Ihe prevailing dis- tortion of his afflicted imagination became then not only inconsistent with the dic- tates of right reason, but was entirely at variance with every distinguishing cha- racteristick of that religion which had so long proved the incitement to his useful labours, and the source of his mental con- solations. Indeed so powerful and so sin- gular was the effect produced on his mind by the influence of the malady, that while for many subsequent years it admitted of his exhibiting the most masterly and delightful display of poetical, epistolary, and conversational ability, on the greatest variety of subjects, it constrained him from that period, both in his conversation and letters, studiously to abstain from every allusion of a religious nature. Yet no one could doubt that the hand and LIFE OP COWPER. XXXV heart from which, even under so myste- rious a dispensation, such exquisite de- scriptions of sacred truth and feeluig afterwards proceeded, must have been long and faithfully devoted to his God and Father. The testimonies of his real pie- ty were manifested to others, when least apparent to himself. But where it plea- sed God to throw a veil over the mental and spiritual consistency of this excellent and afflicted man, it would ill become us rudely to invade the divine prerogative by attempting to withdraw it. Under the grievous visitation above- mentioned, Mrs. Unwin, whom he had prefessed to love as a mother, was as a guardian angel to this interesting sufferer. Day and night she watched over him. Inestimable likewise was the friendship of Mr. Newton : " Next to the duties of my ministry," said that venerable pastor, in a letter to the author of this Memoir, more than twenty years afterwards, " it was the business of my life to attend him." For more than a twelvemonth subse- quent to this attack, Cowper seems to D XXXVl SKETCH OP THE have been totally overwhelmed by the vehemence of his disorder. But in March 1774, he was so far enabled to struggle with it, as to seek amusement in the tam- ing of his three hares, and in the construc- tion of boxes for them to dwell in. From mechanical amusements he proceeded to epistolary employment, a specimen of which addressed to his friend Mr. Unwin, who had been some years settled at Stock in Essex, in the summer of 1778, shews that he had in a great measure recover- ed his admirable faculties. In 1779, he accompanied Mrs. Unwin in a post-chaise to view the gardens of Gayhurst ; an excursion of which he in- forms her son in a playful letter. In the autumn of this year, we find him reading the Biography of Johnson, and, with the exception of what he terms his " unmerciful treatment of Milton," ex- pressing himself "well entertained" with it. One of his earliest amusements, in 1780, was the composition of the beauti- ful fable of " The Nightingale and the Glow-worm ;" after which he betook him- MFE OP COWPER. XXXVll self to the drawing of landscapes ; an employment of which he grew passion- ately fond, though he had never been in- structed in the art. This attachment to the pencil was particularly seasonable, as in the midst of it he lost his friend Mr. Newton, who was called to the charge of St. Mary Wooluoth, in London. With a provident care, however, for his future welfare, this excellent man obtained his permission to introduce to him the Rev- erend William Bull, of Newport Pagnell, who from that time regularly visited him once a fortnight : and whom Cowper af- terwards described to his friend Vnwin, as " a man of letters and of genius, master of a tine imagination, or rather not master of it ;'* who could be " lively without levity, and pensive without dejection.'* As the year advanced, Hume's History, and the Biographia Britannica engaged his attention, though the amusements of the garden were his chief resource, and had banished drawing altogether. These, with the frequent exercise of his episto- lary talent, and the occasional produc- tion of a minor piece of poetry, in the XXXVm SKETCH OF THE composition of which the entertainment of himself and his friends was his only aim, led him to the important month of December in this year, when he was to sit down with the secret intention of wri- ting for the publick : an intention, how- ever, which his extreme humility took care to couple in his mind with this pro- viso, that a bookseller could be found who would run the risk of publishing his pro- ductions. Between that time and March 1781, the four first of his larger poems were completed ; namely, Table Talk, The Progress of Errour, Truth, and Expostu- lation. These, together with tli^e small pieces coniaiued in the earliest edition of that volume, were sent to the press in the following May, Mr. Johnson, of St. Paul's Churchyard, who had been recommended to the Poet by Mr. Newton, having, as he informed his friend at Stock, " heroically set all peradventures at defiance," as to - the expense of printing, "and taken the whole cliarge upon himself." The operations of the press, however, had scarcely commenced, when it was LIFE OP COWPER. XXXIX Suggested to the author that the season of publication being so far elapsed, it would be advisable to postpone the appearance of his book till the ensuing winter. This delay was productive of two advantages ; it enabled hira to correct the press him- self, and nearly to double the quantity of the projected volume ; to which, by the 24th of June, he had added the poera of Hope ; by the 12th of July, that of Cha- rity, and by the 19th of October, those of Conversation and Retirement. Whilst the Poet was occupied in the ex- tension of his work there arrived at the neighbouring village of Clifton, a lady, who was in due time to make a most agreeable addition to his society, and to whom the publick were afterwards indebted for the first suggestion of the Sofa, as they were also to Mrs. Unwin for that of the Progress of Errour, as a subject for Cowper's muse. The writer alludes to Lady Austen, the widow of ^'ir Robert Austen, Baronet, whose first introduction to the Poet and his friends occurred in the summer of 1781 ; a memorabie era in the life of Cowper. The JimitSj however, of a contracted narra- Xl SKETCH OF THE tive, such as this professes to be, will only allow me here to introduce the brief cha- racter of this accomplished lady, which Cowper despatched to his friind Unwin, in the month of August of this year; namely, *' that she had seen much of the world, understood it well, had high spirits, a lively fancy, and great readiness of con- versation." The frequent visits of this pleasing associate to her new acquaint- ances at Olney, gave rise to that familiar epistle in rhyme, which the Poet addres- sed to her on her return to London ; it is dated December 17, 1781. The last month of that year, and the two first of the year following, appear to have been employed by Cowper in correcting the press, in epistolary correspondence, and in desultory reading. The year 1732 was also an eventful pe- riod in the life of the Poet. In March, his first volume issued from the press, in the summer, Mr. Bull engaged him in the translation of Madame Guion ; and by means of a small })ortable priuting- press, given him ))y l-ady Austen, who had returned from London to Clil'ton, he LIFE OF COWPER. xli became a printer as well as a writer of poetry. In October of the same year, the pleasant poem of John GiJpin sprang up, like a mushroom, in a night, 'i he story on which it is founded, having been related to him by Lady Austen, in one of their evening parties, it was versified in bed, and presented to her the next morn- ing in the shape of a ballad. Before the c»lose of the year Lady Austen was settled in the parsonage at Olney. The consequence of this latter arrange- ment, was a more frequent intercourse between the lady and her friends. Mr. Unwin indeed is informed, in a letter which he received from Mr. Cowper in Jajuiary, 1783, that "they passed their days alternately at each other's chateau." This eventually led to the publication of the Task. Lady Austen, as an admirer of Milton, was fond of blank verse. She wished to engage Cowper in that species of composition. For a long time he de- clined it. The lady, however, persever- ed, till, in June or July of the same y. ar, he promised to write if she would furnish the subject. " O I" she replied, "you xlii SKETCH OF THK can never be in want of a subject : yott can write upon any : — write upon this Sofa!'' "The poet," says Mr. Hay ley, *' obeyed her command, and from the live- ly repartee of familiar conversation arose a poem of many thousand verses, unexam- pled perhaps both in its origin and excel- lence ! A poem of such infinite variety, that it seems to include every subject, and every style, without any dissonance or disorder ; and to have flowed without effort from inspired philanthropy, eager to impress upon the hearts of all readers whatever may lead them most happily to the full enjoyment of human life, and to iiie liiKil attainment of heaven." The progress of this enchanting per- ibrinance appears to have been this. The first four books and part of the fifth were written by the 22d of February, 17o4; the final verses of the poem in September following ; and in the begin- ning of October the work was sent to the press. Tiie arrangements with the iiookseller wel*e entrusted to Mr. Unwin. During the period of its production, the iveningsof the Pod appear to have been JLIFE OF COWPER. xHU «iODstant]y devoted to a course of diver- sified reading to the ladies. Such as Hawkesworth's Voyages, L'Estrange's Josephus, Johnson's Prefaces, The Theo- logical Miscellany, Beattie's and Blair's Lectures, The " Folio of four Pages,'* and the Circumnavigations of Cook. This may in some measure account for the comparatively slow execution of the latter part of the work, and indeed of the whole with reference to the former volume. But the following paf^sage of a letter to Mr. Newton, dated October 30, 1784, will explain it more fully. " I meniion- ed it not sooner," namely, that he was en- gaged in the work, " because, almost to the last, I was doubtful whether I should ever bring it to a conclusion, working of- ten in such distress of mind, as while it spurred me to the work, at the same time threatened to disqualify me for it." After it was sent to the press, he added the poem of Tirocinium, two hundred lines of which were written in 1782, and the remainder in October and November 1784. Xfiv SKETCH OF THE On the 21st of this month he began his translation of Homer, which, together with the completion of The Task, proves the year 1784 to have been an active period in the life of Cowper. A no less striking occurrence of that year was the termination of his intercourse with Lady Austen. For a just statement of that sudden event, wh}J in the hospitable mansion, namely, the next brother of the Baronet,* who was on the eve of marriage witJi Catharina, the favourite of the Poet, supported his spirits at this trying period. The next remarkable feature in the his- tory of Cowper, is the commencement of his correspondence with Mr. Hayley. The limits of this Narrative will not admit of a detail of the singular circumstances vrhich gave rise to it, but it was scarce- ly entered upon, before, in writing to Lady Hesketh, Cowper says of his new epistolary acquaintance, " I account him the chief acquisition, that my own verse has ever procured me." In the fol- lowing May, a personal interview took place between the two Poets, thus no- ticed by Cowper in writing to his kins- man of Norfolk : " Mr. Hayley is here on a visit. AVe have formed a friendship that I trust will last for life." A few days after, Mrs. Unwin was struck with the palsy, which deprived her of the * George Coiirtenay Throckmorton, Esq. now "Mr. Couctenay. LIFE OF COWPER. Iv power of articulation, and the use of her right hand and arm. Under the pressure of this dornestick affliction, he thus writes to Lady Hesketh : " It has hap- pened well, that of all men living, the man most qualified to assist and com- fort me, is here, though till within these few days I never saw him. and a few weeks since had no expectation that I ever should. You have already guessed that I mean Hay ley !" Early in June, Mr. Hayley left the Lodge, having obtained a promise from its inhabitants, that if it should please God to continue the convalescent symp- toms of Mrs. Unwin, which had begun to be exhibited, they would visit Eartham in the course of the summer. The new guest of Cowper was succeeded by the writer of this sketch, who, without con- sulting the Poet, ventured to introduce to him Abbott tiie Painter, one of the most successful artists of that period, in securing to a portrait the likeness of its original. In allusion to the fidelity of the copy he was then producing, Cowper playfully says iu a letter to Mr. Hayley, hi SKETCH OF THE Abbott is painting mc so true, That (trust me) you would stare, And hardly know at the tirst view. If I were here, or th.ere. In the beginning of August, the party sot out on their waj to Earthani, where they arrived on the evening of the third day, and where the most cordial and ajSiection- ate reception that it was possible for guests to meet with, awaited them from the owner of that elegant villa. This had a happy effect upon the spirits of Cowper, which had been in some measure depressed by the romantick moonlight scenery of the Sussex hills, over which he had just passed, and whose bold and strik- ing outlines so far surpassing any images of the kind with which the last thirty years had presented him, hurried back his recollection to those times when he had scarcely known what trouble was. In this delightful retreat he remained till about the middle of the following month, his kind host doing every thing that even the purest fraternal friendship could dictate for the comfort of the J'opt and his infirm companion ; who were both LIFE OF COWPER. IvH benefited by his benevolent exertions, the one considerably in spirits, and the other somewhat in health. During the visit of Cowper to F.artham, a fine head of him in crayons was executed by Romney, who joined the par»y, as did also that inge- nious novelist and pleasing poetess Char- lotte Smith, the " friendly Carwardine"*^ of Earl's Colone Priory, and the author of" The Village Curate," soon after the arrival of the guests from Weston. Their society was also enlivened by the endear- ing attentions of the amiable and accom- plished youth, for w'hose future enjoy- ment, after a life of professional labour, the scenery of Eartham had been so fond- ly embellished by an affectionate parent, but to whom Providence allotted an early grave, in the very same year and month in which the illustrious visiter of his be- loved father was consigned to the tomb. The literary engagements of Cowper while he resided at Eartham, are thus noticed by his faithful biographer : "The morning hours, that we could bestow upon> books, were chiefly devoted to a complete revisal and correction of all the trans- Iviii SKfclTOH OF THE lations which my friend had finished, from the Latin and [talian poetry of Milton; and we generally amused 'ourselves after din- ner in forming together a rapid metrical version of Andreini's Adamo. But the constant care which the delicate health of Mrs. Unwin required, rendered it impossi- ble for us to be very assiduous in study." The termination of their visit to Mr. Hayley being arrived, a journey of four days restored the party to the lodge at Weston ; but not the Poet to a resump- tion of his Miltonick employment. In addition to the above-mentioned obstacle, the habit of study had so totally left him, that instead of beginning his dissertations on the Paradise Lost, as he had intended, he thus writes to I is kinsman, who had returned into Norfolk : " I proceed -ex- actly as when you were here — a letter now and then before breakfast, and the rest of my time all holiday : if holiday it may be called, that is spent chiefly in moping and musing, and *' forecasting the fashion of uncertain evils.^^ On the 4th of March, 1793, he says in a letter to his friend, the Reverend Wal- I.Il-E OF COWPER. lix tcr Bagot : " While the winter lasted, I was miserable with a fever on my spi- rits ; when the spring began to approach, I was seized with an infiammation in my eyes ; and ever since I have been able to use them, have been employed in giv- ing more last touches to Homer, who is on the point of going to the press again." At the request of his worthy Bookseller, be added explanatory Notes to his re- vision ; in allusion to which he writes in May to his friend Rose, *' I breakfast every morning on seven or eight pages of the Greek commentators. For so much am I obliged to read in order to select perhaps three or four short notes for the readers of my translation.' ' He says to Mr. Hayley, in the same month, " I rise at six every morning, and fag till near eleven, when I breakfast. — 1 cannot 5;pare a moment ibr eating in the early part of the morning, having no other time fof study." The truth is, that his grateful, affectionate spirit devoted all the rest of the day from breakfast, to the helpless state of his afflicted companion ; of whose similar attentions to his own necessities, he F Jx SKETCH OF TFtE had had such abundant experience. There can be no doubt that an arrangement of this sort was highly prejudicial to the health of Cowper, and that it hastened the approach of the last calamitous attack with which this interesting sufferer was yet to be visited. For the present, how- ever, he was supported under it ; writing pleasantly thus to Mr. Hayley in October : *' On Tuesday, we expect company — Mr. Rose and Lawrence the Painter. Yet once more my patience is to be exercised, and once more I am made to wish that my face had been moveable, to put on and take off at pleasure, so as to be portable in a band-box, and sent to the artist.'* In the following month, Mr. Hayley paid his second visit to Weston, where he found the writer of this Narrative and Mr. Rose. " The latter," says the Biog- rapher of Cowper, " came recently from the seat of Lord Spenser, in Northamp- tonshire, and commissioned by that ac- complished nobleman to invite Cowper and his guests to Althorpe, where mr friend Gibbon was to make a visit of con- siderable continuance. All the ffupsts of LIFE OF COWPKR. Ixi Cowpernow recomnieiifled it to him very strongly to venture on this little excur- sion, to a house whose master he most cordially respected, and whose library alone might be regarded as a magnet of very powerful attraction to every elegant scholar. I wished," continues Mr. Hay- ley, "toseeCowper and Gibbon person- ally acquainted, because I perfectly knew the real benevolence of both ; for widely as they might differ on one important article, they were both able and worthy to appreciate and enjoy the extraordinary mental powers of each other. But the constitutional shyness of the Poet con- spired, with the present infirm state of Mrs. Unwin, to prevent their meeting. He sent Mr. Rose and me to make his apology for declining so honourable an invitation." In a few days from this time, the guests of Cowper left him, and before the end of the year he thus writes to his friend of Eartham : " It is a great relief to me that my Miltonick labours are suspended. I am now busied in transcribing the al- terations of Ho?ner, having finished the ixii SKETCH OF THE whole revisal. I must then write a new Preface, which done, I sliall endeavour immediately to descant on " The Four Ages." Instead, however, of recording the pro- secution of this poem, as the work of the N^inningof the follow ng year, it becomes ^ painful duty of the author of this me- moir to exhibit the truly excellent and pitiable subject of it as very differently employed, and as commencing his descent into those depths of affiiclion. from which his spirit was only to emerge by departing from the earth. Writing to Mr. F.ose in January 171*4, he says, " I have just abil- ity enough to transcribe, which is all that I can do at present : God knows that I write at this mom? nt under the pressure of sadness not to be described." It was a happy circumstance that Lady Hesketh liad arrived at ^Veston, a few weeks pre- vious to this calamitous attack, the in- creasing infirmities of Cowper's aged companion, Mrs. IJnwin, having reduced her to a state of second childhood. To- wards the end of February, the care of attending to his afflicted relative was for LIFE OP cowPEii. Ixiii a short time engaged in by the writer of these pages, who had scarcely returned to his professional duties, when, in con- sequence of an affectionate summons from Cowper's valuable neighbour and highly respected friend, the Reverend Mr. Great- heed of Newport Paguei, Mr. Hayley re- paired to the Lodge. During the con- tinuance of his visit, which was extended to several weeks, all expedients were re- sorted to, which the most tender ingenuity could devise, to promote the object which had given rise to it. But though the efforts of this cordial and tried friend to restore the Poet to any measure of cheer- fulness, were altogether ineffectual, yet, as a reward for his humanity, it pleased God to refresh his benevolent spirit, at this time, by the success of a plan Ibr the benefit of Cowper, the idea of which had originated with himself. The circum- stance alluded to is thus related by the Biographer of the Poet : — " It was on the 23d of April 1794, in one of those melan- choly mornings, when his compassionrte friend Lady Hesketh and myself were watching together over this dejected suf- Ixiv SKETCH OF THE ferer, that a letter irom Lortl Spencer arrived at Weston, to anounce the in- tended grant of such a pension from his Majesty to Cowper, as would insure an honourable competence for the residue of his life. This intelligence produced in the friends of the Poet very lively emo-- tions of delight, yet bleuded with pain almost as powerful ; for it was painful in no trifling degree, to reflect, that these desirable smiles of good fortune could not impart even a faint glimmering of joy to the dejected invalid. '/ His friends, however, had the anima- ting hope, that a day would arrive when they might see liim receive with a cheer- ful and joyous gratitude, this royal re- compense for merit universally acknow- ledged. They knew that when he recov- ered his suspended faculties, he mns: be particularly pleased to find himself chiefly indebted for his good fortune to the active benevolence of that nobleman, who, though not personally acquainted with Cowper, stood, of all his noble friends, the highest in his esteem." — " He Mas wnhai)pily disabled," continues his Biog- LIFE OP COWPER. IxV rapher, " from feeling the favour he re- ceived, but an annuity of three hundred a year was graciously secured to him, and rendered payable to his friend Mr. Rose, as the trustee of Cowper." Another extract from Mr. Hay ley will advance the memoir to the close of the Poet's residence in Buckinghamshire. " From the time when I left my unhappy friend at Weston, in the spring of the year 1794, he remained there under the tender vigilance of his affectionate rela- tion Lady Hesketh, till the latter end of July, 1795 : — a long season of the darkest depression ! in which the best medical advice, and the influence of time, appear- ed equally unable to lighten that atfiic- tive burthen which pressed incessantly on his spirits." A few weeks prior to the last men- tioned period, the task of superintending this interesting sufferer was again shared with Lady Hesketh by her former asso- ciate from Norfolk ; to whom it forcibly occurred, one day, as he reflected on the inefficacy of tiie air and scenery of Wes- ton in proraotins; the return of health Ixvi SKETCH OP THE to his revered relation, that perhaps a .Summer's residence by the sea-side might restore him to the enjoyment of that in- vahiable blessing. Lady Hesketh, to whom he communicated this idea, being of the same opinion, arrangements were speedily made for his conducting the two venerable invalids from Buckinghamshire into Norfolk, whom, after a residence there of a few months, he hoped to recon- duct to the Lodge in amended health and spirits. It was a singularly happy circumstance that in this projected departure from his beloved Weston, neither Cowper, nor Mrs. Unwin, nor either of their friends, thought of any thing further than a tem- porary absence. For had the measure been suggested under the idea of a final separation from that endeared residence, which was eventually found to have been the intention of Providence, the anguish of Cowper in passing for the last time over the threshold of his favourite re- tirement, and in taking leave of Lady Hesketh for ever, might not only have proved fata! to the delicate health of his affectionate relative, but have so exten- LIFE OF COWPER. IxVU ded itself to the breast of his conductor, as to have deprived him of the necessary fortitude for sustaining so long a journey with so helpless a charge. Nothing of the kind, however, having entered into the calculation of either party, both the setting out for Norfolk, on Tuesday the 28th of July, 1795, and the subsequent travelling thither of three days, were un- attended with any peculiarly distressing circumstances. As it was highly important to guard against the effect of noise and tumult on the shattered nerves of the desponding traveller, care was taken that a relay of horses should be ready on the skirts of the towns of Bedford and Cambridge, by which means he passed, through those places without stopping. On the eve- ning of the first day, the quiet village of St. Neots, near Eaton, afforded as con- venient a resting-place for the party as could have been desired ; and the peace- ful moonlight scenery of the spot, as Cowper walked with his kinsman up and down the church-yard, had so favourable an effect on his spirits, that he conversed Ixviii SKETCH OF THE with him, with much composure, on the subject of Thomson's Seasons, and the circumstances under which they were probably written. This gleam of cheerfulness with which it pleased God to visit the afflicted Poet, at the commencement of his journey, though nothing that may be at all com- pared with it was ever again exhibited in his conversation, is yet a subject of grateful remembrance to the writer of this sketch : for though it vanished from the breast of Cowper, like the dew of the morning, it preserved the sunshine of hope, in his own mind, as to the final re- covery of his revered relative ; and that cheering hope never forsook him, till the object of his incessant care was sinking into the valley of the shadow of death. At the close of the second day's jour- ney, the Poet and his aged companion found in the solitary situation of Barton mills a convenient place to rest at ; and the third day brought them to North Tud- denhara in Norfolk. Here, by the kind- ness of the Reverend Leonard Shelford, they were comfortably accommodated LIFE OF COWPKR. Ixix with an untenanted Parsonage House, in which they were received by Miss John- son and Miss Perowne : the residence of their conductor in the market-place of East Dereham, being thought unfavour- able to the tender spirits of Cowper. Of the latter of those ladies, Mr. Hayley says, with equal truth and felicity of ex- pression, " Miss Perowne is one of those excellent beings, whom nature seems to have formed expressly for the purpose of alleviating the sufferings of the afflicted ; tenderly vigilant in providing for the wants of sickness, and resolutely firm iu administering such relief, as the most in- telligent compassion can supply. Cow- per speedily observed and felt the invalu- able virtues of his new attendant ; and during the last years of his life he hon- oured her so far, as to prefer her per- sonal assistance to that of every individ- ual around him." As the season of the year was particu- larly favpurable for walking, the poet was prevailed on by his kinsman, to make fre- quent excursions of this sort in the retired vicinity of Tnddenham Parsonage ; one IXX SKETCH OF THE of which he extended to the house of his cousin, Mrs. Bodham, at Mattis-hall. The sight of his own portrait painted by Abbott, in one of the apartments of that residence, awakened in his mind a recol- lection of the comparatively happy mo- ments in which he sat for the picture, extorted from him a passionately express- ed wish, that similar sensations might yet return, It being fondly hoped by his kinsman, that not only this wish, but many more of the same kind, and those most sanguine, conceived by himself, might be realized by a removal to the sea-side, he conducted the two invalid?, on the 19th of August 1795, to the village of Mundsley on the Norfolk coast. They had been there but a short time, when his companion per- ceived, that there was something inex- pressibly soothing to the spirit of Cow- per in the monotonous sound of the break- ers. This induced him to confine the walks of the Poet, whom dejection pre- cluded from the exercise of all choice whatever, or at least the expression of it, almost wholly to the sands, which at LIFE OF COWPER. IXXl Mundsley are remarkably firm and level ; till an incident occurred whi'^h introduced them to the inland, but still pleasing walks of that vicinity. The circumstance alluded to, is stated in the following let- ter, which, after a long suspension of epistolary employment, the Poet address- ed to Mr. Buchanan. " It shews," as Mr. Hayley observes, " the severity of his depiession, but shews also that faint gleams of pleasure could occasionally break through the settled darkness of melancholy." It is introduced with a quotation from the Lycidas of Milton. " To interpose a little ease, Let my frail thoughts dally with false surmise.'