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Or where the beetle winds
Tir'd of his rude tyrannic sway, His small but fullen horn,
Our youth thall fix fome festive day,
His fullen thrines to burn : As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
But thou, who hear'ít the turning spheres, Againit the pilgrim born in heedless hum:
What sounds may charm thy partial ears, Now teach me, maid compos'd,
And gain thy blest return ! To breathe some foften'd train,
O Peace, thy injur'd robes up-bind! Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening Orife, and leave not one behind vale,
Of all thy bcamy train : May not unseemly with its stillness fuit,
The British lio!), Goddess sweet, As, muling now, I hail
Lies stretch'd on earth to kiss thy feet, Thy genial lov'd return !
And own thy holier reign. For when thy folding-ftar arising Mows
Let others court thy transient smile, His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
But come to grace thy western ise, The fragrant hours, and elves
By warlike Honour led! Who slept in buds the day,
And, while around her ports rejoice,
While all her fons adore thy choice, And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with With him for ever wed!
sedge, And Teds the freshening dew, and lovelier still,
The pensive pleasures tweet
Prepare thy shadowy oar.
THE MANNERS. AN ODE. Or find some ruin 'midst its dreary dells,
AREWELL, for clearer ken design'd; Whose walls more aweful nod
The dim-discover'd tracts of mind : By thy religious gleams.
Truths which, from action's paths retir'd,
My filent search in vain requir’d!
No more I search those magic shores,
What regions part the world of soul, Views wilds, and swelling floods,
Or whence thy streams, Opinion, roll :
If e'er I round such fairy field,
Some power impart the spear and shield,
By which the giant follies die !
Farewell the porch, whose roof is seen,
Arch'd with th' enlivening olive's green ; While Spring Mall pour his mowers, as oft he Where Science, prank'd in tissued vest, wont,
By Reason, Pride, and Fancy drest, And bathe thy breathing treffes, meekest Eve! Comes like a bride, so trim array'd, While Summer loves to sport
To wed with Doubt in Plato's shade! Beneath thy lingering light :
Youth of the quick uncheated fight,
Thy.walks, Observance, more invite ! While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves, O thou, who lov'st that ampler range, Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Where life's wide prospects round thee change, Affrights thy Thrinking train,
And, with her mingled sons ally'd, And rudely rends thy robes :
Throw'st the prattling page alide:
To me in converse sweet impart,
To read in man the native heart,
From Nature as she lives around:
And gazing oft her mirror true,
Retiring hence to thoughtful cell,
As Fancy breathes her potent spell,
Not vain she finds the charmful talk, When war, by vultures drawn from far,
pageant quaint, in motley malk, To Britain bent his iron car,
Behold, before her musing eyes, And bade his storms arise !
The countless Manners round her rise ;
O DE TOP E A C E. O a
While, cver varying as they pass,
First Fear his hand, its skill to tryx 'To fome Contempt applies her glass :
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, With these the white-rob'd maid combine,
And back recoild, he knew not why,
Ev'n at the found himself had made.
Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire,
In lightnings owu'd his secret itings, The comic lock that binds thy feet!
In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings
With woeful measures wan Despair-
Low sullen founds his grief beguild, (WI:ofe jewels in his crisped hair
A solemn, strange, and mingled air, Are flac'd each other's beams to share,
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'cwas wild. Whom ro delights from thee divide) In laughter loos’d attends thy lide!
But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, By old Miletus, * who fo long
What was thy delighted measure ? Has ceas'd his love-inwoven song,
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, By all you taught the Tuscan maids,
And bade the lovely scenes at diftavce hạil ! In chang'd Italia's modern ihades :
Still would her touch the strain prolong, By him t, whose knight's distinguish'd name
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, Refind a nation's iuit of fame;
She call'd on Echo ftill through all the song ; Whose tales ev'n now, with echoes sweet,
And where her iweetest theme the chose, Castilia's Moorid hills repeat :
A loft relponsive voice was heard at every close, Cr him I, wliom Seine's blue nymplas deplore, And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden In watch it weeds on Gallia's fore,
hair. Who drez' the sad Sicilian maid,
And longer had the sung-but, with a frown, Ey virtues in her fire betray'd :
Revenge impatient role, O Nature boon, from whom proceed
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down, Each forcetul tlought, each prompted deed;
And, with a withering look, If but from thee I hope to feel,
The war-denouncing trumpet trok, On all my heart imprint thy feal!
And blew a blait so loud and dread, Let tom: retreating Cynic find
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe. Those oft-turn’d fcrolls I leave behind,
And ever and anon he beat The Sports and I this hour agree
The doubling drum with furious heat; To rove thy ļcene-full world with thee!
And though somerimnes, each dreary paule between,
Dejected Pity at his lide
Her woul-lubduing voice applied,
his head THE PASSION S.
