And at another's coft may feait at will
Our wond'ring eyes: what can the owner more?
But vain, alas! is wealth not grac'd with pow'r.
The flow'ry landfcape and the gilded dome,
And viftas op'ning to the wearied eye.
Thro' all his wide domain; the planted grove,
The fhrubby wilderness, with its gay choir
Of warbling birds, can't lull to foft repofe
Th' ambitious wretch, whofe discontented foul
Is harrow'd day and night: he mourns, he pines,
Until his prince's favour makes him great.
See, there he comes, th' exalted idol comes!
The circle's form'd, and all his fawning flaves
Devoutly bow to earth; from ev'ry mouth
The naufeous flatt'ry flows, which he returns
With promifes that die as foon as born.
Vile intercourfe! where Virtue has no place.
Frown but the monarch, all his glories fade;
He mingles with the throng, outcast, undone,
The pageant of a day; without one friend
To footh his tortur'd mind; all, all are fed;
For tho' they bask'd in his meridian ray,
The infects vanifh as his beams decline.

Not choirs of Tritons glad with sprightlier ftrains | Nor Titan's lively tints, adorn our walls?
The dancing billows, when proud Neptune rides Yet thefe the meanest of us may behold,
In triumph o'er the deep. How greedily
They fnuff the fishy fteam that to each blade
Rank-fcenting clings! See how themorning dews
Theyfweep, that from their feet befprinklingdrop
Difpers'd, and leave a track oblique behind.
Now on firm land they range; then in the flood
They plunge tumultuous, or thro' reedy pools
Ruftling they work their way: no hole efcapes
Their curious fearch. With quick fenfation now
The fuming vapour ftings; flutter their hearts,
And joy redoubled burfts from ev'ry mouth
In louder fymphonies. You hollow trunk,
That with its hoary head incurv'd falutes
The paffing wave, must be the tyrant's fort,
And dread abode. How thefe impatient climb,
While others at the root inceffant bay!
They put him down. See, there he dives along!
Th' afcending bubbles mark his gloomy way.
Quick fix the nets, and cut off his retreat
Into the fhelt ring deeps. Ah! there he vents!
The pack plunge headlong, and protended fpears,
Menace deftruction, while the troubled furge
Indignant foams, and all the fcaly kind
Affrighted hide their heads. Wild tumult reigns,
And loud uproar. Ah! there once more he vents!
See! that bold hound has feiz'd him; down they
fink,

Together loft; but foon fhall he repent
His rafh affault. See! there efcap'd he flies
Half-drown'd, and clambers up the flippery bank,
With ouze and blood diftain'd. Of all the brutes,
Whether by nature form'd, or by long ufe,
This artful diver best can bear the want
Of vital air. Unequal is the fight
Beneath the whelming element: yet there
He lives not long, but refpiration needs
At proper intervals. Again he vents;
Again the crowd attack. That fpear has pierc'd
His neck; the crimíon waves confefs the wound,
Fix'd is the bearded lance, unwelcome guest,
Where'er he flics; with him it finks beneath,
With him it mounts; fure guide to ev'ry foe.
Inly he groans, nor can his tender wound
Bear the cold ftream. Lo! to yon fedgy bank
He creeps difconfolate: his num'rous foes
Surround him, hounds and men. Pierc'd thro'
and thro'

On pointed fpears they lift him high in air;
Wriggling he hangs, and grins, and bites in vain.
Bid the loud horns, in gaily-warbling ftrains,
Proclaim the felon's fate. He dies! he dies!
Rejoice ye fcaly tribes! and leaping dance
Above the wave, in fign of liberty
Reftor'd; the cruel tyrant is no more.
Rejoice, fecure and bleft, did not as yet
Remain fome of your own rapacious kind,
And man, fierce man! with all his various wiles.

O happy, if ye knew your happy state,
Ye rangers of the fields! whom Nature boon
Cheers with her smiles, and ev'ry element
Confpires to blefs. What if no heroes frown
From marble pedestals, nor Raphael's works,

Not fuch our friends; for here no dark defign,
No wicked int`reft, bribes the venal heart;
But inclination to our bofoms leads,
And weds them there for life; our focial cups
Smile as we fimile; open and unreferv'd,
We fpeakourinmoit fouls; good-humour, mirth,
Soft complaifance, and wit from malice free,
Smooth ev'ry brow, and glow on ev'ry cheek.

