Shalt thou, O insolent! prevail?
Heav'n never meant its goods for sale:
Beauty, the pearl of price, is giv'n,
Not bought, 'tis the free grace of Heav'n.
The happy youth with arts refin'd,
Simple of heart, of steadfast mind:
Whom thirst of gain could never draw
To trespass friendship's sacred law:
Whose soul the charms of sense inspire;
Who loves, where reason bids admire:
Cautious to shun, with wise disdain,
The proud, the airy, and the vain:
Him whom these virtues shall adorn,
Thou, fair Montgomery, wilt not scorn:
Of all the gifts of Heav'n possest,
To him thou yield'st thy willing breast;
For him the blush, with modest grace,
Glows rosy, o'er thy blooming face:
For him thy panting bosom swells,
And on thy lips such sweetness dwells.
Crown'd with success, the happy boy
Shall revel in excess of joy :
While in thy presence, Heav'n appears
In sweets laid up for many years.
The beau and witling then shall fly,
The fop in secret corner sigh;
Condemn'd to cry in love's despair,
"Ah! why so wise who was so fair?"
Did thy example, beauteous maid,
The rest of womankind persuade;
Nor injur'd merit would complain,
That it may love, and love in vain :
Nor flattery false, and impudence,
Usurp the room of bashful sense;
No more at midnight ball appear,
To gain on beauty's list'ning ear.
Beauty would hear the vows of truth;
Nor love would speak with folly's mouth.
Yet some there are, the better few,
Wise thy example to pursue;
Who rich in store of native charms,
Employ no artificial arms.
Such heav'nly Charlotte, form divine!
Love's universal kingdom's thine,
Anointed queen! all unconfin'd,
Thine is the homage of mankind:
Thy subjects, willing to obey,
Bless thy mild rule and gentle sway;
With loyal mind each zealous pays
His tribute dateous to thy praise.
Yet nought to greatness dost thou owe;
Thy merit from thyself does flow;
Alike our wonder and our theme,
In beauty as in place supreme.
Such thy fair sister, fram'd to please,
Of aspect gay, and graceful ease.
Pure flows her wit and unrestrain'd;
By envy and by hate unstain'd;
Not as the rushing torrent pours,
Increas'd by snows, and wintry show'rs;
Involving in its furious sway
The labouring hinds, a helpless prey;
Now wide o'erspreads the wat❜ry scene,
And now decreas'd, no more is seen:
But as a constant river leads
Its winding stream through purple meads;
That through the blushing landscape roll'd,
Reflects the bordering flowers in gold;
And, borne along with gentle force,
Distributes wealth through all its course;
Nor does the faithful spring deny
The alimental just supply.
Thou Douglas 2 too, in whom combine
A spirit and a noble line;
Engaging looks, that mild inspire
Fond delight and young desire;
All-winning sweetness, void of pride,
Thou hast no faults for art to hide.
Maria such, whose opening bloom
Foreshows the pregnant fruits to come.
O blest! for whom the Seasons' flight
Ripens that harvest of delight;
To whom the Autumu shall resign,
To press the rich luxuriant vine.
Unwounded who can thee espy,
Maid of the black and piercing eye!
Too rashly bold, we take the field
Against thy shafts with Wisdom's shield;
Pierc'd helpless in our guarded side,
We fall the victims of our pride.
Nor Erskine less the song demands,
Not least in beauty's blooming bands.
Erskine, peculiar care of Heav'n,
To whom the pow'r of sound is giv'n;
Artist divine! to her belong
The heav'nly lay, and magic song:
How do we gaze with vast delight
Her fingers' swift harmonious flight,
When o'er th' obedient keys they fly,
To waken sleeping harmony?
Whene'er she speaks, the joy of all,
Soft the silver accents fall:
Whene'er she looks, in still amaze
The eyes of all enamour'd gaze:
Each word steals gently on the ear;
"Tis Heav'n to see, 'tis Heav'n to hear.
