"Nor vain the wifh, while George the golden | To ratify fome weighty ordinance "fcale "With steady prudence holds, and temp'rate fway. "And when his courfe of earthly honour's run, "With lenient hand fhall Frederic footh your care, "Rich in each princely quality, mature "In years, and happieft in nuptial choice. "Thence too arife new hopes; a playful troop "Circles his hearth, sweet pledges of that bed "Which Faith, and Joy, and thousand Virtues "guard. "His be the care t'inform their ductile minds "With worthieft thoughts, and point the ways "of honour. "How often shall he hear with fresh delight "Their earnest tales, or watch their rifing paffions "With timorous attention; then shall tell “Of justice, fortitude, and public weal; "And oft the while each rigid precept smooth "With winning tokens of parental love!" Thus my o'erweening heart the fecret stores Of Britain's hope explor'd,while my ftrain'd fight Purfued her fading hills, till wrapt in mist They gently funk beneath the fwelling tide. Nor flept thofe thoughts, whene'er in other climes I mark'd the cruel wafte of foul oppreffion, Saw nobleft fpirits, and goodlicft faculties, To vaffalage and loathfome fervice bound. Then confcious preference rofe; then northward My eye, to gratulate my natal foil. [turn'd How have I chid with froward cagerness For well was Frederic lov'd, and well deferv'd. Of Britain's peers conven'd, fhall pass befide Thofe hallow'd fpires, whofe gloomy vaults inclose, Shrouded in fleep, pale rows of scepter'd kings, Thefe plaintive ftrains, from Albion far away, Hail, Wolfey's fpacious Dome! hail, ever fam'd For faithful nurture, and truth's facred lore, Much honour'd parent! You my duteous zeal Accept, if haply in thy laureat wreath You deign to interweave this humble song. THE HE festive roar of laughter, the warm glow Of brisk-eyed joy,and friend fhip's genial bowl, Wit's feafon'd converfe, and the liberal flow Of unfufpicious youth, profufe of foul, Delight not ever; from the boisterous scene Of riot far, and Comus' wild uproar, From folly's crowd, whofe vacant brow ferene Was never knit to wifdom's frowning lore, Permit me, ye time-hallow'd domes, ye piles Of rude magnificence, your folemn reft, Blamelefs to wake, and with the Orphean lyre, All that with oary fin cleave their smooth way Great nature owns thro' all her wide domain; Through the green bofom of the spawny main, And thofe that to the ftreaming æther spread, In many a wheeling glide, their feathery fail; And thofe that creep; and those that statelier tread, That roam o'er foreft, hill, or browsy dale; The victims each of ruthless fate must fall; E'en God's own image, man, high paramount of all. And ye, the young, the giddy, and the gay, That ftartle from the fleepful lid of light The curtain'd rest, and with the dissonant bray Of Bacchus, and loud jollity, affright Yon radiant goddefs, that now fhoots among Thefe many-window'd ifles her glimmering beam; Know, that or e'er its starr'd career along Some Some parent breaft may heave the answering figh, Roars in the laugh, and revels o'er the bowl; E'en now in rofy-crowned pleafure's wreath Entwines in adder folds all-unfuspected Death. Know, on the stealing wing of time fhall flee Some few, fome fhort-liv'd years, and all is paft; A future bard thefe awful domes may fee, Mufe o'er the prefent age, as I the last; Who mouldering in the grave, yet once like you The various maze of life were feen to tread, Each bent their own peculiar to pursue, As cuftom urg'd, or wilful nature led: Mix'd with the various crowd's inglorious clay, The nobler virtues undistinguish'd lie; No more to melt with beauty's heaven-born ray, No more to wet compaffion's tearful eye, Catch from the poet raptures not their own, And feel the thrilling melody of sweet renown. Where is the mafter-hand, whose semblant art Chiffell'd the marble into life, or taught From the well-pencil'd portraiture to start The nerve that beat with foul, the brow that thought? Cold are the fingers that in ftone-fix'd trance The mute attention rivetting, to the lyre Struck language: dimm'd the poet's quick-eyed glance, All in wild raptures flashing heaven's own fire. Shrunk is the finew'd energy, that ftrung The warrior