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T'engross a moment's notice and vet begs,
Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts,
However trivial all that he conceives.
Sweet bashfulness! it claims at least this praise:
The dearth of information and good sense
That it foretels us, always comes to pass.
Cataracts of declamation thunder here,
The forests of no meaning spread the page
In which all comprehension wanders fost;
While fields of pleasantry amuse us there
With merry descants on a nation's woes.
The rest appears a wilderness of strange
But gay confusion-roses for the cheeks
And lillies for the brows of faded age,
Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald,
Heaven, earth, andocean plunder'd of their sweets,
Nectareous essences, Olympian dews;
Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'rite airs,
Ethereal journies, submarine exploits,
And Katterfelto, with his hair on end
At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread.
'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat

To peep at such a world to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd:
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates
At a safe distance where the dying sound
Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjur'd ear.
Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanc'd
To some secure and more than mortal height,
That lib'rates and exempts me from them all.
It turns submitted to my view, turns round
With all its generations; I behold

The tumult, and am still; the sound of war
Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me;
Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride
And av'rice that makes man a wolf to man,
Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats
By which he speaks the language of his heart,
And sigh, but never tremble at the sound.
He travels and expatiates, as the bee
From How'r to flow'r, so he from land to land;
The manners, customs, policy of all
Pay contribution to the store he gleans;
He sucks intelligence in ev'ry clime,
And spreads the honey of his deep research
At his return, a rich repast for me!
He travels, and I too. I tread his deck,
Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes
Discover countries, with a kindred heart.
Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes:
While fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circuit, and is still at home.

§ 112. A Fragment. MALLET. FAIR morn ascends: fresh zephyr's breath Blows lib'ral o'er yon bloomy heath, Where, sown profusely, kerb and flow'r, Of balmy smell, of healing pow'r, Their souls in fragrant dews exhale, And breathe fresh life in ev'ry gale. Here spreads a green expanse of plains, Where, sweetly pensive, Silence reigns;

And there, at utmost stretch of eye,
A mountain fades into the sky;
While winding round, diffus'd and deep,
A river rolls with sounding sweep.
Of human heart no traces near,
I seem alone with nature here!

Here are thy walks, O sacred Health!
The Monarch's bliss, the Beggar's wealth,
The seas'ning of all good below,
The sovereign's friend in joy or wec
O Thou, most courted, most despis d,
And but in absence, duly priz'd!
Pow'r of the soft and rosy face!
The vivid pulse, the vermeil grace,
'The spirits, when they gayest shine,
Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine!
O sun of life whose heavenly ray
Lights up and cheers our various day,
The turbulence of hopes and fears,
The storm of fate, the cloud of years,
Till nature with thy parting light,
Reposes late in Death's calm night:
Fled from the trophied roofs of state,
Abodes of splendid pain and hate;
Fled from the couch, where, in sweet sleep,
Hot Riot would his anguish steep,
But tosses through the midnight shade,
Of death, of life, alike afraid;
For ever fled to shady cell,.
Where Temp'rance, where the Muses dwell,
Thou oft art seen at early dawn,
Slow-pacing o'er the breezy lawn;
Or, on the brow of mountain high,
In silence feasting ear and eye
With song and prospect which abound
From birds, and woods, and waters round/
But when the sun, with noon-tide ray,

Flames forth intolerable day✓✓✓
While Heat sits fervent on the plain,
While Thirst and Langour in his train
(All nature sick'ning in the blaze),
Thou in the wild and woody maze
That clouds the vale with umbrage deep,
Impendent from the neighb'ring steep,
Wilt find betimes a calm retreat,
Where breathing Coolness has her seat.
There plung'd amid the shadows brown,
Imagination lays him down;
Attentive in his airy mood,
To ev'ry murmur of the wood:
The bee in yonder How'ry nook;
The chidings of the headlong brook;
The green leaf quiv'ring in the gale;
The warbling hill, the lowing vale;
The distant woodman's echoing stroke;
The thunder of the falling oak.
From thought to thought in vision led,
He holds high converse with the Dead;
Sages or Poets. See, they rise!
And shadowy skim before his eyes,
Hark! Orpheus strikes the lyre again,
That soften'd savages to men:
Lo! Socrates, the Sent of Heaven,
To whom its moral will was given.

Fathers

Fathers and Friends of human kind!
They form'd the nations, or refin'd,
With all that mends the head and heart,
Enlight'ning truth, adorning art.