In everlasting blushes seen,
Such Pringle shines of sprightly mien:
To her the pow'r of love imparts,
Rich gift! the soft successful arts
That best the lovers' fires provoke,
The lively step, the mirthful joke,
The speaking glance, the amorous wile,
The sportful laugh, the winning smile;
Her soul, awakening every grace,
Is all abroad upon her face;
In bloom of youth still to survive,
All charms are there, and all alive.
Fair is the lily, sweet the rose, That in thy cheek, O Drummond! glows; Pure is the snow's unsullied white That clothes thy bosom's swelling height. Majestic looks her soul express, That awe us from desir'd access; Till sweetness soon rebukes the fear, And bids the trembling youth draw near. See, how sublime she does advance, And seems already in the dance; Exalted how she moves along, Ten thousand thousand graces strong! Such Marchmont's daughter, unreprov'd, The maid by men of sense belov'd; Who knows with modesty to scorn The titles that may fools adorn: She claims no merit from her blood, Her greatest honour to be good:
Heedless of pomp, with open heart
Well has she chose the better part.
Such Hamilla's looks divine,
Earth's wonder, Tinnegham, and thine!
Her soul all tenderness and love,
Gentle as the harmless dove:
Who artless, charms without design,
She! of the modest look benign.
Eliza young in beauty bright,
Though new to every soft delight,
Yet soon her conquests shall extend,
Soon shall the sprightly maid ascend
The rival of each kindred name,
And triumph to her mother's fame.
Full in the pleasing list appears
Robertoun, in prime of years;
With skill she does her smiles bestow,
For Pallas bends her Cupid's bow:
Wisely she shuns to entertain
The designing, and the vain;
To these 'tis all forbidden ground,
Prudence, a cherub, guards her round,
With flaming sword fools to expel;
In paradise fools must not dwell.
Strike again the golden lyre,
Let Hume the notes of joy inspire.
O lovely Hume! repeat again,
My lyre, the ever-pleasing strain.
Dear to the Muse, the Muse approves
Each charm, the Muse the virgin loves:
The Muse preserves in lasting lays
The records of soft beauty's praise;
In vain would triumph beauty's eye,
Unsung, these triumphs soon would die;
Fate overcomes the fair and strong,
But has no pow'r o'er sacred song;
Verse the dying name can save,
And make it live beyond the grave.
Thus Hume shall unborn hearts engage,
Her smile shall warm another age;
Her race of mortal glory past,
Th' immortal fame shall ever last;
Last shall the look that won my heart,
The pleasing look sincere of art.
O! pow'rful of persuasive face,
Adorn'd and perfected in grace;
What joys await, joys in excess,
The youth whom thou decree'st to bless;
Ordain'd thy yielding breast to move,
Thy breast yet innocent of love!
But who is she, the general gaze
Of sighing crowds, the world's amaze,
Who looks forth as the blushing morn
On mountains of the east new born?
Is it not Cochrane fair? Tis she,
The youngest grace of graces three.
The eldest fell to death a prey,
Ah! snatch'd in early flower away:
The second, manifold of charms,
Blesses a happy husband's arms;
The third a blooming form remains;
O'er all the blameless victor reigns:
Where'er she gracious deigns to move,
The public praise, the public love.
Super these shall still remain,
The ler's wish, the poet's strain;
Their beauties shall all hearts engage,
Victorious over spite and age:
Like thee, Montgomery, shall they shine,
And charm the world with arts like thine.
ON HER TAKING SOMETHING ILL THE AUTHOR SAID.
WHY hangs that cloud upon thy brow?
That beauteous Heav'n, ere-while serene?
Whence do these storms and tempests blow,
Or what this gust of passion mean?
And must then mankind lose that light
Which in thine eyes was wont to shine,
And lie obscur'd in endless night,
For each poor silly speech of mine?
Dear child, how could I wrong thy name?
Thy form so fair and faultless stands,
That could ill tongues abuse thy fame,
Thy beauty could make large amends:
Or if I durst profanely try
Thy beauty's powerful charms t' upbraid,
Thy virtue well might give the lie,
Nor call thy beauty to its aid.
