"(FORTVNATVS ET

ILLE DEOS QUI NOVIT

XVI. On a Statue of Venus de Medicis.

"Semi educta Venus."

O Venus, Venus here retir'd,
"My fober vows I pay:

"Not her on Paphion plains admir'd,
"The bold, the pert, the gay.'

"Not her whofe amorous leer prevailed

"To bribe the Phrygian boy; "Not her who. clad in armour, fail'd

"To fave difftrous Troy.

"Fresh rifing from the foamy tide,

"She every bofom warms;

"While half withdrawn fhe feems to hide,

"And hall reveals, her charms.

"Learn hence, ye boaftful fons of taste, "Who plan the rural shade; "Learn hence to fhun the vicious wafte "Of pomp, at large difplay'd. "Let fweet concealment's magic art

Your mazy bounds inveft; "And while the fight unveils a part, "Let fancy paint the rest. "Let ccy referve with coft unite "To grace your wood or field; "No ray obtrufive pall the fight, "In aught you paint, or build.

And far be driven the fumptuous glare "Of gold, from British groves; "And far the meretricious air

Of China's vain alcoves.

"Tis bafhful beauty ever twines "The most coercive chain; ''Tis the. that fovereign rule declines "Who beft deferves to reign."

Soon for fome varnish'd nymph of dubious fame,
Or powder'd peerefs, counterfeits a flame.
Drefs, dance, drink, revel, all he knows not why:
Behold him now, enraptur'd, fwear aud figh,
Till, by kind fate reftor'd to country air,

He marks the roles of fome rural fair:
Smit with her unaffected native charms,
A real paffion foon his bofom warms:
And, wak'd from idle dreams, he takes a wife,
And tastes the genuine happiness of life.

Thus, in the vacant feafon of the year,
Some Templar gay begins his wild career.
From feat to feat o'er pompous fcenes he flies,
Views all with equal wonder and furprize;
Till fick of domes, arcades, and temples grown,
He hics fatigued, not fatisfied, to town.
Yet if fome kinder genius point his way
Charm'd with the fylvan beauties of the place,
To where the Mufes o'er thy Leafowes ftray,

Where Art affumes the fweets of Nature's face,
Each hill, each dale, each confecrated grove,
Lach lake, and falling ftream, his rapture move.
Like the fage captive in Calypfo's grott,
The cares, the pleasures, of the world forgot,
Of calm content he hails the genuine fphere,
And longs to dwell a blissful hermit here.
VERSES

A!

By

groves;

Health and fweet converfe with the Mufe he loves!

The humbleft votary of the tuneful Nine,
With trembling hand, attempts her artless line,
In numbers fuch as untaught nature brings;
As flow, fpontaneous, like thy native springs.

For us,

But ah! what airy forms around me rife? The ruffet mountain glows with richer dies; In circling dance a pigmy croud appear, And hark! an infaut voice falutes my ear: • Mortal, thy aim we know, thy task approve ; • His merit honour, and his genius leve: For us what verdant carpets has he spread, Where nightly we our mystic mazes tread! each fhady grove and rural feat, His falling ftreams and flowing numbers fweet! Didft thou not mark, amid the winding dell What tuneful verfe adorns the moffy cell? There every fairy of our fprightly train Refort, to blefs the woodland and the plain, 'There, as we move, unbidden beauties glow, • The green turf brightens, and the violets blow; And there with thoughts fublime we blefs the fwain,

Nor we infpire, nor he attends, in vain.