* "I will forget, for a moment, that to whomsoever 1 may address myself, a let- ter from me can no otherwise be wel- come, than as a curiosity. To you. Sir, I address this ; urged to it by extreme penury of employment, and the desire I feel to learn something of what is doing, and has been done at Weston (my beloved Weston !) since I left it. G Ixxii SKETCH OP THE " The coldness of these blasts, even is the hottest days, has been such, that ad- ded to the irritation of the salt spray, with which they are always charged, they have occasioned me an inflammation ia the eye-lids, which threatened a few days since to confine me entirely ; but by ab- senting myself as much as possible from the beach, and guarding my face with an umbrella, that inconvenience is in some degree abated. IVly chamber commands a very near view of the ocean, and the ships at high water approach the coast so closely, that a man furnished with better eyes than mine might, I doubt not, discern the sailors from the window. No situa- tion, at least when the weather is clear and bright, can be pleasanter : which you will easily credit, when I add that it im- parts something a little resembling plea- sure even to me. — Gratify me with news from Weston ! If Mr. Gi egson, and your neighbours the Courtnays are there, men- tion me to them in such terms as you see good. Tell me if my poor birds are liv- ing ! I never see the herbs I used to give tliem without a recollection of them, and LIFE OF COWPER. lxxii»- sometimes am ready to gather them, for- getting that I am not at home. Pardon, this intrusion ! " Mrs, Unwin continues much as usual." Mundslcy, Sept. 5, 1795. The hopes of the kinsman of Cowper were greatly elevated by the unexpected despatch of the above epistle, which he hailed as the forerunner of many more, each contributing something to the alle- viation of his melancholy. With the ex- ception, however, of two hereafter men- tioned, it was the only letter which the overwhelming influence of his disorder would suffer him to write in his latter years. The effect of air and exercise on the de- jected Poet being by no means such as his friends had hoped, change of scene was re- sorted to as the next expedient. About six miles to the south of Mundsley, and also on the coast, is a village called Hap- pisburgh, or Hasboro', which in the days of his youth Cowper had visited from Cat- tield, the residence of his mother's brother. iSXiv SKETCH OF THE An excursion therefore to this place was projected, and happily accomplished, by- sea ; a mode of conveyance which had at least novelty to recommend it ; but a gale of wind having sprung up, soon after his arrival there, the return by water was unexpectedly precluded, and he was un- der the necessity of effecting it on foot through the neighbouring villages. To the agreeable surprise of his conductor, this very considerable walk was perform- ed with scarcely any fatigue to the invalid. This incident led to a welcome discove- ry ; namely that, shattered as the person of Cowper was, and reduced even to a con- sumptive thinness, it yet retained a con- siderable portion of muscular strength. This induced an extension of those daily walks in which the vicinity of Mundsley was gradually explored. It led likewise to a journey of iifty miles in a post-chaise, by way of Cromer, Holt, and Fakenham, the object of which was to take a view of Dunham Lodge, a vacant seat on a high ground, in the neighbourhood of hwaJBT- ham. Cowper observed of this mansion, ivhich was recently built by Edward Par- LIFE OP COWPER. IxXV ry, Esq. that it was rather too spacious for his requirements, but as he did not seem unwilling to inhabit it, his compan- ion, who conceived it to be a far more eli- gible situation for his interesting charge than his own house in tlie town of Dere- ham, was induced to become the tenant of it at a subsequent period. They pro- ceeded to the last mentioned place, which is about eight miles east of Dunham Lodge, the same evening; and the next day, a journey of thirty miles through Reepham, Aylsham, and North Walsham, returned them safe to Mundsley. Here they re- mained till the 7th of October, the health, if not the spirits of Cowper, being benefit- ted by it, though the infirmities of Mrs= Unwin continued the same. On that day, the party removed to Dereham, and again, in the course of the month, to Dunham Lodge, which was now become their set- tled residence. As the season advanced, the amusement of walking being rendered impracticable, and his spirits being by no means suffi- ciently recovered to admit of his resum- ing either his pen or his books, the only G # IXXVi SKETCH OP THE resource which was left to the Poet, was to listen incessantly to the reading of his companion. The kind of books that ap- peared most, and indeed solely to attract him, were works of fiction ; and so happy was the influence of these in rivetting his attention, and abstracting him, of course^ from the contemplation of his miseres, that he discovered a peculiar satisfaction when a production of fancy of more than ordinary length, was introduced by his kinsman. This was no sooner perceived, than he was furnished with the voluminous pages of Frichardscn, to which he listened with the greater interest, as be had been personally acqugiinted with that ingenious writer.. At this time, the tender spirit of Cow- per clung exceedingly to those about him, and seemed to be haunted with a continual draad that they would leave him alone in h's solitary mansion. Sunday, therefore, was a day of more than ordinary appre- hension io him ; as the furthest of his kinsman's churclies being fifteen miles frojr: i he Lodge, he was necessarily absent during the whole of the sabbath. On these LIFE OF COWPER. IxXVU occasions, it was the constant practice of the dejected Poet to listen frequently on the steps of the hall-door, for the barking of dogs, at a farm-house, which in the stillness of the night, though at nearly the distance of two miles, invariably announc- ed the approach of his companion. To remove the inconvenience of these lengthened absences, an inquiry was set on foot by the attendant of Cowper, for a house equally retired with Dunham Lodge, but nearer the scene of his ministerial du- ties. The search, however, proving fruit- less, he ventured to consult his beloved charge, as to how far he con id tolerate the Dereham residence. To his agreeable surprise, he found, that he not only pre- ferred it to his present situation, bi;t, if the question had been put to him in the first instance, would never have wished any other. It was agreed, therefore, that as the ensuing Sumujer was to be spent at Mundsley, they should remain at Duriham Lodge, till that period, and return from the sea to Dereham. In the mean time, the employment of reading, ajid, as often as the weather per- IxXViii SKETCH OK THE raitted, excursions on foot, or in an open carriage, amused the sufferer till the com- mencement of 1796 ; in the month of April of which year, Mrs. TTnwin received a visit from her daughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Povvley. The tender and even filial attention which the compassionate invalid bad never ceased to exercise towards his aged and infirm companion, was now shar- ed by her affectionate relatives ; to whom it could not but be a gratifying spectacle to see their venerable parent so assiduous- ly watched over by Cowper, even in his darkest periods of depression. The visit of these exemplary persons was productive also of advantage to their friends, as the salutary custom of reading a chapter in the Bible to her mother, every morning before she rose, was continued by the writer of this Memoir, who, as the Poet always visited the chamber of his poor old friend, tJie moment he had finished his breakfast, took care to read the chapter at that time. It was a pleasing discovery, which the companion of Cowper had now made, that •immersed as he was in the depth of des*- LIFE OF COWPER, Ixxlx pondence, all the billows of which had gone over his soul, he could yet listen with composure to the voice of inspiration, of which he had been conceived to be un- wiiiing to hear even the name. Being eu^ couraged by the result of the above exper- iment, the conductor of the devotions of this retired family ventured in the course of a Yew days, to let the members of it meet for prayers in the room where Cow- per was, instead of assembling in another apariment, as they hitherto had done, un- der the influence, as it proved, of a rais- concepUon, with regard to his ability to 9,ttend the service. On the first occur- rence of this new arrangement, of which no intimation had benn previously given him, he was preparing to leave the room, but was prevailed on to rpsume his seat, by a word of soothing and whispered en- treaty. The arrival of Wakefield's edition of Pope's Homer at Dunham Lodge, in June 17&6, was productive of happy consequen- ces to the invalid, by supplying an occu- pation 10 flis harassed liiind, which ab- sorbed it still more than that of listening ixXX SKETCH OF THE to the works before-mentioned. These fabrications of fancy, however, were not laid aside, but varied with conceptions of a much higher order ; even the sublime flights of the illustrious Greek, to which the attention of his tianslator was again awakened, in the following rather singular manner. It was the custom of the Poet, on leav- ing Mrs. Unwin's apartment in the morn- ing, to take a few turns by himself in a large unfrequented room, which he had to pass in his way back to the parlour. His companion, therefore, having observed that the notes of the ingenious Mr. Wake- field were not without a reference to the labours of Cowper, took care to place the eleven volumes of that Editor's recent publication in a conspicuous part of this room ; having previously hinted in the hearing of his friend, that there was in them an occasional comparison of Pope with Cowper. To his agreeable surprise, he discovered, the next day, that the lat- ter had not only found these notes, but had corrected his Translation at the sug- gestion of some of them. From the mo- LIFE OF COWPER. IxXXI ment that this reviving interest in his version of the Iliad and Odyssey was per- ceived, to exist in the breast of Covvper» it was vigilantly cherished by the utmost efforts of his attendant, till, in the ensu- ing August, he had decidedly engaged in a revisal of the whole Work, and was daily producing almost sixty new lines. Much hope had been entertained by the friends of Cowper, that this volun- tary resumption of poetical employment, would have led to his speedy and perfect recovery ; but the removal of the family in September from Dunham Lodge, which they now finally quitted, to their tem- porary residence at Munsley, so complete- Jy dissipated his habits of attention, that a twelvemonth elapsed before he could be again prevailed on to return to his re- vision. In the mean time the air and walks of that favourite village, both ma- iine and inland, were fully tried, till to- wards the end of October, when no appar- ent benefit having been derived to the de- jected Poet, by his visit to the coast, the invalids and their attendaHts retired to Dereham, Ixxxii SKETCH OF THE Cowper was scarcely settled in this new habitation, (in point of seclusion, the re- verse of Dunham ? odge,) when his friends had the satisfaction to see that the scen- ery of a town was by no means distressing to his tender spirit. Now, to employ the language of his Sussex friend, " the long and exemplary life of Mrs. IJnwin was drawing towards/a close. The powers of nature were gradually exhausted, and on the 17th of December, she ended a trou- bled existence, distinguished by a sublime spirit of piety and friendship, which shone through long periods of calamity, and con- tinued to glimmer through the distressful twilight of her declin ng faculties." The precise moment of her departure was so tranquil, that it was only marked by the cessation of her breath, as the clock was striking one in the afternoon. Gentle, however, as were the approach- es of the last messenger, in the case of this eminent servant of God, and little as, under the ceaseless pressure of his own sufferings he had hitherto appeared to no- tice them, they had yet been perceived by Cowper ; for, as a faithful servant of laFE OF cowPER. Ixxxiii his dying friend and bimseit' was opening the window ofhis chamber on the morning of the day of her decease, he said to h *r, in a tone of voice at once plaintive, and full of anxiety as to what might be the sit- uation of his aged companion, " Sally, is there life above stairs ?" Froua a dread of the effect of such a scene upon his mind, the first object of the kinsman of Cowper, who had attended him to the bedside of his departing friend, about half an hour before her death, was to reconduct his pitiable charge to the apart- ment below, and instantly to commence reading. This expedient so often resort_ ed to, with a view to composing the spirit of Cowper, and generally speaking with much success, was happily efficacious in the present instance. For though the reader had scarcely advanced a few pages, before he was beckoned out of the room to be informed of the death of Mrs. Un- win, he returned to it some moments af- ter, without being questioned as io why he had left it. Apprehending from this circumstance, and from a rapid observa. lion of his countenance, with every turn IxXXiv SKETCH OP THE the mind of bis beloved relative was per- haps in as fit a state for the reception of the melancholy tidings, as, under the pres- sure of his calamity, it could be, the writ- er of this Memoir resolved to reveal them. As he was sitting down therefore to the book, and turning over the leaves to re- sume his reading, he observed to the Poet, with as much cheerfulness and tender con- cern as he was able to associate in the same tone of voice, that his poor old friend had breathed her last. This intelligence was received by Cow- per, though not entirely without emotion, yet with such as was compatible with his being read to by his kinsman, who had soon the satisfaction of seeing his interest- ing patient as composed as in the time of Mrs. Unwin's life. But the favourable issue of two distress- ing periods, was still to be provided for ; his viewing the corpse ; and its subsequent removal for interment. To meet the first of these difficulties, it was judged expedi- ent, that the kinsman of Cowper should attend him to the chamber of his departed iVicn 1, in the dusk of the evening, when •LIFE OF COWPER. ixXXV x-ifily an indistinct view of the tody could be obtained ; and to preclude his suspicion of the other, the funeral was appointed to take place by torch-light. It appeared, however, that there was no necessity lor the latter precaution, as, after looking at the corpse for a few moments, under the circumstahces above mentioned, and start- ing suddenly away, with a vehement but unfinished sentence of passionate sorrow, he not only named it no more, but never even spoke of Mrs. Unwin. The funeral was attended by Mr. and Mrs. Powley, who had been summoned from Yorkshire within the few last days of their parent's life, but had not arrived till she had ceased to breathe : also by the writer of *his sketch, and some members of his family. She was buried on the 23d of December, in the north aisle of the Chureh of East Dereham. The commencement of the year 1797 in no respect differed from that of the pre- ceding years of his illness, his extreme, dejection still continuing, and the only al- leviation it was capable of receiving, hC' ing still the listening to Works of tictiori. IxXXvi SKETCH OF THE As the spring advanced, however, he was" persuaded to resume his usual walks, a measure to which the situation of the house at East Dereham happily presented no obstacles, as, though it fronted the mar- ket-place, which was also the turnpike road, it was contiguous to the fields on its opposite side. Tiiis was equally conve- nient for his airings in an o[)en carriage, which, from the happy ejftect of a course of ass's milk upon his bodily health, begun on the 21 st of June in this year, he was en- abled to bear, for a few weeks, before breakfast. This was undoubtedly the pe- riod of his last deplorable altJiction when the person of Cowper made the nearest approaches to tlie appearance it had ex- hibited before his illnoss. His counte- nance, from having been extremely thin, and of a yeilowisji hue, liad recovered much of its former fulness and ruddy com- plexion ; his limbs were also less emaciat- ed, and his posture more erect : but the oppression on his spirits remained the same. Under these circumstances, it was thought advisable to omit the v sit to Mundsley this year, and to take the ut- LIFE OP COWPER. IxXXViu jjjost advantage of the rides about Dere- ham. With such recreations, and the never- failing one of reading, the Summer of 1797 was brought to a close ; when, dreading the eflect of the cessation of bodily exer- cise upon the mind of C^ wper, during a long win^^er, his kinsman resolved, if it were possible, to re-instate him in the re- Tisal of his Homer. One morning, there- fore, after breakfast, in the monih of Sep- tember, he placed the Commentators on the table, one by one ; namely, Vilioisson, Barnes, and Clarke, opening them all, together with the Poet's translation, at the place where he had left off' a twelvemonth before, but talking with him, as !te paced the room, upon a very diff'eren; subject, namely, the impossibility of the th ngs befalling him which his imagination had represented ; when, as his companion had wished, he said to him, " And are you ure that I shall be here till the book you are reading is finished ?" "Quite sure," re- plied his kinsman. " and that you will al- ^o be here to complete the rerisal of your Homer," pointing to the books, "ifyoft IxXXViii SKETCH OP THE> will resume it to day." As he repoatcd these wor' shining straw she sees. This simile were apt enough ; But I've another, critick proof ! The virtuoso thus, at noon, BroiHng beneath a July sun, The gilded butterfly pursues, O'er hedge and ditch, thro' gaps and mews : And after many a vain essay, To captivate the tempting prey, Gives him at length the lucky pat, And has him safe beneath his hat : Then lifts it gently from the ground ; But ah ! 'tis lost as soon as found ; Culprit his liberty regains ; Flits out of sight, and mocks his pains. The sense was dark ; 'twas therefore fit With simile t' illustrate it ; But as too much obscures the sight, As often as too little light, ^ We have our similes cut short, For matters of more grave import. That Matthew's numbers run with easfe Each man of common sense agrees ; All men of common sense allow, That Robert's lines are easy too : Where then the prePrence shall we plact. Or how do justice in this ease ? Matthe'w (says fame) with endless pains, Smooth'd and refin'd the meanest strains ; iVor sufFer'd one ill-chosen rhyme T' escape him at the idlest timej And thus o'er all a lustre cast, That, while the language lives, shall last, An't please your ladyship (quoth I,) For 'tis my business to reply ; Sure so much labour, so much toil, Bespeak at least a stubborn soil : Theirs be the laurel-wreatli decreed, Who both write well, and write full speed i Who throw their Helicon about As freely as a conduit spout ! Friend Robert, thus like chien scavant^ Lets fall a poem en passant, Nor needs his genuine ore refine ! 'Tis ready polish'd from the rarnp. THE FIFTH SATIRE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. [Printed in Duncombe's Horace.} 1759. A hwnourous Description of the Author'^s Journey from Rome to Brundusium. 'TwAS a long journey lay before us, When I, and honest Heliodorus, Who far in point of rhetorick Surpasses ev'ry living Greek, Eacii leaving our respective home Together sallied forth from Rome. First at Aricia we alight, And there refresh, and pass the nighty Our entertainment rather coarse Than sumptuous, but I've met with wors^. Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair To Appiiforura we repair. But as this road is well supplied (Temptation strong!) on either side With inns commodious, snug, and warm, We split tlie journey, and perform 9 In two days fime what's often done By brisker travellers in one. Here, rather choosing not to sup Than with bad water mix my cup, After a warm debate in spite Of a provoking appetite, I sturdily resolv'd at last To balk it, and pronounce a fast, And in a moody humour wait, While my less dainty comrades bait. Now o'er the spangled hemisphere DifFus'd the starry train appear, When there arose a desp'rate brawl j The slaves and bargemen, one and all, Rending their throats (have mercy on us) As if they were resolv'd to stun us. '' Steer the barge this way to the shore j I tell you we'll admit no morej Plague ! will you never be content!^'* Thus a whole hour at least is spent, While they receive the several fares, And kick the mule into his gears. Happy, these d:5culties past. Could we have fall'n asleep at last ! But, what with humming, croaking, biting. Gnats, frogs, and all their plagues uniting, These tuneful natives of the lake Conspir'd to keep us broad awake. Besides, to make the concert full, Two maudlin wights, exceeding dullj 10 The bargeman and a psssengcr, Each in hie turn, essay'd an air In honour of bis absent fair. At length the passenger, opprest With wine, left off, and snor'd the rest. Tl»e weary bargeman too gave o'er, And hearing his companion snore, Seiz'd the occasion, fbc'd the barge, Turn'd out his mule to graze at large, And slept forgetful of his charge. And now the sun o'er eastern hill, Discover'd that our barge stood still ; When one, whose anger vex'd hira sore, With malice fraught, leaps quick on shore j Plucks up a stake, with many a thwack Assails the mule and driver's back. Then slowly moving on with pain, At ten Feronia's stream we gain, And in hei^pure and glassy wave Our hands and faces gladly lave. Climbing three miles, fair^Anxur's height We reach, witli stony quarries white. While here, as was agreed, we wait, Till, charg'd witli business of the state, Maecenas and Cocceius come, The messengers of peace from Rome. My eyes, by wat'ry humours blear And sore, I with black balsam smear. At length they join us, and with them 0ur worthy friend Fonteius came ; 11 A man of sucli complete desert, Antony lov'd him at his heart. At Fundi we refus'd to bait, And laugh'd at vain Aufidius' state, A prsetor now, a scribe before, The purple-border'd robe he wore. His slave the smoking censer bore. Tir'd, at Mursena^s we repose, At Formia sup at Capito's. With smiles the rising morn we greet, At Sinuessa pleas'd to meet With Plotius, Varius, and the bard, Whom INIantua first with wonder heard. The woild no purer spirits knows ; For none my heart more warmly glows. O ! what embraces we bestow'd, And with what joy our breasts o'erflow'd ! Sure, while my sense is sound and clear, Long as I live, I shall prefer A gay, good natur'd, easy friend, To every blessing Heav'n can send. At a small village the next night Near the Vulturnus we alight ; Where, as employ'd on state affairs, We were supplied by the purveyors Frankly at once, and without hire. With food for man and horse, and fire. Capua next day betimes we reach. Where Virgil and myself, who eacli J2 Labour'd with different maladies, His such a stomach, mine such eye?, As would not bear strong exercise, In drowsy mood to sleep resort ; Maecenas to the tennis-court. Next at Cocceius' farm we're treated, Above the Caudian tavern seated j His kind and hospitable board With choice of wholesome food was stor'S. Now, O ye nine, inspire my lays ! To nobler themes my fancy raise ! Two combatants, who scorn to yielA The noisy, tongue-disputed field, Sarraentus and Cicirrus, claim A poet's tribute to their fame ; Cicirrus of true Osciau breed, Sarmentus , who was never freed, But ran away. We don't defame him ; His lady lives, and still may claim hira. Thus dignified, in harder fray These champions their keen wit display, And first Sarmentus led the way. " Thy locks, (quoth he) so rough and coarse, Look like the mane of some wild horse.'* We laugh : Cicirrus undismay'd — "Have at you !" — cries, and shakes his head. " 'Tis well (Sarmentus says) you've lost That horn your forehead once could boast ; Since, maim'd and mangled as you are, You seeiti to butt." A hideous scar 13 Jinprov'd ('tis true) with double grace The native horrours of his face. Well. After much jocosely said Of his grim front, so fi'ry red, (For carbuncles had blotch'd it o'er, As usual on Campania's shore) " Give us, (he cried) since you're so big, A sample of the Cyclops' jig ! Your shanks methinks no buskins ask, Jfor does your phiz require a mask." To this Cicirrus. " In return Of you, Sir, now I fain would learn, When 'twas, no longer deem'd a slave, Your chains you to the Lares gave. For tho' a scriv'ner's right you claim, Your lady's title is the same. But what could make you run away, Since, pigmy as you are, each day A single pound of bread would quite O'erpow'r your puny appetite p" Thus jok'd the champions, while we laugh'd, And many a cheerful bumper quafif*d. To Beneventum next we steer ; Where our good host by over care In roasting thrushes lean as mice Had almost fall'n a sacrifice. The kitchen soon was all on fire, And to the roof the flames aspire. There might you see each man and master Strivnig, amidst this sad disaster, 14 To save the supper. Then they came- With speed enough to quencli the flame. Prom hence we first at distance see Th' Apulian hills, weli known to me, Parch'd by the sultry western blast ; And which we never should have past, Had not Trivicius by the way ReceivM us at the close of day. But each was forc'd at ent'ring here To pay the tribute of a tear, For more of smoke than fire was seen — The hearth was pil'd with logs so green . From hence in chaises we were carried Miles twenty- four, and gladly tarried At a small town, whose name my verse (So barb'rous is it) can't rehearse. Know it you may by many a sign, Water is dearer far than wine. Their bread is deemed such dainty fare. That ev'ry prudent traveller His wallet loads with many a crust For at Canuslom you might just As well attempt to gnaw a stone As think to get a morsel down ; That too with scanty streams is fed; Its founder was brave Dioraed. Good Varius (ah, that friends must part V. Here left us all with acliing heart. At Rubi we arriv'd that day, Well jaded by the length of way. And sure poor mortals ne'er were wetter -. PJext, iay b» weat-her couW be better ; 15 Ko roads so bid ; we scarce could crawl Along- to fishy Barium's wall. Til' Egnatians next, who, by the rules Of common sense are knaves or fools, Made all our sides with laughter heave. Since we with them must needs believe, Tliat incense in their temples burns, And without fire to ashes turns. To circumcision's bigots tell Such tales ! for me, I know full well, That in high Heav'n, unmov'd by care, The Gods eternal quiet share : Nor can I deem their spleen the cause, Why fickle nature breaks her laws. Brundusium last we reach : and there Stop short the nomge and travetter. IG THE NINTH SATIRE QF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. THE DESCRIPTION OF AN IMPERTINENT. ADAPTED TO THE PRESENT TIMES, 1759. Saunt'ring along the street one day, On trifles musing by the way — Up steps a free familiar wight. (I scarcely knew the man by sight.) *' Carlos, (he cried) your hand, my dear ; Gad, I rejoice to meet you here ! Pray Heav'n I see you well .P" " So, so j Ev'n well enough as times now go. The same good wishes, Sir, to you.'* Finding he still pursued me close — *' Sir, you have business I suppose." *' My business, Sir, is quickly done, 'Tis but to make my merit known. Sir 1 have read," — " O learned Sir, You and your learning I revere." 17 Then, sweating with anxiety, A.nd sadly longing to get free, Gods, how I scaraperM, scuffled for't, Ran, halted, ran again, stoppM short, Beckon'd my boy, and puU'd liira near, And whisper'd nothing in his ear. Teiz'd with his loose unjointed chat — *' What street is this ? What house is thai P Harlow, how I envied thee Tiiy unabas'ii'd effrontery, Who dar'st a foe with freedom blame, And call a coxcomb by his name ! W^hen I return'd him answer none, Obligingly the ool raa on, *' I see you're dismally distress'd, Woiild give tlie world to be releas'd. But by your leave, Sir, 1 shall still Stick to your skirts, do what you will. "Pray which way does your journey tend ;♦"' " O 'tis a tedious way, my friend. Across the Thames, tlie Lord knows where, 1 would not trouble you so far." " Well. I'm at leisure to attend you." *' Are you.^ (tiiought 1) the De*il befriend you.'* ?>^o ass with double panniers rack'd, Oppress'd, o'eriaden, broken-back'd, E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull As I, nor half so like a fool. *'Sir, I know little of myself, ? Proceeds the pert conceited df) 18 " If Gray or Mason you will deem Than me more worthy your esteem. Poems I write by folios As fast as other men write prose ; Then I can sing so loud, so clear, That Beard cannot with me compare. In dancing too I all surpass. Not Cooke can move with such a grace.' Here I made shift with much ado To interpose a word or two. — " Have you no parents, Sir, no friends, Whose welfare on your own depends.'* " Parents, relations, say you ? No. They're all dispos'd of long ago." — *' Happy to be no more perplex'd I My fate too threatens, I go next. Despatch me. Sir, 'tis now too late, Alas ! to struggle with my fate ! Well, I'm convinc'd my time is come — When young, a gipsy told my doom. The beldame shook her palsied head^ As she perus'd my palm, and said : Of poison, pestilence, or war, Gout, stone, defluxion, or catarrh, You have no reason to beware. Beware the coxcomb's idle prate ; Chiefly, my son, beware of that. Be sure, when you behold him, fly Out of all ear-shot, or you die." To Rufus' Hall we now draw near : Where he was 5uramon'd to appear. I 19 Refute the charge the plainlifF brought. Or suffer judgment by default. *' For heav'n's sake, if you love me, wait One moment ! I'll be with you straight." Glad of a plausible pretence — ** Sir, I must beg you to dispense With my attendance in the court. My legs will surely suffer for't." — " JVay, prithee, Carlos, stop awhile !" " Faith, Sir, in law I have no skill. Besides 1 have no time to spare, I must be going you know where.'' " Well I protest, I'm doubtful now, Whether to leave ray suit or you !" "Me without scruple ! (I reply) Me by all means, Sir !" — "No, not I. Allans Monsieur I'''' 'Twere vain (you know) To strive with a victorious foe. So I reluctantly obey. And follow, where he leads the way. *' You, and Newcastle are so close, Still hand and glove, Sir — I suppose. — Newcastle (let me tell you. Sir) Has not his equal every where. Well. There indeed your fortune's made. Faith, Sir, you understand your trade. Would you but give me your good word ! Just introduce me to my lord. I should serve charmingly by way Of second fiddle, as they say : 20 What think you, Sir ? 'twere a good jest* 'Slife, we should quickly scout the rest." — " Sir, you mistake the matter far, We have no second fiddles there. — Richer than I some folks may be ; More learned, but it hurts not rae. Friends tho' he has of diflF'rent kind. Each has his proper place assign'd.'* " Strange matters these alleg'd by you !" — " Strange they raaj^be, but they are true." — ■ " Well then, I vt»Mr, 'tis mighty clever, IN^ow I long ten times more than ever To be advanc'd extremely near One of his shining character. Have but the will — there wants no more^ 'Tis plain enough you have the pow'r. His easy temper (that's the worst) He knows, and is so shy at first. — But such a cavalier as you — Lord, Sir, you'll quickly bring him to !" — " Well ; if I fail in my design, Sir, it shall be no fault of mine. if by the saucy servile tribe Denied, what think you of a bribe? Shut out to-day, not die -with sorrow, But try my luck again to-morrow. Never attempt to visit him But at the most convenient time, Attend him on each levee day, And there my humble duty pay, 21 Labour, like this, our want supplies j And they must stop, who mean to rise." While thus he wittingly harangu'd, For which you'll guess I wisli'd him hang*ritomHiQque nomen Tollere ad asira. SONG. ON PEACE. WRITTEN I\ THE SUMMER OF 1733, AT THK Rfi- QLK.^T •■>S LADY AUSTEN, WHO GAVK THK SEN TIM E.N T. Air — " My fond shepherds of fafe," ifc. No lonjier f follow a sound ; No Ioniser i dream I pursue : O happrifss ! not lo be found, Unattainable treasure, adieu ! 67 J have sought thee in splendour and dress, In the regions of pleasure and lasle ; I have sought thee, and seem'd to possess, But have proved thee a vision at last. An humble ambition and hope The voice of true wisdom inspires j 'Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope, And the summit of all our desires. Peace may be the lot of the mind That seeks it in meekness and love ; put rapture and bliss are confin'd To the glorified spirits above. SONG.* Air—'' The Lass of Pattit's Mill.'" When all within is peace, How nature seems to smile ! Delights tliat never cease. The live-long day beguile. From morn to dewy eve, Witb open hand she showers Fresh blessings to deceive, And sooth the silent houis. * Also written at ths request of I.ad} Ai!sn>iu 68 It is content of heart Gives nature power to please j The mind l!iat feels no smart, Enlivens all it sees ; ] Can make a .vintry sky Seem brij^ht as smiling May, And evening's closing eye As peep of early day. The vast majestick globe, So beauteously array 'd In nature's various robe, With wond'rous skill display'd, Is to a mourner's heart A dreary wild at best ; It flutters to depart. And longs to be at rest. VERSES 8ELECTED FROM AN OCCASIONAL POEM, ENTITLED, VALEDICTION. [Nov. 1783.] Oh Friendship ! Cordial of the human breast I So little felt, so fervently profess'd ! Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years ; The promise of delicious fruit appears : 69 We bug the hopes of couslancy and truth, Such is the folly of our dreaming ycuth j But soon, alas ! detect the rash mistake, That sanguine inexperience loves to make ; And view with teais tli' expected harvest lost, Decay'd by time, or wither'd by a frost. Whoever undertakes a friend's great part Should be renew'd in nature, pure in heart, Prepar'd for martyrdom, and strong to prove A thousand ways the force of genuine love. He may be cail'd to give up health and gain, T' exchange content for trouble, ease for pain, To echo sigii for sigh, and groan for groan, And wet his cheeks with sorrows not his own. The heart 0/ man, for such a task too frail, When most relied on, is most sure to fail ; And, summonM to partake its fellow's wo, Starts from its office, like a bioken bow. Vol'ries of busines^^s, and of pleasure, prove Faithless alike in friendship and in love. Retir'd from all the circles of the gay, And a'.l the crowds, that bustle life away, 'J'o scenes, where competition, envy, strife, Beget no thunder-clouds to trouble life. Let me, the charge of some good angel, find One, who has known, and has escap'd mankind j Polite, yet virtuous, who has brought away The manners, not the morals, of the day : With him, perhaps with Acr, (for men have known No firmer friendships than the fair have shown) / 70 Let me enjoy, in some unthoiight-of spot. All former fiiends forgiven, and forgot, Down to the close of life's fast fading scene, Union of hearts, without a flaw between. *Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise, If God give health, that sunshine of our days ! And if he add, a blessing shared by few. Content of heart, more praises still are due — But if he grant a friend, that boon possess'd Indeed is treasure, and crowns ;ill the rest j And giving one, whose heart is in the skiei, Born from above, and made divinely wise. He gives, what bankrupt nature never can, Whose noblest coin is light and brittle man, Gold, purer far than Ophir ever knew, A soul, an image of himself, and therefore true. IN BREVITATEM VITJE SPATIl H0MINIBU8 CONCESSI. Br Dr. Jortin. Hki mihi ! Lege rata sol occidit atque resurgit, Lunaque mutatae reparat dispendia formae, Astraque, purpurei telis extincta diei, Rursus node vigeiit. Humiles telluris alumni, Graminis herba virens, et florum picta propago, Quos crudelis hyems lethali tabe peredit, 71 Gum Zepliyri vox blanda vocat. rediitque sereni Temperies annl, fcecundo e cespite surgunt. Nos, domini rerum, nos, magna et pulchra minati, Cum breve ver vitae robustaque transiit aetas, l)eficimus ; nee nos ordo revolubilis aui'as Reddit in aethereas, tumuli neque claustra resolvit. QN THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE. TRANSLATION OF THK FORBOOINO. [January 1784.] Suns that set, and moons that wane, Rise, and are restored again, Stars that orient day subdues, Night at her return renews. Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth Of the genial womb of Earth, Suffer but a transient death From the winter's cruel breath. Zephyr speaks ; serener skies Warm the glebe, and they arise. We, alas ! Earth's haughty kings, We, that promise mighty things, Losing soon life's happy prime. Droop, and fade, in little time. Spring returns, but not our bloom j Still 'th wiot«r in the tomb. 72 EPITAPH ON JOHNSON. [January 1733.] Here Johnson lies — a sage by all allow'd, VVhoiu to have bred, may well make England pioud ; Wliose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught, The graceful vehicle of virtuous thougiit ; Whose verse may claim — grave, masculiiie, and strong, Superiour praise to the mere poet's song ; Who many a noble gift from Heav*n possess'd, And faith at last, alone worth all the rest. <) man, immortal by a double prize, By fame on earth— by glory in the skies ! TO MISS C—, ON HER BIRTH-DAY. [1786.J How many between east and west, Disgrace their parent earth, V Whose deeds constrain us to detest The day that gave them birth ! 73 Not so when Stellvi's natal morn Revolving months restore, We can rejoice that she was born, And wish her born once more J GRATITUDE. ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH. [1786.] Thi s cap, that so stately appears, With riband-bound tassel on high, Which seems by the crest that it rears Ambitious of brushing the sky: This cap to my cousin I owe, She gave it, and gave me beside, Wreath'd into an elegant bow, The riband with which it is tied. This wheel-footed studying chair, Contrived both for toil and repose, Wide-elbow 'd, and wadaed with hair. In which I both scribble and doze, Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes. And rival in lustre of that In which, or astronomy lies, Fair Cassiopeia sat : 74 These carpets, so soft to the foot, (laletlotiia's traffick and pride, Oh spare them, ye knights of tlie boot, Escaped IVom a cross-country ride \ This table and mirroiir within, Secure from collision and dust, A.t wiiich I oft shave cheek and chin, And periwig nicely adjust -. This moveable structure of shelves, For its beauty admired and its use, And charged with octavos and twelves^ The gayest I had to produce ; Where, flaming in scarlet and gold^ Ml) poems enchanted I view. And iiope, in due time, to behold My Iliad and Odyssey too : This china, that decks the alcove. Which here people call a buffet, But what the gods call it above, Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet : These curtains, tliat keep the room warm Or cooi, as the season demands, Tho;!e stoves that for pattern and foira, Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands : 75 All these are not half that I owe To ' )nes from our earliest youth To me ever ready to show Beniguity, friendship, and tnith j For tiiue, the destroyer declar'd And foe of our perishing khid, If even tier face lie has spar'd, Much less could he alter her mind. Thus compass'd about with the goods And chattels of leisure and ease, I indulge my poetical moods In many such fancies as these ; And fancies 1 fear they will seem — Poets' goods are not often so fine j The poets wiil swear that I dream, When 1 sing of the splendour of mine. THE FLATTING-MILL. AS ILLUSr;:AT10N. When a bar of pure s'lver or ingot of gold Is sent to he flatted or wrought into leigth. It is pass'd between cylinders often, iind roU'd III an engine of utmost mechanical strength. 76 Thus tortur'd and squeezed, at last it appears Like a loose heap of riband, a glitteriog siiow, Likp musick it tinkles and rings in your ears, And w.irm'd by the pressure is all in a glow. This process achieved, it is dooin'd to sustain The thump-after-thump of a goid-beater's mallet, And at last is of service in sickness or pain To cover a pill from a delicate palate. Alas for the Poet ! who dares undertake To urge reformation of natioual ill — His head and his heart are both likely to ache With the double employment of mallet and mil). If he wish to instruct, he must learn to delight, Smooth, ductile, and even, his fancy must flow, Must tinkle and glitter like gold to the sight, And catch in its progress a sensible glow. After all he must beat it as thin and as fine As the leaf that enfolds what an invalid swallows, For truth is unwelcome, however divine. And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows. LINES, COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ. IMMEDIATELY AFT£R H113 DEATH, BY HIS NEPHEW WILl .lAM OF WESTOJV. [June 1788] Farewell ! endued with all that could eng;age All hearts to love tliee, both in youth and age ! In prime of life, for sprigluliness enroll'd Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old ; In life's last stage — i) blessings rarely found — Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms ciown'd ; I'hrough every period of this changeful state Uuchang'd thyself — wise, good, affectionate ! Marble may flatteik; and lest this should seem O'ercharg'd with piaises on so dear a theme. Although thy worth be more than half supprest, Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest. 7# 78 QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON, THE NIGHT OF THE 17tH MARCH, 1789. When, long secjuester'd from his throne George took his seat again, By right of worth, not blood alone, Entitled here to reign, V Then Loyalty, with all his lamps New trimm'd, a gallant show ! Chasing the darkness, and the damps, Set London in a glow, *rwas hard to tell, of streets or squares, Which form'd the chief display, These most resembling cluster'd stars, Those the long milky way. Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires, And rockets flf-w, self-driv'n, To hang their momentaiy fires Amid the vault of Heav'n. '9 So, fire with water to compare, The ocean serves, on high Up-spouted by a whale in air, T' express unwieldy joy. Had all the pageants of the world In one procession join'd. And all the banners been unfurl'd That heralds e'er design'd, For no such sight had England's Queen Forsaken her retreat, Where, George recover'd made a scene Sweet always, doubly sweet. Yet glad she came that night to prove, A witness undescried, How much the object of her love Was lov'd by all beside. Darkness the skies had mantled o'er In aid of her design Darkness, O Queen ! ne'er call'd before To veil a deed of thine ! On borrow ';* auctus munere. Itetitnli I mentis beatioribtis Aptate landes debitas ! Nee invidcbat ille, si quibus favens Fortun;i plus arriserat. J'iaelde acnex ! . levi quiescas cespite, Etsi s-uperbum nee vivo tibi Denis sit. inditura, nee mortuo Lapis notatus nomine. THE SAME IN ENGLISH. OtJR good old friend is gone, gone to bis rest, Whose social converse was, itself, a feast. O ye of riper age, who recollect How once ye loved, and eyed him with respect, Bo" h in the firmness of his better dry. While yet he ruled you with a father's sway. And when, impair'd by time and glad to rest. Yet still with looks in mild complacence drest, He took bis annual seat and nu'ngled here His sprightly vein with yours— now drop a tear. * He was nsher and under-master of Westminster near fifty years, and retirtd from his occupatiou v.her, lie was near seventy, with a handsome ijensiotJ from the King. 92 In morals blameless as in manners meek He knew no wish that he might blush to speak, But, happy in whulever state below, And richer than the rich in being so, Obtain'd the hearts oC all, and such a meei At length from One,^ as made iiim rich indeed. Hence, then, ye titles, hence, noi w nied here, Go, garnish merit in a brghter sphere, The brows of those whose more exaitei lot He could congratulate, but envied not. Light lie the turf, good Seuior ! on thy breast, And tranquil as tiiy mind was, be thy rest ! Tho', living, thou hadst more desert than fame And not a stone, now, chronicles thy name. * See the note in the Latin copy. TO MRS. THROCKMORTON, ON HEK KEAUTIFUL TKANSCRIPT OK HORACE'S ODK, AD LIBRUM SUUM. [February 1790.] Maria, could Horace !iave gtiess'd What honour awaited his oie 93 To his own little volume address'd, Tlie honour which you have bestow'd, Who have traced it in characters here So elegant, even and neat, He had laugh'd at the criiical sneer Which he seems to have trembled to meet, And sneer if you please, he had said, A uyraph shall hereafter arise Who shall give me, when you are all dead, The glory your malice denies, Shall dignity give to my lay, Although but a mere bagatelle ; And even a poet shall say, Nothing ever was written so well. INSCRIPTION For a Stone erected at the Sowing of a Grove of Oaks at Chillingtou, the Seat of T. Giffard,Esq. 1790. [June 1790.] Other stones t!ie era tell, Whtn some feeble moi tal fell ; f stand t'.ere io date the birth Of these hardy sons of Earth. 94 Which shall longest brave the sky, Storm and frost— these oaks or I ? Pass an age or two away, I must moulder and decay, But the years that crumble me Shall invigorate the tree, Spread its brauch, dilate its size, Lilt its summit to the skies. Cherish honour, virtue, truth, So shall thou prolong thy youth. Wanting these, however fast Man be fixt, and forra'd to last, He is lifeless even now. Stone at heart, and cannot grow. ANOTHER, Kor a Stone erected on a similar occasion at the saiiic place in the Ibhovvju^ year. [June 1790.] Reader ! Behold a monument Tiiat asks no sigh or tear, Though it perpetuate the event Of a great burial here. Anno 1791. Qo HYMN KOn THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY [July 17C0.] Hear, Lord, the song of praise and pray V, In heaven thy dwelling-place, From infants made the publick care And taught to seek thy face ! Thanks for thy Word and for thy Day; And grant us, we implore, Never to waste in sinful play Thy holy Sabbaths more. Thanks that we hear— but oh impart To each desires sincere, That we may listen with our heart. And learn as well as hear. For if vain thoughts the minds engage or elder far than we. What hope that at our heedless age Our minds should e'er be free ? 96 Much hope, if thou our spirits take Under thy gracious swv.y, Who canst the wisest wiser make, And Babes as wise as they. Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows, A sun that ne'er declines ; And be thy mercies show'r'don those Who placed us where it shines.* STANZAS On the late indecent Liberties taken with the Remains of the gi^eat Milton,— Anuo 1790, [August 17rO.J "Me too, perchance, in future days, " The sculptured stone shall show, "With Paphian myrtle or with bays " Parnassian on my brow. • Note by the Editor. This Hymn was written at the request of the Rev. James Bean, then Vicar of Olney, to be siiiig by the chiUlreii of the Sunday Schools oi '.Imt town, after a Charity Sermon, prcache*! at the Parish Church for their benefit, on Siuiday, July 31, 1790. 97 " But I, or ere that season come, " Escaped from ev'ry care, *• Shall reach ray ret'u^iie in the tomb, " And sleep securely there."* Ho sang, in Roman tone and style, The youthful bard, ere long Ordained to grace his native isle With her subliinest song. Who then but must conceive disdain Hearing the deed unbiest Of wretches who have dar'd profane His dread sepulcliral rest i^ 111 fare the hands that heaved the stones Where Milton's ashes lay, That trembled not to grasp his bones And steal his dust away ! O ill-requited bard ! neg'ect Thy living wortn repaid, And blind idolatrous respect As much affronts thee dead. • Forsltan et nostros ducat de mai'more rultus Necteusaut Paphia myrti aut Pan;asside lauri Fronde comas— At ego secura pace quiescam. Milton in MiNS©. 98 TO MRS. KINO Heir kind Present to the Author, a Patch-work Counter- pane of ha' own making. [August 14, 1790.] The Bard, if e'er he feel at all, Must sure be quick en'd by a call Both on his heart and head, To pay with tuneful thanks the care And kindness of a Lady fair Who deigns to deck his bed. A bed like this, in ancient time. On Ida's barren top sublime, (As Homer's Epick shows) Composed of sweetest vernal flow'rs, Without the aid of sun or show'rs For Jove and Juno rose. Less beautiful, however gay*, Is that which in the scorching day Receives the weary swain Who, laying his long sithe aside, Sleeps on some bank with daisies pied 'Till roused to toil again. 99 What labours of the loom I see ! Looms numberless have groan'd for me ! Should every maiden come To scramble for the patch that bears The impress of the robe she wears, The Bell would toll for some. And oh, what havock would ensue ! This bright display of ev'ry hue All in a moment fled ! As if a storm should strip the how*rs Of all their tendrils, leaves, and flow'rs— Each pocketing a shred. Thanks, then, to ev'ry gentle Fair Who will not come to peck me bare As bird of borrow'd feather, And thanks, to One, above them all, The gentle Fair of Fertenhall . Who put the whole together. 100 [October 1790.] * Certain potters, while they were buiied in baldiif: their waiv, seeing Homer at a small distance, aiid haring heard much said of Ins Avisdom, called to him, uid pro- mised him a present of their commodity and of snch other things as they could afford, if he would sing to them, when he sang as follows : Pay me my price, Potters ! and I will sing, Attend, O Pallas? and with lifted arm Protect their oven ; let the cups and all The sacred vessels blacken well, and hiked With good success, yield them both fair renown And profit, whether in the market sold Or street, and let no strife ensue between us. But, oh ye Potters ! if with shameless front Ye falsify your promise, then 1 leave No mischief uniuvok'd t' avenge the wrong. Come Syutrips, Smaragus, Sahactes come, And Asbetus, ncr let your direst dread Oinodamus, delay ! Fire seize your house, May neither house nor vestibule escape, * Note hij the Editor .—No Title is prefixed to thi» piece ; but it appears to be a traiislation of one of the 'p.7riyg-tf/fj.tT;\ of Homer called 'O Kst^t/vof, or The Furnace. T!ie prefatory Hues are ft-om the Greek of Herodotus, or whoever was the Author of the life of Homer ascribed to him. 101 May ye lament to see confusion mar And mini^le the whole bbour of your hands, And may a sound fill all your oven, such As of a horse grinding; his provender, While all your pots and flagons bounce within. Come hither also, daughter of the sun, Circe the Sorceress, and with thy drugs Poison themselves, and all that they have made ! Come also Chiron, with thy nura'rous troop Of Centaurs, as well those who died beneath The club of Hercules, as .wl\o. escaped. And stamp their crockery to dust ; down fall Their Chimney ; let tliem see jt with their eyes And howl to see the ruin of their art, While I rejoice ; and if a potter stoop To peep into his furnace, may the tire Flash in his face and scorch it, that all men Observe, thenceforth, equity and good faith. IN MEMORY OF THE I,ATE JOHN THORNTON, ESQ. [iVovember 1790.] Poets attempt the noblest task they can, Praising tlie Author of all good in man, 9 ^ 102 And, next, commemorating Worthies lost, The Dead in whom that good abounded most. Thee, therefore, of commercial fame, but more Famed for thy probity from shore to shore. Thee, Thornton ! worthy in some page to shine, As honest, and more eloquent than mine, I mourn ; or, since thrice happy thou must be, The world, no longer thy abode, not thee. Thee to deplore, were grief raispent indeed ; It were to weep that goodness has its meed, I'hat there is bliss prepared in yonder sky, And glory for the virtuous, when they die. What pleasure can the miser's fondled hoard, Or spendthrift's prodigal excess aiJbrd, Sweet as the privilege of healing wo By virtue sufFer'd combating below ? That privilege was thine; Heav'n gave thee means T' illumine with delight the saddest scenes, Till thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn As midnight, and despairing of a morn. Thou hadst an industry in doing good. Restless as his who toils and sweats for food ; Av'rice, in thee, was the desire of wealth By rust unperishable or by stealth, And if the genuine worth of gold depend On application to its noblest end, Thine had a value in the scales of Heav'n, Surpassing all that mine or mint had giv'a. 103 And, tho' God made thee of a nalurd prone To diptribution boundless of thy own, And still by motives of religious force Inipell'd thee more to that heroick course, Yet was thy liberality disctrect, Nice in its choice, and of a temper'd heat, And though in act unwearied, secret still, As in some solitude the summer rill Refreshes, where it winds, the faded green. And cheers the drooping flowers, unheard, unseen. Such was thy Charity ; no sudden start, After long sleep, of passion in the heart, But steadfast principle, and, in iits kind. Of close relation to th' eternal mind, Traced easily to its true source above, To Him, whose works bespeak his nature. Love. Thy bounties all were Christian, and 1 make This record of thee for tiie Gospel's sake; That the incredulous tlieiuselves may see Its use and pow'r exemplified in Thee. 104 THE FOUR AGES, (a brief fragment of an extensive projected POEM.) [May 1791.] " I COULD be well content, allow'd the use " Of past experience, and the wisdom glean'd " From worn-out follies, now ackiiowledg'd such, " To recommence life's trial, in the hope " Of fewer errours, on a second proof !" Thus, while gray evening lull'd the wind, and call'd Fresh odours from the shrubb'ry at my side, Taking ray lonely winding walk, I mus'd, And held accustom'd conference with my heart ; When, from within it, thus a voice replied. " Couldst thou in truth ? and art thou taught at length " This wisdom, and but this, from all the past ? " Is not the pardon of thy long arrear, " Time wasted, violated laws, abuse " Of talents, judgments, mercies, better far " Than opportunity vouchsaf 'd to err "' With less excuse, and haply, worse eflFect .^" .105 1 heard, and acquie>c'd : then to and fro Oft pacing, as the mariner his deck, My g:rav']ly bounds, from self to human kiud I pass'd, and next considei'd what is Man ? Knows he his origin ? can he ascend By lemiuiscence to his earliest date ? Slept h;- in Adam ? and in those from him Through num'rous generations, till he found At length his destin'd moment to be born ? Or was he not, till fashion'd in the womb ? Deep myst'ries both ! which schoolmen much have , toil'd To unriddle, and have left them myst'ries still. It is an evil incident to man, And of the worst, that unexplor'd he leaves Truths useful and attainable with ease, To search forbidden deeps, where myst'ry lies Not to be solv'd. and useless, if it might. Myst'ries are food for angels ; they digest With ease, and find them nutriment; but man, While yet he dwells below, must stoop to glean His manna from the ground, or starve, and die. IOC JUDGMENT OF THE POETS. [May 1791.] Two nyraphs, both nearly of an age, Of mini'rous charms posses^'d, A warm dispute once chanced to wage. Whose temper was the best. The worth of each had been complete, Had both alike beeij mild : But one r.ltliouffh her smile was sweet, Frown'd oft'ner than she smiled. And in fier humour, when she frown'd Would raise her voice and roar, And shake 'fith fury to the ground The garland that she wore. Tiip other was of gentler cast, From all such phrensy clear. Her frowns were seldom known to la»t, And never proved severe. 107 To poets of renown in song The nymphs referr'd the cause, Who, strange to tell, all judg'd it wrong, And gave misplaced applause. They gentle call'd, and kind and soft, The flippant and the scold. And though she changed her mood so oft, That failing left untold. No judges, sure, were e'er so mad, Or so resolv'd to err — In short, the charms her sister had They lavishM all on her. Then thus the God whom fondly they Their great Inspirer call, Was heard, one genir.l summer's day. To reprimand them all. " Since thus ye have combined," lie said, " My fav'rite nymph to slight, " Adorning May, that peevish maid, " With June's undoubted right, " The Minx shall, for your folly's sake, T^ *' Still prove herself h shrew, " Shall make your scribbling fingers ache, *' And pinch your noses blue." TRANSLATION? OF THE LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS OF MILTON. ^Begun Septexaber'17Q7. Finished March 1792.] f 10 TRANSLATIONS OF THE LATIN POEMS, &c. &c. ELEGIES. ELEGY L TO CHARLES DEODATI. At length, my friend, the far sent letters come, Charged with thy kindness, to vheir destin'd home, They come, at length, from Deva's AVestern side, Where prone she seeks tiie salt Vergivian tide. Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst be, Though born of foreign race, yet born for me, And that ray sprightly friend, now free to roam, jMust seek again so soon his wonted home. I well content, where Thames with refluent tide My native city laves, meantime reside. Nor zeal nor duty, now, my steps impel To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell. 112 Nor aught of pleasure In those fields have I, That, to the musing bard, all shade deny. 'Tis time, that I, a pedant's threats disdain, And fly from wrongs, my soul will ne'er sustaiH. If peaceful days, in letter'd leisure spent. Beneath my father's roof, be banisliment. Then call me banish'd, I will ne'er refuse A name expressive of the lot I choose. I would, that, exiled to the Pontick shore, Rome's hapless bard had sufFer'd nothing more. He then had equall'd even Homer's lays, And Virgil ! thou hadst won but second praise : For here I woo the muse ; with no control, And here my books— my life— absorb me whole. Here too I visit, or to smile, or weep. The winding theatre's majestick sweep ; Tlie grave or gay colloquial scene recruits My spirits, spent in learning's long pursuits ; Whether some senior shrewd, or spendthrift heir, Suitor, or soldier, now unarm'd, be there, Or some coif'd brooder o'er a ten years' cause. Thunder the Norman gibb'rish of the laws. The lacquey, tliere, oft dupes the wary sire, And, artful, speeds th' enamour'd son's desire. There, virgins oft, unconscious what they prove, What love is, knoff not, yet unknowing, love. Or, if iinpassion'd Tragedy wield high The bloody sceptre, give her locks to fly AVild as the winds, and roll her haggard eye, I gaze, and grieve, still cherishing my grief, At times, e'en bitter tears ! yield swcet relief. 113 As when from bliss untasted torn away, Some youth dies, hapless, on his bridal day, Or when the ghost, sent back from shades below, Fills the assassin's heart with vengeful wo, When Troy, or \rgos, the dire scene affords, Or Creon's hall laments its guilty lords. IVor always city-pent, or pent at home, I dwell ; but, when spring calls nie forth to roam. Expatiate in our proud suburban shades Of branching elm, that never sun pervades. Here many a virgin troop 1 may descry, Like stars of mildest influence, gliding by. Oh forms divine ! Oh looks that might inspire E'en Jove himself, grown old, with young desire ! Oft have I gazed on gem surpassing eyes. Out-sparkling every star, that gilds the skies. Necks whiter than the ivory arm bestowed By Jove on Pelops, or the milky road i Bright locks, Love's golden snare i tliese falling low. Those playing wanton o'er the graceful brow ! Cheeks too, more winning sweet than after show'r Adonis turn'd to Flora's fav'rite flower ! Yield, iieroines, yield, and ye who shar'd th' en> brace Of Jupiter in ancient times, give place ! Give place, ye turbann'd fair of Persia's coast ! And ye, not less renown'd, Assyria's boast ! Submit, ye nymphs of Gi-eece ! ye, once the bloom Of JlioD ! and all ye, of haughty Rome, 10 # 114 Who swept, of old, her theatres with trains Redundant, and still live in classick strains ! To British damsels beauty's palm js due, Aliens ! to follow them is fame for you. Oh city, founded by Dardanian hands, A^liose towering front the circling realm commauds. Too blest abode ! no loveliness we see In all the earth, but it abounds in thee. The virgin multitude that daily meets, Radiant with gold and beauty, in thy streets, Out numbers all her train of starry fires, "With which Diana gilds thy lofty spires. Fame says, that wafted hither by her doves, With all her host of quiver-bearing loves, Venus, preferring Papliian scenes no more. Has fix'd her empire on thy nobler shore. But lest the sightless boy inforce my stay, I leave these happy walls, while yet I may. immortal Moly shall secure my heart From all the sorc'ry of Circaean art, And 1 will eVn repass Cam's reedy pools To face once more the warfare of the schools. Meantime accept this trifle ! rhimes though few, Yet such, as prove thy friend's remembrance true !" lU ELEGY U. BEATH OP THE UNIVERSITY EEADLK AT CAMBRIDGE. Copiposed by Milton in the 17th year of his age. Thee, whose refulgent staff, and summons clear, Minerva's flock long time was want t' obey. Although thyself an herald, famous here, The last of heralds, Death, has snatch'd awa,v. He calls on all alike, nor even deigns To spare the office, that himself sustains. Thy locks were whiter than the plumes display'd By Leda's paramour in ancient time, But thou wast worthy ne'er to have decay'd. Or iEson-like to know a second prime. Worthy, for whom some goddess should have won New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's son. Commjssion'd to convene, with hasty call, The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou stand ! So stood Cyllenius erst in Priam's hall, Wing-footed messenger of Jove's command •! And so Eurybates, when he address'd ToPeleus' sod, Atrides' proud behest 116 Dread queen of sepulchres ! whose rig'rous laws And watchful eyes, run through the . realms below, Oh oft too adverse to Minerva's cause ! Too often to the mase not less a foe ! Choose meaner marks, and with more equal aim Pierce useless drones, earth's burthen, and its shame ! Flow, therefore, tears for him, from ev'iy eye, All ye disciples of the muses, weep ! Assembling, all, in robes of sable dye, Around his bier, lament his endless sleep ! And let complaining elegy rehearse, la every school, her sweetest, saddest verse. 117 ELEGY III. ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. Composed in the Author's 17th year. Silent I sat, dejected, and aloue, Making, in thought, the publick woes my own, When, first, arose the image in ray breast Of England's suffering by that scourge, the Pest ! How death, his fun'ral torch and sithe in hand, Entering the lordliest mansions of the land, Has laid the gem-illumin'd palace low, And levell'd tribes of nobles, at a blow. I, next, deplor'd the fam'd paternal pair, Too soon to ashes turn'd and empty air ! The heroes next, whom snatch'd into the skies. All Belgia saw, and followed with her sighs, But thee far most I mourn'd, regretted most, VV^intou's chief shepherd, and her worthiest boast I Pour'd out in tears I thus complaining said : " Death, next in pow'r to him, who rules the dead f Is't not enough that all the woodlands yield To thy fell force, and ev'ry verdant field, 118 That lilies, at one noisome blast of thine, And ev'n the Cyprian queen's own roses, pine, That oaks^ themselves, although the running rill Suckle their roots, must wither at thy will, That all the winied nations, even those. Whose heav'n directed flight the future shows, And all the beasts, that in dark forests stray, And al! the herds of Proteus are thy prey. Ah envious ! arm'd with pow'rs so unconfin'd ! W'hj' stain thy hands witli blood of human kind ? Why take delight, with darts, that never roam, To chase a heav'n-born spirit from her home ?" While thus I mournM, the star of evening stood. Now newly risen above the western flood, And Phoebus from his morning-goal again Had reach'd tlie gulfs of the Iberian main. 1 wish'd repose, and, on my couch reclin'd. Took early rest, to night and sleep resign'd : When — Oh for words to paint what 1 beheld ! I seem'd to wander in a spaciots field, Where all the champaign glow'd with purple light Like that of sun-rise on the mountain height ; Flow'rs over all the field, of ev'ry hue That ever Iris wore, luxuriant grew. Nor Chloris, with whom am'rous Zephyrs play, E'er dress'd Alcinous* garden half so gay. A silver current, like the Tagus, rolPd O'er ?;olden sands, but sands of purer gold. With dewy airs Favonius fanu'd the flowers, With airs awaken'd under rosy bowers. 119 Such, poets feign, irradiated all o'er The sun's abode oa India's utmost shore. While I, that splendour, and the mingled shade- Of fruitful vines, with wonder flxt survey'd, At once, with looks, that beam'd celestial grace. The seer of Winton stood before my face. His snowy vesture's hem descending low His golden sandals swept, and pure as snow Nevi fallen shone the mitre on his brow. Where'er he trod a tremulous sweet sound Of gladness shook the flow'ry scene around ; Attendant angels clap their starry wings, The trumpet shakes the sky, all ether rings, Each chaunts his welcome, folds him to his breast. And thus a sweeter voice than all the rest : " Ascend, my son ! thy father's kingdom share ! My son ! henceforth be freed from ev'ry care !'* So spake the voice, and at its tender close With psaltry's sound th' angelick band arose. Then night retired, and chas'd by dawning day The visionary bliss pass'd all away. I mourn'd my banish'd sleep, with fond concern ^ Frequent to me may dreams like this return ! 