For Venus, every heart t' ensnare,
With all her charms has deck'd thy face,
And Pallas, with unusual care,
Bids wisdom heighten every grace.
Who can the double pain endure?
Or who must not resign the field
To thee, celestial maid, secure
With Cupid's bow and Pallas' shield?
If then to thee such pow'r is given,
Let not a wretch in torment live,
But smile, and learn to copy Heav'n;
Since we must sin ere it forgive.
Yet pitying Heaven not only does
Forgive th' offender, and th' offence,
But ev'n itself appeas'd bestows,
As the reward of penitence.
UPON HEARING HIS PICTURE WAS IN
A LADY'S BREAST.
YE gods! was Strephon's picture blest
With the fair Heaven of Chloe's breast?
Move softer, thou fond fluttering heart!
Oh gently throb,-too fierce thou art.
Tell me, thou brightest of thy kind,
For Strephon was the bliss design'd?
For Strephon's sake, dear charming maid,
Didst thou prefer his wandering shade?
And thou, blest shade! that sweetly art
Lodged so near my Chloe's heart,
For me the tender hour improve,
And softly tell how dear I love.
Ungrateful thing! it scorns to hear
Its wretched master's ardent pray'r,
Ingrossing all that beauteous Heaven,
That Chloe, lavish maid, has given.
I cannot blame thee: were I lord
Of all the wealth those breasts afford,
I'd be a miser too, nor give
An alms to keep a god alive.
Oh smile not thus, my lovely fair,
On these cold looks, that lifeless air,
Prize him whose bosom glows with Gre,
With eager love and soft desire.
'Tis true thy charms, O powerful maid,
To life can bring the silent shade:
Thou canst surpass the painter's art,
And real warmth and flames impart.
But oh! it ne'er can love like me,
I've ever lov'd, and lov'd but thee:
Then, charmer, grant my fond request,
Say thou canst love, and make me blest.
WHILE
HILE crown'd with radiant charms divine,
Unnumber'd beauties round thee shine;
When Erskine leads her happy man,
And Johnstone shakes the fluttering fan;
When beauteous Pringle shines confest,
And gently heaves her swelling breast,
Her raptur'd partner still at gaze,
Pursuing through each winding maze;
Say, youth, and canst thou keep secure
Thy heart from conquering beauty's pow'r?
Or, hast thou not, how soon! betray'd
The too-believing country maid?
Whose young and unexperienc'd years
From thee no evil purpose fears;
And yielding to love's gentle sway,
Knows not that lovers can betray.
How shall she curse deceiving men!
How shall she e'er believe again?
For me, my happier lot decrees
The joys of love that constant please;
A warm, benign, and gentle flame,
That clearly burns, and still the same;
Unlike those fires that fools betray,
That fiercely burn, but swift decay;
Which warring passions hourly raise,
A short and momentary blaze.
My Hume, my beauteous Hume! constrains
My heart in voluntary chains:
Well-pleas'd, for her my voice I raise;
For daily joys claim daily praise.
Can I forsake the fair, complete
In all that's soft, and all that's sweet;
When Heav'n has in her form combin'd
The scatter'd graces of her kind?
Has she not all the charms that lie
In Gordon's blush, and Lockhart's eye;
The down of lovely Haya's air,
Killochia's shape, or Cockburn's air?
Can time to love a period bring
Of charms, for ever in their spring?
'Tis death alone the lover frees,
Who loves so long as she can please.
By various youths admir'd, by all approv'd,
By many sought, by one sincerely lov'd,
Chief of Edina's fair I flourish'd long,
First in the dance, the visit, and the song;
Beauty, good-nature, in my form combin'd,
My body one adorn'd, and one my mind.