O happiness fincere! what wretch would groan
Beneath the galling load of pow'r, or walk
Upon the flipp'ry pavements of the great,
Who thus could reign unenvied and secure?

Ye guardian Pow'rs, who make mankind your

care,

Give me to know wife Nature's hidden depths
Trace each myfterious caufe, with judgmentre
Th' expanded volume, and fubmifs adore
That great creative Will, who at a word
Spoke forth the wond'rous fcere. But if my foo
To this grofs clay confin'd, flutters on earth
With lefs ambitious wing, unskill'd to range
From orb to orb, where Newton leads the w
And view with piercing eyes the grand machia
Worlds above worlds; fubfervient to his vo
Who, veil'd in clouded majesty, alone
Gives light to all, bids the great fyftem movs
And changeful feafons in their turns advand
Unmov'd, unchang'd, himself; yet this at lea
Grant me propitious-an inglorious life
Calm and ferene, nor loft in falfe pursuits
Of wealth or honours; but enough to raise
My drooping friends, preventing modeft wa
That dares not afk: and if, to crown my joy
Ye grant me health, that, ruddy in my cheek
Blooms in my life's decline; fields, woods, a
ftreams,

Each tow'ring hill, each humble vale below,
Shallhearmycheeringxoice: myhoundsfhallwa
The lazy morn, and glad th' horizon round.

You, who the sweets of rural life have known,
Depife th' ungrateful hurry of the town;
In Windfor groves your eafy hours employ,
And, unfiturb'd, yourself and Mufe enjoy.
Thames littens to thy ftrains, and filent flows,
And no rude wind through ruttling ofier blows;
While all his wond'ring nymphs around thee
To hear the Syrens warble in thy fong. [throng.
But I, who ne'er was bleft by Fortune's hand,
or brighten'd ploughfhares in paternal land,
Ling in the noify town have been inmur'd,
or'd its fmoke, and all its cares endur'd;
Were news and politics divide mankind,
And fchemes of ftate involve th' uneafy mind;
bon embroils the world; and ev'ry tongue
ad by flatt'ry, or with fcandal hung:
Fr, for fylvan fhades, the palace flies,
W muit yield to int'reft's dearer ties;
Lal Machiavel with envy burns,
Aefty forfakes them all by turns;

calumny upon each party's thrown: both promote, and both alike difown. Fred at last, a calm retreat I choose,

oth'd the hara fs'dmind with fweetrepofe, felds and fhades,and the refreshingclime, the fylvan fong, and prompt my rhyme. Mafe shall rove through flow'ry meads and plains,

Adeck with rural fports her native ftrains;
A the fame road ambitiously pursue,
Fraented by the Mantuan twain and you.
To not that rural fports alone invite,

I

When heifers feek the shade and cooling lake,
And in the middle path-way basks the fnake;
O lead me, guard me from the fultry hours,
Hide me, ye forests, in your cloiest bow'rs,
Where the tall oak his fpreading arms entwines,
And with the beech a mutul fhade combines;
Where flowsthemurm'ringbrookinvitingdreams
Where bordering hazel overhangs the ftreams,
Whoferolling current winding round and round,
With frequent fallsmakes allthe wood refound;
Upon the moffy couch my limbs I caft,
And e'en at noon the fweets of ev'ning tafte.
Here I perufe the Mantuan's Georgic strains,
And learn the labours of Italian fwains;
In ev'ry page I fee new landscapes rise,
And all Heiperia opens to my eyes;
wander o'er the various rural toil,
And know the nature of each diff'rent foil:
This waving field is gilded o'er with corn,
That fpreading trees with blushing fruit adorn:
Here I furvey the purple vintage grow,
Climb round the poles, and rife in graceful row:
Now I behold the fteed curvet and bound,
And paw with reftlefs hoof the fmoking ground:
The dewlapp'd bull now chafes along the plain,
While burning love ferments in ev'ry vein;
Ilis well-arm'd front against his rival aims,
And by the dint of war his mistress claims:
The careful infect 'midft his works I view,
Now from the flow'rs exhauft the fragrant dew;
With golden treasures load his little thighs,
And fteer his diftant journey through the skies;
Some against hoftile drones the hive defend;
Others with fweets the waxen cells diftend:
Each in the toil his deftin'd office bears,
And in the little bulk a mighty foul appears.
Or when the ploughman leaves the talk of day,
And trudging homeward whistles on the way;
Whenthe big-udder'd cowswith patience stand,
Waiting the ftrokings of the damfel's hand;
No warblingcheers thewoods;the feather'dchoir,
To court kind flumbers, to the sprays retire:
When no rude gale diflurbs the fleeping trees,
Nor afpen leaves confefs the gentleft breeze;
Engag'd inthought,toNeptune's bounds I ftray,
To take my farewel of the parting day;
Far in the deep the fun his glory hides,
A ftreak of gold the fea and sky divides:
The purple clouds their amber linings fhew,
And edg'd with flame rolls ev'ry wave below:
Here penfive I behold the fading light,
And o'er the distant billow lose my fight.