Thus musing in the solemn shade,
At once the sounding breeze was laid:
And nature, by the unknown law,
Shook deep with reverential awe;
Dumb silence grew upon the hour;
A brighter night involv'd the bow'r:
When issuing from the inmost wood,
Appear'd fair Freedom's Genius good.
O Freedom! sov'reign boon of Heav'n,
Great Charter with our being giv'n;
For which the patriot and the sage
Have plann'd, have bled, thro' ev'ry age!
- High privilege of human race,
Beyond a mortal monarch's grace:
Who cou'd not give, who cannot claim,
What but from God imunediate came!

*

*

Pale Isis lay; a willow's lowly shade
Spread its thin foliage o'er the sleeping maid;
Clos'd was her eye, and from her heaving breast
In careless folds loose flow'd her zoneless vest;
While down her neck her vagrant tresses flow,
In all the awful negligence of woe;
Her urn sustain'd her arm, that sculptur'd vase
Where Vulcan's art had lavish'd all his gráce.
Here, full with life, was heaven-taught Science

seen,

and bland,

Known by the laurel wreath and musing mien;
There cloud-crown'd Fame, here Peace, sedate
[wand;
Swell'd the loud trump, and wav'd the olive
While solemn domes, arch'd shades, and vistas
green,

At well-mark'd distance close the sacred scene.
On this the goddess cast an anxious look,
Then dropp'd a tender tear, and thus she spoke:
Yes, I could once with pleas'd attention trace
The minic charms of this prophetic vase;
Then lift my head, and with enraptur'd eyes
View on you plain the real glories rise.
Yes, Isis! oft hast thou rejoic'd to lead

§113. Ode to Evening. Dr. Jos. WARTON.
HAIL, meek-ey'd maiden, clad in sober grey, Thy liquid treasures o'er you fav'rite mead :

Whose soft approach the weary woodman
loves;
As homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes
Jocund he whistles through the twilight groves.
When Phœbus sinks behind the gilded hills,
You lightly o'er the misty meadows walk;
The drooping daisies bathe in dulcet dews,
And nurse the nodding violet's tender stalk.
The panting Dryads, that in day's fierce heat
To innost bow'rs and cooling caverns ran,
Return, to trip in wanton ev'ning dance;
Old Sylvan too returns, and laughing Pan.
To the deep wood the clamorous rocks repair,
Light skims the swallow o'er the wat'ry scene;
And from the sheep-cot, and fresh-furrow'd field,
Stout ploughmen meet, to wrestle on the green.

Oft hast thou stopp'd thy pearly car to gaze,
While ev'ry Science nurs'd its growing bays;
While ev'ry Youth, with fame's strong impulse
Press'd to the goal, and at the goal untir'd, [fir'd,
Snatch'd each celestial wreath to bind his brow
The Muses, Graces, Virtues, could bestow.

E'en now fond Fancy leads th' ideal train,
And ranks her troops on Memory's ample plain;
See! the firm leaders of my patriot line,
See! Sidney, Raleigh, Hanıpden, Somers, shine.
See Hough, superior to a tyrant's doom,
Smile at the menace of the slave of Rome:
Each soul whom truth could fire, and virtue move,
Each breast strong panting with its country's love
All that to Albion gave their heart or head,
That wisely counsell d, or that bravely bled,
All, all appear; on me they grateful smile,

The swain, that artless sings on yonder rock, The well-earn'd prize of every virtuous toil

His supping sheep and length'ning shadow spies,
Pleas'd with the cool, the calm, refreshing hour,
And with hoarse humming of unnumber'd flies.
Now ev'ry Passion sleeps: desponding Love,
And pining Envy, ever-restless Pride;
holy Calın Ca creeps o'er my peaceful soul,

And

Anger and mad Ambition's storm subdue.
O modest Evening! oft let me appear
A wandering votary in thy pensive train;
List'ning to every wildly-warbling note

To me with filial reverence they bring,
And hang fresh trophies o'er my honor'd spring.
Ah! I remember well yon beechen spray,
There Addison first tun'd his polish'd lay;
'Twas there great Cato's form first met his eye,
In all the pomp of free-born majesty; [awe,
"My son," he cried, " observe this mien with
"In solemn lines the strong resemblance draw;
"The piercing notes shall strike each British ear,
"Each British eye shall drop the patriot tear!

That fills with farewell sweet thy dark'ning plain. "And, rous'd to glory by the nervous strain,

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"Each youth shall spurn at slavery'sabject reign, " Shall guard with Cato's zeal Britannia's laws, "And speak, and act, and bleed, in freedom's

cause."