When youthful years, a foe to lonely nights,
Impel young hearts to Hymen's chaste delights,
I view'd th' admiring train with equal eye,
True to each hope, and faithful to each sigh:
The happy hours of admiration past,
The hand of nuptial love was given at last;
Not to the faithful youth my charms inspir'd,
Nor those who sought my charms, nor who admir'd;
He not prefer'd for merit, wit, or sense,
Not chose, but suffer'd with indifference,
Who neither knew to love, or be belov'd,
Approv'd me not, and just not disapprov'd,
Nor warmth pretended, nor affection show'd;
Ask'd, not implor'd; I yielded, not bestow'd:
Without or hopes or fears I join'd his side,
His mistress never, and but scarce his bride.
No joys at home, abroad was only show;
I neither gain'd a friend, nor lost a foe:
For, lost alike to pleasure, love, and fame,
My person he enjoys, and I his name.
Yet patient still I lead my anxious life,
Pleas'd that I'm call'd my formal husband's wife.
THE YOUNGEST GRACE.
A LOVE-ELEGY.
ADDRESSED TO A LADY, WHO HAD JUST FINISHED
HER FIFTEENTH YEAR.
His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani
Munere-
Virg. Æneid. 6.
As beauty's queen in her aĕrial hall
Sublimely seated on a golden throne,
Before her high tribunal summon'd all
Who or on earth, sea, air, her empire own;
First came her son, her pow'r, her darling boy,
Whose gentlest breath can raise the fiercest flame,
Oft working mischief, though his end be joy,
And though devoid of sight, yet sure of aim. With him, his youthful consort, sad no more, Psyche, infranchis'd from all mortal pain, Who, every trial of obedience o'er,
Enjoys the blessings of the heavenly reign.
Next, as it well beseem'd, the tuneful Nine,
Daughters of memory, and dear to Jove,
Who, as they list, the hearts of men incline
To wit, to music, poetry, or love.
She who with milder breath inspiring fills,
Than ever Zephyr knew, the heart-born sigh,
Or else from Nature's pregnant source distils
The tender drops that swell the love-sick eye.
Or she who from her copious store affords,
When love decrees, the faithful youth to bless,
The sacred energy of melting words,
In the dear hour and season of success.
Last in the train two sisters fair appear'd, [sweet;
Sorrowing they seem'd, yet seem'd their sorrow
Nor ever from the ground their eyes they rear'd,
Nor tripp'd, as they were wont, on snowy feet.
The Cyprian goddess cast her eyes around,
And gaz'd o'er all, with ever new delight;
1 Henry Home, afterwards Lord Kames. See So bright an host was no where to be found: Life of Hamilton. C.
Her heart dilates, and glories in its might
But when without their lov'd companion dear Two solitary Graces hand in hand Approach'd, the goddess inly 'gan to fear
What might befal the youngest of the band:
"Ah! whither is retir'd my darling joy,
My youngest Grace, the pride of all my reign, First in my care, and ever in my eye,
Why is she now the lag of all my train?
"Ah me! some danger threats my Cyprian state, Which, goddess as I am, I can't foresee; Some dire disaster labours, (ah, my fate!)
To wrest love's sceptre from my son and me."
She wept: not more she wept, when first her eyes
Saw low in dust her Ilion's towery pride;
Nor from her breast more frequent burst the sighs,
When her lov'd youth, her dear Adonis died.
"Yet, yet," she cry'd, "I will a monarch reign! In my last deed my greatness shall be seen: Ye Loves, ye Smiles, ye Graces, all my train,
Attend your mother, and obey your queen.
"Wisdom's vain goddess weaves some treacherous wile,
Or haughty Juno, Heaven's relentless dame: Haste! bend each bow; haste! brighten every smile, And lanch from every eye the lightning's flame."
Then had fell Discord broke the golden chain
That does the harmony of all uphold,
And where these orbs in beauteous order reign,
Brought back the anarchy of Chaos old:
When Cupid keen unlocks his feather'd store,
When Venus burns with more than mortal fire,
Mortals, immortals, all had fled before
The Loves, the Graces, and the Smiles in ire:
In vain, t' avert the horrors of that hour,
Anxious for fate, and fearing for his sky, The sire of gods and men had try'd his pow'r, And hung his golden balances on high:
Had not the eldest Grace, serene and mild,
Who wish'd this elemental war might cease, Sprung forward with persuasive look, and smil'd The furious mother of desires to peace.