Go, fimple rhymer! bear this meffige true : The truths that fairies dictate none fhall.rue, Say to the Bard in Leafowes' happy grove, Whom Dryads honour, and whom Fairies love

"Content thyfelf no longer that thy lays, "By others fofter'd, lend to others prife; "No longer to the favouring world refute "The welcome treasures of toy polifl'd Mufe; "The fatter'd blooms, that boat thy valued

Pours on these plains its tender moan? Art thou the nymph in Sheufton's dale," Who doft with plaintive note bewail That he forfakes th' Aonian maids, To court inconftant rills and fhades? Mourn not, fweet nymphs-alas, in vain Do they invite, and thou complain

Yet, while he woo'd the gentle throng. With liquid lay and melting fong, The littening herd around him ftray'd, In wanton frisk the lambkins play'd," And every Naïad ceas'd to lave Her azure limbs amid the wave. The Graces danc'd; the rofy baud Of Smiles and Loves went hand in hand; And purple Pleasures strew'd the way With fweeteft flowers: and every.ray Of each fond Mufe, with rapture fir'd, To glowing thought his breaft infpir'd. The hills rejoic'd, the valleys rung, All nature fmil'd, while Shenftone fung. So charm'd his lay; but now no moreAh! why dost thou repeat-" no more?" Ev'n now he hies to deck the grove, To deck the fene the Mufes love; And foon again will own their fway, And thou refound the peerlefs lay, And with immortal numbers fill Each rocky cave and vocal hill.

TOW fhall fix my wandering eye? Where find

How

The fource of this enchantment? Dwells it in "The woods? or waves there not a magic wand "O'er the translucent waters? Sure, unfeen, "Some favouring power directs the happy lines "That sketch thefe beauties; fweils the rifing hills,

"And fcoops the dales, to Nature's fineft forms, "Vague, undetermin'd, infinite; untaught "By fine or compafs, yet fupremely fair." So fpake Philenor, as with raptur'd gaze He travers'd Damon's farın. From diftant plains He fought his friend's abode: nor had the fame Of that new-form'd Arcadia reach'd his ear.

And thus the fwain, as o'er each hill and dale, Through lawn or thicket he purfued his way: "What is it gilds the verdure of thefe meads "With hues more bright than fancy paints the flowers

"Of Paradife? What Naïad's guiding hand

Leads, through the broider'd vale, the lucid

"What penfive Dryad rais'd yon folemn grove, "Where minds contemplative, at clofe of day "Retiring, mufe o'er Nature's various works, "Her wonders venerate, or her sweets enjoy"What room for doubt? Some rural deity, "Prefiding, scatters o'er th' unequal lawns,

In beauteous wildnefs, yon fair-fpreading trees; And mingling woods and waters, hills and dales, "And herds and bleating flocks, domeftic fowl, "And thofe that fwim the lake, fees rifing round More pleafing landfkips than in Tempe's vale "Penéus water'd. Yes, fome fylvan god "Spreads wide the varied profpect; waves the woods,

"Kifts the proud hills, and clears the fhining lakes;

"While, from the congregated waters pour'd, "The bursting torrent tunibles down the steep "In foaning fury; fierce, irregular, "Wild, interrupted, crofs'd with rocks and roots "And interwoven trees; till, foon absorb'd, "An opening cavern all its rage entombs. "So vanifh human glories! Such the porp "Offwelling warriors, of ambitious kings, "Who fret and ftrut their hour upon the tage "Of bufy life, and then are heard no more! "Yes, 'tis enchantment all-And fee, the fpells "The powerful incantations, magic verfe, "Infcrib'd on every tree, alcove, or urn"Spells incantations !—ah, my tuneful friend! "Thine are the numbers! thine the wondrous work

"Yes, great magician! now I read thee right, And lightly weigh all forcery but thine. "No Naiad's leading fiep conducts the rill; "Nor fylvan god prefiding fkirts the lawn "In beauteous wildnefs, with fair-fpreading

trees;

With lapfe inceffant echoes through the dale?
Yet what avails the lifelefs landskip now?
The charm 's diffolv'd; the genius of the wood,
Alas! is flown-for Damon is no more.

As when from fair Lyceum crown'd with

pines,

Or Mænalus with leaves autumnal ftrew'd,
The tuncful Pan retires; the vocal hills
Refound no more, and all Arcadia mourns

Yet here we fondly dreamt of lasting joys: Here we had hop'd from noify throngs retir'd, To drink large draughts of friendship's cordial ftream;

In fweet oblivion wrapt by Damon's verse
And focial converfe, many a fummer's day.