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd,
Sad proof of thy distressful state,
Of differing themes the veering fong was mix'd,
And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on
Pale Melancholy fat retir'd,
And from her wild fequetter'd seat, Exuiting, trembling, raging, fainting,
In notes hy distance made more fweet, Poleft beyond the Musc's painting ;
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul; By turns they felt the glowing mind
And dathing soft from rocks around, Disturb’d, delighted, rais'd, refin'd.
Bubbling runnels joind the found; Tiil once, 'tis faid, when all were fir'd,
Through glades and glowns the mingled measure Fillid with fury, rapt, inspir’d,
Role, From the supporting myrtles round
Or o'er some baunted streams with fond delay, They snatch'd her instruments of sound,
Round a holy calm diffusing, And as they oft had heard apart
Love of peace, and lonely musing, Sweet leifons of her forceful art,
In hollow murinurs died away. Each, for madnets rul'd the hour,
But, 0, how alter*d was its fprightlier tone! Would prove his own expresive power.
When Chearfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her tow acrots her thoulder fung, * Alluding to the Miletian Tales, some of the
Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew, earliest romances.
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, † Cervantes.
The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known; | Monsieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable
The oak-crown'd filters, and their charte-ey'd adventures of Gil Blas de Santillane, who died in I'aris in the year 1745.
Satyrs and fylvan boys were feen,
Fair Fancy wept ; and echoing fighs confefs d
A fixt despair in every tupeful breast.
Not with more grief th' afficted (wains appear,
When lingering froits the ruin'd seats invade
Where Peace retorted, and the Graces play'd.
Each rifing art by just gradation moves,
To:l builds on toil, and age on age improves :
Preserv'd through çime, the speaking fçenes impart
Or paint the curse that mark'd thię * Theban's
To Romne remov'd, with wit fecure to please,
The comic liters keep their native case,
Her own Menander's art almost excell'd!
But every Mute eifay'd to raise in vain
Some lahou 'd rival of her tragic ftrain ;
Ilyfus' laurels, though transferr'd with toil,
Diop'd their fair leaves, nor knew th’ unfriendly
As arts expir'd, relistless Duljefs rofe ;
Goths, Priests, or Vandals,--all were learning's
Till + juhus first recall'd each exil'd maid,
And Cofinu own'd them in th' Etrurian trade :
Then, deeply fkill'd in love's engaging theme,
The lost Provencal país'd to Arno's ftream :
With gracetui ease the wanton lyre he strung,
Sweet Now'd the lays bat love was all he fyng.
The gay description could not fail to move;
For, led by nature, all are friends to love.
But heaven, still various in its works, decreed
The perfect boast of time should last succeed.
The beauteouş union must appear at lenşth,
Of Tuscan jancy, and Athenian Arength :
One greater Mule Eliza's reign adorn,
And ev’n a Shakespear to her fame be born!
Yet, ah! so bright her morning's opening ray,
Nature in hiin was almost lost in Art.
Of softer mould the gentle Fletcher came,
The next in order, as the next in name. Addressed to Sir Thomas Hanmer, on his Edition With pleas'd attention 'midst his scenes, we find of Shakespeare's Works.
Each glowing thought, that warms the female
The lover's wishes, and the virgin's fear.
But stronger Shakespeare felt for man alone :
Drawn by his pen, our ruder passions stand
Th' unrival'd picture of his early hand.
† Julius H. the immediate predeceffor of Leo X, Hard was the lot those injur'd strains endur'd, I Their characters are thus diftinguished by Mr. Unown'd by science, and by years obscur’d: Dryden.
* With gradual steps, and flow, exacter France But * who is he, whose brows exalted bear Saw Art's fair empire o'er her shores advance : A wrath impatient, and a fiercer air ? By length of toil a bright perfection knew,
Awake to all that injur'd worth can feel,
On his own Rome he turns th' avenging steel.
Hung on his knees, and proftrate on the plain!
Touch'd to the soul, in vain he strives to hide And wreaths less artful crown our poet's head. The son's affection, in the Roman's pride : Yet he alone to every scene could give
O’er all the man conflicting passions rise, Th' historian's truth, and bid the manners live. Rage grasps the sword, while pity melts the eyes. Wak'd at his call I view, with glad surprize,
Thus, generous Critic, as thy bard inspires, Majestic forms of mighty monarchs rife.
The Sister Arts Thall nurse their drooping fires : There Henry's trumpets spread their loud alarms, Each from his scenes her stores alternate bring, And laurel'd Conquest waits her hero's arms.
Blend the fair tints, or wake the vocal string : Her gentler Edward claims a pitying sighi,
Those Sibyl-leaves, the sport of every wind, Scarce born to honours, and so foon to die !
