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§ 92. The School Miftrefs. In Imitation of Spenfer.

SHENSTONE.

Auditae voces, vagitus et ingens,
Infantumque animae flentes in limine primo. VIRG.

AH me! full forely is my heart forlorn,

To think how modeft worth neglectedlies, While partial Fame doth with her blasts adorn Such deeds alone as pride and pomp difguife; Deeds of ill fort, and mifchievous emprize : Lend me thy clarion, Goddefs! let me try To found the praife of merit ere it dies;

Such as I oft have chanced to efpy,. Loft in the dreary fhades of dull obfcurity. In ev'ry village, mark'd with little spire, [fame, Embower'd in trees, and hardly known to There dwells, in lowly fhade and mean attire, A matron old, whom we School-miftrefs

name;

Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame : They, grieven fore, in piteous durance pent, Aw'd by the pow'r of this relentless dame,

And oft-times, on vagarics idly bent, Forunkempt hair, ortafk unconn'd,are forely fhent. And all in fight doth rife a birchen tree,

Which Learning near her little dome did ftow, Whilome a twig of fimall regard to fee,

Tho' now fo wide its waving branches flow, And work the fimple vaffals mickle woe; For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew, [low; But their limbs fhudder'd, and their pulfe beat And, as they look 'd, they found their horror

grew,

And fhap'd it into rods, and tingled at the view.
So have I feen (who has not, may conceive)
A lifeless phantom near a garden plac'd;
So doth it wanton birds of peace bereave,

Of fport, of fong, of pleafure, of repaft: They start, they ftare, they wheel, they look aghaft;

Sad fervitude! Such comfortless annoy May no bold Briton's riper age e'er tafte! Ne fuperftition clog his dance of joy, Ne vifion empty, vain, his native blifs deftroy. Near to this dome is found a patch fo green, On which the tribe their gambols do difplay; And at the door impris'ning board is feen, Left weakly wights offmaller fize fhould stray, Eager, perdie, to bask in funny day!

The noifes intermix'd, which thence refound, Do Learning's little tenement betray; Where fits the dame, disguis'd in look profound, [around. And eyes her Fairy throng, and turns her wheel Her cap, far whiter than the driven fnow,

Emblem right meet of decency does yield; Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe, As is the hare-bell that adorns the field: And in her hand, for fceptre, the does wield Tway birchen fprays, with anxious fear entwin'd,

With dark diftruft, and fad repentance fill'd, And ftedfaft hate, and sharp affliction join'd, And fury uncontroul'd, and chastisement unkind. Few but have kennd, in femblance meet pourtray'd,

y'd,

The childish faces of old ol's train, Libs, Notus, Aufter: these in frowns array' How then would fare or earth, or fky, or main, Were the ftern god to give his flaves the rein? And were not the rebellious breafts to quell, And were not the her statutes to maintain,

The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell Where comely peace of mind and decent order dwell.

A ruffet ftole was o'er her fhoulders thrown;
A ruffet kirtle fenc'd the nipping air;
'Twas fimple ruffet, but it was her own,

'Twas her own country bred the flock fo fair; 'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare, And, footh to fay, her pupils, rang'd around, Thro' pious awe did term it paffing rare;

For they in gaping wonderment abound, And think, no doubt, the been the greatest wight on ground.

Albeit, ne flatt'ry did corrupt her truth;

Ne pompous title did debauch her ear; Goody, good-woman, goffip, n'aunt, forfooth, Or dame, the fole additions fhe did hear; Yet thefe the challeng'd, these fhe held right dear:

Ne would eftcem him act as mought behove, Who fhould not honour'd eld with these revere; For never title yet fo mean could prove, But there was eke a mind which did that title love. One ancient hen she took delight to feed,

The plodding pattern of the bufy dame, Which ever and anon, impell'd by need,

Into her school, begirt with chickens, came; Such favour did her paft deportment claim: And if neglect had lavish'd on the ground Fragment of bread, fhe would collect the fame; For well the knew, and quaintly could expound,

What fin it were to wafte the fmalleft crumb fhe found.

Herbs too fhe knew, and well of each could fpeak,

That in her garden fipp'd the filv'ry dew, Where no vain flow'r difclos'd a gaudy streak, But herbs for ufe and phyfic not a few, Of grey renown, within those borders grew; The tufted bafil, pun-provoking thyme, Fresh baum, and marygold of cheerful hue, The lowly gill, that never dares to climb, And more I fain would fing, difdaining here to rhyme.