the grateful country breathes delight; blooming health exerts her gentle reign, darings the finews of th' induftrious fwain. as the morning lark falutes the day, ugh dewy fields I take my frequent way, ere I behold the farmer's early care the revolving labours of the year. When the freth Spring inall her ftateiscrown'd, high luxuriantgrafs o'erfpreadstheground, Te Labourer with a bending fcythe is feen, Ang the furface of the waving green; al her native pride difrobes the land, And meads lays wafte before his fweeping hand; ewiththe mounting fun the meadow glows, eding herbage round he loosely throws: if fome fign portend a lafting how'r, experienc dfwain forefees the coming hour, fun-burnt hands the fcatt'ring fork forfake, ruddy damfels ply the faving rake; fing hills the fragrant harvelt grows, ad fpreads along the field in equal rows. Nowwhenthe height of heaven bright Phoebus gains,

And level rays cleave wide the thirsty plains;

Now Night in filent state begins to rife,
And twinkling orbs beftrew th uncloudy skies;
Her borrow'd luftre-growing Cynthia lends,
And on the main a glitt'ring path extends;
Millions of worlds hang in the fpacious air,
Which round their funs theirannual circles steer;
Sweet contemplation elevates my sense,
While I furvey the works of Providence.
O could the Muse in loftier strains rehearse
The glorious Author of the universe,
Who reins thewinds, gives thevaft oceanbounds,
Andcircumfcribesthefloating worldstheirrounds

This Poem received many material corrections from the Author after it was first published.

My

My foul fhould overflow in fongs of praife,
And my Creator's name infpire my lays!

As in fucceffive courfe the feafons roll,
So circling pleatures recreate the foul.
When genial fpring a living warmth beftows,
And o'er the year her verdant mantle throws,
No fwelling inundation hides the grounds,
But cryftal currents glide within their bounds;
The finny brood their wonted haunts forfake,
Float in the fun, and skim along the lake:
With frequent leap they rangethefhallowftreams,
Their filver coats reflect the dazzling beams.
Now let the fisherman his toils prepare,
And arm himfelf with ev'ry wat`ry fnare;
His hooks, his lines, perufe with careful eye;
Increase his tackle, and his rod re-tie.

When floating cloudstheirfpongy fleecesdrain,
Troubling the ftreamswithfwiftdefcendingrain;
Andwaters, tumbling down the mountain's fide,
Bear the loofe foil into the fwelling tide;
Then, foon as vernal gales begin to rife,
And drive the liquid burthen thro' the skies,
The fisher to the neighb'ring current speeds,
Whofe rapid furface purls unknown to weeds:
Upon a rifing border of the brook

He fits him down, and ties the treach'rous hook;
Now expectation cheers his eager thought,
His bofom glows with treafures yet uncaught;
Before his eyes a banquet feems to ftand,
Where ev'ry gueft applauds his skilful hand.
Far up the ftream the twifted hair he throws,
Whichdownthemurm'ring current gently flows;
When, if or chance or hunger's powerful fway
Directs the roving trout this fatal way,
He greedily fucks in the twining bait,
And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat:
Now, happy fisherman, now twitch the line!
How thy rod bends! behold, the prize is thine!
Caft on the bank, he dies with gasping pains,
And trickling blood his filver mail diftains.