120 ELEGY IV. TO HIS TUTOR, THOMAS YOUNG, CHAPLAIN TO THE ENGLISH FACTORT AT HAM- BURGH. "Written in the Author's 18th year. Henck my epistle— skim the deep — fly o'er Yon smootii expanse to the Teutonick shore ! Haste — lest a friend should giieve for thy delay — And the Gods grant, that nothing thwart thy way ! I will myself invoke the king, who binds, In his Sicaniau echoing vault, the winds, With Doris and her nymphs, and all the throng Of azure gods, to speed thee safe along. But rather, to insure thy happier haste. Ascend Medea's chariot, if thou niay'st ; Or that, whence young Triptolemus of yore Descended, welcome on the Scythian shore. The sands, that line the German coast, descried, To opulent Hamburgha turn aside ! So called, if legendary fame be true. From Hama, whom a club-arm'd Cimbrian slew ! There lives, deep learn'd and primitively just, A faithful steward of his Christian trust, 121 My IViendj and favourite inmate of ray heart, That now is forced to want its better part ! Whiit iriountain? now, and seas, aLis ! liow wide ! From me this other, dearer self divide, Dear, as the sage renown'd for moral truth To the prime spirit of the attick youth ! Dear, as the Stagyrite to Ammon's son, His pupil, who disdain'd the world he won ! Nor so did Chiron, or so Plicenix shine In young Achilles' eyes, as he in mine. First led by him thro' sweet Aonian shade Each sacred hannt of Pindus I survey'd ; And favour'd by tlie muse, whom I implor'd, Thrice on my lip the hallow 'd stieam 1 pour'd. But thrice the sun's resplendent chariot roll'd To Aries, has new ting'd his fleece with gold, And Chloris twice has dress'd the meadows gay, And twice has summer parch'd their bloom away. Since last delighted on his looks I hung. Or my ear drank the musick of his toSgue : Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempest's speed ; Aware thyself, that, there is urgent need ! Him, entering, thou shalt haply seated see Beside his spouse, his infants on his knee. Or turning, page by page, with studious look, Some bulky father, or God's holy book. Or mmist'ring (wliieh is his weightiest care) To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly fare. Give him, whatever his employment be. Such gratulation, ns he claim.s from me ! H J22 And, with a down-cast eye, and carriage meek, Addressing him, forget not thus to speak ! " If, compass'd ronnd with arms thou canst at- tend To verse, verse greets thee from a distant friend.. Long due, and late, I left the English shore j But make me welcome for that cause the more ! Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer, The slow epistle came, tho' late, sincere. But wherefore, this p why palliate I the deed, For which the culprit's self could hardly plead ? Self-charged, and self-condemn'd, his proper part He feels neglected, with an aching heart ; But thou forgive — delinquents, who confess, And pray forgiveness, merit anger less ; From timid foes the lion turns away, Nor yawns upon or rends '^ crouching prey, Even pike^ieldlng Thracians learn to spare, Won bj^ sou influence of a suppliant prayer ; And heav'n's dread thunderbolt arrested stands By a cheap victim, and uplifted hands. Long had he wish'd to write, but was with-heldj And, writes at last, by love alone compell'd, For fame, too often true, when she alarms. Reports thy neighbouring-fields a scene of arras ;■ Thy city against fierce besiegers barr'd. And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepared. Enyo wastes thy country wide around, And saturates with blood the taiated ground : 123 Mars rests contented in his Thrace no moie, But goads his steeds to fields of German gore. The ever verdant olive fades and dies, And peace, the trumpet-haling goddess, flies, Flies from that earth which justice long had left^ And leaves the world of its last guard bereft. Thus horrour girds thee round. Meantime alone Thou dwell'st, and helpless in a soil unknown j Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand The aid denied thee in thy native land. Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more Than thy own billow beaten chalky shore ! Leav'st thou to foreign care the worthies, given By providence, to guide thy steps to Heav'n ? His ministers, commissioned to proclaim Eternal blessings in a Saviour's name ! Ah then most worthy, with a soul unfed, In Stygian night to lie for ever dead So once the venerable Tishbite stray 'd An exil'd fugitive from shade to shade, When, flying Ahab, and his fury wife, In lone Arabian wilds, he shelter 'd life j ■*" Vrom Philippi, wander'd forth forlorn ician Paul, with sounding scourges torn ; «id Christ himself, so left, and trod no more, The thankless Gergesene's forbidden shore. But thou take courage ! strive against despair ! Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious care 1 124 (Jrira war indeed on every side appears, And thou art nienae'd by a thousmJ spears, Vet none shall di-ink t'ly blood., or shall offend Ev'n the defenceless bosom of my friend. For thee the Mgis of thy God sh>ill hide, Jehovah's self shall combat on thy side. The same, who vanquished under Sion's tow'rs At silent midnight, al! Assyria's pow'rs, The same, who overthrew in ages past, Damascus' sons that lay'd Samaria waste ! Their king he tiil'd and them with fatal fears By mimick sounds of clarions in their ears, Of hoofs, and w heels, and neighings from afar, Of clashing armour, and the din of war. Thou, therefore, (as the most afflicted may) Still hope, and triumph, o'er thy evil ,i;'y ! Look fo.'-th. expi'Cting happier times to come, And to enjoy, once more, thy native hoqie ! 126 ELEGY V. ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. Written in the Author's 20th year. Time, never wand'ring from his annual round, Bids Zephyr breathe the spring, and thaw the ground ; Blesik winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain, And earth assumes her transient youth again. Dream I, or also to the spring belong Increase of genius, and new powers of song. '' Spring gives them, and, how strange soe'erit seems, Impels me now to some harmonious themes. Castalia's fountain, and the forked hill By day, by night, my raptur'd fancy fill j My bosom burns and heaves, I iiear within A sacred sound, tliat prompts me to begin. Lo ! Phoebus comes, with his bright hair he blends The radiant Laurel wreath ; Phoebus descends; . I mount, and, undepressed by cumb'rous clay, Through cloudy regions win my easy way ; Rapt through Poetick shadowy haunts 1 fly : The shrines all open to my dauntless eye, My spirit searches all the realms of light, And no Tartarean gulfs elude mv sight. 11 * 126 But this ecstatick trance — this glorious storm Of inspiration— what it will perform P Spring claims the verse, that with his influence glows, And shall be paid with what himself bestows. Thou,, veil'd with op'ning foliage, lead'st the throng Of feather'd minstrels, Philomel ! in song j Let us, in concert, to the season sing, Civick, and sylvan heralds of the spring ! With notes triumphant spring's approach de- clare ! To spring, ye Muses, annual tribute bear ! The Orient left, and ^Ethiopia's plains, The Sun now northward turns his golden reins ; Niglit creeps not now ; yet rules with gentlesway ; And drives her dusky horrours swift away; IVow less fatigued, on this etherial plain Bootes follows his celestial wain ; And now the radiant sentinels above. Less uum'rous, watch around the courts of Jove, For, with the night, force, ambu?h, slaughter fly. And no gigantick guilt alarms the sky. j\ow haply says some shepherd, while he view.?, Recumbent on a rock, the redd'ningdews, This night, this surely, Phoebus miss'd the fair, Wlio stops his chariot by her am'rous care. Cynthia, delighted by the morning's glow. Speeds to the woodland, and rc^uiiie; her bow; 127 Resigns her beams, and, glad to disappear, Blesses his aid, who shortens her career. Come — Phoebus cries — Aurora come — too late Thou '.iiiger'sl, siumb'ring, with thy wither'd mate! Leave him, and to Hymettus's top repair ] Thy darling Cephahis expects thee there. The goddess, with a blush, iier love betrays. But mounts, and driving rapidly, obeys. Earth now desires thee, Phoebus ! and t' engage Thy warm embrace, casts off the guise of age ; Desires thee, and deserves ; for who so sweet, Wlieu her rich bosom courts thy genial heat ? Her breath imparts to ev'ry breeze, that blows, Arabia's harvest, and the Paphian rose. Her lofty front she diadems around With sacred piues, like Ops on Ida crown'd-; Her dewy locks, with various flow'rs new-blown. She interweaves, various, and all her own, For Proserpine, in such a wreatli attired, Taenarian Dis himself with love inspired. Fear not, lest, cold and coy, tlie nymph refuse ! Herself, with all her sighing Zephyrs, sues ; Each courts thee, fanning soft his scented wing, And all her groves with warbled wishes ring. Nor, unendow'd and indigent, aspires The amorous Earth to «'ngage thy warm desires, Put. rich in balmy drugs, assists tliy claim, Divine Physician ! to that glorious name. If splendid recompense, if gifts can move Desire iu thee (gifts often purchase love) 128 She offers all the wealth her mountains hide, And all that rests heneath the boundless tide. How oft, when headlong from the heav'nly steep. She sees thee playing in the western deep, How oft she cries — " Ah Phoebus ! why repair Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment there ? Can Tethys win thee ? wherefore shouldst thoii lave A face so fair in her unpleasant wave ? Come, seek my green retreats, and rather choose To cool thy tresses in my chrystal dews, The grassy turf shall yield thee sweeter rest j Come, lay thy evening glories on ray bieast, And breathing fresh, through many a humid rose, Soft whispering airs shall lull thee to repose ! No fears I feel like Semele to die. Nor let thy burning wheels approach too nigh, For thou can'st govern them, here therefore rest, And lay thy evening glories on my breast !" Thus breathes the wanton Earth her am'rous flame, And all her countless offspring feel the same ; For Cupid now through every region strays, Bright'ning his faded fires with solar rays, His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier sound. And his new pointed shafts more deeply wound j Nor Dian's self escapes him now untried, Nor even Vesta at her altar side ; His mother too repairs her beauty's wane. And seems sprung newly from the deep again. .129 Exulting youths the Hymeneal sing, With Hymen's n:une roofs, rock.*, and vallies, ring^ He, new-attired, and by the season drest, Proceeds, all fragrant, in his saffron best. Now, many a golden-cinctur'd virgin roves To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves, All wish, and each alike, some fav'rite youth Hers, in tlie bonds of Hymeneal truth. ]Now pipes the shepherd through his reeds again, Nor Phillis wants a song, that suits the strain, With songs the seaman liaiis the starry sphere. And dolphins rise from the abyss to hear ; Jove feels himself the season, sports again With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train. Noiv too the Satyrs, in the dusk of eve, Tiieir mazy dance through flowery meadows weave;, And neither god' nor goat, but both in kind, Silvanus, wreath'd with cypress, skips beiund. The Diyads leave their hollow silvan cells To ro.ira the banks, and soiitaiy delis ; Pan riots now j and from bis amorous chafe Ceres and Cybele seem hardly safe, And Faunus, all on fire to reach the prize. In cliase of some enticing Oread, flics She iiounds before, but fears too swift a bound, And hiddfrTi lies, but wishes to be found. Our shades entice th' Inmi(t!tals from above. And some kind pow'r presides o'er every grove; And loDg, y<^ pow'r?, o'er ev'jy grove preside, For all is safe, and blest, where ye abide ! 130 Return, O Jove ! the age of gold restore — Why choose to dwell, where storinsiand thunder roar ? At least, thou, Phoebus ! moderate thy speed ! Let not the vernal liours too swift proceed, Command rough Winter back, nor yield the pole Too soou to Night's encroaching long control ! ELEGY VI. TO CHARLES DEODATI, Wlio, while he spent his Christmas in the country, sent the Author a poetical epistle, in which he requested that his verses, if not so good as usual, might be ex- cused on account of the many feasts, to which his friends invited him, and which would not allow him leisure to finish them, as he wished. With no rich viands overcharged, I send Health, which perchance you want, my pamper'd friend, But wherefore should thy muse *empt mine away From what she loves, from darkness into day p Art thou derirous to be told how well I love thee, and in verse p verse cannot tell. For verse has bounds, and must in measure move; But neither bounds nor measure knows ray love. 131 How pleasant, in thy lines describ'd, appear December's harmless sports, and rural cheer ! French spirits kindling with cerulean fires. And all such gambols, as the time inspires ! , Think not that wine against good verse offends ; The muse and Bacchus have been always friends, Nor Phoebus blushes sometimes to be found With ivy, rather than with laurel, crown'd. The Nine themselves ofttimes have join'd the song, And revels of the Bacchanalian throng ; Not even Ovid could in Scythian air Sing sweetly — why ? no vine would flourish there. What in brief numbers sung Anacreon's muse p Wine, and the rose, that sparkling wine bedews. Pindar with Bacchus glows — his eveiy line Breathes the rich fragrance of inspiring wine^ While, with loud crash o'erturn'd, the chariot lies And brown with dust the fiery courser flies. The Roman lyrist steep'd in wine his lays So sweet in Glycera's, and Chloe's praise. Now too the plenteous feast, and mantling bowl Nourish the vigour of thy sprightly soul ; The flowing goblet makes thy numbers flow, And casks not wine alone, but verse, bestow. Thus Phoebus favours, and the arts attend, Whom Bacchus, and whom Ceres, both befriend. What wonder then, thy verses are so sweet, In which these triple powers so kindly meet ! The lute now also sounds, with gold in-wrought, And touch'd, with flying fingers, nicely taught, 132 In tap'stried halls, high roof 'd, the sprightly lyre Directs the dancers of the virgin clioir = If dull repletion fright the muse away, Sights, gay as these, may more invite her stay ; And, trust me, while the iv'ry keys resound, Fair damsels sport, and perfumes steam around, Apollo's influence, like ethere^.l flame, Shall animate, at once, thy glowing frame, And all the Muse shall rush into thy breast, By love and rausick's blended pow'rs possest. For num'rous pow'rs light Elegy befriend, Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend j Her, Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve, And, with his blushing mother, gentle Love. Hence to such bards we grant the copious use Of banquets, and the vine's delicious juice. But they, who demi-gods, and heroes praise. And feats perform'd in Jove's more youthful day?- ^\ ho now the counsels of high heaven explore, Now shades, that echo the Cerberean roar, Simply let these, like him of Samos live, Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give j In beecben goblets let their bev'rage shine, Cool uo;n the chrystal spring, their sober wine ' Their youth should pass, in innocence, secure From stain licentious, and in manners pure, Pure as the priest, when roh'd in white he stands. The fresh lustration ready in his hands. Thus Linus iiv'd, and thus, as poets write, Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sight ! 133 Thus exil'd Chalcas, thus the bard of Thrace^ Melodious tamer of the savage race ! Thus train'd by temp'rance, Homer led, of yore^ His rhief of Ithaca from shore to shore, Through magick Circe's monster-peopled reign, And shoals insidious with the siren train ; And through the realms, where grizly spectres- dwell, Whose tribes he fettered in a gory spell ; For these are sacred bards, and, from above. Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove ! Would'st thou (perhaps 'tis hardly worth thine ear) Would'st thou be told my occupation here ? The promised King of peace employs my pen, Th' eternal cov'nant made for guilty men, The new born Deity with infant cries Filling the sordid hovel, where he lies; The hymning angels, and the herald star. That led the Wise, who sought him from afar,, And idols on their own unhallow'd shore Dash'd, at his birth, to be revered no more ! This theme on reeds of Albion I rehearse: The dawn of that blest day inspired the verse j Verse, that, reserv'd in secret, shill attend Thy candid voice, my critick, and my friend! 12 134 ELEGY VII. Composed in the Author's 19th year. As yet a stranger to the gentle fires, That Amathusia's smiling queen inspires, Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts, And scorn'd his claim to rule all human hearts. "Go, child," I said, " transfix the tim'rous dove * An easy conquest suits an infant love; Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be Sufficient triumph to a chief like thee ! Why aim thy idle arms at human kind ? Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind.'* The Cyprian heard, and, kindling into ire, (None kindles sooner) burn'd with double fire* It was the spring, and newly risen day Peep'd o'er the haiTilets on the first of May j My eyes too tender for the blaze of light, Still sought the shelter of retiring night. When Love approach'd, in painted plumes array'd Th' insidious god his rattling darts betray'd, Nor less his infant features, jind the sly. Sweet intimations of his threat'ning eye. Such the Sigeian boy is seen above, Filling the goblet for imperial Jove ; 135 Siich he, on whom the nymphs bestow 'd their charms, Hylas, who perish'd in a Naiad's arras. Angry he seem'd, yet graceful in his ire, And added threats, not destitute of fire. *' My power," he said, " by others pain alone, 'Twere best to learn ; now learn it by thy own ! With those, who feel my power, that pow'r attest? And in thy anguish be my sway confest ! I vanquish'd Phoebus, though returning vain From his new triumph o'er the Python slain, And, when he thinks on Daphne, even he Will yield the prize of archery to me. A dart less true the Parthian horseman sped, Behind him kill'd, and conquer'd as he fled •. Less true th' expert Cydonian, and less true The youth, whose shaft his latent Procris slew. Vanquish'd by me see huge Orion bend, By me Alcides, and Alcides' friend. At me should Jove himself a bolt design, His bosom first should bleed transtixt by mine. But all thy doubts this shaft will best explain, Nor shall it reach thee with a trivial pain. Thy Muse, vain youth ! shall not thy peace ensure, Nor Phoebus' serpent yield tliy wound a cure." He spoke, and, waving a bright shaft in air, Sought tlie warm bosom of the Cyprian fair. 13^ That thus a child should bluster in my ear, Provok'd iny langhter, raore than tnovM my fear, Ishunn'd not, therefore, publick haunts, hutstray'tt Careless in city, or suburban shade. And passing, and repassing, nymphs, that mov'd With grace divine, beheld where'er I rov'd. Bright shone the vernal day, with double blaze, As beauty gave new force to Phcebus' rays. By no grave scruples check'd, I freely eyed The dang'rous show, rash youth my only guide, And many a look of many a fair unknown Met full, unable to control ray own. But one I raark'd (then peace forsook my breast) One— Oh how far super iour to the rest ! What lovely features I such the Cyprian queen Hersolf might wish, and Juno wish her mien. The very nymph was she, whom when I dar'd His arrows. Love had even then prepar'd ! Nor was himself remote, nor urisupplied With torch well-trlmni'd and quiver at his side; Now to her lips he clung, her eye- lids now, Then settled on her cheeks, or on her brow. And with a thousand wounds from evVy part Pierced, and transpierced, my undefended heart A fever, new to me, of fi ^rce desire Now seiz'd my soul, and I was all on fire. But she, the while, whom only I adore, Was gone^ and vanish'd, to appear no more 137 In silent sadness ! pursue my way ; I pause, I turn, proceed, yet wish to stay» And while I follow her in thought, bemoan With tears, my soul's delight so quickly flown. When Jove had hurl'd him to the Lemnian coast, So Vulcan sorrow'd for Olympus lost, And so Oeclides, sinking into night, From the deep gulf look'd up to distant light. Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain, Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain ? Oh could I once, once more behold the fair, Speak to her, tel her, of the pangs I bear, Perhaps she is not adamant, would show Perhaps some pity at my tale of wo. Oh inauspicious flame — tis mine to prove A matchless instance of disastrous love. Ah spare me, gentle pow'r ! — If such thou be, Let not thy deeds, and nature, disagree. , Spare me, and I will worship at no shrine With vow and sacrifice, save only thine. Now I revere thy fires, thy bow, thy darts : Now own thee sovereign of all human hearts. Remove ! no — grant me still this raging wo ! Sweet is the wretchedness, that lovers know : But pierce hereafter (should I chance to see One destin'd mine) at once both her, and me. Such were the trophies, that, in earlier days, By vanity seduced, I toil'd to raise, Studious, yet indolent, and urg'd by youth, That worst of teachers ! from the ways of truth j 12 * 13« Till learning taught me, in his shady bow'r. To quit love's servile yoke, and spurn his pow'r, Then, on a sudden, the fierce flame supprest, A frost continual settled on my bieast, Whence Cupid fears his flames extinct to see. And Venus dreads a Diomede in me. EPIGRAMS. ON THE INVENTOR OF GUNS Praise in old time the sage Prometheus won, Who stole ethereal radinnce from the sun ; But greater he, w'lose bold invention strove To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove. [The poems on the subject of the Gunpowder Treason I bavf ix't traiislatf'd, both because tht matter of th< m is ui2\il;:8sai t, aiid !)tcause they are wiitteu x.ith ai. asinri- ty, vvijid), iiowevi r it might be ».'. L.rnuitc<< in Miltoo's day, wouid be extremely unseasonable now .J 139 TO LEONORA SINGING AT ROME * Another Leonora once inspir'd Tasso, with fatal love to phrensy fir'd, But how much happier, liv'd he now, were he, Pierc'd with whatever pangs for love of thee ! Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine. With Adriana's lute of sound divine, Fiercer than Pentheus' tho' his eye osight roll, Or ideot apathy benuDQb his soul, You still, with medicinal sounds, might cheer His senses wandering in a blind career ; And sweetly breathing through his wounded breast. Charm, with soul-soothing song, his tlioughts t« rest. TO THE SAME. Naples, too credulous, ah ! boast no more The sweet-voic'd Siren buried on thy shore, That, when Parthenope deceas'd, she gave Her sacred dust to a Chalcidick grave, * I have translated only two of the three poetical com- pliments addressed to Leonora, as they appear to me far superiour to what I haTe omitt^. 140 For still she lives, but has exchanged tlie hoarse Pausilipo for Tiber's placid course, Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains. Of magick song, both gods and men detains. THE COTTAGER AND HIS LANDLORD. A PEASANT to his lord pay'd yearly court, Presenting pippins, of so rich a sort That he, displeas'd to have a part alone, ReraorM tiie tree, that all might be his own. The tree, too old to travel, though before So fruitful, wither'd, and would yield no more. The 'squire, perceiving all his labour void, Curs'd his own pains, so foolishly eraploy'd. And " Oh," he cried, " that I had liv'd content With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant ! My av'rice has expensive prov'd to me. Has cost me both my pippins, and my tree." 141 CHRISTINA, aUEEN OF SWEDEN, CROMWELL'S PICTURE. Christina, maiden of heroick mien ! Star of the North ! of northern sta-s the queen! Behold what wrinkles 1 have earn'd, and how The iron casque still chafes my vet'ran hrow While following fate':: dark footsteps, I fulfil The dictates of a hardy people's will But soften'd, in thy sight, my looks appear, Not to all Queens or kings alike severe. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ON THE DEATH OF THE VICE CHANCELLOR, A PHYSICIAN. Learn, ye nations of the earth, The condition of your birth. 142 Now be taught your feeble state ! Know, that all must yield to fate ! If the mournful rover, Death, Say out once — " resign your breath !" Vainly of escape yon dream, You must pass the Stygian stream. Could the stoutest overcome Death's assault, and baflfle doom, Hercules had both withstood, Undiseas'd by JVessus' blood. Ne'er had Hector press'd the plain By a trick of Pallas slain, Nor the chief to Jove allied By Achilles' phantom died. Could enchantments life prolong, Circe, sav'd by magick song, Still Mad liv'd, and equal skill Had preserv'd Medea still. Dwelt in herbs, and drugs, a pow'r To avert man's destin'd hour, Learn'd Machaon should have known Doubtless to avert his own, Chiron had surviv'd the smart Of the Hydra-tainted dart. And Jove's bolt had been, with ease, Foil'd by Asclepiades. 143 Thou too, sage ! of whom forlorn Helicon and Cirrha mourn, Still had'st fill'd thy princely place Regent of the gowned race. Had'st advanc'd to higher fame Still, thy much-ennobled name, Nor in Charon's skiff eyplor'd The Tartarean gulf abhorr'd. But resentful Proserpine, Jealous of thy skill divine, Snapping short thy vital thread Thee too number'd with the dead. Wise and good ! untroubled be The green turf, that covers thee ! Thence, in gay profusion, grow All the sweetest flow'rs that blow ! Pluto's consort bid thee rest ! jEacus pronounce thee blest ! To her home thy shade consiga ! Make Elysium ever thine ! 14^ DEATH OF THE BISBOP OF ELY, Writtea in the Autlioi-'s 17th year. My lids with grief were tumid yet, And still my sullied clieek was wet With briny dews, profusely shed For venerable Winton dead ; When Fame, whose tales of saddest sound. Alas ! are ever truest found, The news thn »ugh all our cities spread Of yet another mitred head By ruthless fate to death consign'dy Ely, the honour of his kind ! At once a storm of passion heav'd- My boiling bosom, much I griev'd But more I rag'd, at ev'ry breath Devoting Death himself to death. Wi)ti less revenge did Naso teem, When hated Ibis was his theme ; With less, Archiloclius, denied The lovely Greek, his promis'd bride. But lo ! while thus I execrate, Incens'd, the minister of fate, Wondrous accents, «oft, j^et clear, Wafted on the gale I hear. 145 " Ah, much deluded ! lay aside Thy threats, and anger misapplied ! Art not afraid with sounds like these T' offend, where thou canst not appease p Death is not (wherefore dream'st thou thus ?) The son of Night, and Erebus ; Nor was of fell Erynnis born On gulfs, where Chaos rules forlorn : But, sent from God, his presence leaves, To gather home his ripen'd sheaves, To call encumber'd souls away From fleshly bonds to boundless day, (As when the winged hours excite. And summon forth the morning- light) And each to convoy to her place Before th' Eternal Father's face. But not the wicked— them, severe Yet just, from all their pleasures here He hurries to the realms below, Terrifick?realms of penal wo ! Myself no sooner heard his call, Than, scaping through my prison-wall, 1 bade adieu to bolts and bars, And soar'd, with angels, to the stars, Like him of old, to whom 'twas giv'n To mount, on fiery wheels, to Heav'n. Bootes' waggon, slow with cold, Appall'd me not ; nor to behold The sword, that vast Orion draws, Or ev'n the Scorpioa's horrid claws. 13 14C Beyond the Stin's briglit oi-b I fly, And, far beneath my feet, destiy Nights dread goddess, seen with awe, Whom her winged dragons draw. Thus, ever wond'ring at my speed, Augmented still as I proceed, I pass the planetary sphere, The Milky Way — and now appear Heav'n's clirystal battlements, her door Of massy pearl, and em'rald floor. But here I cease. For never can The tor.'ciue of once a mortal man In suitable description trace The pleasures of that happy place j Suffice it, that those joys divine Are all, and all for ever, mine !'♦ ?JATURE UNIMPAIRED BY TIME. An, how the human mind wearies herself Witii her own v;and'rii)gn, and, involv'd in gloom Impenetrable, speculates amiss ! Measuring, in her folly, things divine By :.iim m ; laws inscrih'd on adamant By ; ;ws of man's device, and counsels fixt Far ever, by tlie hours, that pass, and die. 147 How ? — shall the face of nature then be ploiigh'd Into deep wrinkles, and shall years at last On the great Parent fix a sterile curse p Shall even she confess old age, and halt, And, palsy-smitten, shake her starry brows? Shall foul \ntiquity with rust and drought, And Famine, vex the radiant worlds above ? Shall 'I'ime's unsated maw crave and iagulf The very Heav'ns, that regulate his flight ? And was the Sire of all able to fence His works, and to uphold the circling worlds. But, through improvident, and heedless haste, Let slip th' occasion? — so then — all is lost — And in some future evil iiour, yon arch Shall crumble, and come thund'ring down, the poles Jar in collision, the Olympian king Fall with his throne, and Pallas, holding forth Theterrours of tiie Gorgon shield in vain, Shall rush to the abyss, like Vulcan hurl'd Down into Lemnos, through the gate of Heav'n. Thou also, with precipitated wheels, Phoebus ! thy own son's fall shalt imitate, With hideous ruin shalt impress the deep Suddenly, and the flood shall reek, and hiss, At the extinction of the lamp of day. Then too, shall Haemus, cloven to his base, Be shattered, and the huge Cerauuian hills, Once weapons of Tiiitarean Dis, immers'd In Erebus, shall fill himself with fear. 148 No. The Almighty Father surer lay'd His deep foundations, and providing well For the event of all, the scales of Fate Suspended, in just equipoise, and bade His universal works, from age to age, One tenour hold, perpetual, undisturb'd. Hence the prime mover wheels itself about Continual, day by day, and with it bears In social measure swift the heav'ns around. Not tardier now is Satin-n than of old. Nor radiant less the burning casque of Mars. Phcebus, his vigour unimpair'd, still shows Th' efFulg<"nce of his youth, nor needs the god A downward course, that he may warm the vales ; But, ever rich in influence, runs his road. Sign after sign, through all the heav'nly zone. Beautiful, as at first, ascends the star From odoriferous Ind, whose office is To gather home betimes th' ethereal flock, To pour them o'er the skies again at eve, And to discriminate the night and day. Still Cynthia's changeful horn waxes, and wanes, Alternate, and with arms extended still. She welcomes to her breast her biother's beams. Nor have the elements deserted yet Their functions, thunder with as loud a stroke As erst, smiles through the rocks, and scatters them. The east still howls, still the relentless north Invades the shudd'ring Scythian, still he breatlies The winter, and still rolls the storms along. The king of ocean, with his wonted force, Beats oa Pelorus, o'er the deep is heard The hoarse alarm of Triton's sounding shell, Nor swim the monsters of the iEgean sea In shallows, or beneath diminished waves. Thou too, thy ancient vegetative pow'r Enjoy'st, < » earth ! Narcissus still is sweet, And, Phoebus ! still thy favourite, and still Thy fav'rite, Cytherea ! both retain Their beauty, nor the mountains, ore-enrich'd For punishment of man, with purer gold Teem'd ever, or with brighter gems the Deep. Thus, in unbroken series, all proceeds} And shall, till wide involving either pole, And the immensity of yonder heav'o, The final flames of destiny absorb The world, consum'd in one enormous pyre ! ON THE PLATONICK IDEA, AS IT WAS UNDERSTOOD BY ARISTOTLE. Yk sister pow'rs, who o'er the sacred groves Preside, and thou, fair mother of them all, 13^ 15(3 Mnemosyne ! and, thou, who in thy grot Immense, reclui'd at leisure, hast in charge The archives and the ord'nances of Jove, And dost record the festivals of heav'n, Eternity ! — Inform us who is He, That great original by nature chos'n To be the arclietype of human kind, Unchangeable, immortal, with the poles Themselves coeval, one, yet ev'ry wliere, An image of the god, who gave him being ? Twin-brotlier of the goddess born from Jove, He dwells not in his father's mind, but, though Of common nature with ourselves, exists Apart, and occupies a locaj home. Whether, comp mion of the stars, he spend Eternal ages, roaming at his will From sphere to sphere the tenfold heav'ns, or dwell On the moon's side, that nearest ueiglibours eartii, Or torpid on the bunks of Lethe sit Among the multitude of souls ordain'd To flesh and blood, or whether (as may chance) That vast and giant model of our kind In some Oir distant region of this globe Seijuester'd stalk, with lifted head on high O'erlow'ring Atlas, on wliose shoulders rest The stars, territick even to tlie gods. IVever the Tlieb vi seer, whose blindnesisprov'd His best illumination, him beheld In secret vision ; never him tiie son Of Pleioue, amid the uoIs»4ess night 151 Descending, to the prophet-choir revealed ; Him never knew th' Assyrian priest, who yet The ancestry of Ninus chronicles, And Belus, and Osiris, far-renown'd ; Nor even thrice great Hermes, although skill'd So deep in myst'ry, to the worshippers Of Isis show'd a piodigy like him. And thou, who hast immortaliz'd the shades Of Academus, if the schools receiv'd This monstei- of the fancy first from thee. Either recall at once the banish'd bards To thy repnblick, or thyself evinc'd A wilder fabulist, go also forth. TO HIS FATHER. Oh that Pieria's spring would thro' my breast Pour its inspiring influence, and rush No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood ! That, for my venerable Father's sake All meaner themes renounc'd, my muse, on wings Of duty borne, might reach a loftier strain. For thee, my Father ! howsoe'er it please. She frames this slender work, nor know I aught, That may thy gifts more suitably requite i 'I'hough to requite them suitably would ask Keturus much uobler, and surpassing far 152 The meagre stores of verbal gratitude : But, such as I possess, I send thee all. This page presents thee in their full amount With thy son's treasures, and the sum is nought ; Nought, save the riches that from airy dreara In secret grottos, and in laurel bow'rs, 1 have, by golden Clio's gift, acquir'd. Verse is a work divine ; despise not thou Verse therefore, which evinces (nothing more) Man's lieavenly source, and which, retaining still Some scintillations of Promethean fire. Bespeaks him animated from above. The Gods love verse j the infernal Pow'rs them- selves Confess the influence of verse, which stirs The lowest deep, and binds in triple chains Of adamant both Pluto and the Shades, In verse the Delphick priestess, and the pale Tremulous Sybil, make the future known, And he who sacrifices, on the shrine Hangs verse, both when he smites the threat'ning bull. And when he spreads his reeking entrails wide To sciutinize the Fates invelop'd there. We too, ourselves, what time we seek again Our native skies, and one eternal now Shall be the only measure of our being, Crown'd all with gold, and ehaiiuting to the lyre riariHonious verse, shall range tlie courts above. And make the starry firmament resound. 