Yet euphrafy may not be left unfung,

That gives dim eyes to wander leagues around; And pungent radifh, biting infant's tongue;

And plantain ribb'd, that heals the reaper's wound;

The fouth-west wind, fouth, &c.

And

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Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve,

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Ah! lucklefs he, and born beneath the beam
Of evil ftar! it irks me whilft I write!
As erft the bard, by Mulla's filver ftream,
Oft as he told of deadly dolorous plight,
Sigh'd as he fung, and did in tears indite;
For, brandifhing the rod, the doth begin
To loose the brogues, the ftripling's late de-
light!

Hymned fuch pfalms as Sternhold forth did Fair as the furry coat of whiteft ermilin.
And down they drop; appears his dainty skin,

mete.

If winter 'twere, fhe to her hearth did cleave: But in her garden found a fummer feat: Sweet melody to hear her then repeat How Ifrael's fons, beneath a foreign king, While taunting foe-men did a fong entreat, All for the nonce untuning every ftring, Uphung their ufelefs lyres-fmall heart had they to fing.

For fhe was juft, and friend to virtuous lore,

And pafs'd much time in truly virtuous deed; And in thofe elfins ears would oft deplore The times when Truth by Popish rage did bleed,

And tortious death was true Devotion's meed; And fimple Faith in iron chains did mourn, That nould on wooden image place her creed; And lawny faints in fmould'ring flames did burn: . [return. Ah, dearest Lord! forefend thilk days fhould c'er

In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem,

By the fharp tooth of cank 'ring Eld defac'd, In which, when he receives his diadem,

Our fov'reign prince and liefeft licge is plac'd, The matron fate: and fome with rank fhe grac'd,

The fource of children's and of courtier's pride!

Redrefs'd affronts (for vile affronts there pafs'd),

And warn'd them not the fretful to deride, But love each other dear, whatever them betide.

Right well fhe knew each temper to defcry, Tothwart the proud, and the fubmifs to raise; Some with vile copper prize exalt on high,

And fome entice with pittance finall of praife; And other fome with baleful fprig the 'frays: E'en abfent, the the reins of pow'r doth hold, While with quaint arts the giddy crowd the

fways;

Forewarn'd, if little bird their pranks behold, Twill whifper in her car, and all the feene un

fold.

O ruthful scene! when from a nook obfcure
His little fifter doth his peril fee;
All playful as the fate, the grows demure,
She finds full foon her wonted fpirits flee;
She meditates a pray'r to fet him free:

Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny (If gentle pardon could with dames agrec)

To her fad grief that fwells in either eye, And wrings her fo, that all for pity fhe could die. No longer can fhe now her fhrieks command;

And hardly the forbears, thro' awful fear, Torufhen forth, and, with prefumptuous hand, To ftay harfh juftice in its mid career. On thee the calls, on thee, her parent dear! (Ah! too remote to ward the fhameful blow!) She fees no kind domeftic vifage near,

And foon a flood of tears begins to flow, And gives a loose at laft to unavailing woc. But, ah! what pen his piteous plight may trace ? Or what device his loud laments explain? The form uncouth of his difguifed face?

The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain ? The plenteous fhow'r that does his check diftain? When he in abject wife implores the dame, Ne hopeth aught of fweet reprieve to gain;

Or when from high the levels well her aim, And, thro' the thatch, his cries cach falling ftroke proclaim.

The other tribe, aghaft, with fore difmay

Attend, and conn their tasks with mickle care; By turns, aftonied, ev'ry twig furvey,

And from their fellow's hateful wounds

beware,

Knowing, I wift, how cach the fame may fhare; Till fear has taught them a performance

meet,

And to the well-known cheft the dame repair, Whence oft with fugar'd cates the doth 'em

grect,

And gingerbread y-rare; now, certes, doubly fweet!

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See, to their feats they hye with merry glee,
And in befeemly order fitten there,
All but the wight of bum y-galled; he
Abhorreth bench, and ftool, and form, and
chair

(This hand in mouth y-fix'd,thatrends his hair); And eke with fnubs profound, and heaving breaft,

Convulfions intermitting! does declare

His grievous wrong, his dame's unjust beheft, And fcorns her offer'd love, and fhuns to be carefs'd.

His face befprent with liquid crystal fhines; His blooming face, that feems a purple flow'r, Which low to earth its drooping head declines,

All fmear'd and fullied by a vernal show'r. Oh the hard bofoms of defpotic pow'r !