Romantic wifh! In vain frail mortals trace
Th' imperfect iketch of human bliss-whilft yet
Th' enraptur'd fire his well-plann'd structure
views,

Majestic rifing 'midft his infant groves:
Sees the dark laurel fpread its gloffy fhade,
Its languid bloom the purple lilach bend, ́
Orpale Jaburnum drop its penfile chain :
Death fpreads the fatal fhaft, and bids his heir
Tranfplant the cyprefs round his father's tomb.

Oh! teach me then, like you, my friend to

raife

To moral truths my groveling fong; for ah !
Too long by lawless fancy led aftray,
Of nymphs and groves I've dreamt, and dancing
fawns,

Or Nafad leaning o'er her tinkling urn.
Oh! could I learn to fanctify my trains
With hymns, like those by tuneful Meyrick fung
Or rather catch the melancholy founds
From Warton's reed, or Mafon's lyre-to paint
The fudden gloom that damps my foul-But fee!
Melpomene herfelf has fnatch'd the pipe,
With which fad Lyttleton his Lucia mourn'd;
And plaintive cries, My Shenftone is no more!
R. GRAVES.

Yet, if ingenuous be your mind,
A blifs more pure and unconfin'd
Your ftep attends-Draw freely nigh,
And meet the Bard's benignant eye;
On him no pedant forms await,
No proud referve huts up thy gate;
No fpleen, no party views control
That warm benevolence of foul,
Which prompts the friendly generous part,
Regadefs of each venal art;
Regardless of the world's acclaim;
And courteous with no felfifh aim.
Draw freely nigh, and welcome find,
If not the coftly, yet the kind.
Oh, he will lead you to the cells
Where every Mufe and Virtue dwells,
Where the green Dryads guards his woods,
Where the blue Naiads guide his floods;
Where all the Sifter-Graces gay,
That fhap'd his walk's meandering way,
Stark-naked, or but wreath'd with flowers
Lie flumbering foft beneath his bowers.

Wak'd by the stock-dove's melting strain, Behold them rife! and, with the train Of nymphs that haunt the ftream or grove, Or o'er the flowery champion rove, Join hand in hand-attentive gazeAnd mark the dance's myftic maze. "Such is the waving line," they cry, "For ever dear to Fancy's eye! "Yon ftream that wanders down the dale, "The fpiring wood, the winding vale, "The path which, wrought with hidden skill, "Slow twining fcales yon diftant hill "With fir invefted-all combine "To recommend the waving line.

"The wreathed rod of Bacchus fair, "The ringlets of Apollo's hair, "The wand by Maïa's offspring borne, "The smoothe volutes of Ammon's horn, "The structure of the Cyprian dame, "And each fair female's beauteous frame, Shew, to the pupils of design,

46

"The triumphs of the waving line."

Then gaze, and mark that union sweet, Where fair convex and concave meet; And while, quick fhifting as you stray, The vivid fcene of fancy play; The lawn, of afpect smooth and mild; The foreft-ground grotefque and wild; The fhrub that fcents the mounting gale; The ftream rough dashing down the dale, From rock to rock, in eddies toft; The diftant lake in which 'tis loft; Blue hills gay beaming through the glade ; Lone urns that folemnize the fhade; Sweet interchange of all that charms In groves, meads, dingles, rivulets, farms! If aught the fair confufion please, With lafting health, and lasting cafe, To him who form'd the blisful bower, And gave thy life one tranquil hour; With peace and freedom-thefe poffeft, His temperate mind fecures the reft.

But if thy foul fuch blifs defpife, Avert thy dull incurious eyes;

Go fix them there, where gems and gold,
Improv'd by art, their power unfolds
Go try in courtly scenes to trace
A fairer form of Nature's face:
Go fcarn Simplicity-but know,
That all our heart-felt joys below,
That all which virtue loves to name,
Which are configns to lafting fame,
Which fixes wit or beauty's throne,
Derives its fource froni Her alone.