The Hero spoke; the bard assenting how'd;
The lay to Liberty and Cato flow'd;
While Echo, as she rov'd the vale along,
Join'd the strong cadence of his Roman song.
[shell, But, ah! how Stillness slept upon the ground,
How mute attention check'd each rising sound,
Scarce

Where coral glow'd, where twin'd the wreathed

Kk

Forget that e'er my wrapt attention hung
Or on the Sage's or the Poet's tongue;
Calm and resign'd my humbler lot embrace,
And, pleas'd, prefer oblivion to disgrace.

written in the Year 1756.

By Mr. ROBERT LLOYD.

Scarce stole a breeze to wave the leafy spray,
Searce trill'd sweet Philomel her softest lay,
When Locke walk'd, musing forth! e'en now I
Majestic Wisdom thron'd upon his brów; [view
View Candor smile upon his modest cheek,
And from his eye all Judgement's radiance break.
"Twas here the sage his manly zeal express'd, §115. Epistolary Verses to George Colman, Ex
Here stripp'd vain Falsehood of her gaudy vest;
Here Truth's collected beams first fill'd his mind,
Ere long to burst in blessings on mankind;
Ere long to show to reason's purged eye,
That" Nature's first best gift was Liberty."
Proud of this won'drous son, sublime I stood,
(While louder surges swell'd my rapid flood);
Then, vain as Niobe, exulting cried,
Ilissus! roll thy fam'd Athenian tide;
Tho' Plato's steps oft mark'd thy neighb'ring
Tho' fair Lycæum lent its awful shade, [glade,
Thơ' ev'ry Academic green impress'd
Its image full on thy reflecting breast,
Yet my pure stream shall boast as proud
And Britain's Isis flow with Attic fame.

a name,

Alas! how chang'd! where now that Attic
boast?

See! Gothic Licence rage o'er all my coast;
See! Hydra Faction spreads its impious reign,
Poison each breast, and madden ev'ry brain :
Hence frontless crowds that, not content to fright
The blushing Cynthia from her throne of night,
Blast the fair face of day; and, madly bold,
To Freedom's foes infernal orgies hold;

To Freedom's foes, ah! see the goblet crown'd,
Hear plansive shouts to Freedom's foes resound;
The horrid notes my refluent waters daunt,
The Echoes groan, the Dryads quit their haunt;
Learning, that once to all diffus'd her beam,
Now sheds, by stealth, a partial private gleam
In some lone cloister's melancholy shade,
Where a firm few support her sickly head,
Despis'd, insulted, by the barb'rous train,
Who scour, like Thracia's moon-struck rout,

the plain,

Sworn foes, like them, to all the Muse approves,
All Phœbus favors, or Minerva loves.

Are these the sons my fost'ring breast mustrear,
Grac'd with my name, and nurtur'd by my care?
Must these go forth from my maternal hand
To deal their insults thro' a peaceful land;
And boast, while Freedom bleeds, and Virtue

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You know, dear George, I'm none of those
That condescend to write in prose:
Inspir'd with pathos and sublime,
I always soar-in doggrel rhyme;
And scarce can ask you how you do,
Without a jingling line or two.
Besides, I always took delight in
What bears the name of easy writing;
Perhaps the reason makes it please
Is, that I find 'tis writ with ease.

I vent a notion here in private,
Which public taste can ne'er connive at,
Which thinks no wit or judgement greater
Than Addison, and his Spectator;
Who says (it is no matter where,
But that he says it I can swear)
With easy verse most bards are smitten,
Because they think it's easy written;
Whereas, the easier it appears,
The greater marks of care it wears;
Of which to give an explanation,
Take this, by way of illustration:
The fam'd Mat. Prior, it is said,
Oft bit his nails, and scratch'd his head,
And chang'd a thought a hundred times,
Because he did not like the rhyines:
To make my meaning clear, and please ye,
In short, he labor'd to write easy.
And yet no Critic e'er defines
His poem's into labor'd lines.
I have a simile will hit him;
His verse, like clothes, was made to fit him
Which (as no taylor e'er denied)
The better fit the more they're tried.

Thongh I have mentioned Prior's name,
Think not I aim at Prior's fame.
'Tis the result of admiration
To spend itself in imitation;
If imitation may be said,
Which is in me by nature bred,
And you have betier proofs than these
That I'm idolater of Ease.