You must not ev'ry worm promifcuous ufe;
Judgment will tell the proper bait to choose:
The worm that draws along immoderate size
The trout abhors, and the rank morfel flies:
And, if too fmall, the naked fraud's in fight,
And fear forbids, while hunger does invite.
Those baits will beft reward the fisher's pains,
Whofe polish'd tails a fhining yellow ftains;
Cleanfe them fromfilth,to give a tempting glofs,
Cherish the fullied reptile race with mois;
Amid the verdant bed they twine, they toil,
And from their bodies wipe their native foil.
But when the fun difplays his glorious beams,
And shallow rivers flow with silver streams,
Then the deceit the fcaly breed furvey,
Bask in the fun, and look into the day:
You now a more delufive art must try,
And tempt their hunger with the curious fly.
To frame the little animal, provide
All the gay hues that wait on female pride;
Let nature guide thee; fometimes golden wire
The fhining bellies of the fly require;
The peacock's plumes thy tackle muft not fail,
Nor the dear purchace of the fable`s tail.

Each gaudy bird fome flender tribute brings,
And lends the growing infect proper wings:
Silks of all colours mult their aid impart,
And ev'ry fur promote the fisher's art.
So the gay lady, with expensive care,
Borrows the pride of land, of fea, and air; [plays,
Furs, pearls, and plumes. the glitt'ring thing dif-
Dazzles our eyes, and eafy hearts betrays.

Mark well the various feasons of the year,
How the fucceeding infect race appear;
In this revolving moon one colour reigns,
Which in the next the fickle trout disdains.
Oft have I feen a fkilful angler try
The various colours of the treach'rous fly:
Whenhewithfruitlefs pain hasfkimm'dthebrook,
And the coy fish rejects the skipping hook,
He shakes the boughs that on the margin grow,
Which o'er the ftream a waving foreft throw;
When if an infect fall (his certain guide)
He gently takes him from the whirling tide;
Examines well his form with curious eyes,
His gaudy veft, his wings, his horns, and fize;
Then round his hook the chofen fur he winds,
And on the back a speckled feather binds;
So just the colours fhine through ev'ry part,
That Nature seems again to live in Art.
Let not thy wary step advance too near,
While all thy hope hangs on a fingle hair;
The new-form'd infect on the water moves,
The fpeckled trout the curious fnare approves;
Upon the curling furface let it glide;
With natural motion from thy hand supplied,
Against the ftream now gently let it play,
Now in the rapid eddy roll away.
The fcaly fhoals float by, and, feiz'd with fear,
Behold their fellows toft in thinner air;
But foon they leap, and catch the fwimming bait,
Plunge on the hook, and fhare an equal fate.

When a brifk gale against the current blows,
And all the watery plain in wrinkles flows,
Then let the fisherman his art repeat,
Where bubbling eddies favour the deceit.
If an enormous falmon chance to spy
The wanton errors of the floating fly;
He lifts his filver gills above the flood,
And greedily fucks in th' unfaithful food;
Then downward plunges with the fraudful prey,
And bears with joy the little spoil away:
Soon in smart pain he feels the dire mittake,
Lafhes the wave, and beats the foamy lake;
With fudden rage he now aloft appears,
And in his eye convulfive anguish bears:
And now again, impatient of the wound,
He rolls and writhes his fhining body round;
Then headlong fhoots beneath the dathing tide;
The trembling fins the boiling wave divide.
Now hope exalts the fifher's beating heart;
Now he turns pale, and fears his dubious art;
He views the tumbling fish with longing eyes,
While the line stretches with th' unwieldlyprize;
Each motion humours with his steady hands,
And one flight hair the mighty bulk commands:
Till tir'd at last, defpoil'd of all his strength,
The game athwart the stream unfolds his length,

The jocund thunder wakes th' enliven'd hounds, The fleecy ball their bafy fingers cull,
Theyroufefromfleepandanfwerfoundsforfounds, Or from the fpindle draw the length'ning wool:
Wide thro' th' furzy field their route they take; l'hus flowher hours with conftant peace of mind,
Their bleeding bofoms force the thorny brake: Till age the latett thread of life unwind.
The flying game their fmoking noftrils trace,
No bounding hedge obftructs their eager pace;
The diftant mountains echo from afar,
And hanging woods refound the flying war:
The tuneful noife the fprightly courfer hears,
Pawsthe greenturf,and prickshis trembling ears;
The flacken'd rein now gives him all his fpeed,
Back flies the rapid ground beneath the fteed;
Hills, dales, and forefts,far behind remain, [traia.
While the warmfcentdrawsonthe deep-mouth'd
Where shall the trembling hare a shelter find?
Hark! death advances in each guit of wind!
New ftratagems and doubling wiles she tries;
Now circling turns, and now at large the flies;
Till, spent at laft, fhe pants,and heaves for breath,
Then lays her down, and waits devouringdeath.
But ftay, advent'rous Mufe! haft thoutheforce
To wind the twisted horn, to guide the horfe?
To keep thy feat unmov'd, haft thou the fkill,
O'er the high gate, and down the headlong hill?
Canft thou the ftag's laborious chace direct,
Or the strong fox thro' all his arts detect?
The theme demands a more experienc'd lay:
Ye mighty hunters! fpare this weak essay.