All, all but fhe, the author of his shame, All, all but the, regret this mournful hour:

Yet hence the youth, and hence the flow'r fhall claim,

If fo I deem aright, tranfcending worth and fame.

Behind fome door in melancholy thought, Mindlefs of food, he, dreary caitiff! pines; Ne for his fellows joyaunce careth ought,

But to the wind all merriment refigns,
And deems it fhame if he to peace inclines;
And many a fullen look afkaunce is fent,
Which for his dame's annoyance he defigns;
And still the more to pleasure him she's bent,
The more doth he, perverfe, her 'haviour past
refent.

Ah, me! how much I fear left pride it be!
But if that pride it be which thus infpires,
Beware, ye dames! with nice difcernment see,
Ye quench not too the fparks of nobler fires :
Ah! better far than all the Mufes' lyres

(All coward arts) is valour's gen'rous heat; The firm fix'd breaft which fit and right requires,

Like Vernon's patriot foul, more juftly great Than craft that pimps for ill, or flow`ry falfe deceit.

Yet, nurs'd with skill, what dazzling fruits
appear!

E'en now fagacious forefight points to fhow
A little bench of heedlefs bithops here,
And there a chancellor in embryo,
Or bard sublime, if bard may e'er be so;
As Milton, Shakespeare, names that ne'er
fhall die!

Tho' now he crawl along the ground fo low;
Nor weeting how the Mufe fhould foar on
high,

Wifheth, poor ftarv'ling clf! his paper kite may fly.

And this perhaps, who, cens'ring the defign,
Low lays the houfe which that of cards doth
build,
Shall Dennis be, if rigid Fates incline;
And many an epic to his rage fhall yield,

And many a poet quit th' Aönian field:
And, four'd by age, profound he fhall appear,
As he who now, with 'fdainful fury thrill'd,

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Surveys mine work, and levels many a fneer, And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, What stuff is here!'

But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle sky,
And Liberty unbars her prifon-door;
And like a rushing torrent out they fly,

And now the graffy cirque han cover'd o'er
With boift'rous revel-rout and wild uproar.
A thousand ways in wanton rings they run;
Heaven fhield their fhort-liv'd paftimes, I im-
plore!

For well may Freedom, erft fo dearly won, Appear to British elf more gladfome than the fun. Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive trade, And chace gay flies,and cull the fairest flow'rs; For when my bones in grafs-green fods are laid; For never may ye tafte more careless hours In knightly caftles or in ladies bow'rs.

O vain, to feek delight in earthly things! But moft in courts, where proud Ambition tow'rs;

Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can fpring

Beneath the pompous dome of kefar or of king.

See in each fprite fome various bent appear!
Thefe rudely carol moft incondite lay;
Thofe faunt'ring on the green, with jocund leer,
Salute the ftranger paffing on his way:
Some builden fragile tenements of clay;

Some to the standing lake their courses bend, With pebbles fimooth, at duck and drake to play;

Thilk to the huxter's fav'ry cottage tend, In paftry kings and queens th'alloted mite to spend.

Here, as each feafon yields a different store,

Each feafon's ftores in order ranged been; Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er,

Galling full fore th`unmonied wight, are seen; And goofeb'rie, clad in liv'ry red or green: And here of lovely dye the Cathrine pear; Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice I ween;

O may no wight e'er pennylefs come there. Left, finit with ardent love, he pine with hopeless

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* Shrewsbury cakes.

known *.

Admir 1

Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave,
Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils tried;

Her daughters lovely, and her ftriplings brave:
Ah! midit the reft, may flow's adorn his grave
Whole art did firft thefe dulcet cates difplay!
A motive fair to Learning's imps he gave,

Who cheerlets o'er her darkling region ftray, Till Reafon's morn arife, and light them on their

way.

$93. Oriental Eclogues. By Mr. COLLINS.

ECLOGUE I.

Selim; or, the Shepherd's Moral.

Scene, a Valley near Bagdat.---Time, the Morning.

E Perfian maids, attend your Poet's lays,

Y. And hear how thepherds pafs their golden

⚫ days.