Who, but a inadman would engage
A Poet in the present age?
Write what we will, our works bespeak us
Imitatores, servum Pecus.
Tale, Elegy, or lofty Ode,
We travel in the beaten road:
The proverb still sticks closely by us,
Nil dictum, quod non dictum prius.
The only comfort that I know
Is, that 'twas said an age ago,
Ere Milton soar'd in thought sublime,
Ere Pope refin'd the chink of rhyme,

:

Ere

Ere Colman wrote in style so pure,
Or the great Town the Connoisseur;
Ere I burlesqu'd the rural cit,

Proud to hedge in my scraps of wit,
And, happy in the close connexion,
T' acquire some name from their reflection :
So (the similitude is trite)

The moon still shines with borrow'd light;
And, like the race of modern beaux,
Ticks with the sun for her lac'd clothes.
Methinks there is no better time
To show the use I make of rhyıne,
Than now, when I, who from beginning
Was always fond of couplet-sinning,
Presuming on good-nature's score,
Thus lay my bantling at your door.
The first advantage which I see
Is, that I ranıble loose and free:
The bard indeed full oft complains
That rhymes are fetters, links, and chains;
And, when he wants to leap the fence,
Still keeps him pris'ner to the sense.
Howe'er in common-place he rage,
Rhyme 's like your fetters on the stage,
Which, when the player once hath wore,
It makes him only strut the more,
-While, raving in pathetic strains,
He shakes his legs to clank his chains.
From rhyme, as from a handsome face,
Nonsense acquires a kind of grace;
I therefore give it all its scope,
That sense may, unperceiv'd, elope.
So Mrs of basest tricks

4

(I love a fling at politics)
Amuse the nation, court, and king,
With breaking F-kes, and hanging Byng;
And make each puny rogue a prey,
While they, the greater, slink away.
This simile, perhaps, would strike,
If match'd with something more alike;
Then take it dress'd a second time
In Prior's Ease, and my Sublime.
Say, did you never chance to meet
A mob of people in the street,
Ready to give the robb'd relief,
And in all haste to catch a thief;
While the sly rogue who filch'd the prey,
Too close beset to run away,
Stop thief! stop thief! exclaims aloud,
And so escapes among the crowd ?
So Ministers, &c.

O England, how I mourn thy fate!
For sure thy losses now are great;
Two such what Briton can endure?
Minorca, and the Connoisseur!

To-day, or c'er the sun goes down,
Will die the Censor, Mr. Town!
He dies, whoe'er takes pains to con him,
With "blushing honors thick upon him:"

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But, oh, what Muse shall join the band?
He long has sojourn'd in the sacred haunts,
And knows each whisp'ring grot and
glade

Trod by Apollo and the light-foot Graces,
How then shall awkward gratitude,
And the presumption of untutor'd duty,
Attune my numbers, all too rude?
Little he recks the meed of such a song;
Yet will I stretch aloof,
And when I tell of Courtesy,
Of well-attemper'd Zeal,
Of awful Prudence soothing fell Contention,
Where shall the lineaments agree
But in thee, Onslow? You your wonted leave
Indulge me, nor misdeem a soldier's bold em-

prize,

Who, in the dissonance of barb'rous war Long train'd, revisits oft the sacred treasures Of antique memory!

Or where sage Pindar reins his fiery car

Through the vast vault of Heaven secure,
Or what the Attic, Muse that Homer fill'd,
Her other son, thy Milton taught,
Or range the flow'ry fields of gentle Spencer.
And, ever as I go, allurements vain
Cherish a feeble fire, and feed my idle
Fancy: oh could I once
Charm to their melody my shrilling reeds!
To Henries and to Edwards old,
Dread names! I'd meditate the faithful song;
Or tell what time Britannia,

September 30th, 1756, when Mr. Town, author of the Connoisseur, a periodical Essay (since published in four volumes, printed for R. Baldwin, London), took leave of his readers, with an hu

morous account of himself.

↑ This elegant Poem was written by a Gentleman well known in the learned world, as a token of gra. titude for favors conferred on his father during the last war, whose character he has therein assumed

Kk2

Whilom

Whilom the fairest daughter of old Ocean,
In loathly disarray, dull eyes,
And faded cheek, wept o'er her abject sons:

Till William, great deliverer!
Led on the comely train, gay Liberty,

Religion, matron staid,
With all her kindred goddesses;
Justice, with steady brow,

Trim Plenty, laureat Peace, and green-hair'd

Commerce,

In flowing vest of thousand hues.

Fain would I shadow out old Bourbon's pile Tott'ring with doubtful weight, and threat'ning cumb'rous fall;

Or trace our navy, where in tow'ring pride

O'er the wide swelling waste it rolls avengeful.