"Ah whence this rage, vain child of empty fear!" With accent mild thus spoke the heav'nly maid, "What words, O sovereign of hearts! severe
Have pass'd the roses of thy lips unweigh'd?
"Think not mankind forsake thy mystic law: Thy son, thy pride, thy own Cupido reigns; Heard with respect, and seen with tender awe; Mighty on thrones, and gentle on the plains.
"Remember'st not how in the blest abodes
Of high Olympus an ethereal guest, Mix'd with the synod of th' assembled gods, Thou shar'd'st the honours of th' ambrosial feast?
"Celestial pleasures reigning all around,
Such as the pow'rs who live at ease enjoy, The smiling bowl with life immortal crown'd, By rosy Hebe, and the Phrygian boy:
Hermes, sly god, resolv'd thy spleen to hit, Thy spleen, but, of itself, too apt to move; Prone to offend with oft-mistaking wit,
That foe perverse to nature and to love.
"Much gloz'd he spiteful, how rebellious youth, Lost to thy fear, and recreant from thy name, False to the interest of the heart, and truth,
On foreign altars kindles impious flame.
"Much gloz'd he tauntful, how to nobler aims
The youth awakening from each female wile, No longer met in love's opprobrious flames, Slaves to an eye, or vassals to a smile. "Now fifteen years the still-returning spring With flow'rs the bosom of the earth has sow'd, As oft the groves heard Philomela sing,
And trees have paid the fragrant gifts they ow'd, "Since our dear sister left the heavenly bow'rs: So will'd the Fates, and such their high commands, She should be born in high Edina's tow'rs,
To thee far dearer than all other lands. "There, clad in mortal form, she lies conceal'd, A veil more bright than mortal form e'er knew; So fair was ne'er to dreaming bard reveal'd, Nor sweeter e'er the shadowing pencil drew. "Where'er the beauteous heart-compeller moves, She scatters wide perdition all around: Blest with celestial form, and crown'd with loves, No single breast is refractory found.
"Vain Pallas now th' unequal conflict shuns,
Vain are the terrours of her gorgon shield: Wit bends; but chief Apollo's yielding sons : To thy fair doves Juno's proud peacocks yield. "No rival pow'rs thy envied empire share; Revolted mortals crowd again thy shrine; Duteous to love, and every pleasing care,
All hearts are hers, and all her heart is thine. "So mild a sway the willing nations own;
By her thou triumph'st o'er this subject ball; Whilst men (the secret of the skies unknown) The beauteous apparition Laura call."
LOVE TURNED TO DESPAIR: "Tis past! the pangs of love are past, I love, I love no more;
Yet who would think I am at last
More wretched than before?
How bless'd, when first my heart was freed
From love's tormenting care,
If cold indifference did succeed,
Instead of fierce despair?
But ah! how ill is he releas'd,
Though love a tyrant reigns, When the successor in his breast Redoubles all his pains:
In vain attempts the woeful wight,
That would despair remove:
Its little finger has more weight
Than all the loins of love:
Thus the poor wretch that left his dome
With spirit foul accurst,
Found seven, returning late, at home
More dreadful than the first.
Well hop'd I once that constancy
Might soften rigour's frown,
Would from the chains of hate set free, And pay my ransom down:
But, ah! the judge is too severe,
I sink beneath his ire;
The sentence is gone forth, to bear Despair's eternal fire.
The hopes of sinners, in the day Of grace, their fears abate; But every hope flies far away, When mercy shuts her gate:
The smallest alms could oft suffice Love's hunger to assuage; Despair, the worm that never dies, Still gnaws with ceaseless rage.
Or doves, sweet gentle birds, the heaven-born Muse
Prepares to sing, their manners, and what law
The blameless race obey, their cares and loves.