Not all are bleft, whom Fortune's hand fuftains
With wealth in courts, nor all that haunt the
'plains:

Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell;
'Tis virtue makes the blifs, where'er we dwell.'
Thus Selim fung, by facred Truth infpir'd;
Nor praife but fuch as Truth beftow'd, defir'd :
Wife in himself, his meaning fongs convey'd
Informing morals to the thepherd maid;
Or taught the fwains that füreft blifs to find,
What groves nor ftreams below-avirtuous mind.
When fweet and blufhing, like a virgin bride,
The radiant morn refum'd her orient pride;
When wanton gales along the vallics play,
Breathe on cach flow'r, and bear their fweets away;
By Tygris' wandering waves he fat, and sung
This ufeful leffon for the fair and young:

Ye Perfian dames,' he faid, 'to you belong
(Well may they please) the morals of my fong:
No fairer maids, I truft, than you are found,
Grac'd with foft arts, the peopled world around!
The morn that lights you, to your loves fupplies
Each gentler ray, delicious to your eyes;
For you thofe flow'rs her fragrant hands beftow,
And yours the love that kings delight to know.
Yet think not thefe, all beauteous as they are,
The beft kind bleflings Heaven can grant the fair:
• Who truft alone in beauty's feeble ray,

[boaft,

Boaft but the worth Balfora's pearls difplay!
• Drawn from the deep, we own the furface bright;
• But, dark within, they drink no luftrous light.
Such are the maids, and fuch the charms they
By fenfe unaided, or to virtue loft.
Self-flatt'ring fex! your hearts believe in vain
That Love fhall blind, when once he fires, the
Or hope a lover by your faults to win, [fwain;
As fpots on ermin beautify the fkin:

Who feeks fecure to rule, be firft her care
Each fofter virtue that adorns the fair;
Each tender paffion man delights to find
• The lov'd perfection of a female mind!

6

6

6

Bleft were the days when wisdom held her

reign,

And fhepherds fought her on the filent plain;
With Truth the wedded in the fecret grove,
Immortal Truth! and daughters blefs'd their
'love.

O hafte, fair maids! ye Virtues, come away!
Sweet Peace and Plenty lead you on your way
The balmy fhrub for you shall love our shore,
By Ind excell'd, or Araby, no more.

Loft to our fields, for fo the fates ordain,
The dear deferters fhall return again.
Come thou, whofe thoughts as limpid fprings
are clear;

To lead the train, fweet Modefty, appear:
Here make thy court amidft our rural fcene,
And fhepherd girls fhall own thec for their queen.
With thee be Chastity, of all afraid,
Diftrufting all, a wife fufpicious maid;

But man the moft-not more the mountain doe
• Holds the fwift falcon for her deadly foc.
Cold is her breaft, like flowers that drink the dew;
A filken veil conceals her from the view.
No wild defires amidft thy train be known,
But Faith, whofe heart is fix'd on one alone:
Defponding Meeknefs, with her downcaft eyes,
And friendly Pity, full of tender fighs;
And Love the laft. By thefe your hearts approve;
Thefe are the virtues that muft lead to love.'
Thus fung the fwain; and ancient legends fay,
The maids of Bagdat verified the lay:
Dear to the plains, the Virtues came along;
The thepherds lov'd, and Selim blefs'd his fong.

ECLOGUE II.

Haffan; or, the Camel-Driver.

Scene, the Defart.---Time, Mid-Day.

IN filent horror, o'er the boundless wafte,
The driver Hallan with his camels pafs'd:
One crufe of water on his back he bore,
And his light fcrip contain'd a fcanty store;
A fan of painted feathers in his hand,
To guard his fhaded face from scorching sand.
The fultry fun had gain'd the middle sky,
And not a tree, and not an herb, was nigh:
The beafts with pain their dufty way pursue,
Shrill roar'd the winds, and dreary was the view!
With defperate forrow wild, th' affrighted man
Thrice figh'd, thrice ftruck his breaft, and thus
began:

Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day,
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my
way!

Ah! little thought I of the blasting wind,
The thirft or pinching hunger that I find!
Bethink thee, Haffan, where fhall thirst affuage,
When fails this crufe, his unrelenting rage;
Soon fhall this fcrip its precious load refign;
Then what but tears and hunger fhall be thine?
Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear
In all my griefs a more than equal fhare!

* The Gulf of that name, famous for the pearl-fishery.
Ff3

!

"Here,

Here, where no fprings in murmurs break away," Farewel the youth, whom fighs could not detain, 'Or mofs-crown'd fountains mitigate the day, In vain ye hope the green delignts to know, Which plains more bleft, or verdant vales, • beftow:

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Here rocks alone and taftelefs fands are found,
• And faint and fickly winds for ever howl around.
Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day,
When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my
way!