As when collected clouds

Forth from the gloomy south, in deep array, Athwart the dark'ning landscape throng, Fraught with loud storins, and thunder's dreadful peal,

At which the murd'rer stands aghast, And wasting Riot ill dissembles terror.

How headlong Rhone and Ebro, erst distain'd With Moorish carnage, quakes thro' all her

branches!

Soon shall I grect the morn, [name,
When, Europe sav'd, Britain and George's
Shall sound o'er Flandria's level field,

Familiar in domestic merriment;
Or by the jolly mariner

Be carol'd loud adown the echoing Danube.
The just memorial of fair deeds
Still flourishes, and, like th' untainted soul,
Blossoms in freshest age above

Hark! yon deep echo strikes the trembling ear!
See night's dun curtain wraps the darksome pole!
O'er heaven's blue arch yon rolling worlds ap-

pear,

prey

And rouse to solemn thought, th' aspiring soul
O lead my steps beneath the moon's dim ray,
Where Tadmor stands all desert and alone!
While from her time-shook tow'rs the bird of
[moan.
Sounds thro' the night her long-ressunding
Or bear me far to yon dark, dismal plain,
Where fell-eyed tigers, all athirst for blood,
Howl to the desert: while the horrid train
Roams o'er the wild where once great Babel
stood;

That queen of nations! whose superior call

Rous'd the broad East, and bid her arms destrov!

When warm'd to mirth, let judgement mark her
And deep reflection dash the lip of joy. [fall,
Short is Ambition's gay deceitful dream,
Through wreaths of blooming laurel bind her
brow:
Calm thought dispels the visionary scheme,
And Time's cold breath dissolves the with'ting
bough.
Slow as some minor saps th' aspiring tow'r,
When working secret with destructive aim,
Unseen, unheard, thus moves the stealing hour,
But works the fall of empire, pomp, and name,
Then let thy pencil mark the traits of man;
Full in the draught be keen-eyed Hope por-
tray'd:

Let flutt'ring Cupids crowd the growing plan:
Then give one touch, and dash it deepwith shade.

The weary flesh, and envy's rankling wound. Beneath the plume that flames with glancing

Such, after years mature,
In full account shall be thy meed.
Oh may your rising hope
Well principled in ev'ry virtue bloom!
Till a fresh-springing flock implore
Withinfant hands a grandsire's pow'rfulpray'r,
Or round your honor'd couch their prattling

sports pursue.

rays

Be Care's deep engines on the soul impress'd;
Beneath the hemlet's keen refulgent blaze
Let Grief sit pining in the canker'd breast.

Let Love's gay sons, a smiling train, appear,
With beauty pierc'd-yet heedless of the dat
While, closely-couch'd, pale, sick'ning Envy near
Whets her fell sting, and points it at the heart.
Perch'd, like a raven, on some blasted yew,

§117. Ode to Melancholy. OGILVIE. HAIL, queen of thought sublime! propitious Let Guilt revolve the thought-distracting sin [roam, Scar'd-while her eyes survey th' ethereal blue, Who o'er the unbounded waste art joy'd to Lest heaven's strong lightning burst the dark

pow'r,

within.

Led by the moon, when, at the midnight hour,
Her pale rays tremble thro' the dusky gloom. Then paint, impending o'er the maddening deep
O bear me, Goddess, to thy peacefu aceful seat! That rock, where heart-struck Sappho, vaitly
Whether to Hecla's cloud-wrapt brow convey'd, brave,

Orlodg'd where mountains screen thydeepretreat,
Or wand'ring wild thro' Chili's boundless shade.
Say, rove thy steps o'er Libya's naked waste?
Or seek some distant solitary shore?

Or, on the Ande's topmost mountain plac'd,
Dost sit, and hear the solemn thunder roar?
Fix'd

on some hanging rock's projected brow, Hear'st thou low murmursfrom the distantdome? Or stray thy feet where pale, dejected Woe

Stood firm of soul-then from the dizzy steep Impetuous sprung, and dash'd the boiling ware. Here, wrapt in studious thought, let Fancyrove, Still prompt to mark Suspicion's secret snare; To see where Anguish nips the bloom of Love, Or trace more Grandeur to the domes of Care. Let judging reason draw the veil aside; Should e'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes inflame, Or, fir'd with envy at some mighty name, tells

Pours her long wail from some lamented tomb? Read over the monument that

Heded.
What

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