153 And, even now, the fiery spirit pure That wheels yon circling orbs, directs, himself, Their mazy dance witli melody of verse Unutl'rable, immortal, hearing which Huge Ophiuchus holds his biss suppress'd, Orion soften'd, drops his ardtjnt blade, And Atlas stands unconsciousof his load. Verse grac'd of old the feasts of kings, ere yet Luxurious dainties, dejtin.'d to tlie gulf Immense of gluttony, were known, and ere Lyaeus delug'd yet the temp' rate board. Then sat the bard a customary guest To share the banquet, and, his length of locks With beechen honours bound, proposed in verse The characters of heroes, and their deeds, To imitation, sang of Chaos old. Of nature's birth, of gods that crept in search Of acorns fall'n, and of the thunder bolt Not yet produc'd from Etna's fiery cave. And what avails, at last, tune without voice, Devoid of matter? Such may suit perhaps Tije rural dance, but such was ne'er the song Of Orpheus, whom the streams stood stiil to hear And the oaks foilow'd. Not by chords alone Weil touch'd, but by resistless accents more To sympathetiek tears the ghosts themselves He mov'd : these praises to his verse he owes. Nor thou persist, 1 pray thee, still to slight The sacred Nine, and to unagine vain And useless, pow'rs, by whom inspir'd, thyseli" 154 Art skilful to associate verse with airs ifarmoniotis, and to ii;ive the human voic« A thoiisanJ modulations, heir by right Indisputable of Arioii's fame. Now say, what wonder is it, if a son Of thine delight in verse, if so conjoined In close affinity, we sympathize In social arts, and kindred studies sweet P Sucn distribution of himself to us Was Plicebus' choice ; thou hast thy eift, and I Mine also, and between us we receive, Father and son, the whole inspirin; God. Nq ! howsoe'er the semblance thou assume Of hate, thou hatest not the gentle Muse, My t ather ! for thou uevfT b id'jt me tread The beaten path, and brond, tiiat leads right on To opulence, nor did'st condemn thy son To the insipid climours of the bar. To laws voluminous, ?n(\ ill observ'd ; But. wishing to eniich me more, to fill My mipd with treasure, l:?d'st me far away From city din to deep retreats, to banks Anci streams Aonian, and, with free consent, Didst place me happy at Apollo's side. I speak not now, on more important themes Intent, of common beoeff^s, and such As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts, My Father ! who, when f had open\l once The stores of Roman rhetorick, and learn'd The Jnll-ton'd language, of the eloquent Greeks, 155 Whose lofty musick grac'd the lips ©f Jove, Thyself didht couusel me to add the flow'rs, That Gallia boasts, those too, with which the smooth Italian his degenerate speech adorns. That witnesses his mixture with the Goth I And Palestine's prophetick songs divine. To sum the whole, whate'er the heav'n contain?, The earth beneath it, and the air between, The rivers and the restless deep^ may all Prove intellectual gain to me, my wisli Concurring with thy will ; science herself. All cloud rirmov'd, inclines ht'i- beauteous head, And ofTers me the lip, if, dull of heart, I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon. Go now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds, That covet it ; what could my Father more i' What more could Jove himself, unless he gave His own abode, the heav'n, in which lie reigns? More eligible gifts than these were not Apollo's to his sou, had they been safe, As they were insecure, who made the boy The world's vice luminary, bade him rule The ra(hant chariot of the day, and bind To his young brows his own all dazzling-wreath. I therefore, although last and leas^, my place Among the learned in the laurel grove Will hold, and where the couqu'ror's ivy twines, Henceforth exempt from the uuletter'd throng Profane, nor even to be seen by such. 156 Away then, sleepless Care, Complaint, away. And, Envy, with thy "jealous leer malign !'* Noi- let tlie monster Calumny shoot forth Her venom'd tongue at me. Detested foes ! Ye all are impotent against my peace, For 1 am privileg'd, and bear my breast Safe, and too high, for your viperean wound. But thou ! my Father, since to render thanks Equivalent, and to requite by deeds Thy liberality, exceeds my power, Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts, And bear them treasur'd in a grateful mind ! Ye too, the favourite pastime of my youth, My voluntary numbers, if ye dare To hope longevity, and to survive Your master's funeral, not soon absorb'd In the oblivious Lethaean gulf, Shall to futurity perhaps convey This theme, and by these praises of my sire Improve the Fathers of a distant age ? 157 TO SALSILLUS, A ROMAN POET, MLXH INDISPOSED. The 01-iginal is written in a measure called Scazon, which signifies limpings and the measure is so denomi- nated, because, though in other respects larabick, it terminates with a Spondee, and has consequently a more tai-dy movement. The reader will immediately see that this property of the Latin vei-se cannot be imitated in English. My halting Muse, that dragg'st by choice along Tliy slow, slow step, in melancholy song, And lik'st that pace, expressive of thy cares, ?fot less than Diopeia's sprightlier airs, When, in the dance, she beats,with measur'd tread, Heav'u's floor, in front of Juno's golden bed j Salute Salsillus, who to verse divine Prefers, with partial love, such lays as mine. Thus writes that Milton then, who wafted o'er From his own nest, on Albion's stormy shore, Where Eurus, fiercest of the iEolian band. Sweeps, with ungovern'd rage, the blasted land, Of late to more serene Ausonia came To view her cities of illnstrious name, 14 15S To prove, himself a witness of the truth, How wise her elders, and how learn'd her youth. Much good, Salsillus ! and a body free From all disease, that Milton asks for thee, Who now eridur'st tlie languor, and tlie pains. That bile inflicts, difFus'd through all thy veins^ Relentless malady ! not mov'd to spare By thy sweet Roman voice, and Lesbian air ! Health, Hebe's sister, sent us from the skies, And tliou, Apollo, whom all ?icki.e«s flies, Pytbius, or Pcean, or what name divine Soe'er thou choose, haste, ileal a priest of thine ^ Ye groves of Faunus, and ye hills, that melt With vinous dews, where meek Evauder dwelt I If aught salubrious in your confines grow, Strive whicli shall soonest heal your poet's wo, That, rendered to the Muse he loves, again He may enchant the meadows witli his strain. Nuraa, reclin'd in everlasting ease, Amid the shade of dark embow'ring trees, Viewing with eyes of unabated fire His lov'd vEgeria, shall tliat strain admire : So sooth'd, tlie tumid Tiber shall revere The tombs of kings, nor desolate the year. Shall curb his waters with a friendly rein. And guide them harmless, till they meet the main^ \5<3 eiOVANNI BATTISTA MANSO, MARQUIS OF VILLA. MILTON'S ACCOUNT OF MANSO. Giovaiuii Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa, is aii Italian nublenran of the highest t-stimation atnoDg his eouiitiymeu, for Renius, literature, and ...ilitary accom- plishiueiits. To liini Torqiiato 'lasso adtlresseti his DialogUtis on Friendship, for he wa spects an Englishman ; a youtli of uncommon genius, erudition, and virtue. Ye Nj^mpbs of Hiraera (for ye have shed Erewhile for Daphiiis, and for Hfylas dead, And over Bion's long-lamented bier, The fruitless meed of many a sacred tear) Now through the villas lav'd by Thames, reheaife The woes of Thyisis in Sicilian verse. 1 165 What sighs he heav'd, and how witli groans pro- found He made the woods, and hollow rocks resound, Young Damon dead ; nor even ceased to pour His lonely sorrows at tlie midnight hour. The green wheat twice had nodded in the ear, And ?olden harvest twice enrich'd the year, Since Damon's lips had gaspM for vital air Tlie last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet was there j For he, enamour'd of the Muse, remain'd In Tuscan Fiorenza long detain'd, But, stor'd at length with all, he wish'd to learH, For his flock's sake now hasted to return. And when the shepherd had resum'd his seat At the elm's root, within his old retreat. Then 'twas his lot, then, all his loss to know, And, from his burthen'd heart, he vented thus his wo. " Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Alas ! what deities shall I suppose In heav'u, or earth, concerned for human woes, Since, Oh my Damon ! their severe dei-ree So soon condemns me to regret of thee ! Depart'sl thou tiius, thy virtues umepaid With fame and honour, like a vulgar shade ! Let him forbid it, whose bright rod controls, And sep' rates sordid from illustrious souls. 166 Drive far the rabble, and to thee assign A happier lot, with spirits worthy thine I " Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoiigl are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Whate'er befall, unless by cruel chance The woif J5rst give me a forbidding glance, Thou shall not moulder undeplor'd. but long Thy praise shall dwe!! on ev'ry shepiiard's tongue; To Daphnis Srst they slnll delight to pay, And, after him, to thee the votive lay. While Pale shall the flocks, and pastures, love, Or Faunus to frequent the field, or grove, At least, if ancient piety and truth, With al! the learned labours of thy youth, May serve thee aught, or to liave left behind A sorrowing friend, and of the tuneful kind. " Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of freding you. Yes, Damon ! such thy sure reward shall be ; But ah, what doom awaits uuhappy me p Who, now, my pains and perils shall divide. As thou wast wont, for ever al my side. Botii when the rugged frost annoy'd our feet, And when the herbiige all was parch'd with heat ; Whether the grim wolf's ravage to prevent, Or the huge lion's, arm' J with darts we went.!* IT^^ 167 Whose converse, now, shall calm my stormy day. With charming song, who now beguile my way ? "Go, seek your home, my limbs ; my thoughte are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. In whom sh ill I confide? Whose counsel find A balmy mecl'cine for my troubled mind ? Or whose discouise, with innocent delight, Shall Ril me now, and cheat the wint'ry night, While hisses on my hearth, the pulpy pear, And black'ning chesnuts start and crackle there, While storms abroad the dreary meadows whelm, And the wind thundeis thro' tlie neighb'ring elm; " Go, geek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Or who, when summer suns their summit reach, And Pan sleeps hidden by the shelt'ring beech. When shepherds disappear, nymphs seek the sedge^ And the stretcii'd rustick snores beneath the hedge, Who then shall render me thy pleasant vein Cf Attick wit, thy jests, thy smiles again? " Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Where glens and vales are thickest overgrown With tangled boughs, I wander now alone. Till night descend, while blust'ring wind and show'r Beat on n>y temples through the shatter'd bowV. 168 " Go, seek your home, iny lambs ; my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Alas ! what rampant weeds now shame my fields, And wliat a mildew'd crop the furrow yields ! My rambling vines, unwedded to the trees. Bear shrivell'd grapes, my myrtles fail to please, Nor please me more my flocks j they, slighted, tura Their unavailing looks on me, and mourn. " Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughtfl are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. ^^gon invites me to the hazel grove, Amyntas, on the river's bank to rove, And youngAlphesiboeus to a seat Where branching elms exclude the raid-day heat. " Here fountains spring— here mossy hillocks rise; " Here Zephyr whispers, and the stream replies.** Thus cash persuades, but, deaf to ev'ry call, I gain the thickets, and escape them all. " Go, seek your home, my lambs j my thoughts are due To other cares, than those of feeding you. Then Mopsus said, (the same who reads so well The voice of birds, and what the staVs foretell, For he by chance had noticed my return) " What means thy sullen mood, this deqp concern ? Ah Thyrsis ! thou art either cr^z'd with love, Or some siaigter influence from above ; 169 Dull Saturn's influence oft the shepherds rur ; His leaden shaft oblique has pierc'd thee through.*? " Go, go, my lambs, unpastur'*d as ye are, My thoughts are all now due to other care. The nymphs aniaz'd, my melancholy see, And, " Thyrsis !" cry — " what will become of thee P What would'st thou, Thyrsis ? such should not appear The brow of youth, stern, gloomy, and severe ; Brisk youth should laugh, and love — ah shun the fate Of those, twice wretched mopes ! who love to© late !" " Go, go, my lambs, unpasturM as ye are» My thoughts are all now due to other care. ^gle with Hyas came, to sooth my pain, And Baucis' daughter, Dryope, the vain, Fair Dryope, for voice and finger neat Known far and near, and for her self conceit ; Chloris too came, whose cottage on the lands, That skirt the Idumanian current, stands ; But all in vain they came, and but to see Kind words, and comfortable, lost on me. " Go, go, my lambs, unpastnr'd as ye are ; My thoughts are all now due to other care. Ah blest indiff'rence of the playful herd, None by his fellow chosen, or prcferrM ! 15 170 Mo bonds of amity the flocks enthrall, But each associates, and is pleas'd with all ; So graze the dappled deer in nura'rous droves, And all his kind alike the zebra loves; The same law governs, where the billows roar, And Proteus' shoals o'erspread the desert shore ; The sparrow, meanest of the feather'd race, His fit companion finds in evVy place,^ With whom he picks the grain, that suits him best, Flirts here and there, and late returns to rest. And whom if chance the falcon make his prey, Or hedger with his well aim'd arrow slay. For no such loss the gay survivor grieves ; New love he seeks, and new deliglit receives. We only, an obdurate kind, rejoice. Scorning all others, in a single choice. We scarce in thousands meet one kindred mind. And if the long-sought good at last we find. When least we fear it, Death our treasure steals, And gives our heart a wound, that nothing heals. " Go, go, my lambs, unpastur'd as ye are i My thoughts are all now due to other care. Ah, what delusion lur'd me from ray flocks. To traverse Alpine sno«s, and rugged rocks ! AV'hat need so great liad 1 to visit Rome, Now sunk in ruins, and herself a tomb ? Or, had she flourish'd still as when, of old, For her sake Tityrus forsook his fold. What need so great iiad 1 t' incur a pause Of thy sweet intercourse for such a cause. I 171 For stjch a cause to place the roaring sea, Rocks, moiinti^ins, woods, between my friend and me? Else, had I grasp'd thy feeble hand, conipos'd Thy decent limbs, thy drooping eye-lids clos'd, And, at the last, had said—'" Farewell— ascend— Nor even in the skies forget thy friend !" " Go, go, my lambs, unlended homeward fare ; My thoughts are all now due to other care. Altiiough well-pleas'd, ye tuneful Tuscan swains ! My mind the meoiVy of your worth retains, Yet not your worth can teach me less to mourn My Damon lost. — He too was Tuscan born, Boni in your Lucca, city of renown ! And wit possess'd, and genius, like your own. Oh how elate was I, when stretch'd beside The murmVing course of Arno's breezy tide, Beneath the poplar grove 1 pass'd my hours, Now cropping myrtles, and now vernal flow'rs, And heanng, as 1 lay at ease along, Your swains contending for the prize of song ! F also dar'd attempt (and, as it seems, Not much displeas'd attempting) various themes, For even I can presents boast from you. The shepherd's pipe, and ozier basket too, And Dati, and Francini, both have made My name familiar to the beechen shade, And they are learn'd, and eacli in ev'ry place Renown'd for song, and both of Lvdian race. 172 *' Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; My thoughts are all now due to otl-er care. TVhile bright tlie dewy grass with moonbeams shone. And, I stood hurdling in my kids alone, How ofteu have 1 said (but thou had'st found Ere then thy dark cold lodgment under ground) Now Damon siuas, or springes sers for hares, Or wicker work for various use prepares ! How oft, indulging fancy, have 1 plaim'd New scenes of pleasure, that I hop'd at hand, Call'd thee abroad as I was wont, and cried — " What boa ! uiy friend — come, lay tliy task aside, Haste, let us foith together, and beguile The heat, beneatli you wiiisp'ring shades awhile, Or on the nvcuvin stray of Colue's clear flood, Or where Cassibeian's gray turrets stood ! There thou shalt cull me simples, and shalt teach Thy friend the name, and healing pow'rs of each, From the tall blue- hell to the dwaitish weed, V/hat the dry land, and what tiie marshes breed. For all tiieir kinds alike to thee are known, And the whole art of Galen is tiiy own. Ah, perisii Gaku's art, and wither'd be The useless herbs, that gave not Jiealth to thee ! Tsvelve evenings since, as in poelick dream I meditating sat some slatller theme, Tiie reeds no sooner touciiM my lip, though new, And unassay'd beiore, than wide ihey flew, Bursting their waxen bands, nor couid sustain The deep-toii'd musick of the solemn strain 5 173 And I am vain perhaps, but I will tell How proud a tlieme I choose — ye groves farewell -I '* Go, go, ray lambs, untended -homeward fare j My thoughts are all now due to other care. Of Brutus, Dardan chief, my song shall be. How with his barks he plough'd the British sea, First from Rutupia's tow'ring headland seen, And of his consort's reign, fair Imogen ; OfBrennus, and Belinus, brothers bold, And of Arviragus, and how of old Our hardy sires th' Armorican controU'd, And of the wife of Gorloi's ; who, surpris'd By Uthcr, iu her husband's form disguis'd, (Such was the force of Merlin's art) became Pregnant with Arthur of heroick fame. These themes I now revolve — and Oh — if Fate Proportion to these themes my le-ngthen'd date, Adieu my shepherd's reed— yon pine-tree bough Shall be thy future home, there dangle thou Forgotten and disus'd, unless ere long Thou change thy Latian for a British song ; A British .!^-^^ven so— the pow'rs of man Are boimded ; little is the most he can ; And it shall well suffice me, and shall be Fame, and proud recompense enough for me. If Usa, golden-hair'd, my verse may learn, If Alain bending o'er his chrystal urn. Swift-whirling Abra, Trent's o'ershadow'd stream, Thames, lovelier far than all in my esteem, 15^ 174 ^famar's ore-tinctiir'd flood, and, after these, The wave-worn shores of utmost Oi'cades. " Go, go, my lambs, imtended homeward fare. My thouo;hts are all now due to other care. All this I kept in leaves of laurel-rind Enfolded safe, and for thy view design'd, This — and a gift from Manso's hand beside, (Man«o, not least his native city's pride) Two cups, that radiant as their giver shone, Adorn'd by sculpture with a double zone. The spring was graven there ; here slowly wind The Red-sea shores with groves of spices lin'd ; Her plumes of various hues amid the boughs The sacred, solitary Phoenix shows, And watchful of the dawn, reverts her head, To see Aurora leave her wat'ry bed. — In other part, th' expansive vault above, And there too, even there, the God of love; With quiver arm'd he mounts, his torch displaj's^ A vivid light, his gem-tipt arrows blaze. Around, his bright and fiery eyes he rolls. Nor aims at vulgar minds, or little souls, Nor deigns one look below, but aiming high Sends every arrow to the lofty sky ; Hence forms divine, and minds immortal, learn The pow'r of Cupid, and enamour'd burn. " Thou also, Damon (neither need 1 fear That hope delusive) thou art also thcrej 175 For whither should simplicity like thine Retire, where else such spotless virtue sliine I* lliou dwell'st not (thoii^^ht profane) in sliadeti below, Nor tears suit thee— cease then nriy tears to flow, Away with grief: on Damon ill bestow 'd ! Who, pure himself, has found a pure abode, Has pass'd the show'ry arch, henceforth resides With saints and heroes, and from flowing tides Quaffs copious immortality, and joy, With hallow'd lips !— Oh ! blest without alloy. And now enrich'd, with all that faith can claim, Look down, entreated by whatever name, If Damon please thee most (that rural sound Shall oft with echoes fdl the groves arouud) Or if Diodatus, by -which alone In those ethereal mansions thou art known. Thy blush was maiden, and thy youth the taste Of wedded bliss knew never, pure and chaste, The hoiiours, therefore, by divine decree The lot of virgin worth are given to thee ; Thy brows encircled with a radiant band, And the green palm-branch waving in thy hand, Thou in immortal nuptials shalt rejoice, And join with seraphs thy according voice, Where rapture reigns, and the ecstatick lyre Guides the blest orgies of the blazing quire." 176 AN ODE ADDHEHSED TO - MR. JOFIN ROUSE, LIBRARIAN, OF THE iNlVIiltSiTY OF OXFORD, On a lost Volume of my Pcx?nis, -vvhich he desired me te reiilacv, that Ik- niiglit add them to my other Works dcposiitd ill the Lilnvay. This Ode :s i-eiidered without rhyme, that it might more iideqiuitely n prt-sent tlie origual, which, as Miltui hiiDst !f ir.forms us, is oruo certain measui-e. It may pos^ihiy for this reason disappoint the ivader, tlimgh it cost the w ritcT mort- labour than the translation of any otlier piece in the wliole collection. STROPHE. My two-fold book ! single in show, Bill double in contents, Neat, but uot curiously adorn'd, Which, in his early youth, A poet gave, no lofty one in truth, Although an earnest wooer of the Muse — Say while in cool Ausonian shades, Or Pritish wilds l-.e roain'd, Striking by turns his native Ij^re^ 177 By turns the Daunian lute, And stepp'd almost in air. — AJiTISrROPHE. Say, little book, what furtive hand Thee from thy fellow-books convey 'd, What time, at the repeated suit Of my most learned friend, I sent thee forth, an honoured traveller. From our great city to the source of Thames. Ccerulean sire ! Where rise the fountains, and the raptures ring, Of the Aonian choir, Durable as yonder spheres, And through the endless lapse of years Secure to be admir'd p Now what God, or Demigod, For Britain's ancient Genius moT'd (If our afflicted land Have expiated at length tlie guilty sloth Of her dcgenVcite son?) Shall termiuate our impious feuds, And discipline, with hallow'd voice, recall Recall the Muses too, Driv'n from their ancient seats In Albion, and well nigh from Vlbion's shore, And with keen Fbcebean shafts Piercing th' unseemly birds, 178 Whose talons menace us, Shall c?rive the Harpy race from Helicon afarp ANTISTROPHH. But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd, Whether by treach'ry lost. Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault, From all thy kindred books, To some dark cell, or cave forlorn, Where thou eodur'st, perhaps. The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand, Be comLbrted — For Jo ! again the splendid hope appears That thou may'st yet escape The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary wings Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove ! STROPHE iir. Since Rouse desires thee, and complains That, though by promise his, Thou yet appear'st not in thy place Among tfie literary noble stores, Giv'n to his care, But, absent, leav'st his numbers incomplete. H<*, therefore, guardian vigilant Of that uiiperishing wealth. Calls thee to the interiour shrine, his charge, W;iere he intends a richer treasure far Til m ion kept (Ion, Erectheus' son Illustrious, of the fair Oretisa born) 179 In the resplendent temple of his God, Tripods of gold, and Delphick gifts divine. ANTISTROVHE. Haste, then, to the pleasant groves, The Muses' fav'rite haunt ; Resume thy station in Apollo's dome, Dearer to him Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill ! Exulting go. Since now a splendid lot is also thine, And thou art sought by my propitious friend ; For there tliou shalt be read With authors of exalted note. The ancient glorious lights of Greece and Rome. Ye, then, my works, no longer vain. And worthless deem'd by me ! Whate'er this steril genius has produc'd Expect, at last, the rage of envy spent, An unmolested happy home, Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend, Wliere never flippant tongue profane {Shall entrance find, And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude Shall babble far remote. Perhaps some future distant age. Less ting'd with prejudice, and better taught. Shall foraish miads of pow'r 180 To judge more equally. Then, malice silenced in the tomb, Cooler heads and sounder hearts, Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise I merit, shall witii candour weigh the claim 181 TRANSLATIONS THE ITALIAN POEMS. Pair Lady ! whose harmonious name the Rhine, Through all his grassy vale, delights to hear, Base were indeed the wretch, who could forbear To love a spirit elegant as thine, That manifests a sweetness all divine, Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare, And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are, Temp'ring thy virtues to a softer shine. When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gaj'. Such strains, as might the senseless forest move. Ah then— turn each his eyes, and ears, away, Wlio feels himself unworthy of thy love ! Grace cm alone preserve him, ere the dart Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart. Donna leggiadra, il cul bel nome honora L'herbosa val di Rheno, e il nobil varco, 16 182 Bene e colui d'ognl valore scarce, Qual tno spirto genlil non innamora , Che dolcemente mostra si di fuora De sui atti soavi giamai parco, E i don,' che son d'aiuor saette ed arco, La onde I' alta tua virtu s'infiora. Quandotu vaga parii, o lieta canti, Che mover possa duroalpestre legno, Guarili ciascun a gli occhi, ed a gli orecchi L'entrata, chi dite si truova indegno j Gratia sola di sugli vaglia, inanti Che'l disio amoroso al cuor s'invecchi. As on a hill-top rude, when closing day Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair Waters a lovely foreign plant with care, Borne from its native genial airs away, That scarcely can its tender bud display, So, on my tongue these accents, new, and rare, Are HowVr exotick, which Love waters there, While thus, O sweetly scornful ! 1 essay Thy praise, in verse to British ears unknown. And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain ; So Love has will'd, and ofttimes Love has shown That what he wills, he never wills in vain. Oh that this hard and steril breast might be. To Him, who plants from Heav'n, a soil as free ! 183 UuAL in coUe aspro, al imbruuir di sera, L'avezza giovinetta pastorella Va bagnatido I'herbetta strana e bella, Che nial si spande a disusata spera, Fuor di sua natia alma primavera ; Cosi Amor meco insu la lingua snella Desta il fior novo di strania favella, Meutre io di te, vezzosamente altera, Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso, E'l hel Tamigi cangio col bel Arno. Amor lo volse, ed io a 1' altrui peso, Seppi, ch' Amorcosa mai volse indarno. Deh ! foss' il mio cuor lento, e'l duro seno, A chi pianta dal ciel, si buon terreno ! They mock my toil— the nymphs and am'rous swains — And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry. Love songs in language, that thou little know'^t ? How dar'st thou risque to sing these foreign strains ? Say truly. Find'st not oft thy purpose cross'd, And that thy fairest flow'rs, here fade and die? Then with pretence of admiration high — Thee other shores expect, and other tides. Rivers, on whose grassy sides 184 Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to bind Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides ; Why then this burthen, better far declined ? Speak Muse! for me.— The fair one said, wh» guides My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights, " This istlie language, in which Love delights." RiDONSi donne, e giovani amorosi M' accostandosi attoino, e perche scrivi, ■l^'Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strama Verseggiando d' amor, e come t' osi ? Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana, E de pensieri lo miglior t' arrivi ; Cosi mi van burlando, altri rivi Altri lidi t'aspettan. ed altre onde Nelle cui verdi sponde Spuntati ad hor, ad hor, a la tua chioma L' immortal guiderdon d' eterne frondi : Perche allee spalle tue soverchia soma ? Canzon, dirotti, e tu per me rispondi ! Dice niia Donna, e'l suo dir e il mio cuore : " Questa e lingua, di cul si vanta Amore," 185 SONNET. TO CHARLES DEODATI. Charles — and I say it wond'ring — thou must know That I, who oncft assum'd a scornful air, And scoff'd at love, am fallen in his snare, (FuFl many an upright man has fallen so) Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow Of golden looks, or damask cheek ; more rare The heart-felt beauties of my foreign fair j A mien majestick, with dark brows, that show The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind ; Words exquisite, of idioms more than one, And song, whose-fascinating pow'r might bind, And from her sphere draw down the lab'ring Moon, With such fire-darting eyes, that should I fill My ears with wax, she would enchant me still. DiODATi e te'l diro con maravigjia, Quel ritroso io, ch'amor spreggiar solea, E de suoi lacci spesso mi ridea, Gia caddi, ov'huora dabben talhors'impigli Ne treccie d' oro, ne guancia virraiglia 16 ^ 18(3 M' abbagliaii si, ma sotto nova idea Pellegrina be!lezza, clie'l cuor bea, Portainenti ulti honesti, e nelle ciglia Quel sereno fulgor d' araabil nero, Parole adorne, di lingua pin d'una, E'l cantar, che di mezzo I'heniispero Ti-aviar ben puo la falicosa liuna, E deg!) occhi suoi auventa si gran fuoco Che I'incerar gli orecchi mi fia poco. Lady ! It cannot be, but tliat thine eyes Must be my sun, such radiance they displaj^ And strike me ev'n as Phoebus him, whose way Through horrid Lybia's sandy desert lies. Meantime, on tliat side steamy vapours rise Where must I suffer. Of what kind are they, New as to me they are, I cannot saj'. But deem them, in the lover's language — sighs. Some, tliough with pain, my bosom close conceals, Which, ifii. part escaping thence tliey tend To soften thine, thy coldness soon congeals* While others to my tearful eyes ascend, Whence my sad nights in shdw'is are ever drown'd. Till ray Aurora comes, her brow with roses bound. Per certo i bei vostr'occhi. Donna- mia, Esser non puo, che dod sian lo mio sole, 187 .Si mi percuoton forte, come ei suole Per rar«?ne di Libia, chi s'invia : Mentre un caldo vapor (ne senti pria) Da quel lato si spinge, ove iijio duole, Clie forse anianti nelle lor parole ChiHrnan sospir ; io non so die si sia : Parle rinchiusa, e turbida si cela Scosso mi 11 petto, e poi n'uscendo poco Quivi d' attorno os'aggliiaccia, o s'ingiela ; Ma quanto a gli occhi ginuge a trovar loco Tutte le notti a me suol far piovose Finche mia Alba rivien, colma, di rose. Enamour' J), artless, young, on foreign ground, Uucertain wliilher from myself to fly. To theij, dear Lady, with an humble sigh Let me devote my heart, which I have found By certain proofs, not kvf, intrepid, sound. Good, and addicted to conceptions high : When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky, It rests in adamant self wrapt around, As sate from envy, and from outrage rude, From hopes and fears, that vulgar minds abuse^ As fond of genius, and fixt fortitude. Of the resounding lyre, and every Muse. Weak you will find it in one only part, Now pierc'd by love's immedicable dart. 188 (iiovANE piano, e semplicetto araante, Pio die fuggir me stesso id dubbio sono, Madonna, a vol del mio cuor I'huniil dono Faro divoto ; io certo a prove tante L'hebbi fedele, intrepido, costante, De pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e buono; Quando rugge il gran mondo, e scocca il tuono, S' arma di se, e d' intero diamante, Tanlo del forse, e d' invidia sicuro, Di timori, e speranze al popol use Quauto d'ingegno, e d'alto valor vago, E di cetta soDora, e delle Muse : Sol troveretc in tal parte men duro, Uve Amor mise Tinsanabil ago. EPITAPH ON MRS. M. HIGGINS, OF WESTOPf. [1791.] Laurels may flourish round the conqu'ror's tomb, But liappiest they, who win the world to come : Believers have a silent field to fight, And their exploits are veil'd from human sight. 189 They ia some nook, where little known they dwell, Kneel, pray in faitli, and rout the hosts of Hell j Eternal triumphs crown their toils divine, And all tiiose triumphs, Mary, now are thine. THE RETIRED CAT. [1791.] A Poet's Cat, sedate and grave As poet well could wish to have, Was much addicted to inquire For nooks to wliich she might retire. And where, secure as mouse in chink, She might repose, or sit and think. 1 know not where she caught the trick- Nature perhaps herself had cast iier In such a mouid philosopuiquh, Or else she learn'd it of her Master. Sometimes ascending, debonair, An apple-tree, or lofty pear, Lodg'd with convenience in the fork She watch'd the gard'ner at his work ; Sometimes her ease and solace sought In an old empty wat' ring- pot, There wanting nothing, save a fan, To seem some nymph in her sedan Apparell'd in cxactest sort. And ready to be borne to court. 190 But love of change it seems has place Not on'y in our wiser race ; Ca's also feel, as well as we, That passion's foi-ce, and so did she. Her climbina;, she began to find, Expos'd her too much to the wind, An. I the old utensil of tin W:;s cold and comfortless within : She therefore wish'd instead of those Some place of more serene repose, Where neither cold might come, nor air To rudely wanton with her hair. And sougiit it in the likeliest mode ^Vithin her master's snug abode. A. draw'r, it chanced, at bottom lined With linen of the softest kind, With such as merchants introduce From India, for the ladies' use, A draw'r impending o'er the rest, Half open in the topmost chest. Of depth c-nough and none to spare. Invited her to slumber there, Pu?s with delight beyond expression Survey'd the scene and took possession. Recumbent at her ease, erelong. And luU'd by her own humdrum song, She left the cares of life behind, And slept as slie would sleep her last, W hen in came, housewifely inclin'd, The chambermaid, and sliut it fast, 191 By no malignity impell'd, But all unconscious whom it held. Awaken'd by the shock (cried Puss) " Was ever cat attended thus! " The open drawV was left, I see, " Merely to p'-ove a nest for me, ** For soon as I was well composed " Then cauie the maid, and it was closed. " How smooth these 'kerchiefs and how sweet ■ "Oh what a delicate retreat ! " I will resign myself to rest ** Till Sol declining in the west *' ShaU call to supper, when, no doubt, " Susan will come and let me out." The evening came, the sun descended, And pu.'s remain'd still unattended. The night roll'd tardily away, "(With her indeed 'twas never day) The spri lobes, protruding, pair'd exact- A leaf succeeded, and another leaf. And, all the elements thy puny growth Fost'ring propitiou^, thou becam'st a twig, i9i> Who liv'd, when thou wast such? Oh, couldst thou speak, As in Dodoua once thy kindred trees Oraculai, I would not curious ask ^ The future, best unknown, but at thy moutli Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past. By thee I might correct, erroneous oft, The c)ock of history, facts and events Timing more punctual, unrecorded fads Recov'ring, and mistated setting right Desp'rate attempt, till trees shall speak again I Time made thee wliat thou wast, king of the woods ; And Time liath made thee wliat thou art— a cavt For owls to roost in. One? tliy spreading boughs O'erliung the champaign ; and the num'rous flocks, That graz'd it, stood beneath that ample cope Uncrowded, yet safe shelter'd from the storm. No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outiiv'd Tiiy popularity, and art become (Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing Forffolten, as the foliage of thy youth. While thus tiirough all the stages thou hast push'd Of treeship — first a seedling, hid in grass ; Then twig ; then sapling ; and, as centVy roll'd Slow after century, a giant bulk Of girth enormous, with moss-cushlon'd roet 195 Upheav'd above the soil, and sides emboss'd With proinineut wens globose— till at the last The rottenness, which time is charg'd to inflict On other mighty ones, found also thee. What exhibitions various hath the world Witness'd of mutability in all, That we account most durable below ! Change is the diet, on which all subsist, Created changeable, and change at last Destroys them. !S!:ies uncertain uow the heat Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds — Calm and alternate storm, moisture and drought, Invigorate by turns the springs of life In all that live, plant, animal, and man, And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads, Fine passing thought, e'en in her coarsest works, Delight in agitation, yet sustain, The force, that agitates, not unimpair'dj But, worn by frequent impulse, lo the cause Of their best tone tlieii- dissolution owe. Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still The grea' and little of thy lot, thy growth From almost nullity into a state Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence, Slow, info such magnificent decay. Time was, when, settling on thy leaf, a fly Could shake thee to the root— and time has been When tempests could not. At thy firmest age 197 Thou hadst within thy bole solid contents. That might have ribbM the sides and plank'd th« deck Of some flagg'd admiral ; and tortuous anus, The shipwright's darling treasure, did'st present To the four-quarter'd winds, robust and bold, Warp'd into tough knee timber,* many a load ! But the axe spar'd thee. In those thriftier days Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply The bottomless demands of contest, wag'd For senatorial honours. Thus to time The task was left to whittle thee away With his sly scythe, Avhose ever nibbling edge, Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more. Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserved, Achiev'd a labour, which had far and wide, By man perform'd, made all the forests ring. Embowell'd now, and of thy ancient self Possessing nought, but llie scoop'd rind, that seems An liuge throat, calling to the clouds for drink, Which it would give in rivulets to thy root, Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidd'.st The fdler'p toil, whicii thou couldst ill requite. Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, A quarry of stout spurs, and knotted fangs, * Kntt-Timber is fuiuid in the cix)oked anus of oak, whicli, by rv:uso:) of their distoitioii, are easily adjustetl to tlie aiijjle foraitd where tbe deck ai.J th'i ship's sides meet. 17 * 198 Which, crook 'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp The stubborn soil, and held thee still erect. So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid, Though all the superstructure, by the tooth PulverizM of venality, a shell Stands now, and semblance only of itself ! Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent them oJ9r Long since, and rovers of the forest wild With bow and shaft, have burnt them. Some have left A splinter'd stump, bleach'd to a snowy white ; And some, meraoriil none, where once they grew. Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth Proof not coatemptible of what she^can. Even where death predominates. The spring Finds thee not less alive to ker sweet force. Than yonder upstarts of the neighb'ring wood, So much thy juniors, who their birth receiv'd Haifa millennium since the date of thine. But since, althougii well qualified by age To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice May he expected fiom thee, seated here On thy distorted loot, with heareis none. Or prompter, save the scene, I will perform Myself the oracle, and will discourse In my own ear sucli matter as I may. 199 One man alone, the father of us ail, Drew not his life from woman ; never gaz'd, With mute unconsciousness of what he saw, On all around him ; learn'd not by degrees, Nor ow'd articulation to his ear; But, moulded by his Maker into man At once, upstood intelligent, survey'd All creatures, with precision understood Their purport, uses, properties, assign'd To each his name significant, and, fill'd With love and wisdom, render'd back to Heav'n In praise harmonious the first air he drew. He was excus'd the penalties of dull Minority. No tutor charg'd his hand With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his mind With problems. History, not wanted yet, Lean'd on her elbow, watching Time, whose course. Eventful, should supply her with a theme ; 200 THE NIGHTINGALE, WHICH THE AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NEW year's day, 1792. Whence is it, that amaz'd I hear From yonder wither'd spray, This foremost morn of all the year, The melody of May p And why, since thousands would be proud Of such a favour shown, Am I selected from the crowd, To witness it alone !' Sing'st thou, sweet Philomel, to me, For that 1 also long Have practis'd in the groves like thee, Though not like thee in song ? Or sing'st thou rather under force Of some divine command, Commission'd to presage a course Of happier days at hand ? 261 Thrice welcome then ! for mmy a long And joyless year have I, As thou to day, put forth ray song Beneath a wintry sky. But Thee no wintry skies can harm, Who only need'st to sing, To make e'en January charm, And ev'ry season Spring. LINES, Written for insertion, in a collection of hand-writings antl signatures made bj- ?.liss Patty, sister of Hannsdi More. [March 6, 1792.] In vain to live from age to age While modern bards endeavour, / write my name in Patty's page And gain ray point for ever. W. COW PER. 202 EPITAPH A free but tame Redbreast, a favomite of Miss Sally Hurdis. [March 1792.] These are not dew-drops, these are tears, And tears by Sally shed For absent Robin, who she fears With too much cause, is dead. One morn he came not to her hand As he was wont to come, And, on ner finger perch'd, to stand Picking his breakfast-crumb. Alarm'd she call'd him, and perplext She sought him, but in vain, That day he came not, nor the next, Nor ever came again. She tlierefore rais'd him here a tomb, Though where he fell, or how, None knows, so secret was his doom, Nor where he moulders now. 203 Had lialf a score of coxcombs died In social Robin's st.'nd. Poor Silly's tears hii soon been dried, Or haply never shed. Bi:t Bob was neither rudely bold Nor spiritlessly tame, Nor was, like theirs, his bosom cold, But always in a flame. SONNET, TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ. [April 16, 1792.] Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain, Hears thee by cruel men and impious call'd Fanatick, for thy zeal to loose the enthrall'd From exile, publick sale, and slav'ry's chain. Friend of the poor, the wvono'd, thefetter-gall'd, Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain. Thou hast achiev'd t. part ; has gain'd the ear Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause; Hope smiles, joy springs, and tho' cold caution pause 204 And weave delay, the better hour is near That shall remunerate thy toils severe By peace for Africk, fenced with British laws. Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love From all the just on. earth, and all the Blest above EPIGRAM t (printed in the NORTHAMPTON MERCURY. > To purify their wine some people bleed A lamb into the barrel, and succeed ; No nostrum, planters say, is half so good To make Bne sugar, as a negroes blood. ; Now lambs and negroes both are harmless things. And thence perhaps this wond'rous virtue springs, 'Tis m the blood of innocence alone — Good cause why planters never try their own. 205 DR. AUSTIN, OF CECIC STREET, LONDON. [May 26, 1792.] Austin ! accept a grateful verse from me, The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee ! Lov'd by the Muses, thy ingenuous mind Pleasing requital in my verse may find; Verse oft has dash'd the scythe of time aside, Immortalizing names wliich else had died : And O ! could 1 command the glittering wealth With which sick kings are glad to purchase health ; Yet, if extensive fame, and sure to live. Were in the power cf verse like mine to give, I would not recompense his art with less. Who, giving Mary health, heals my distress. Friend of my frieud !* I love thee, tho' unknown, And boldly call thee, being his, my own. ' *HayIey. 18 206 SONNET, ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. [June 2, 1792.] Hayley — thy tenderness fraternal shown, In our firstinterview, delightful guest ! To Mary and me for her dear sake distress'd, Such as it is has made my heart thy own, Though heedless now of new engagements grown ; For threescore winters make a wintry breast. And i had purpos'd ne'er to go in quest Of Frienship more, except with God alone. But Thou hast won me ; nor is Hod my Foe, Who, ere this last afflictive scene began, Sent Thee to mitigate the dreadful blow, My Brother, by wliose sympathy I know Thy true deserts infallibly to scan, Not more t* admire the Bard than love the Man. 207 CATHARINA: THE SECOND PART. On her Marriage to Geo-ge Courtenay, Esq- [June 1792.] Bhljbve it or not, as you choose, The doctrine is certainly true, That the future is known to the muse, And poets are orncles too. I did but express a desire, To see Catharina at home. At the side of my friend George's Sre, And lo — she is actually come. Such prophecy some may despise. But the wish of a poet and friend Perhaps is approv'd in the skies. And therefore attains to it? end. 'Twasa wish that flew ardently orth From a bosom effectually warm'd With the talents, the graces, and worth Of the person for wliomit was form'd. Maria* would leave us, I knew, To the grief and re2;ret oi us all, * Lady Throckmorton. 208 But less to our grief, could we view Catharina the Queen of the Hall. And therefore I wish'd as 1 did. And therefore this union of hands Not a whisper was heard to forbid, But all cry — Amen— to the bans. Since therefore I seem to incur No danger of wishing in vain When making good wishes for Her, I will e'en to my wishes again — With one I have made her a Wife, And now I will try with another, Which I cannot suppress for my life — How soon 1 can make her a mother. AN EPITAPH. [1792.] Here lies one, who never drew Blood himself, yet many slew ; Gave the gun its aim, and figure Made in field, yet ne'er pull'd trigger. Armed men have gladly made Him their guide, and him obey'd, At his signified desire, Would advance, present, and Fire — 209 Stout he was, and large of limb, Scores have fled a*^ sight of him j And to all this fame he rose Only following his Nose. Neptune was he call'd, not He Who controls the boist'rous sea, But of happier command, Neptune of the furrow'd land ! And, your wonder vain to shorten, Pointer to Sir John Throckmorton. EPITAPH ON FOP, A DOG BELONGING TO LADY THROCKMORTON. [August 1792.] Though once a puppy, and though Fop by name. Here moulders One whose bones some honour claim. So sycophant, although of spaniel race, And though no hound, a martyr to the chase — Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice, Vour haunts no longer echo to his voice j This record of his fate exulting view. He died woru out with vain pursuit of you. " Yes—" the indignant shade of fop replies - " And woru with vain pursuit Man also dies.'' 18 * 210 SONNET TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ. ON His pieture of me in Crayons, di-awn at Eartham ib the 61st year of my age, and in the months of August and September, 1792. [October 1792.] RoMNEY, expert, infallibly (o trace On chart or canvas, not the form alone And semblance, but, however faintly showu, The mind's impression too on every face — With strokes that time ought never to erase Thou iiastso pencill'd mine, that thoiigh I own The subject uorthless, I have never known The artist shining with superiour grace. But this I mark — that symptoms none of wo In thy incomparable work appear. Well — I am satisfied it should be so. Since on maturer thought, the cause is clear; For in my looks what sorrow couldst tJiou see When I was Hayley's guest, and sat to Thee? 211 ON RECEIVING HAYLEY'S PICTURE. [January, 1793.1 In language warm as could be breatU'd or penn'd Thy picture speaks th' Original ray Friend, Not by those looks that indicate thy raind — They only speak the Friend of all mankind ; Expression here more soothing still I see. That Friend of all a partial Friend to me. EPITAPH ON MR. CHESTER, OF CHICHELEY. [April, 1793.] Tears flow, and cease not, where the good man lies, Till all who knew hira follow to the skies. Tears therefore fall where Chester's ashes sleep; Him wife, friends, brothers, children, servants, weep — And justly — few shall ever him transcend As husband, parent, brother, master, friend. 212 ON A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S-BOWER DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN-SEAT. [Spring of 1793.1 Thrive gentle plant ! and weave a bow'r For Mary and for me, And deck with many a splendid flow'r Thy foliage large and free. Thou cam'st from Eartham, and wilt shade (If truly I divine) Some future day th' illustrious head Of Him who made thee mine. Should Daphne show a jealous frown And Envy seize the Bay, Affirming none so fit to crown Such honour'd brows a« they, Thy cause with zeal we shall defend, And with convincing pow'r ; For why should not the Virgin's Friend Be crown'd with Virgin's-bow'r P 213 TO MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM, ON Receiving from her a Network Purse, made by benelf. [May 4, 1793.] JVIt gentle Anne, whom heretofore, When I was young, and thou no more Than plaything for a nurse, I danced and fondled on my knee, ' A kitten both in size and glee, 1 thank thee for my purse. Gold pays the worth of all things here j But not of love ; — that gem's too dear For richest rogues to win it j I, therefore, as a proof of Love, Esteem thy present far .ibove The best things kept vrithin it. 214 INSCRIPTION For an Hermitage, in the Author's Garden. [May 1793.] This cabin, Mary, in my sight appears, Built, as it has been, in our waning yeai's, A rest afforded to our weary feet, Preliminary to— the last retreat. TO MRS. UNWIN. [May 1793.] Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings, Suoh aid from Heav'n as some have feigned they drew, An eloquence scarce giv'n to mortals, new And undebas'd by praise of meaner things, That ere through age or wo I shed my wings, I may record thy worth with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true, And that immortalizes whom it sings. 215 But thou hast little need. There is a book By seraphs writ with beams of heav'nly light, On which the eyes of God not rarely look, A chronicle of actions just and bright ; There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. TO JOHN JOHNSON, ON His presenting me with an antique bust of Homer. [May 1793.] K1NSM.A.N belov'd, and as a son, 'by me ! When I behold this fruit of thy regard. The sculptur'd form of my old fav'rite bard, I rev'reuce feel for him, and love for thee. Joy too and grief. Much joy that tliere should be Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to re- ward With some applause my bold attempt and hard, Which others scorn : Criticks by courtesy. 216 ^ The grief is this, that sunk in Homer's mine I lose my precious years now soon to fail, Handling his gold, which, howsoe'er it shine, Proves dross, when balanced in the Christian scale. Be wiser thou — like our forefather Donne Seek heav'nly wealth, and work for God aloue. A YOUNG FRIEND, His arriving at Cambridge wet, when no rain had falles there. [xMay, 1793.] If Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he found While moisture none refresh 'd the herbs arounJ, Might ^itly represent tiie Church, endow'd With heuv'nly ^ifts, lo Heathens not ailow'd ; In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high Thy locks were wet when otliers' locks were dry. Heav'ii grant us half the omen— may we see Not drought on others, but much dew on thee ! 217 A TALE. [June 1793,] In Scotland's realm where trees are few, Nor -even shrubs abound ; But wht^re, however bleak the view, Some better tilings are found, For Husband there and Wife may boast Their union undefii'd. And false ones are as rare almost As hedge-rows in the wild. In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare The hist'ry chanc'd of late — This hist'ry of a wedded Pair, A chaflRnch and his mate. The spnns drew near, each felt a breast With gPuiaHnstinct tlll'd ; They pair'd, and would have built a nest, But found not where to build. The heaths uncover'd and the moors Except with snow and sleet, '*' ♦Sea-beaten rocks, and naked shprefi Could yield them no retreat. 19 218 Long time a breeding-place they sought^ Till both grew vext and tired ; At length a ship arriving brought The good so long desired. A ship ? — could such a restless thing Afford them place of rest ? Or wap the merchant charged to bring The homeless birds a nest ? Hush — Silent hearers profit most — This racer of the sea frov'd kinder to them than the coast, It serv'd them with a Tree. But such a tree ! 'twas shaven deal, The tree they call a Mast, And had a hollow with a wheel Through which the tackle pass'd. Within that cavity aloft Their roofless home they fix'd, Forni'd with materials neat and soft, Benls, wool, and feathers mixt. Four iv'ry eggs soop pave its floor, Witii russet specks bediglit— The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore, And ksseas to the sight. 21^ The mother-bird is gone to sea, As sLie had chang'd her kind ; But goes the male P Far wiser he Is doubtless teft behind ? No — Soon as from ashore he saw The winged mansion move, He flew to reach it, by a law Of never- failing love, Then perching at his consort's side Was briskly borne along, The billows and the blast defied. And cheer'd her with a song. The seaman with sincere delight His feather'd shipmates eyes. Scarce less exulting in the siglit Than when he tows a prize. For seamen much believe in signs, - And from a chance so new Each some approaching good divines, And may his hopes be true ! Hail, honoured land ! a desert where Not even birds can hide. Yet parent of this loving pair Whom Qothiag could divide. 220 And ye who, rather than resign Your matrimonial plan, Were uot afraid to plough the brine In company with Man, For whose lean country much disdain We English often show, Yet from a rlcoer nothing gain But wantonness and wo, Be it your fortune, year by year, Ttie same resource to prove. And may ye, sometimes landing here, Instruct us how to love ! This tale is founded on an article of iritelligence which the author found i) I the Buckinghamshire Hei'ald, for Saturday, June 1, 1793,in the following woids. Glasgorv, May 23. In a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabert, r.ow I) iikg at the Brooiiiielaw, there is a chaffinch's nest and fbui- eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Gi-eenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the inspec- tion of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock however visits the nest out sildom, wh'k the hen never leaves it, but when she descends to the hull f«r 221 WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. [June 29, 1793.] Dear architect of fine chateaux in air, Worthier to stand for ever, if they could, Than any built of stone, or yet of wood, For back of royal elephant to bear ! O for permission from the skies to share, Much to ray own, though little to thy good. With thee (not subject to the jealous mood !) A partnership of literary ware ! But I am bankrupt now ; and doom*d henceforth To drudge, in descant diy, on others' lays ; Bar''s, I acknowledge, of unequall'd worth ! But what is commentator's happiest praise ? That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes, Which they, who need them, use, and then despise. 19^ 222 A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU, KTLLIKG A YOUNG BIRD. [July 15, 1793.] A Spaniel, Beau, that fares like you, Well-fed, and at his ease, Should wiser be than to pursue Each trifle that he sees. But you have kill'd a tiny bird, Wliich flew not till to-da)". Against my orders, whom you heard Forbidding you the prey. Nor did you kill that ycu might eat And ease a doggish pain, For him, though chased with furious heat. You left where he was slain. Nor was he of the thievish sort, Or one whom blood allures, But innocent was all his sport Whom you have torn for yours. 223 My dog ! what remedy remains, Siuce, teach you all I can, I see you, after all my pains, So much resemble Man P BEAU'S! REPLY- Sir, when I flew to seize the bird In spite of your command, A louder voice than yours I heard, And harder to withstand. You cried — forbear — but in my breast A mightier cried — proceed — 'Twas nature, Sir, whose strong behest Impell'd me to the deed. Yet much as nature I respect, I ventur'd once to break (As you perhaps may recollect) Her precept for your sake j And when your linnet on a day, Passing his prison door. Had flutter'd all his strength away, And panting press'd the flooi\, 224 Well knowing him a sacred thing, Not destin'd to my tooth, I only kiss'd his ruffled wing. And lick'd the feathers smooth. Let my obedience then excuse My disobedience now, Nor some reproof yourself refuse From your aggriev'd Bow-wow ; If killing birds be such a crime (Which I can nardly see) 'What think you, Sir, of killing Time With verse address'd to me ? ANSWER TO Stanzas addi-essed to Lady Hesketh, by Miss Cadtariite Fanshawe, in returning; a Poem of Mr. Cowper's, lent to her, on condition she should neither show itj nor take a Copy. [1793.] To be remember'd thus is fame, And in the first degree ; And did the fen like her the same, The pres§ might sleep forme. 225 So Homer, in the mem'ry stored Of many a Greciau belle, Was once preserv'd— a richer hoard, But never lodg'd so well. ipHE SPANISH ADMIRAL COUNT GRA- VINA, His translating the Author's Song on a Rose^ into Ita- lian Verse. [1793.J My rose, Gravina, blooms anew, And, steep'd not now in rain, But in Castalian streams by Y ou. Will never fade again. 226 ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE. [September 1793.] The suitors sinnM, but with a fair excuse. Whom all this elegance might well seduce; Nor can our censure on the husband fall. Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all. ON RECEIVING HEYNE'S VIRGIL FROM MR. HAYLET. [October 1793.] 1 SHOULD have deem'd it once an effort vaia To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless strain, But from that errour now behold me free Since I receiv'd him as a gift from Thee. 227 TO MART. [Autumn of 1793.] ' The twentieth year is well nigh past, Since first our sky was overcast, Ah would that this might be the last ! My Mary i Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow 'Twas my distress, that brought thee low. My Mary ! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disus'd, and shine no more, My Mary ! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still. Thy sight now seconds not thy will, My Mary ! ;>^ But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, And all thy threads with magick art Have wound themselves about this heart. My Mary I 228 Thy indistinct expressions seera Like language uttered in a dream ; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary ! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary ! For could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary ! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary.! Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, That now at every step thou mov'st Upheld by two, yet still though lov'st. My Mary .' And still to love, though prest with ill, In A^iiH'ry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still, My Marv ! 229 But ah ! by constant heed I know, How oft tlie sadness that I show, Transforms thy smiles to looks of wo, My Mary And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last, My Mary MONTES GLACIALES, IN OCEANO GERMANICO NATANTES. [March 11, 1799.] En, quffi prodigia, ex oris allata, remotis, Oras adveniunt pavefacta per aequora nostras ?fon equidem prisca? saeclura rediisse videtur Pyrrhse, cum Proteus pecus altos visere raontes Et Sylvas, egit. Sed tempora vix leviora Adsunt, evulsi quando radicitiis alti In mare descendunt montes, fluctusque pererrant.- Quid vero hoc monstri est magis et mirabile visu ? Splendentes video, ceu pulchro ex aere vel auro Conflatos, rutilisque accinctos undique geramis, Bacca caerulea, et fiammas imitante pyropo. Ex oiiente adsunt, ubi gazas optima tellus Partiirit omnigenas, quibus seva per omnia sumptu 20 2'SO Ingenti finxere sibi diademata reges ? Vix iioc crediderim. Non fallunt lalla aciitos Mercatorurn oculos : prius et quara littora Gangis Liquissent, avidis gratissima preeda fuissent. Ortos unde putemus ? An ilios Ves'vius atrox Protulit, ignivomisve ejecit faucibus .Etna? Luce micant propria, Phcebive, per aera puriim Nunc stimulanlis eqiios, argentea tela retorquentp Phcebi luce micant. Venlis et fluctibus altis Appulsi, et rapidis subter currentibiis undis, Taudem non fallunt oculos. Capita alta videre est Multa onerata nive, et canis conspersa pruinis. CfEtera sunt glacies. Procul hinc, ubi Bruma fere omnes Contristat menses, portenta lisec Iiorrlda nobis Ilia strui voiuit. Quoties de culmine summo Cl'ivoruin fluerent in littora prona, solutai Sole, nives, propero tendcntes in mare cursu, Ilia gelu fixit. Paulatim attollere sese Mirum ccepit opus ; glacieque ab origine rerura In ;'^^laciem aggesta sublimes vertice tandem , .^qu'^vit monies, non crcscere nescia raoles. Sic immensadiu stetit, seternumque sletisset Congeries, liominum neque vi neque mobilisarte, Littora ni tandem declivia deseruisset, Pondere victa suo. Dilabitur. Omnia circum Antra et saxa gemunt, subito concussa fragore, Dum rult in peiagum, tanquam studiosa natandt, Ingens tota strues. Sic Del: s dicitiu oiim, FosQla, in ^Egaeo Suita^ee erratica ponto. 