arm. Where fleeps the patriot breaft Whilom that heav'd impaffion'd? where the tongue That lanc'd its lightning on the tow'ring creft Of scepter'd infolence, and overthrew Giant Oppreffion, leagued with all her earth-born crew? These now are paft; long, long, ye fleeting year Purfue, with glory wing'd, your fated way, Ere from the womb of time unwelcome peers The dawn of that inevitable day, When wrapt in shrouded clay their warmeft friend The widow'd virtues fhall again deplore, When o'er his urn in pious grief thall bend His Britain, and bewail one patriot more; For foon must thou, too foon! who spreadft abroad Thy beaming emanations unconfin'd, Doom'd, like fome better angel fent of God To scatter bleffings over humankind, Thou too must fall, O Pitt! to fhine no more, And tread thefe dreadful paths a Faulkland trod before. Faft to the driving winds the marshall'd clouds Sweep difcontinuous o'er th' ethereal plain ! Another still upon another crowds; All haftening downward to their native main. Thus paffes o'er, thro' varied life's career, Man's fleeting age; the Seafons as they fly Snatch from us in their courfe, year after year, Some fweet connection, fome endearing tie. The parent, ever-honour'd, ever-dear, Claims from the filial breaft the pious figh; A brother's urn demands the kindred tear, Of jocund youth-the morrow knells us to the tomb. Who knows how foon in this fepulchral spot Of thefe, that reft beneath me, fhall be mine? Haply, when Zephyr to thy native bourn Shall waft thee o'er the ftorm'd Hibernian wave, Thy gentle breaft, my Tavistock, shall mourn To find me fleeping in the fenfelefs grave. No more the focial leifure to divide, Blithe, or of graver brow; no more to chide In the fweet intercourfe of foul and foul, Till all thy cultur'd virtues fhall difplay, Ah, dearest youth! thefe vows perhaps unheard The rude wind fcatters o'er the billowy main; Thefe prayers at friendship's holy fhrine preferr'd May rife to grafp their father's knees in vain, Soon, foon may nod the fad funereal plume With folemn horror o'er thy timeless hearfe, And I furvive to grave upon thy tomb That leave to Heaven's decifion-be it thinę, The mournful tribute of mentorial verse. With felf-earn'd honours, eager to pursue Where glory, with her clear unfullied rays, The well-born fpirit lights to deeds of mightiest praife. 'Twas the thy godlike Ruffel's bofom steel'd With confidence untam'd, in his last breath Stern-fmiling. She, with calm compofure, held The patriot axe of Sidney, edg'd with death. Sinit with the warmth of her impulfive flame, Wolf's gallant virtue flies to worlds afar, Emulous to pluck freth wreaths of well-carn'd fame 'Twas the that, on the morn of dircful birth, From the grim frowning brow of laurel'd war. Bar'd thy young bofom to the fatal blow, Lamented Armytage!-the bleeding youth! Ye Nereids! and ye Nymphs of Camus hoar, O bathe him in the pearly caves below, Weep-for ye oft have feen him on your haupted fhore. Better to die with glory, than recline On the foft lap of ignominious peace, Than yawn out the dull droning life fupine In monkih apathy and gowned cafe. Better employ'd in honour's bright career The leaft divifion on the dial's round, Than thrice to compass Saturn's live-long year, Grown old in floth, the burthen of the ground; Than tug with sweating toil the flavish oar, Of unredeem'd affliction, and sustain The fev'rous rage of fierce difeafes fore Unnumber'd, that in fympathetic chain. Hang ever thro' the thick circumfluous air, All from the drizzly verge of yonderftar-girtsphere. M. 3 This Thick in the many-beaten road of life A thoufand maladies are pofted round, With wretched man to wage eternal strife Unteen, like ambush'd Indians, till they wound. There the fwoln hydrop ftands, the wat'ry rheum, The northern fcurvy, blotch with lep'rous fcale; And moping ever in the cloifter'd gloom Of learned floth, and bookish asthma pale: And the fhunn'd hag unfightly, that (ordain'd On Europe's fons to wreak the faithlefs fword Of Cortez, with the blood of millions ftain'd) O crdog-eyed luft the tort ring fcourge abhorr'd Shakes threat'ning, fince the while the wing'd her flight From Amazon's broad wave, and Andes' fnow-clad height. Where