Ye happy fields, unknown to noise and strife,
The kind rewarders of industrious life;
Ye fhady woods, where once I us'd to rove,
Alike indulgent to the Mufe and Love;
Ye murm'ring ftreams that in meanders roll,
The sweet compofers of the penfive foul;
Farewell!-the city calls me from your bow'rs:
Farewell, amufing thoughts, and peaceful hours!

O happy plains, remote from war's alarins,
And all the ravages of hoftile arms!
And happy fhepherds, who, fecure from fear,
On open downs preferve your fleecy care!
Whofefpacious barns groan with increafingitore,
And whirling flails disjoint the cracking floor!
No barbarous foldier, bent on cruel fpoil,
Spreads defolation o'er your fertile foil:
No trampling fteed lays waste the ripen'd grain,
Nor cracking fires devour the promis'd gain:
No flaming beacons caft their blaze afar,
The dreadful fignal of invasive war:
No trumpet's clangor wounds the mother's ear,
And calls the lover from his fwooning fair.

What happiness the rural maid attends,
In cheerful labour while each day the fpends!
She gratefully receives what Heaven has fent,
And, rich in poverty, enjoys content;
(Such happiness, and fuch unblemish'd fame,
Ne'er glad the bofom of the courtly dame):
She never feels the spleen's imagin'd pains,
Nor melancholy ftagnates in her veins;
She never lofes life in thoughtless ease;
Nor on the velvet couch invites disease;
Her home-fpun dress in simple neatness lies,
And for no glaring equipage the fighs:
Herrrtation, which is all her boast,
In a malicious vifit ne'er was loft;
No midnight masquerade her beauty wears,
And health, not paint, the fading bloom repairs.
If love's foft passion in her bosom reign,
An equal paffion warms her happy fwain:
No home-bred jars her quiet it e controul,
or watchful jealoufy torments her foul;
With fecret joy the fees her race
Hang on her breast, and her small cottage grace;

$53. Love of Fame, the Univerfal Pafion.

SATIRE 1.

Young.

To his Grace the Duke of Dorfet.
Tanto major Famæ fitis eft, quam
Virtutis

JUV. SAT. 10.

My verfe is Satire; Dorfèt, lend your ear,
And patronize a Mufe you cannot fear;
To Poets facred is a Dorset's name,
Their wonted paffport thro' the gates of fame;
It bribes the partial reader into praife,
And throws a glory round the shelter'd lays;
The dazzled judgment fewer faults can see,
And gives applaufe to Be, or to me.
But you decline the mistress we purfne;
Others are fond of Fame, but Fame of you.

Inftructive Satire, true to virtue's cause,
Thou shining fupplement of public laws!
When flatter'd crimes of a licentious age
Reproach our filence, and demand our rage;
When purchas'd follies from each diftant land,
Like arts, improve in Britain's skilful hand:
When the law fhews her teeth,but dares notbite,
AndSouth Sea treasures areñot brought to light,
When churchmen fcripture for the claffics quit;
Polite apoftates from God's grace to wit;
When men grow great from their revenue fpent
And fly from bailiffs into parliament;
When dying finners to blot out their score,
Bequeath the church the leavings of a whore-
To chafe our fpleen when themes like thefe in-
crease,

Shall panegyric reign, and cenfure cease?

Shall poefy, like law, turn wrong to right,
And dedication wath an Æthiop white,
Set up each fenfelefs wretch for nature's boast,
On whom praife fhines as trophies on a post?
Shall funeral eloquence her colours spread,
And scatter roles on the wealthy dead?
Shall authors fimile on fuch illuftrious days,
And fatirize with nothing-but their praise

Whyflumbers Pope,wholeadsthetunefulstrain
Nor hears that virtue which he loves, complain
Donne, Dorlet, Dryden, Rochefter are dead,
And guilt's chief foe in Addifon is filed;
Congreve, who crown'd with laurels fairly won
Sits fmiling at the goal while others run,
He will not write; and (more provoking till!
Yeods! he will not write, and Mævius will.
Doubly