231 Sed non ex glacie Dclos ; neque torpida Deluin Bruma inter rupes genuit nudum stei ilereque. Sed vestita herbis erat ilia, ornataque nunquani Decidua lauro ; et Deluui dilexit Apollo. At vos, errones horrendi, et caliginedigni Cimnaeiia, Deus idem odit. iVatalia vestra, Nubibus involvens frontem, uon ille tueri Sustinuit. Patriuni vos ergo requirite ctelum ! Ita ! Redite I Timete moras ; ni lenitei- austro Spirante, et nitidas P:)oebo jaculante sagittas Hostili vobis, pcreatis gurgite misti ! THE ICE ISLANDS, SEEN FLOATIXG IK THE GERMAN OCEAN. [March 19, 1799.] What portents, from what distant region, ride, Unseen till now in ours, th' astonish'd tide ? In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves. But now, descending whence of late they stood, Themselves the mountains seem to rove the flood. 232 Dire times were they, fuU-charg'd with human woes ; And these, scarce less calamitous than those. What view we now p More woud'rous still ! Be- hold ! Like buruish'd brass they shine, or beaten gold; And all around the pearl's pure splendour show, And all around the ruby's fiery glow. Come they from India, where the burning Earth, All bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth ; And where the costly gems, t mt be im around The brows of mightiest potentates, are found ? Pfo. Never such a countless dazzling store Had [eft, unseen, the Ganges' peopled shore. Rapacious hands, and ever-watchful eyes, Should sooner far have mark'd and seiz'd the prize. Whence sprang they then ? Ejected have they come From Ves'vius, or from Etna's burning womb P Thus shine they self-il!um'd, or but display The borrow'd splendours of a cloudless day ? With borrow'd beams they shine. The gales, that breathe Now landward, and the current's force beneath, Have born them nearer : and the nearer sight, AdvriHtag'd more, contemplates them aright. Their lofty summits crested high, they show, With mingled sleet, and long-incumbent snow. The rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe, Bleak winter well-nigh saddens all the year, 233 Their infant growth began. He bade arise Their uncouth forms, portentous in our eyes. Oft as dissolv'd by transient suns, the snow Left the tall cliff, to join the flood below ; He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast The current, ere it reach'd the boundless waste. By slow degrees uprose the wondrous pile, And long successive ages roU'd the while ; Till, ceaseless in its growth, it claira'd to stand, Tall as its rival mountains on the land. Thus stood, and, unreraovable'by skill, Or force of man, had stood the structure still j But that, tho' firmly fixt, supplanted yet By pressure of its own enormous weight, It left the shelvina beach — and, with a sound, That shook the bellowing waves and rocks around, Self-launch'd, and swiftly, to the briny wave, As if instinct with strong desir^ to lave, Down went the pond'rous mass. So bards of old, How Delos swam th' .^gean deep, have told. But not of ice was Delos. Delos bore Herb, fruit, and flow'r. She, crown'd with laurel, wore, Ev'n under wintry skies, a summer smile ; And Delos was Apollo's fav'rite isle. But, horrid wand'rers of the deep, to you He deems Cimmerian darkness only due. Your hated birth he deign'd not to survey. But, scornful, turn'd his glorious eyes away. Hence ! Seek your liome, nor longer rashly dare The darts of Phoebus, and a softer air ; 20 * 234 Lest ye regret, too late, your native coast, In no congenial gulf for ever lost ! THE CAST-AWA.Y. [March 20, 1799.] Obscurest night involv'd the sky ; Th' Atlantick billows roar'd, When such a destin'd wretch as I, WashM headlong from on board, Of friends, of hope, of all bereft. His floating home for ever left. No braver chief could Albion boast, Than he, with whom he went. Nor ever ship left Albion's coast, With warmer wishes sent. He lov'd Ihein both, but both in vain, Nor him beheld, nor her again. ■ Not long beneath the whelming brine. Expert to swim, he lay ; Nor soon he felt his strength decline, Or courage die away ; But wagM with death a lasting strife S,upported by despair of life. 235 He shouted ; nor his frknds had failM To rheck tlic vessel's course, But so the furious blast prevaird. That, pitiless, perforce, They left their outcast mate behind, And scudded still before the wind. Some succour ye* they could afford ; And, such as storms allow. The cask, the coop, the floated cord, Delay'd not to bestow. But he (^they knew) nor ship nor shore, Whate'er they gave, should visit more. rfor, cruel as it seem'd, could he Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them ; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld : And so long he, with unspent pow'r. His destiny repell'd : And ever as the minutes flew. Entreated help, or cried — " Adieu !''* 236 At length, his transient respite past, His comrades, who before Had heard his voice in ey''ry blast, Could catch the sound no more. For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank. No poet wept him : but the page Of narrative sincere. That tells his name, his worth, liis age Is wet with Anson's tear. And tears by bards or heroes shed Alike immortalize the dead. I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on his fate, To give the melancholy theme A more enduring date. But misery still delights to trace Its 'semblance in another's case. No voice divine the storm allay 'd, No light propitious shone ; When, snatch'd from all effectual aid, We perish'd, each alone : But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelm'd in deeper galis than he. *»#^ 237 TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNE. THRAX. THRErciuM infantem, cum lucern intravit et auras, Fletibus excepit niaestus uterque parens. Threiciiiiii infantem, cum luce exivit et auris, Extulit ad fuiius laetus uterque parens. Interea tu Roma ; et tu tibj Graecia plaudens, Dicitis, haec vera est Thraica barbaries. Laetitiae causam, causamqiie exquirit*^ luctug ; Vosque est quod doceat Thrai'ca barbaries. THE THRACIAN. Thraci an parents, at his birth, Mourn their babe with many a tear, But with undissembled mirth Place him bieathless on his bier. Greece and Rome veith equal scorn, " O the savages !" exclaim, ** Vk \ietj[ier t!)ey rejoice oj- mourn, Well entitled to the name !" 238 But the cause of this concern, And this pleasure would they tracp, Even they might somewhat learn From the savages of Thrace. MUTUA BENEVOLENTIA PBIMARIA I.EX NATURJE EST. Pkr Libyae Androcles siccas errabat arenas j Qui vagus iratum fugerat exul herum. Lassato tandem fractoque labore viarura. Ad scopuli patuit caeca caverna latus. Hanc subit ; et placido dedcrat vix membra sopori Cum subito immanis rugit ad antra leo ; lUe pedem attollens Isesum, et aiiserabile murmur Edens, qua poterat voce, precatur opem. Perculsus novitate rei, incertusque timore, Vix tandem tremulas admovet erro manus ; Et spinam explorans (nam fixa invulnere spina Haerebat) cauto molliter ungue trahit : Continuo dolor onmis abit, teter fluit humor : Et coit, absterso sanguine, rupta cutis ; Nunc iterum sylvas dumosque peragrat ; et aflfiert Providus assifluas hospes ad antra dapes. ^i Juxta epulis accumbit homo conviva leonis, ■ ' Nee crudos dubitat participare cibos. Quis tamen ista ferat desertae taedia vitse ? Vix furor ultoris tristior asset heri. 239 Devotum certis caput objcctare periclis Et patrios slatuit rursus adire lares, Traditur hie, fera facturiis spectacula, plebi, Acciplt et miserum trislis arena reum. Irruit e caveis fors idem impastus et acer, Et medicum attonito siispicit ore leo. Suspicit, et vetcrem agiioscens veins hospes ami- cum Decumbit notosblandulus ante pedes. Quid vero perculsi animis, stupucre QuiritesP Ecquid prodigii, territa Roma, vides? Uliius naturaj opus est ; ea sola furorem Sumere quae jussit, ponere sola jubet. RECIPROCAL KINDNESS THE PRIMARY LAW OF NATURE. Androcles from his injur'd lord in dread Of instant death, to Libya's desert fled. Tir'd with his toilsome fligbt, and parch'd with heat, He spied, at length, a cave;ri's cool retreat , But scarce had given to rest his weary frame, When hugcst of his kind, a lion came : He roar'd approaching : but, the savage din To plaintive murmurs chang'd, arriv'd within, And with expressive looks his lifted paw Presenting, aid implor'd from whom he saw. The fugitive, through terrour at a stand, Dar'd not awhile afford his trembling hand, 240 But bolder grown, at length inherent found * A pointed thorn, and drew it from the wound. The cure was wrought ; he wip'd the sanious blood. And firm and free from pain the lion stood. Again he seeks the wilds, and day by day, Regales his inmate with the parted prey. INor he disdains the dole, though unprepar'd, Spread on the ground, and with a lion shar'd. But thus to live— still lost — sequester'd still — Scarce seem'd his lord's revenge an heavier ill. Home ! native home! O might he but repair ! He must — he will, though death attends him there. He goes, and doomed to perish, on the sands Of the full theatre unpitied stands : When lo ! the self same lion from his cage Flies to devour him, famish'd into rage. He flies, but viewing in his purposed prey The man, his healer, pauses on his waijr, And soften'd by remembrance into sweet And kind composure, crouches at his feet. Mute with astonishment th' assembly gaze : But why, ye Romans ? Whence your mute amaze ? All this is natural . nature bade him rend Ah enemy ; she bids him spare a frieni. 412 MANUALE Typographic omni antiquius, nulli uspiam Librorntu insertum Catalogo. ExiGuus liber est, muliebri creber in usu, Per se qui dici bibliotheca potest. Copia verborum non est, sed copia rerum ; Copia (qiiod nemo deneget) utilior. Rubris consuitur panois ; fors texitur auro ; Bis sexta ad suinmum pagina claudit opus. Nil habet a tergo tilulive aut nominis ; intus Thesauros artis servat, et intus opes : Intus opes, qua nynipha sinu pulcherrima gestet, Quas nive candidior tractet ametque manus, Quando instruinentum praesens sibi postulat usu's^ Majusve, aut operis pro ratione, minus. Et genere et modulo diversa habet anna, gradatim Digpsta, ad numeros attenuate suos. Primum enchiridii folium niajusciila profert, Qualia quae blseso est himine poscat anus. Quod sequitur folium, matronis arma niinistrat, Dicere quae niagnis proxiraiora licet, 'fertiura, item quartum, quintumque minuscula supplet Sed noQ ejusdem singula quaeque loci. Disposita ordinihus certis, d'scriraina servant j Quae sibi conveniant, seligat unde nurus. Ultima quse restant quae multa mioutula nymph* 21 242 Dicit, sunt spxti divita? folii. (iuantillo in spatio doctrina O quanta latescit ! Qnam tamen obscuram vix brevitate voces. Non est interpres, uon est commentarius ullus, Aut index ; tain sunt omnia perspicua. iEtatemad quamvis, ad captum ita fingitur onineni, Ut nihil auxilii postulet inde liber. Millia librorum numerat perplura ; nee uUum Bodlaei huic jactat bibliotheca parem. Millia Caesareo numerat quoque muuere Granta, Haec tamen est inter millia tale nihil. Non eA, non isti:? author de millibus unus, Cui tanta ingenii vis, vel acumen, inest. A MANUAL, More ancient than the Art of Printing, and not to bt found in any Catalogue. There is a book, which we may call (Its excellence is such) Alone a library, tho' small ; The ladies thumb it much. Words none, things num'rous it contains : And, things with words compar'd, Who needs be told, that has his brains, ^ hich merits most regard ? 243 Ofttimes its leaves of scarlet hue A goiden edging boast; Aud opea'd, it displ'iys to view Twelve pages at the most. Nor name, nor title, stamp'd behind, Adorns its outer part ; jBut all within't is richly lin'd, A magazine of art. The whitest hands that secret hoard Oft visit : and the fair Preserve it in their bosoms stor'd, As with a miser's care. Thence implements of ev'ry size, And form'd for various use, (They need but to consult their eyes) They readily produce. The largest and the longest kind Possess the foremost page, A sort most needed by the blind. Or nearly such from age. The full-charg'd leaf, which next epsuef, Presents in bright army. The smaller sort, which matrons use, Not quite so blind as they. 244 The third, the fourth, the 6fth supply What t^ieir occasions auk, Who with a more discerniDg eye Perform a nicei task. But aiill with regular decrease From size to size they fail, In ev'ry leaf grow less and less j The last are least of all. O ! what a fund of genhis, pent In narrow space, is here ! This volume's method and intent How luminous and clear ! It leaves no reader at a loss Or pos'd, whoever reads : No commentator's tedious gloss, Nor even index needs. Search Bodley's many thousands o'er ! No book is treasur'd there, Nor yet in Granta's num'rous store That may with this compare. -lUo ! — Rival none in either host Of this was ever seen, Or, that contents could justly boast, So brilliaet and so keen. 245 ENIGMA. Parvula res, et acu minor est, et ineptior usu : Quotque dies annus, tot tibi drachma dabit. Sed licet exigui pretii minimique valorls, Ecce, quot artificum postulat ilia manus. Unius in primis ciira est conflare metallum j In longa alterius ducere fila labor. Tertius in partes resecat, quartusque resectum Perpolit ad modules attenuatque datos. Est quinti tornare caput, quod sextus adaptet; Septimus in punctum cudit et exacuit. His tandem auxiliis ita res procedit, ut omnes Ad nuraeros ingens perficiatur opus. QusB tanti ingeuii, quae tanti est summa laborisl' Si mihi respondes CEdipe, tota tua est. AN ENIGMA. A NEEDLE sttiall, as small can be, In bulk and use, surpasses me, Nor is my purchase dear; For little, and almost for nought, As many of my kind are bought As days are in the year. 21* 246 Tet though but little use we boast, And are procur'd at little cost, The labour is not light, 3Vor few artificers it asks, All skilful in their sev'ral tasks, l"o fashion us aright. One fuses metal o'er the fire, A second draws it into wire, The sheers another plies. Who clips in lengths the brazen thread For him, who, chafing every shred, Gives all an equal size. A fifth prepares, exact and round, The knob, with which it must be crown'd f His follower makes it fast : And with his mallet and his file To shape the point, employs awhile The seventh and the last. Now therefore, CEdipus ! declare What creature, wonderful, and rare, A process, that obtains Its purpose with so much ado. At last produces ! — tell me true, And take me for your pains * 247 PASSERES INDIGENCE COL. TRIN. CANT. COMMBNSALES. Fncola qui norit sedes, aut viserit hospes, Newtoni egregii quas celebravit hoaos ; Viditque et meminit, laetus fortasse videndo, Quam inulta ad mensas advoUtarit avis. Ille nee ignorat, nidos ut, vere ineunte, Tecta per et forulos, et tabulata struat, Ut coram educat teneros ad pabula foetus, Et pascat micis, quas det arnica maous. Convivas quoties campanae ad prandia pulsus Convocat, baud epulis certior hospes adesf. Continao jucunda simul vox fertur ad aures, Vicinos passer quisque relinquit agros, Hospitium ad notum properatur j et ordine stanteg Expectant panis fragmina quisque sua. Hos taraen, bos omnes, vix uno largior asse Sumptus per totam pascit aliique diera. Hunc unum, bunc modicum (nee quisquam inviderit assem) Indigeaae, hospitii jure, merentur aves: 248 SPARROWS SELF-DOMESTICATED IN URINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. None ever shared the social feast, Or as an inmate, or a guest. Beneath the celebrated dome, Where once Sir Isaac had his home, Wlio sdw not (and with some delight Perhaps he view'd the novel sight) How numVous, at the tables there, The sparrows beg their diily fare. For there, in every nook, and. cell. Where such a family may dwell. Sure as the vernal season comes Their nests they weave in hope of crumbs, Which kindly giv'n, may serve with food Convenient their unfeather'd brood; And oft as with its summons clear. The warning bell salutes their ear, Sagacious list'nei's to the sound, They flock from all the fields around, To reach the hospitable hall. None more attentive to the call. Arriv'd, the pensionaiy band. Hopping and chirping, close at hand, Solicit what they soon receive, The sprinkled, plenteous donative, 249 Thus is a multitude, though larg^, Supported at a trivial, charge ; A single doit would overpay Th' expenditure of every day, And who can grudge so small a grace To suppliants, natives of the place. NULLI TE FACIAS NIMIS SODALEM. Palpat heram felis, gremio recubans in anili ; Q,uam semel atque iterum Lydia palpat hera. Ludum iis sequiturj nam totos exerit ungues, Et longo lacerat vulnere felis anum. Coutinuo exardens gremio muliercula felem Nee gravibus multis excutit absque minis : ftuod tamen baud aequum est— si vult cum fete jocari, Felinum debet Lydia ferrejocum. FAMILIARITV DANGEROUS. As in her ancient mistress' lap, The youthful tabby lay. They gave each other many a tap. Alike dispQs'd to play. 250 But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm, And witli piotruded claws PItuglis all the length of Lydia's arm, Mere wantonness the cause. At once, resentful of the deed, She shakes her to the ground With maay a threat, that sne shall hleei With still a deeper wound. But, Lydia, bid thy fury rest ; It was a venial stroke : For she taat will with kittens jest, Should bear a kitten's joke. AD RUBECULAM INVITATIO. HosPES avis, conviva domo gratissima cuivis, Quam bruma humanam quserere cogit opem ; Hue /• ! iiybeiiii fugias ut frijiora cceli, Confuge, ft incolumis sub lare vive meo ! Unde luain esuriem releves, alinienta fenestrae Apponam, quoties itquereditque dies. Usu eteniuj ed'.dici, quod grato alimenta rependee Cantu, quse dederit cunque benigna manus. Vere novo tepidae spirtKUt cum moUiter aurK, Et novus in quavis arbore v^rnat hoiio«^ 251 Pro libitu ad lucos redeas, sylvasque revisas, Laetaquibus resonut Musica, p-irqiie tuael Sin itertim, sin forte iterum, incieiiientia brumae Ad mea dilectara tccta reducet avem, Esto, redux, grato raenior esto rependere cantu Pabula, que dederit cunque benigna manus ! Vis hinc harmonife, numerorum bine sacra potestas Conspicitur, nusquatn conspicieud:. magis, Vini'ula quod stabilis firoi'ssima nectit amoris, Vincula vix ionga dissocinnda die. Captat, et incantatbiando oblectnoiine Miisa Humanum pariter peonigerunique genus; IVos homines et aves quotrunqne animantia vivunt Nos soli harojonise gens studiosa suoius. INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST. Sweet bird, whoai the winter constrains — And seldom another it can— To seek a retreat, while he reigns, In the well-shelter'd dwellings of map, Who never can seem to intrude, Tho' in all places equally free, Come, oft as the season is rude, Thou art sure to be welcome to me. 252 At sight of the first feeble ray, That pierces the clouds of the east^ To inveigle thee every day My windows shall show thee a feast. For, taught by experience I know Thee mindful of benefit long ; And that, thankful for all I bestow, Thou wilt pay me with many a song Then, soon as the swell of the buds Bespeaks the renewal of spring. Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods, Or where it shall please thee to sing; And shouldst thou, compell'd by a frost. Come again to my window or door. Doubt not an affectionate host Only pay, as thou pay'dst me before. Thus rausick must needs be confest , To flow from a fountain above j Else how should it work in the breast Unchangeable friendship and love ? And who on the globe can be found, Save your generation and ours, That can be delighted by sound, Or boast any musical powers P 253 STRADiE PHILOMELA. Pastorem audivit calamis Philomela caneatem, Et voluit teniies ipsa referre luodos ; Ipsa retentavit numeros, didicitque reteutans Areutuin tida reddere voce nielos. Pastor inassuetus rivalem ferre, misellam Grandius ad carmen provocat, urget avem. Tuque etiam in modulos surgis Fhilomela j sed impar Viribus, heu, impar, exanimisque cadis. Durum certamen ! tristis victoria ! cantum Maluerit pastor non superasse tuum. STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE. The shepherd touch'd his reed ; sweet Philomel Essay'd, and oft essayed to catch the strain, And treasuring, as on her ear they fell. The numbers, echo'd note for note again. The peevish youth, who ne'er had found before A rival of his skill, indignant heard. And soon (for various was his tuneful stor^) In loftier tones defied the simple bird. 254 She dar'd the task, and rising, as he rose, With all the force, that passion gives, inspir*d,- Returo'd the sounds awhile, hut in the close, Exhausted fell, and at his feet expir'd. Thus strength, not skill prevail'd. O fatal strife^ By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun j And, O sad victory, which cost thy life. And he may wish that he had never won ! ANUS S^CULARIS, quae justam centum aiinorum aetatem, ipso die natali explevit, et clausit anno 1728. SiNGULAnis prodigiunj O senectse, Et novum exemplum diuturnitatis, Cujus annorum series in amplum desinit orbemi Vulgus infelix hominuni, dies en ! Coraputo quam dispare computamus ! Quam tua a sumina procul est remota fiummula nostra Pabulum nos luxuriesque lethi, Nos, siiiiul uati, incipimus perire, Nos statim a cunis cita destinamur prseda sepulchre J. 255 ■©cciilit mors insidias, ubi vix Vix opinari est, repldaeve febris Vim repentinam, aut male pertinacis semlna morbi. Sin brevem possit superare vita Terminum, quicquid siiperest, vacivum, Illud ignavi3 superest et imbe- -culibus annis Detrahunt multum, minuuntque sorti Morbidi questus gemitusque anheli ; Ad parem crescunt numerum diesque atque dolores. Si quis liaec vitet (quotiis ille quisque est !) Et gr^du pergendo laborioso Ad tuum, fortasse tuum, moretur reptilis tevum : At videt, moestum tibi saepe visum, in- jurias, vim, furta, do!os, et inso- lentiam, quo semper eunt» eodem ire tenoi e. Nil inest rebus novitatis ; et quod Uspiam est nuaarum et ineplidrum, Wnius volvi videt, et revolvi circulus aevL 256 Integram setatera tlbi gratulamur j Et dari nobis satis sestiniaraus, Si tuam, saltern vacuam querelis dimidiemus. ODE ON THE DEATH OF A LADT, Who lived one hundred Years, and died on her Birth- day, 1728. Ancient dame, how wide and vast, To 1 race like ours appears, RounHeJ to an orb at last, All thy multitude of years ! We, the herd of human kind, Frailer and of feebler pow'ra 5 We, to nnrrovv bounds connti'd, Soon exhaust the sum of ours. Deatli's delicious banquet — w? Perish even from the womb, Swifter than a shadow flee, Nourisb'd, but to feed the tomb. 257 Seeds of merciless disease Lurk in all tliat we enjoy ; Some, that waste us by decrees, Some, that suddenly destroy. And if life o'erleap the bourn, Common (o the sons of men ; What remains, but that we mourn. Dream, and doat, and drivel then ? Fast as moons can wax and wane, Sorrow comes ; and while we groan. Pant with anguish and complain, Half our years are fled and gone. If a few, (to few 'tis giv'n) Ling'ring on this earthly stage, Creep, and halt with steps unev'n, To the period of an age, Wherefore live they, but to see Cunning, arrogance, and force, Sights lamented much by thee, Holding their accustora'd course ? Oft was seen, in ages past, All that we with wonder view; Often shall be to the last ; Earth produces uothi.ig new. 22^ 258 Thee we gratiilate ; con'ent, Should propitious Hnay'ri design Life for u?, as calnily spent, Though but half the length of thine. VICTORIA FORENSIS. Cat o cum Titio lis et vexatio longa Sunt de vicini proprietate soli. Protjnus ingentes aniraos in jurgia sumunt, Utiaque vincendi pars sludiosa nirais. Lis tumet in schcdulas, et jam verbosior, et jam . Nee verbura quodvis asse minoris emunt. Prsptert'unt menses, et terminus alter et alter ; Q,uisque novos sumptus, alter et alter, habent. Ille querens, hie respondens pendente vocatur Lite ; sed ad finem litis uterque quereu*. THE CAUSE WON. Two neighbours furiously dispute ; A field— the subject of the suit. Trivial the spot, yet such the rage. With which the combatants engage, 'Twere hard to tell, who covets most The prize at whatsoever cost* 259 ■The pleadings swell. Words ''till suffice No single word bur has its price. No term hut yields some liii pretence, For novel and increas'd expense. Defendant thus becomes a name. Which he, that bore it, may dibclaim ; Since both, in one description blended, Are plaintiflFs when the suit is ended. BOMBYX. Fine sub Aprilis Bombyx excluditur ovo Reptilis exiguo corpore vermiculus, Frondibus hie iiiori, volvox dum fiat adultus, Gnaviter incurabens, dum satietur, edit. Crescendo ad just urn cum jam maturuit aevum, Incipit artitici stamine textor opus: Filaque condensans filis, orbem implicat orbi, Et sensim in gyris conditus ipse iatet. Inque cadi teretem formam se colligit, unde Egrediens pennas papilionis habet ; Fitqup parens tandem, foetumque reponit inoyis ; Hoc demum extremo munere functus obit. Quotquot in hac nostra spirant animalia terra Nulli est vel brevior vita, vel utilior. 2^ THE SILK WORM. The beams of April, ere it goes, A worm, scarce visible, disclose ; All winter long content to dwell The tenant of his native shell. ^ The same prolifick season gives The sustenance by which he lives. The mulb'rry leaf, a simple store. That serves him— till he needs no more! For, his dimensions once complete, Thencefo th none ever sees him eat; Tho', till his growing lime be past, Scarce ever is he seen to fast. That hour arriv'd, his work begins. He spins and weaves, and weaves and spins j Till circle upon circle wound Careless around him and around. Conceals him with a veil, tho' slight, Impervious to the keenest sight. Thus self enclos'd, as in a cask, At length he finishes his task : And, though a worm, when he was lost, Or caterpillar at the most. When next we see him, wings he wears, And in papilio-pomp appears ; Becomes oviparous ; supplies With future worms and future flies, The next ensuing year j— aud diep ! ^ 261 Well were it for the world, if all, Who cr^'ep about this earthly ball, Though shorter-li"'M than mopt he be, Were useful iu their kind as he. INNOCENS PR^DATRIX. Sedula per campos nuUo defessa labore. In cella ut stippt mella, vagatur apis, Purpureiim vix florem opifex praetervo'jt unum, Innumeras inter qiras alit horlus opes ; Herbula gramincis vix una itin?^scitur agris, Thesauri unde aliquid non studiosa lojfit. A flore ad florem transit, mollique vohudo Delibat tactu 'tuave quod intup nabent. Omnia delibat, parce sed et omnia, t'urti Vt ne vel minimum videris indicium : Omnia degustat tam parce, ut gratia nulla Floribus, ut nullus diminuaiur odor. Won ita praedantur modice bruchjque et erncaej Non ista hortorum maxima pesti-s, avps ; Non ita raptoies corvi, quorum improba rostra Despojiant agros, pfiTodiuntqiie sata. Succos immiscens succi.«. it i sunviter omnes 1 t-nip?rat, ut dederit chyntia nulla parei. Vix furlum est ilrid, dicive injurti debet. Quod cera, et multo meile rependit apig. 262 THE INNOCENT THIEF. Not a flow'r can be found in the fields, Or the spot that we till for our pleasure, From the largest to least, but it yields The bee, uever wearied, a treasure. Scarce any she quits unexplored, With a diligence truly exact ; Yet, steil what she may for her hoard, Leaves evidence none of the fact. Her lucrative task she pursues, And pilfers with so much address, That none of their odour they lose, Nor charm by their beauty the less. Kot tl)us inoffensively preys The canker worm, indwelling foe ! His voracity not thus allays The sparrow, the finch, or the crow. The worm, more expensively fed, The pride of the garden devours j And birds peck the seed from the bed. Still less to be spar'd than the flow'rs. But she with such delicate skill. Her pillage so fits for her uee, 263 That the chemist in vain with his stilt Would labour the like to produce. Then grudge not her temperate meals. Nor a benefit blame as a theft ; Since, stole she not all that she steals, Neither honey nor wax would be left. DENNERI ANUS.* DocTtrM anus artificem juste celebrata fatetur, Denneri pinxit quam studiosa mauus. Nee stupor est oculis, fronti nee ruga severa, Flaccida nee sulcis pendet utrinque gena. Nil habet illepidura, morosum, aut triste tabella^ Argentum capitis praeter, anile nihil. Apparent nivei vitta? sub niargine eani, Fila colorati qualia Seres habent ; Lanugo mentum, sed quae tenuissima, vestit, MoUi.^jque, et qualis Persica mala tegit. Nulla vel e minimis fugiunt spiracula visum ; At neque lineolis de cutis ulla latet. Spectatutg veniunt, novitas quos allicit usquam, Quosque vel ingenii fama, vel artis amor. * Dill publico fuit spectaculo egregia haec tabula in «tek Palatinaexteriori, juxta fanum Westmona^teriense. 264 Adveniunt juvenes ; ct anus si possit amari, Dennere, agiioscunt hoc meruisse tuara. Adveaiunl hilares nymphae ; similenique senectam Tain pulchr^m etplacidamdentsibi lala, rogant. Matroiise adveniunt, vetiilaeque fatentur in ore Quod nihil horieudum, ridiculumve vident. Quaotus iionos arti, per quam placet ipsasenectus ; Quae tacit, ut nyoiphis invideatur anus ! Pictori cedit quae gloria, cum nee Apelli Majorem famam det Cytherea suo ! DENNER'S OLD WOMAN. In this mimick form of a matron in years, How plainly the pencil of Denner appears ! The matron herself, in whose old age we see Not a trace of decline, what a wonder is she ! No dimness of eye, and no cheek h.inging low, No wrinkle, or deep lu; row M frown on the brow ! Her forehead indeed is here circled around "VVith locks like the riband, with which they are bound ; While glossy and smooth, and as soft as the skin Of a delicate pe;ich, is the down of her chin ; But nothing unpleasant, or sad, or severe, Or that indicates life in its winter — is here. Yet ?.i] ifi express'd,with fidelity due, Nor a pimple, or freckle, conceal'd from the view. ^ 265 Many fond of new sights, or who cherish a taste For the lahouis of art, to the spectacle haste; The youths all agree, that coirld old '^.ge iospire The passion of love, hers would kindle the fire, And the matrons with pleasure confess that they see Ridiculous notliing or hideous in thee. The nymphs for themselves scarcely hope a de- cline, O wonderful woraan ! as placid as thine. Strange magick of art! which the youth can engage To peruse, half-enamour'd, the features of age j And force from the virgin a sigh of despair, That she when as old, shall be equaUy fair ! How great is the glorj'' that Denner has gain'd, Since Apelles not more for his Venus obtaia'd I LACRYIVL^ PICTORIS. Infantem audivit puerum, sua gaudia, Apelles Intompestivo fate obiise diem. lUe, licet tristi pcrculsus imagine morti?, Profcrri in medium corpus inario jubet, Et calaniura, et succos posccns, "Hos accipe luctt.i?, 23 266 " Mcerorcm hunc," dixit, "nate, parentis babe !" Dixit ; et, ut clausit, clauses depinxit ocellos ; Officio pariter fidiis utrique pater : Fronteinque et crines, nee adhuc pallentia forraan» Osctila, adiimbravit lugubre pictor opus, Perge parens, racerendo tuos expendere luctus j Nondum opus absolvit triste suprema iPanus. Vidit adbuc molles genitor super oscula risusi Vidit adbuc veneres irrubuisse genis, Et teneras raptim veneres, blandosque lepores, Et tacitos risus transtulit in taKulam. Pingendo desiste tuum signare dolorem ; Filioli longum vivet inoago tui; Vivet, et aeterna vives tu iaude, nee arte Vincendus pictor, nee pietate pater. THE TEARS OF A PAINTER Apelles, hearing that his boy, Had just expired — his only joy ! Altho' the sight with anguish tore him. Bade place his dear remains before hini» He seiz'd his brush, his colours spread ; And — " Oh ! my child, accept," — he said, " ('Tls all that I can now bestow,) " TWs tribute of a father's wo !" ^67 Then, faithful to the two-fold part, Both of his feelings and his art, He clos'd his eyes, with tender care, And formed at ouce a fellow pair. His brow, with amber locks beset, And lips he drew, not livid yet ; And shaded all, that he had done, To a just image of his son. Thus far is well. But view again, The cause of thy paternal pain ! Thy melancholy task fulfil ! It needs the last, last touches still. Again his pencil's powers he tries, For on his lips a smile he spies : And still his cheek unfaded shows The deepest damask of the rose. Then, heedful to the finish'd whole. With fondest eagerness he stole, Till scarce himself distinctly knew The cherub copied from the true. Now, painter cease ! Thy task is done. Long lives this image of thy son; Nor short-lived shall th(^ glory prove. Or af Ihy labour, or thy love. 268 SPE FINIS. Ad dextratn, ad laevam, porro, retro, itqne re- ditque, Deprensiim in laqueo quem labyrinthus habet, Et legit et relegit gressus, sese explicet unde, Perplexum quaerens unde rcvolvat iter. Sta modo, respira paulum, siniul accipe filuin ;■ Certius et nielius non Ariadne dabit. Sic te, sic solum expedies errore ; viarum PrincipiuiQ invenias, id tibi fmis erit. THE MAZE. From right to left, and to and fro, Caught in a labyrinth you go, And turn, and turn, and turn again, To L^olve the my$t'ry, but in vain j fStand still, and breathe, and take from me A clew, that soon shall set you free ! Not Ariadne, if you meet her, Herseir could serve you with a better. You eiitei'd easily !ind where And make, with ease, your exit there I 2m NEMO MISER NISI COxMP^RATUS. *' Qcis full infelix adeo ! quis perditus atque !" Conq'.ieritur moesto carmine tristis ainans. Non uoviis hie qiipstus, rarove aiiditus ; ainantes Deserti etspreti mJlle quenintur idem. Fatura decanlas quod tu miserabile, inultus Deplorat, muito cum Coiydooe, Stiephon. Si tua cum reliquis confertur arnica puellis, Non ea vel sola est ferrea, tuve miser. kO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE SUF- FERER. The lover, in melodious verses, His singular distress rolicarses. Still closiug witii a rueful cry, " U as ever such a wretch as I !" Yes ! Thousands have eudui'd before All thy distress ; some, hapl}' more. Unnumher'd Corydons complain. And Strephons, of the like disdain ; And if thy Chloe be of steel. Too deaf to Iiear, too hard to feel ; Not her alone that censure fits, Nor thou alone hast lost thy wit«. 