ARCADIO.

To William Shenftone, Efq. in his Sicknefs.

By Mr. WooDHOUSE.

YE flowery plains ye breezy woods,

Ye bowers and gay alcoves,

Ye falling ftreams, ye filver floods,
Ye grottoes, and ye groves !=
Alas! my heart feels no delight,

Though I your charms furvey;
While he confumes in pain the night,
In languid fighs the day.
The flowers difclofe a thousand blooms,
A thoufand fcents diffufe;

Yet al in vain they fhed perfumes,
In vain difplay their hues.
Reftrain, ye flowers, your thoughtless pride,
Recline your gaudy heads;

And fadly drooping, fide by fide,

Embrace your humid beds.

Tall oaks, that o'er the woodland fhade,
Your lofty fummits rear!

Ah, why, in wonted charms array'd,
Expands your leaves to fair!

For lo, the flowers as gayly fmile,
As wanton waves the tree;
And though I fadly plain the while,

Yet they regard not me.

Ah, fhould the Fates an arrow fend,
And ftrike the fatal wound,
Who, who fhall then your fweets defend,
Or fence your beauties round?
But hark, perhaps, the plumy throng
Have learnt my plaintive tale,
And fome fad dirge, or mournful fong,
Comes floating in the gale.
Ah, no! they chaunt a sprightly strain
To foothe an amorous mate;
Unmindful of my anxious pain

And his uncertain fate.

But fee, thefe little murmuring rills
With fond repinings rove;
And trickle wailing down the hills,
Or weep along the grove.
Oh, mock not if, befide your fiream,
Ye hear me too repine;

Or aid with fighs your mournful theme,
And fondly call him mine.

Ye

Ye envious winds, the caufe difplay,

In whispers as ye blow,
Why did your treacherous gales convey
The poifon'd fhafts of woe?
Did he not plant the fhady bower,

Where you fo blithely meet?
The fcented fhrub, and fragrant flower,

To make your breezes sweet?
And must he leave the wood, the field,
The dear Arcadian reign?
Can either verfe nor virtue fhield

The guardian of the plain?
Muft he his tuneful breath refign,

Whom all the Mufes love?

That round his brow their laurels twine, And all his fongs approve.

Prefervé him, mild Omnipotencé!

Our Father, King, and God, Who clear'ft the paths of life and fenfe, Or ftop'ft them at thy nod. Bleft power, who calm'ft the raging deep, His valued health rettore, Nor let the fons of Genius weep,

Nor let the good deplore.

But if thy boundless Wifdom knows
His longer date an ill,

Let not my fout a wifh difclofe

To contradict thy will.

For happy, happy were the change,
For fuch a God-like mind,

To go where kindred fpirits range,
Nor leave a with behind.

And though, to fhare his pleasures here,
Kings might their state forego:
Yet muft he feel fuch raptures there,
As none can tafte below.

They call'd him the pride of the plain;

In footh, he was gentle and kind; He mark'd in his elegant frain,

The Graces that glow'd in his mind. On purpose he planted yon trees,

That birds in the covert might dwell; He cultur'd his thyme for the bees,

But never would rifle their ceil.
Ye lambkins, that play'd at his feet,
Go bleat-and your mafter bemoan;
His mufic was artless and fweet,

His manners as mild as your own.
No verdure fhall cover the vale,
No bloom on the bloffoms appear;
The fweets of the foreft fhall fail,

And Winter difcolour the year.
No birds, in our hedges fhall fing
(Our hedges fo vocal before,)
Since he that fhould welcome the spring,
Can greet the gay feafon no more.
His Phyllis was fond of his praife,

And poets came round in a throng; They liften'd and envy'd his lays,

But which of them equal'd his fong? Ye fhepherds, henceforward be mute, For loft is the pastoral strain;

So give me my Corydon's flute,
And thus-let me break in twain.