(For poets ever were a careless kind) Yet Thali thy throne, unhappy infant, bring By thee dispos’d, no farther toil demand, No beam of comfort to the guilty king:
But, just to nature, own thy forming hand. The time shall come when Glo'ster's heart shall
So spread o'er Greece, th' harmonious whole unbleed
known, In lifc's last hours, with horror of the deed :
Ev'n Homer's numbers charm'd' by parts alone. When dreary visions mall at last present
Their own Ulysses scarce had wander'd more, The vengeful image in the midnight tent:
By winds and waters cast on every More :
And bade, like thee, his Athens ever claim
DIRGE IN CYMBELINE, And Spring diffusive decks th’inchanted inle. 0, more than all in powerful genius blest,
Sung by Guider us and Arviragus over Fidele, Come, take thine empire o'er the willing breast!
lupposed to be dead. Whate'er the wounds this youthful heart fall feel, Thy fongs support me, and thy morals heal!
O fair Fidele's graffy tomb There every thought the poet's warmth may raise,
Soft maids and village binds shall bring Their native music dwells in all the lays.
Each opening iweet, of earliest bloom, 0, might some verfe with happiest fkill persuade
And rifle all the breathing Spring.
No wa.ling ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove, What other Raphael charm a distant age !
But shepherd lads allemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch shall here be seen,
No goblins lead their nightiy crew ; And see, where I Anthony, in tears approv'd,
The female fays shall haunt the green, Guards the pale relics of the chief he lov'd:
And dress thy grave with pearly dew; O'er the cold corse the warrior seems to bend,
The red-breast oft at evening hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary mors, and gather'd flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid, * Alout the time of Shakespeare, the poet Hardy When howling winds, and heating rain, was in great repute in France. He wrote, accord
In tempelts shake thy sylvan cell ; ing to Fontenelle, six hundred plays. The French
Or 'midst the chace on every plain, poets after him applied themselves in general to the
The tender thought on thee Thall dwell. correct improvement of the stage, which was almost totally disregarded by those of our own country, * Coriolanus. Sce Mr. Spence's dialogue on the Jouston excepred.
Odyfley. + The favourite author of the elder Corneille.
I Sve thic tragedy of Julius Cæsar.
Each lonely scene Mall thee restore,
For thee the tear be duly shed ; Belov'd, till life can charm no more ;
And mourn'd, till Pity's self be dead.
Thy life, hall mourn thy early doom! Their hinds and thepherd girls Thall dress With simple hands thy rural tomb.
XI. Long, lonz, thy stone, and pointed clay
Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes, 0! vales, and wild woods, Thall he say,
In yonder grave your Druid lies !
0 D E ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON. The Scene of the following Stanzas is supposed to
lie on the Thames, near Richmond.
V E R S E S Written on a Paper, which contain'd a Piece of
1. N yonder grave a Druid lies
Where Nowly winds the stealing wave!
His airy harp * shall now be laid,
And, while its sounds at distance swell,
When Thames in summer wreaths is dret,
To breezy lawn, or foreft deep,
Ah! what will every dirge avail ?
Shall scorn thy pale thrine glimmering near ?
No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend,
IX. And see, the fairy vallies fade,
Dun night has veil'd the solemn view! Yet once again, dear parted Made,
Meek nature's child, again adieu !
E curious hands, that, hid from vulgar eyes,
profane tha find this hallow'd cake, With virtue's awe forbear the sacred prize,
Nor dare a theft for love and pity's fake! This precious relick, form’d by magic power,
Beneath the Mepherd's haunted pillow laid,
The secret present of a matchless maid.
Each nice ingredient chose with happiest art; Fears, fighs, and wishes of th' enamour'd breast,
And pains that please are mixt in every part. With rosy hand the spicy fruit she brought,
From Paphian hills, and fair Cytherea's ise ; And temper'd sweet with these the melting thought,
The kiss ambrosial, and the yielding Imile. Ambiguous looks, that scorn and yet relent,
Denials mild, and firm unalter'd truth, Reluctant pride, and amorous faint consent,
And meeting ardours, and exulting youth. Sleep, wayward God! hath sworn, while these re.
main, With Aattering dreams to dry his nightly tear, And chearful hope, so oft invok'd in vain,
With fairy songs mall footh his pensive ear. If, bound by vows to friendėhip's gentle side,
And fond of soul, thou hop'it an equal grace, If youth or maid thy joys and griefs divide,
O, much intreated leave this fatal place. Sweet Peace, who long hath shunn'd my plaintive
day, Consents at length to bring me mort delight, Thy carelef steps may scare her doves away,
And Grief with raven note usurp the night.
* Mr. Thomson resided in the neighbourhood of Richmond some time before his death,
The harp of Æolus, of which see a description in the Castle of Indolence.
Mr. Thomson wasburied in Richmond church.