Curft be the gold and filver which perfuade
Weak men to follow far-fatiguing trade !
The lily Peace outfhines the filver-ftore,
And life is dearer than the golden ore:
Yet money tempts us o'er the defart brown,
To ev'ry diftant mart and wealthy town.
Full oft we tempt the land, and oft the fea;
And are we only yet repaid by thee?
Ah! why this ruin fo attractive made?
• Or why, fond man, so easily betray'd ?

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Why heed we not, while mad we hafte along,
The gentle voice of Peace, or Pleafure's fong?
Or wherefore think the flow'ry mountain's fide,
The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride;
Why think we thefe lefs pleafing to behold
Than dreary defarts, if they lead to gold?

Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day,
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my
6 way!

O ceafe, my fears!-all frantic as I go,

"Whom Zara's breaking heart implor'd in vain;
"Yet, as thou go'ft, may ev'ry blaft arife
"Weak and unfelt as these rejected fighs!
"Safe o'er the wild, no perils mayft thou fee;
"No griefs endure; nor weep, falfe youth, like

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me!"

O let me fafely to the fair return,

Say, with a kifs, fhe muft not, fhall not mourn!
O let me teach my heart to lose its fears,
'Recall'd by Wisdom's voice, and Zara's tears !'

He faid; and call'd on Heaven to blefs the day
When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his way.

ECLOGUE III.

Abra; or, the Georgian Sultana.

Scene, a Foreft.---Time, the Evening.

IN Georgia's land, where Tefflis' tow'rs are feen
In diftant view along the level green;
While evening dews enrich the glitt'ring glade,
And the tall forests caft a longer fhade;
What time 'tis fweet o'er fields of rice to ftray,
Or fcent the breathing maize at fetting day;
Amidft the maids of Zagen's peaceful grove,
Emyra fung the pleafing cares of love.

Of Abra firft began the tender ftrain,
Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain;
At morn the came, thofe willing flocks to lead,'

When thought creates unnumber'd fcenes of Where lilies rear them in the wat'ry mead :

woe.

What if the lion in his rage I meet!
Oft in the duft I view his printed feet:
And, fearful! oft, when day's declining light
Yields her pale empire to the mourner Night,
By hunger rous'd, he fcours the groaning plain,
Gaunt wolves and fullen tigers in his train;
Before them Death, with thricks, directs their
way!

Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey.
Sad was the hour, and luckiefs was the day,
When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my
'way!

At that dead hour the filent afp fhall creep,
If aught of reft I find, upon my fleep:
Or fome fwoln ferpent twift his fcales around,
And wake to anguish with a burning wound.
Thrice happy they, the wife, contented poor;
From luft of wealth, and dread of death, fecure!
They tempt no defarts, and no griefs they find;
Peace rules the day, where reafon rules the mind.
Sad was the hour, and lucklefs was the day,
When firft from Schiraz' walls I bent my
way!

O hapless youth! for fhe thy love hath won,
• The tender Zara, will be most undone !
Big fwell'd my heart, and own'd the pow'rful
'maid,

When faft the dropp'd her tears, and thus fhe • faid:

|

From early dawn the live-long hours fhe told,
Till late at filent eve fhe penn'd the fold.
Deep in the grove, beneath the fecret fhade,
A various wreath of odorous flowers fhe made.
Gay motley'd pinks and fweet jonquils the chofe
The violet blue that on the mofs-bank grows;
All fweet to fenfe, the flaunting rofe was there:
The finish'd chaplet well adorn'd her hair.

Great Abbas chanc'd that fated morn to stray,
By love conducted from the chace away:
Among the vocal vales he heard her fong,
And fought the vales and echoing groves among,
At length he found, and woo'd the rural maid
She knew the monarch, and with fear obey'd.

Be ev'ry youth like royal Abbas mov'd,
And ev'ry Georgian maid like Abra lov'd!
The royal lover bore her from the plain;
Yet ftill her crook and bleating flock remain:
Oft as he went fhe backward turn'd her view,
And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu.
Fair happy maid! to other fcenes remove;
To richer fcenes of golden pow'r and love!
Go leave the fimple pipe, and fhepherd's ftrain;
With love delight thee, and with Abbas reign.
Be ev'ry youth like royal Abbas mov'd,

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And ev'ry Georgian maid like Abra lov'd !'
Yet, midft the blaze of courts, the fix'd her love
On the cool fountain, or the fhady grove;
Still, with the fhepherd's innocence, her mind
To the fweet vale and flow'ry mead inclin'd:

That thefe flowers are found in very great abundance in fome of the provinces of Perfia, fee the Modern hery of the ingenious Mr. Salmon.

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