O sacred virgin, that, to me unseen
Yet present, whispers nightly in my ear
Love-dited song or tale of martial knight,
As best becomes the time, and aidful grants
Celestial grace implor'd: O! bounteous, say
What favourite maid in her first bloom of youth
Wilt choose to honour? Seem I not to see
The laurel shake, and hear the voice divine
Sound in mine ear: "With Erskine best agrees
The song of doves; herself a dove, well-pleas'd
List gracious to the tale benign, and hear
How the chaste bird with words of fondling love,
Soft billing, wooes his maid; their spousal loves,
Pure and unstam'd with jealous fear of change;
How studious they to build their little nests,
Nature's artificers! and tender, breed
Their unfledg'd children, till they wing their flight,
Each parent's care." Come, as the Muse ordains,
O! thou of every grace, whose looks of love,
Erskine, attractive, draw all wondering eyes,
Constant to gaze; and whose subduing speech
Drops as the honeycomb, and grace is pour'd
Into thy lips: for ever thee attends
Sweetness thy handmaid, and, with beauty, clothes
As with the morning's robe invested round:
O come, again invok'd, and smiling lend
Thy pleas'd attention, whilst in figur'd silk
Thy knowing needle plants th' embroider'd flower
As in its native bed: so may'st thou find
Delight perpetual and th' inclining ear
Of Heav'n propitious to thy maiden vow,
When thou shalt seek from love a youth adorn'd
With all perfection, worthy of thy choice,
To bless thy night of joy and social care.
O happy he, for whom the vow is made!
THE care of gardens, and the garden's pride
To rear the blooming flowers, invites the Muse;
A grateful task! To thee, O Hume, she sings,
Well-pleas'd amid the verdant walks to stray
With thee, her chief delight, when summer smiles.
Come now, my love, nor fear the winter's rage;
For see, the winter's past, the rains are gone:
Behold, the singing of the birds is now,
Season benign: the joyous race prepare
Their native melody, and warbling airs
Are heard in every grove: the flowers appear,
Earth's smiling offspring, and the beauteous meads
Are cloth'd in pleasant green : now fruitful trees
Put forth their tender buds that soon shall swell
With rich nectareous juice, and woo thy hand
To pluck their ripen'd sweets. Forsake awhile
The noise of cities, and with me retire
To rural solitude. Lo! for thy head
I weave a garland, deck'd with vernal flowers,
Violet, and hyacinth, and blushing rose
Of every rich perfume; here in this calm
And undisturb'd retreat content to dwell
Secluded from mankind, with thee and love
Sweet'ner of human cares. But thou perhaps
Delight'st to hear the voice that bids thee come
To festival and dance, thou long'st to meet
The raptur'd youth, that at assembly hour
Thy native softness, fresh as breathing flowers
Awaits thy coming: haste, adorn'd in all
Sweet smelling in the morning dew, and fire
His soul, ill able to resist such charms,
Won with attractive smiles; while I far off
Bemoan thy absence, and thy image form
In every thicket and each secret grove,
To soothe my longing mind by fancy's aid,
Pleasing resemblance! until thou thyself,
O fairest among women, deign to grace
The bower that love prepares, from me to learn
The care and culture of the flowery kind.
THE EPISODE OF THE THISTLE.
NOR to the garden sole where fair resides
As in her court the scarlet queen, amid
Her train of flowery nymphs, does Nature boon
Indulge her gifts; but to each nameless field,
When the warm Sun rejoicing in the year
Stirs up the latent juice, she scatters wide
Her rosy children: then, innumerous births
As from the womb spring up, and wide perfume
Their cradles with ambrosial sweets around.
Far as the eye can reach all Nature smiles,
Hill, dale, or valley, where a lucid stream
Leads through the level-down his silver maze,
Gliding with even pace, direct, as one
On journey bent, and now meandering fair,
Unnumber'd currents to and fro convolv'd,
His pastime, underneath the azure green
The wanton fishes sport; and round his banks,
Sole or in consort, the aërial kind
Resound in air with song: the wild thyme here
Breathes fragrance, and a thousand glittering
flowers
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