the wan daughter of the yellow year, The chatt'ring ague chill; the writhing ftone; And he of ghaftly feature, on whofe car Unheeded croaks the death-bird's warning moan, Marafmus; knotty gout; and the dead life Of nervelefs pally; there, on purpofe fell Dark brooding, whets his interdicted knife Grim fuicide, the damned fiend of hell. There too is the ftunn'd apoplexy pight*, The bloated child of gorg'd intemperance foul; Self-wafting melancholy, black as night Low'ring; and foaming fierce with hideous howl The dog hydrophoby; and near allied Scar'd madnef, with her moon-ftruck eyeballs ftating wide. There,ftretch'd one huge,beneath the rocky minet, With boiling fulphur fraught, and fmouldering He, the dread delegate of wrath divine, [fires: Ere while that food o'er Taio's hundred Ipires Vindictive; thrice he wav'dth'earth-fhaking wand, Powerful as that the fon of Amrai bore, And thrice he rais'd, and thrice he check'd his hand. He ftruck-the rocking ground, with thunderous roar, there Yawn'd! Here from ftreet to ftreet hurries, and With millions finksingulph'd, and pillar'd fanc. Engend'ring, to the bright-hair'd Phoebusbore, Foul peftilence, that on the wide-ftretch'd wings Of commerce speeds from Cairo's fwarthy bay Placed. His weftering flight, and thro' the fick air flings Of roufed indignation, fhall withstand The buifting vengeance o'er a guilty land! Canft thou, fecure in reafon's vaunted pride, [gore Tongue-doughty mifcreant, who but now didft With more than Hebrew rage the innocent fide Of agonizing mercy, bleeding fore Canft thou confront, with ftedfaft eye unaw'd, The fworded judgment stalking far and near? Well mayft thou tremble, when an injur'd God Difclaims thee-guilt is ever quick of fearLoud whirlwinds howl in zephyr's fofteft breath, And every glancing meteor glares imagin'd death. The good alone are fearlefs; they alone, Firm and collected in their virtue, brave The wreck of worlds, and look un fhrinking down On the dread yawnings of the rav'nous grave: Thrice happy who, the blameless road along Of honeft praife, hath reach'd the vale of death! Around him, like miniftrant cherubs, throng His better actions, to the parting breath Singing their bleffed requiems; he the while Gently repofing on fome friendly breast, Breathes out his benizons; then with a fmile Of foft complacence lays him down to reft, Calm as the flumbering infant: from the goal Free and unbounded flies the difembodied foul. Whether fome delegated charge below, Some much-lov'd friend its hovering care may claim; Whether it heavenward foars, again to know That long-forgotten country whence it came; Conjecture ever, the misfeatur'd child Of letter'd arrogance, delights to run Thro' fpeculation's puzzling mazes wild, And all to end at laft where it begun. Fain would we trace, with reafon's erring clue, The dark fome paths of deftiny aright; In vain; the talk were eafter, to purfue The tracklefs wheelings of the fwallow's flight. From mortal ken himself the Almighty fhrouds, Pavilion'd in thick night and circumambient clouds. Alluding to the Earthquake at Lifbon, November 1, 1755. END OF THE FIRST BOOK. 1. The Traveller; or, a Profpe&t of Society: Infcribed to the Rev. Mr. H. Goldsmith. By Dr. GOLDSMITH. REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, flow, Or by the lazy Scheld, or wand'ring Po; Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor Against the houfelefs ftranger fhuts the door : Or where Campania's plain forfaken lies, A weary wafte expanding to the fkies: Where'er I roam, whatever realms to fee, My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee: Still to my brother turns, with ceafelefs pain, And drags, at each remove, a length'ning chain. Eternal bleffings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian faints attend; Blefs'd be that fpot where cheerful guests retire, To paufe from toil, and trim their evening fire; Blefs'd that abode where want and pain repair, And ev'ry ftranger finds a ready chair: Blefs'd be thofe feafts, with fimple plenty crown'd, Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jefts or pranks that never fail, Or figh with pity at fome mournful tale; Or prefs the bafhful ftranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good! But me, not deftin'd fuch delights to share, My prime of life in wand'ring spent, and care: Impell'd, with fters unceafing, to purfue Some fleeting good that mocks me with the view; That, like the circle bounding earth and skies, Allures from far, yet as I follow flies; My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, And find no fpot of all the world my own. E'en now, where Alpine folitudes afcend, I fit me down a penfive hour to spend ; And plac'd on high, above the storm's career, Look downward where an hundred realms appear; Lakes, forefts, cities, plains, extending wide, As fome lone mifer, vifiting his ftore, But where to find that happieft fpot below, Who can direct, when all pretend to know? The thudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that happieft fpot his own; Extols the treafures of his ftormy feas, And his long nights of revelry and cafe: The naked negro, panting at the line, Boafts of his golden fands and palmy wine; Basks in the glare, or ftems the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Such M 4 Such is the patriot's boaft, where'er we roam; But let us try thefe truths with clofer eyes, And trace them through the profpect as it lies: Here for a while, my proper cares refign'd, Here let me fit in forrow for mankind; Like Could Nature's bounty fatisfy the breast, The canvas glow'd beyond c'en Nature warm; The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form; Till, more unfteady than the fouthern gale, Commerce on other fhores difplay'd her fail; While nought remain'd of all that riches gave, But towns unmann'd, and lords without a flave: And late the nation found, with fruitless skill, Its former ftrength was but plethoric ill. Yet ftill the lofs of wealth is here fupplied By arts, the fplendid wrecks of former pride; From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind An cafy compenfation feem to find. Here may be feen, in bloodless pomp array'd, The pafteboard triumph and the cavalcade; Proceffions form'd for piety and love, A miftrefs or a faint in ev'ry grove. By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd, The fports of children fatisfy the child: Each nobler aim, reprefs'd by long controul, Now finks at laft, or feebly mans the foul; While low delights, fucceeding faft behind, In happier meannefs occupy the mind: As in those domes where Cæfars once bore fway, Defac'd by time, and tott'ring in decay, There in the ruin, heedlefs of the dead, The shelter-feeking peafant builds his fhed; And, wondering man could want the larger pile, Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. My foul, turn from them-turn we to survey Where rougher climes a nobler race difplay; Where the bleak Swifs their ftormy manfion tread, And force a churlish foil for scanty bread: No product here the barren hills afford But man and steel, the foldier and his sword. No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May; No zephyr fondly fues the mountain's breaft, But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. Yet ftill e'en here Content can spread a charm, Redrefs the clime, and all its rage difarm. Tho' poor the peafant's hut, his feast tho' small, He fees his little lot the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, To fhame the meannefs of his humble thed; No coftly lord the fumptuous banquet deal, To make him loath his vegetable meal; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each wish contracting, fits him to the foil. Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repofe, Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes; With patient angle trolls the finny deep, Or drives his vent'rous plough-fhare to the steep; Or feeks the den where fnow-tracks mark the way, And drags the struggling favage into day. At night returning, ev'ry labour fped, He fits him down the monarch of a fhed; Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round furveys His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, Difplays her cleanly platter on the board: And haply too fomne pilgrim, thither led, With many a tale repays the nightly bed. Thus ev'ry good his native wilds impart Imprints the patriot paffion on his heart; And |