23 # 2r« UMAX, Frondibus, et pomis, herbisque tenaciter hseret Llmax, et secum portat ubique domum Tutus in hac sese occultat, si quando periclura ImiTiinet, aut subitae decidit imber aquse. Coniua velleviter taogas, seprotinus in se Colligit, in proprios contra liiturque lares. Secum habitat quacunque habitat ; sibi tota su- pellex ; Solae quas adamat, quasque requirit opes. Secum potat, edit, doriuit ; sibi in aedibus iisdeno Conviva et comes est, hospes el hospitium. Liraacem, quacumquesiet, quacumque moretur, Siquis eum quaerat, dixeris esse domi. THE S.\AIL. To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall, The Snail sticks close, nor fears to fall, As if he grew there, house and all Together Within that hou^e secure he hides, When danger immiueiit betides Of storm, or other harm besides Of weather. 271 Give but his horns the slightest touch, His self-collecting power is such, He shrinks into his house, with much Displeasure. Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone. Except liimself has chattels none, Well satisfied to be his own Whole treasure. Thus, hermit-like, his life "he leads, Nor partner of his banquet needs, ' And if he meets one, only feeds The faster. Who seeks him must be worse than blind, (He and Iiis house are so combin'd) If, finding it, he fails to find Its master. EQUES ACADEMICUS. Galcahi instruitur juvenis; geminove vel uno, Hand multum, aut ocreis cnjus, et uode, refert j Fors fortasse siio, fortasse aliunde, fiagello ; Qirantol-icunque cui, pars timen ipse sui. Sic rile armitus, quinis (et forte rriinoris) Conductum solidis scandere gestit equum. 272 Laetus et inipavidiis qua fert fortuna (volantem Cernite) quadrupedem pungit et urget iter . Admisso cursu, per rura, per oppida fertur: Adlatrant catuli, multaque ridet anus. Jamque ferox plagis, erecta ad verbera dextra Calce cruentata lassat utrumque latus. Impete sed tanto vixdum confecerit ille Millia propositae sexve novemve viae, Viribus absumptis, fesstusque labore, caballns Sternit in immundum seqne equitemque latum. Vectus iter peraget curru plauslrove viator .f* Proh pudor et faciuus ! cogitur ire pedes. Si, nee inexpertum, seniorem junior audis, Quae sint exignae commoda disce niorae. Quara tibi prsecipio, brevis est, sed regula ccrta j Ocyus ut possis pergere Icntus eas ! THE CANTAB. With two spurs or one ; and no great matter which, Boots bought, or boots> borrowed, a whip or a switch, J Five shillings or less for the hire of his beast, Paid part into hand ; — you must wait for the rest. Thus equipt, Academicus climbs up his horse, And out they both sally for better or worse ; His heart void'of fear, and as light as a feather ; And in violent haste to go not knowing whither •. Thro' the fields and the towns, (see !) he scampers •along, 273 And is look'd at, and laugh'd at, by old and by younj'. Till at length overspent, and liis sides smeared with blood, D^wn tumbles !)is horse, man and all in tlfe mud. In a waggon or chaise, shall he finish his route ? Oh ! scandalous fate ! he must do it on foot. Young gentlemen, hear ! — I am older than you ! The advice, that I give, I have proved to be true. Wherever your journey may be, never doubt it, The faster you ride, you're the longer about it. 274 THE SALAD. BY VIRGIL. [June 8th 1799.] TitE winter-niffht now well-nigh worn away. The wakeful cock proclaim'd appro.iching day, When Simulus, poor tenant of a farm Of narrowest limits, heard the shrill alarm, Yawn'd, stretch'd his limbs, and anxious to pro- vide Against the pangs of hunger unsupplied, "^y slow degrees his tatter'd bed forsook, And poking in the dark exploi'd tlie nook. Where embeis slept with ashes heap'd around, And with burnt fingers-ends the treasure found. It chanc'd that from a brand beneath his nose, Sure proof of latent fire, some > moke arose ; When trimming with a pin th' incrusted tow, And stooping it towards the coals below. He toils, with cheeks distended, to excite The ling'ring flame, and gains at length a light. With prudent heed he spread? his hand before The quiv'ring lamp, and opes his gran'ry door. \ 275 Small was his stock, but taking for the day, A nieasur'd stint of twice eight pounds away, With these his mill he seeks. A shelf at hand, Fixt in the wall, affords his lamp a stand : Then baring both his arms — a sleeveless coat He girds, the rough exuviae of a goat : And with a rubber, for that use design'd, Cleansing his mill within — begins to grind ; Each hand has its employ ; lab'ring amain, This turns the winch, while that supplies thegreuQ. The stone revolving rapidly, now glow?, And the bruis'd corn a mealy current flows j While he, to make his heavy labour light, Tasks oft his left hand to relieve his right ; And chants with rudest accent, to beguile His ceaseless toil, as lude a strain the while. And now, " Dame Cybale, come forth !" he cries j But Cybale, still slumb'ring, nought replies. From Afric she, the swain's sole serving-maid, Whose face and form alike her birth betray'd. Wilh woolly locks, lips tumid, sable skin. Wide bosom, udders flaccid, belly thin, Legs slender, broad and most misshapen :eet, Chapp'd into chinks, and parched with solar heat. Such, summoned oft, she came; at his command Fresh fuel heap'd, the sleeping embers fann'd. And made in haste her siuim'ring skillet steam, Replenish'd newly frofn the npighboiiriog stream. 276 The labours of the mill perfonn'd, a sieve 'The mingled flour and bran must next receive. Which shaken oft, shoot?. Ceres through i-efin'd And better dress'd, her husks all left behind. This done, at once, his future plain repast, Unleaven'd, on a slnven bo-ird he cast. With tepid lymph, first largely soak'd it all, Then gather'd it with both hands to a ball, And spreading it again with both hands wide, With sprinkled salt thesliffcn'd mass supplied; At length, the stubborn substance, duly wroughty Takes from his palms impressed the shape it oughi^ Becomes aa orb — and quarter'd into shares, The faithful n.ark of just division bears. Last, on his hearth it finds convenient space. For Cybale before had swept the place, And there, with tiles and embers overspread, She leaves It — reeking in its sultry bed. Nor Simulus, while Vulcan thus, alone, His part perfonn'd, proves heedless of his ovrn, Butsedulous, not merely to subdue His hunger, but to please his palate too. Prepares more sav'ry food. His chimney-side Could boast no gammon, salted well, and dried, And hook'd behind him ; but sufTJclent store Of bundled anise, and a cheese It horej A broad round cheese, wiiirh, thro' its centrip strung With a tough broom twig, In the comer huiig; I 277 "Hie prudent hero therefore with address, And quick despatch, now seeks another mess-. Close to his cottage lay a garden ground, With reeds and osiers sparely girt around: Small was the spot, but liberal to produce ; Nor wanted aught that serves a peasant's use, And sonoetimes ev'n the rich would borrow thence, Although its tillage was hi'^ sole expense. For oft, as from his toils abroad he ceas'd. Home-bound by weather, or some stated feast, His debt of culture here he duly paid. And only left the plough to wield the spade. He knew to give each plant the soil it needs, To drill the ground, and cover close the seeds j And could with ease compel the wanton rill To turn, imd wind, obedient to his will. There flourish'd star-wort, and the branching beet, The sorrel acid, and the mallow sweet, The skirret, and the leek's aspiring kind. The noxious poppy-- quenchei of the mind I Salubrious sequel of a sumptuous board, The lettuce, and t!ie long huge-bellied gourd ! But these (for none his appetite control! 'd With stricter sway) the thrifty rustick sold With broom-twigs neatly bound, each kind aparty He bore them ever to the publick mart : Whence, laden still, but with a lighter load, Of cash well earn'd, he took his homeward road. 24 278 Expending seldom, ere he quitted Rome, His gains, in flesh-meat for a feast at home. There, at no cost, on onions, rank and red, Or the curl'd endive's bitter leaf, he fed : On scallioDS slic'd, or with a sensual gust, On rockets — foul provocatives of lust ! Nor evenshunn'd with smarting gums to press JVasturtium — pungent face distorting mess ! Some such regale now also in his thought, With hasty steps his garden-ground he sought ; There delving with his hands, he first displac'd Four plants of garlick, large, and rooted fast j The tender tops of parsley next he culls, Then the old rue-bush shudders as he pulls, And coriander last to these succeeds, That hangs on slightest threads her trembling seeds. Plac'd near his sprightly fire he now demands The mortar at his sable servant's hands j When stripping all his girlick first, he tore Th' exteriour coats, and cast them on the floor, Then cast away with like contempt the skin, Flimsier concealment of the cloves within. These searcli'd, and perfect found, he one by one, Rins'd, and dispos'd within the hollow stone. Salt added, and a lump of salted cheese, With his injected herbs he cover'd these, 279 And lucking with his left his tunick tight, And seizing fast the pestle with his right, The garlick bruising first he soon express'd. And mijc'd the various juices of the rest. He grinds, and by degrees his herbs below Lost in each other their own pow'rs forego, And with the cheese in compound, to the sight Nor wholly green appear, nor wholly white. His nostrils oft the forceful fume resent, He curs'd full oft his dinner for its scent, Or with wry faces, wiping as he spoke The trickling tears, cried "vengence on the smoke." The work proceeds : not roughly turns he now The pestle, but in circles smooth and slow, With cautious hand, that grudges what it spills. Some drops of olive oil he next instils. Then vinegar with caution scarcely less. And gathering to a ball the medly mess, Ijast, with two fingers frugally applied, Sweeps the small remnant from the mortar's side. And thus complete in figure and in kind. Obtains at length the Salad he design'd. And now black Cybale before him stands. The cake drawn newly glowing in her hands. He glad receives it, chasing far away All fears of famine for the passing day j ^ 280 JHis legs enclos'd in buskins, and his head In its tough casque of leather, forth he led And yok'd his steers, a dull obedient pair, Then drove afield, and plunged the pointed share. 281 TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES, [Begun August 1799.] FROM THE GREEK OF JULIANUS. A Spartan, his companions slain, Alone from battle fled, His mother kindling with disdain That she had borne him, struck him dead : For courage, and not birth alone, In Sparta, testifies a son ! THE SAME BY PALLADAS. A Spartan 'scaping from the fight, His mother met him in his flight, Upheld a faulchion to his breast. And thus the fugitive address'd : " Thou canst but live to blot with shame ^' Indelible thy mother's name, 24 # 282 " While ev'ry breath, that thou shalt draw, " Offends against thy country's law j " But, if thou perish by this hand, " Myself indeed throughout the land, " To my dishonour, shall be known " The mother slill of such a son ; " But Sparta will be safe and free, " And that shall serve to comfort me.'* AN EPITAPH. My name— my country — what are they to thee? What, whether base or proud, my pedigree ? Perhaps I far surpass'd all other men — Perhaps I fell below them all— what then ? SufEce it, stranger ! that thou seest a tomb— Thou know'st its use— it liides — no matter whom. ANOTHER. Take to thy bosom, gentle earth, a swain With much hard labour in thy service worn ! He set the vines, that clothe yon ample pl£uo, And he these olives, th at the vale Sidorn. , 283 He fill'd with grain the glebe ; the rills he led Thro' this green herbage, and those fruitful bow'rs; Tliou, therefore, earth ! lie lightly oa his head, His hoary head, and deck his grave with flow'rs. ANOTHER. pAiNTHR, this likeness is too strong, And we shall mourn the dead too long. ANOTHER. At threescore winters' end I died A cheerless being, sole and sad ; The nuptial knot I never tied, And wish my father never had. BY CALLIMACHUS. At mom we plac'd on his funereal bier Young Melanippus ; and at eventide, Unable to sustain a loss so dear, By her owa hand bis blooming sister died. 284 Thns Aristippus moum'd his noble race, Annitiilated by a double blow, Nor son could hope, nor daughter more t'embraceii And all Cyrene saddened at his wo. ON MILTIADES. M'.LTiADES ! thy valour best (Altliough ill every region known) The rtien of Persia can attest, Taught by thyself at Marathon. ON AN INFANT. Bewajl not much, my parents ! me, the prey Of ruthless Ades, and sepulchred here. An infant, in my fifth scarce finished year, He found all sportive, innocent, and gay. Your young Callimachus ; and if I knew Not many joys, my griefe were also few. BY HERACLIDES. In Cnidusborn, the consort I became Of Euphron. Aretimias was my oame. 285 His bed I shar'd, nor prov'd a barren bride, But bor«' two children at a birth, .'nd died. One child I leave to solace and uphold Euphron hereafter, when infirm and old. And one, for his remembrance sake, I bear To Pluto's realm, till he shall join me there. ON THE REED. I WAS of late a barren plant, Useles.s, insignificant, Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore, A native of the marshy shore ; But eather'd for poetick use. And plung'd into a sable jnice, Of which ray modicum I sip, With narrow mouth and slender Up, At once, although by nature dumb, All eloquent I have become, And speak with fluency untired, As if by Phcebus' self inspired. TO HEALTH. Eldest born of pow'rs divine ! Blest Hygeia ! be it mine. To enjoy what thou canst give, Aqd henceforth with thee to live: 28 6 For in poW*r if pleasure be, Wealth, or num'rous progeny. Or in amorous embrace, Where no spy infests the place ; Or in aught, that Heav'n bestows To alleviate human woes. When the wearied heart despairs Of a respite from its cares ; These and ev'ry true delight Flourish only in thy sight j And the sister Graces Three Owe, themselves, their youth to thee* Without whom we may possess Much, but never happiness. ON THE ASTROLOGERS. Th' astrologers did all alike presage My uncle's dying in extreme old age, One only disagreed. But he was wise. And spoke not, till he heard the fuo'ral cries. ON AN OLD WOMAN. Mycilla dyes her locks 'tis said ; But 'tis a foul aspersion, i / She buys them black ; they therefore need" No subsequent immersion-. 287 ON INVALIDS. Far happier are the dead, methinks, than they, Who look for death, and fear it ev'ry day. ON FLATTERERS. No mischief worthier of our fear In nature can be found, Than friendship, in ostent sincere, But hollow and unsound. For lull'd into a dangerous dream We close infold a foe, Who strikes, when most secure we seem, Th' inevitable blow. ON THE SWALLOW. Attick maid ! with honoy fed, Bear'st thou to thy callow brood Yonder locust from the mead, Destin'd their delicious food ! Ye have kindred voices clear, Ye alike unfold the wing, Migrate hither, sojourn here. Both attendant en the spring ! 28 S Ah for pity drop the prize ; Let it not, with truth, be said. That ;i songster gasps and dies, Tliat a songster may be fed . ON LATE ACQUIRED WEALTH. Poor in my youtli, and in life's later scenes Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour ; Who nought enjoy^l, while young, denied the- means ; And nought, when old, enjoyM, denied the pow'r. ON A TRUE FRIEND. Hast thou a friend ? Thou hast indeeel A ricli and large supply, Treasure to serve your eveiy need, Weil manag'd, till you die. ON A BATH, BY PLATa D^XCytherea to the skies From this pellucid lymph arise ? Or was it Cytherea's touch, When bathing here, that made it such ? 289 ON A FOWLER, BY ISIDORUS. With seeds and birdlime, from the desert air, Eumeliis gither'd free, though scanty, fare. No lordly patron's hand he deign'd to kiss. Nor lux'ry knew, save liberty, nor bliss. Thrice thirty years he liv'd, and to his heirs His seeds bequeath'd, liis birdlime, and his snares. ON NIOBE. Charon ! receive a family on board Itself sufficient for thy cras^y yawl j Apollo and Diana, for a word By me too proudly spoken, slew us all. ON A GOOD MAN. TRAv'trER, regret not me ; for thou shalt find .Just cause of sorrow none in my decease, AVho, dying, children's children left behind, And with one wife liv'd many years in peace : Three virtuous youtlis espous'dmy daughters three, And oft their infants in my bosom lay, Nor saw I one, of all deriv'd from me, Touch'd by disepse, or torn by death away. 290 Their duteous hands my fun'ral rites bestowed, And me, by blanieless manners fitted well To seek it, sent to the serene abode, Where shades of pious men for ever dwell. ON A MISER. They call thee rich — I deem thee poor, Since, if thou dar'st not use thy store, But sav'st it only for thine heirs. The treasure is not thine, but theirs. ANOTHER. A MISER, traversing his house, Espied, Unusual there, a mouse, And thus his uninvited guest. Briskly inquisitive, address'd : " Tell rae, my dear, to what cause is it " I owe this unexpected visit?" The mouse her host obliquely ey'd, And smiling, pleasantly replied, " Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard ! " I come to lodge, and not to board." 291 ANOTHER. Art thou some individual of a kind Long-live^l by nature as the rook or hind !' Heap treasure then, for if thy need be such, Thou hast excuse, and scarce canst heap too much. But man thou seem'st, clear therefore from thy breast This lust of treasure — folly at the best ! For why siiould'st thou go wasted to the tomb, To fatten with thy spoils thou know'st not whom ? ON FEMALE INCONSTANCY. Rich, thou hadst many lovers — poor, hast none, So surely want extinguishes the flame, And she who call'd thee once her pretty one. And her Adonis, now inquires thy name. Where wast thou born, Sosicrates, and where In what strange country can thy parents live Who seem'st, by thy complaints, not yet aware, Tnat waot's a crime no woman can foigive? 292 ON THE GRASSHOPPER. Happy songster, perch'd above, On the summit of the gi'ove, Whom a dew-drop cheers to sing With the freedom of a king. From thy perch survey the fields Where prolifick nature yields Nought, that, willingly as she, Man surrenders not to thee. For hostility or liate None thy pleasures can create. Thee it satisfies to sing Sweetly the return of spring, Herald of the genial hours, Harming neither herbs nor flow'rs. Therefore man thy voice attends Gladly — thou and he are friends ; Nor thy never-ceasing strains Phcebus or the muse d isdains As too simple or too long, For themselves inspire the song. Earth-born, bloodless, undecaying, Ever singHig, sporting, playing, What has nature else to show Godlike in its kind as thou !' 293 ON HERMOCRATIA. Hermocratia nam'd save only one Twice fifteen births 1 bore, and buried none ; For neither Phoebus pierc'd my thriving joy.«, Nor Dian she my girls, or he ipy boys. But Diau rather, when my daughters lay In parturition, chas'd their pangs away. And all my sons, by Phoebus' bounty, shar'd A vig'rous youth, by sickness unimpair'd. O Niobe ! far less prolifick ! see Thy boast against Latona sham'd by me ? FROM MENANDER. Fond youth ! who dream'st, that hoarded gold Is needful, not alone lo pay For all thy various items sold, To serve the wants of every day j Bread, vinegar, and oil, and meat, For sav'ry viands season'd high ; But somewhat more rnjportant yet I tell thee what it cannot buy. No treasure, hadst thou more amass'd. Than fame to Tantalus assign'd, Would save thee from a tomb at last, Bot thou must leave it all beiiind. 294 I give thee, therefore, coun-el wise j Confide not vainly in thy store. However large much less despise Others comparatively poor ; But in thy more exalted state A. just and equal tera per show, That all who see thee rich and great May deem thee worthy to be so. ON PALLAS BATHING. FROM A HYMN OF CAlIMACJlUS. Non oils of balmy scent produce, Nor mirrour for Minerva's use, Ye nymphs who lave her ; she, array 'd In genuine beauty, scorns their aid. Not even when they left the skies To seek on Ida's head the prize From Paris' hand, did Juno deign. Or Pallas in the crystal plain Of Simois' stream her locks to trace, Or in the mirrour's polish'd face, Thoug'' Venus ofi. with anxious care Adjusted twice a single hair. 295 TO DEMOSTHENIS. It flatters and deceives thy view, This mirrour of ill polish'd orej / For were it just, and told thee true, Thou would'st consult it never more. A SIMILAR CHARACTER. You give your cheeks a rosy stain, With washes dye your hair. But paint and washes both are vain To give a youthful air. Those wrinkles mock your daily toil, No labour will efface 'em, You wear a mask of smoothest oil, Yet still with ease we trace 'em. An art so fruitless then forsake, Which though you much excel in, Y ou never can contrive to make Old Hecuba young Helen. 296 ^ ON AN UGLY FELLOW Beware, my friend ! of crystal brook, Or foi.intain, lest that hideous hook, Thy nose, thou chance to see ; Narcissus' fate would then be thine, And self-detested thou wouldst pine, As self-enaicour'd he. ON BATTERED BEAUTV, Hair, wax, rouge, honey, teeth, you buy, Pl A multifarious store ! A mask at once would all supply, Nor would it cost you more. ON A THIEF. When Aulus, the nocturnal thief, made prize Of Hermes, swift-wing'd envoy of the skies, Hermes, Arcadia's king, the thief divine, Who, when an infant, stole Apollo's kine, And whom, as arbiter and overseer Of our gymnasuck sports, we planted here; " Hermes," he cried, "you meet no new disaster; '* Ofttimes the pupil goes beyond his master," 297 ON PEDIGREE, FROM EPICHARMUS. My mother, if thou love me, name no more My noble birth ! Sounding at every breath My noble birth, thou kill'?t me. Thither fly, As to their only refuge, all from whom Nature withholds all good besides ; they boast Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs Of their forefathers, and from age to age Ascending, trumpet their illustrious race : But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name, Deriv'd from no forefather ? Such a man Lives not ; for how could such be born at all ? And if it chance, that native of a land Far distant, or in infancy depriv'd Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace His origin, exist, why deem him sprung From baser ancestry than theirs, who can ?■ My mother ! he, whom nature at his birth Endow'd with virtuous qualities, although An iEthiop and a slave, is nobly born. 298 ON ENVY. FiTY, says the Theban bard, From my wishes I discard ; Envy, let me rather be, Rather far a theme for thee ! Pity to distress is shown, Envy to the great alone — So the Theban — But to shine Less conspicuous be mine ! I prefer the golden mean Pomp and penury between ; For alarm and peiil wait Ever on the loftiest state, And the lowest, to the end, Obloquy and scorn attend. BY PHILEMON. Oft we enhance our ills by discontent, And give them bulk, beyond what nature meant. A parent, brother, friend deceas'd, to cry — " He's dead indeed, but he was bom to die — " Such temperate grief is suited to the size And burthen of the loss ; is just and wise. But to exclaim, " Ah ! wherefore was I born, ''Thus to be left, for ever thus forlorn .^" 299 Who thus laments his loss, invites distresa, And magnifies a wo that might be less, Through dull despondence to his lot resigned, And leaving reason's remedy behind. BY MOSCHUS. I SLEPT, when Venus enter'd : to my bed A Cupid in her beautious hand she led, A basliful-seeming boy, and thus she said : " Shepherd receive my little one ! I bring " An untaught love, whom thou must teach to sing.'' She said, and left him. 1 suspecting nought Many a sweet strain my subtile pupil taught, How reed to reed Pan first with osier bound. How Pallas form'd the pipe of softest sound. How Hermes gave the lute, and how the quire Of Phoebus owe to Plioebus' self the lyre. Such were my themes ; my themes nought heede(^ he. But ditties sangof am'rous sort to me. The pangs, that mortals and immortals prove From Venus' influence, and the darts of love. Thus was the teacher by the pupil taught ; His lessons 1 retain'd, and mine forgot. 300 EPIGRAMS, TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN OF OWE.X. IN IGNORANTEM ARROGANTEM LINUM. C'aptivum, Line, te tenet ignorantia duplex. Scis nihil, et nescis te quoque scire nihil. ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT. Thou mayst of double ign'rance boast, Who know'st not, that thou nothing know'st. PRUDENS SIMPLICITAS, Ut nulli nocuisse velisj imitare columbam .- Serpentem, utposfdt nemo nocere tibi. PRUDENT SIMPLICITY. That thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be, \nd serpent-like, that none may injure thee I 301 AD AMICUM PAUPEREM. Est male 7iunc J Utinam in pejus sors omnia vertat; Svccedunt summis optima scepe rruxlis. TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS. I WISH tliy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend ; For when at worst, they say, things always mend. Omnia me dum junior essem, scire putabam .- Quo scio plut, hoc me nunc scio scir&^minus. When little more than boy in age, I deein'd inyself almost a sage ; But no".T "ipem worthier to be styl'd, For isnorancp — almost a child. LEX T ALIO MS. MajoruT^ vumquam, Aule, le^ls mnnximenla Ins- ru^r. : M'r''im r?', pn'erita" si Inn sr.rip'n Jc.gat. 302 RETALIATION. Tbb works of ancient bards divine, Auliis, thou scorn'st to read ; And should posterity read thine, It would be strange indeed ! DE ORTU ET OCCASU. Sole oriente, tut reditus a morte memento Sis memar occasuHt sole cadente, tui ! SUNSET AND SUNRISE. CoNTEMPLATK, whcn the sun declines, Thy death, with deep reflection ! And when again he rising shines, Thy day of resurrection ! 303 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FABLES OF GAY. LEPUS MULTIS AMICUS. Lvsus amicltia est, uni nisi dedita, ceii fit, Simpliceni nexus fcedere, liisiis amor. Incerto genitore puer,non saepe paternae Tutamen novit, deliciasque domus : Quiqne sibi fidos fore raultos sperat, amicus, Mirum est huic misero si ferat ullus opeui. Comis erat, uiitisque, et nolle et velle paratus Cum quovis, Gaii more modoque, Lepus. Ille, quot in syivis et quot spatiantur in agris Quadrupedes, norat conciliare sibi ; Et q'lisque innocuo, invitoque lacessere quenquam Labra tenus saltern fidus amicus erat. Ortum sub lucis duin pressa cubilia linquit, Rorantes herbas, pabula sueta, petens, Venatorum audit clangores pone sequentem, Fulmirieumque sonum territus erro fugit. Corda pavor pulsat, sursum sedet, erigit aures, JRespicit, et sentit jam prope adesse necem. 304 Utque canes fallat late circuiuvagus, iliuc, L'ndeabiit, inira cal'.iditate redit; Viribus at fraciis tandeui se projicit ultro In media. Kiisei'um semianimeinque via, Vix ibi stratus, equisouituni pedis audit, ot, ohspc Quam Iseta adventu cor agitatur ec|ui ! Dorsum (inquit) mihi, ciiaae, tuura concede, tuoque Auxilio nares fallere, vimque canum. Me mens, ut no^ti, pes prodit fidus amicus Fert quodcunque lubens, nee grave sentil, onus. Belle miselle lepuscule, (equus respondet) auiara Omnia quae tibi sunt, sunt et amai-a milii. Veriim age— gume animos — niulti, me pone, bo- nique Adveniuul, quorum sis cito salvus ope. Proximus armciili dominus bos solicitatus Auxilium his verbis se dare posse negat. ftuando quadrupedum, quot vivunt, nullus amicum Me nescire potest usque fuisse tibi, Libertate sequus, quam cedit amicus amico, Utar, et absque u)etu ue tibi displiceam ; Hinc me raandat amor. Juxta istum uiessis acer- vum Me mea, prae cunctis cl'.ara, juvenca nianet ; Et quis non ultro quaecunque negotia iinquit, Pareat ut dominae, cum vocat ipsa, suje ? Neu me crudelera dicas — di.scedo— sed liircus, Cujus ope efl'ugias integer, nircus adest, Febrem (ait hircus) babes. Heu, sicca ut Umiioa langnent I 305 Utque caput, collo deficiente, jacet ! Hirsutum mihi tergmn j etforsan laeserit jEgruw, Vellcre eris melius fultus, ovisqiie venit. Me luihi fecit onus natura, ovis inqnit, anhelans Sustineo lan^e pondera tanta raeae ; Me nee velocem nee fortem jacto, solentque Nob etiam sasvi dilacerare canes. Ultimus accedit vitulus, vituluraque precatur Ut periturum alias ocyus eripiat. ReiTiue ego, respondet vitulus, susc^pero tantam, IVon depulsus adhuc ubere, natus iieri ? Te, quem maturi canibus validique relinquunt, Incolumem potero reddere parvus ego ? Preeterea toUens quem illi aversantur, amicis Forte parura videar consuluisse meis. Ignoscas oro. I'idissima dissociintur Corda, et t;ile tibi sat liquet esse meum. Ecce autein ed calces cauis est ! te quanta pe- rempto Tristitia est nobis ingruitura ! Vale ! AVARUS ET PLUTUS. IcTA fenestra Euri flatu stridebat, avarus Ex somno trepidus surgit, opuraque memor. Lata silenttr humi ponit vestigia, quemque Respicit ad sonitura respicieusque treiiiit ; Angustissiraa quaeque foianiina lampade visit, Ad vectes, obices, fertque refertque nianuni. 306 Deiu reseiut crebris jiinctam cotnpagibus arcain Extiltansque ouiues conspicit iutns opes. Sid tandem furiis iiltricibus actus ob aitcs Uueis sua res tenuis creverat in cumulum. Coutortis uianibus nunc stat, nunc pectora pulsans Aurum execratur, pernicieinque vocat ; O mibi, ait, luisero mens quam tranquilla fuissetj Hoc celasset adhuc si modo terra malum ! Kunc autem virtus ipsa est venalis ; et aurum Quid contra vitii tormina sveva valet ? O inimicum aurum ! O homini infestissima pesti», Cui datur illecebras vincere posse tuas ? Aurum homines suasit contemnere quicquid ho^ nestum est, Et piaeter nomen nil retinere boni. Aurum cuncta mali per terras semina sparsit ; x\urum nocturnis furibus arma dedit. Bella aocet fortes, timidosque ad pessiraa ducit, Fcedifragas artes, muitiplicesque dolos, Nee viiii quicquam est, quod non inveneris ortum Ex malesuada auri saLMilegaque fame. Dixit, et ingemuit , Plutusque suum sibi numen Ante oculos, ira fervidus, ipsie stetit. Arcam cl\^^\ 2-, ^ •->' .0 0^. -.^^^--O "> '' I,, A -/-_ : ^^ f* " . V o. -y . ., o ^ ,sj,^ // c^ V '^ -. ^^^' ■% * -0' .0 0. ^*.,'*.,>-^„^- . y, Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proc '■ Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide ' Treatment Date: Marcli 2009 Preservationlechnoiogi A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVA 111 Thomson Park Drive r"^■<5.•^H^.rr^/ T,^ii,riohin DAICnCC ,00. / '■ ^!>^ ^ » )^ ^ A*^ . »^= ■^ '^^ ~;^'..\ P,^ c^^_^^. ^^ :/. LIBRARY