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Then, fondly stealing to thy father's side, How oft, when fondling in my arms,
Gazing enraptur’d on its angel-face,
My soul the maze of Fate would vainly trace, Say, wilt thou strive to inake it lefs?
And burn with all a father's fond alarms! To footh my forrows all thy cares employ, And oh what Hatt’ring scenes had fancy feign’d! And in my cup of grief infuse one drop of joy ? How did I rave of bleilings yet in store !
Till ev'ry aching sense was liveetly pain’d,
And my full heart could bear, nor tongue $ 100. An Evening Address to a Nightingale.
could utter more. SHAW.
Just Heaven!” I cried, with recent hopes elate, SWEET bird! that, kindly perching near, “ Yet will I live-will live, tho'Emma's diad; Pourest thy plaints melodious in mine car,
“ So long bow'd down beneath the storms of Not, like bale worldlings, tutor'd to forego
* fate, The melancholy haunts of woe;
“ Yet will I raise my woe-dejected head! Thanks for thy sorrow-foothing strain :
“ My little Emma, now my all, For, surely, thou haft known to prove,
“ Will want a father's care ; Like me, the pangs of hapless love;
“ Her looks, her wants, my rash resolves recal, Else why so feelingly complain, [grove :
" And for her fake the ills of life I'll bear: And with thy piteous notes thus fadden all the
“ And oft together we'll complain, Say, dost thou mourn thy ravith'd mate,
“ Complaint the only bliss my soul That oft enamour'd on thy strains has hung? “ From me my child thall Icarn the mournful Or has the cruel hand of Fate
“ strain, Bercft thee of thy darling young?
“ And prattle tales of woe. Alas! for both I weep :
“ And, oh! in that auspicious hour, In all the pride of youthful charms,
“ When Fate resigns her perfecuting pow's, A beauteous bride torn from my circling arms ! " With duteous zcal her hand shall close, A lovely babe that should have liv’d to bless, “ No more to weep, my forrow-streaming eyes, And fill my doating eyes with frequent " When death gives mifery repose, tears,
“ And opes a glorious passage to the skies.” At once the source of rapture and diftress,
Vain thought! it must not be-hc too is dead; The flattering prop of my declining years !
The flatt’ring scene is o'er;
My hopes for ever, ever Aled;
And vengeance can no more.
Crush'd by misfortune, blasted by dife:fe, And wing'dits flight to feck her in the skies.
And none--none left to bcar a friendly part ! Then, oh! our comforts be the same,
To meditate iny welfare, health, or eati, At evening's peaceful hour,
Or footh the anguish of an aching heart ! To Thun the noily paths of wealth and fame,
Now all one gloomy scene, till welcome death, And breathe our furrows in this lonely
With lenicnt hand (oh falfely decm'd fevere), bow'r.
Shall kindly hop my grief-exhausted breath, But why, alas ! to thee complain,
And dry up ev'ry tear. To thec-unconscious of my pain ?
Perhaps, obfequious to my will,
The genial warmth of joy-renewing spring As if I ne'er had been belor'd;
As if, unconscious of poctic fire,
Again thall flow thy notes relponlive to thy As if my niggard hand ne'er dealt relief, But, oh! for me in vain may seasons roll, [love. Nor my heart melted at another's grief. Nought can dry up the fountain of my tears:
Yct, while this weary life shall last, Deploring still the comfort of my soul,
While yet my tongue can forin th' impaffion'i I count my sorrows by increasing years.
Itrain, Tell me, thou Syren Hope, deceiver, say,
In piteous accents shall the muse complain, Where is the promis d period of my woes? And dwell with fond delay on blessings paft: Full three long, lingering years have rolld away, For oh how grateful to a wounded hcart, And yet I weep, a stranger to repose :
The tale of nifery to impart ! o what delusion did thy tongue employ! From others eyes bid a tless forrow's fow, “ That Emma's fatal pledge of love,
And raise esteem upon the bale of voe! “ Her last bequcft, with all a mother's care, Even He “, the noblest of the tuncful throng, « The bitterness of sorrow should remorc,
Shall deign my love-lorn tale to hear, 8. Soften the horrors of despair,
Shall catch the soft contagion of iny tong, “ And cheer a heart long lost to joy !" And pay my penfivc Mute the tribute of a tear. Lord Lyttleton,
§ 101. An Ode to Narcisa. SMOLLET. No groves have ye; no cheerful sound of bird, THY fatal shafts unerring move;
Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard; I bow before thine altar, Love!
Nor grateful cglantine regales the smell I feel thy soft, rcfiftless flame
Of those that walk at ev'ning where ye
dwell : Glide swift through all my vital frame !
But winter, arm’d with terrors here unknown,
Sits absolute on his unshaken throne; For while I gaze my bosom glows,
Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste, My blood in tides impetuous flows;
And bids the mountains he has built stand fast; Hope, fear, and joy alternate roll,
Beckons the legions of his storms away And floods of transport whelm iny foul!
From happier icenes, to make your land a prey; My fault'ring tongue attempts in rain
Proclaims the soil a conquist he has won, In soothing murnurs to complain ;
And scorns to share it with the diftant sun. My tongue fome fecret inagic ties,
Yet truth is yours, remote, unenvied ille; My murmurs fink in brukci bylis!
And peace, the genuine offspring of her smile: Condeinn'd to nurse eternal
The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds
care, And ever drop the silent tcar;
In chains of error our accomplish'd minds;
That decks with all the splendour of the truc Unheard I mouin, unknown I sigh,
A falte religion is unknown to you. Unfriended live, unpitied die !
Nature indeed vouchsafes for our delight
The sweet vicissitudes of day and night; § 102. Elegy in Imitation of Tibullus. Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
SMOLLET. Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here i WHERE now are all my flattering dreams of But brighter beams than his who fires the skies joy?
Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes, Monimia, give my soul her wonted rest : That shoot into your darkest caves the day Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,
From which our nicer optics turn away.
$104.On Slavery, and the Slave Trade.CowPER.
For merchants rich in cargoes of despair, Or press her wanton in love's roscate bow'r.
Who drive a loathsome traffic, gage and span, For me, no more I'll range th’empurpled mead, And buy the muscles and the bones of man ? Where thepherds pipe, and virgins dance around, The tender ties of father, husband, friend, Nor wander thro' the woodbine's fragrant shade, All bonds of nature, in that moment end ; To hear the music of the grove rcfound.
And each endurcs, while yet he draws his breach I'll seek fome lonely church, or drcary hall,
A stroke as fatal as the scythe of death. Where fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue,
The fable warrior, frantic with regret Where damps hang mould'ring on the ivy'd wall, of her he loves, and never can forget, And heeted ghosts drink up the ruidnight dow: Loses in tears the far-receding fore, There, leagued with hopeless anguish and despair, Deprived of her and freedom at a blow,
But not the thought that they must mect no more;
What has ho left that he can yet forego?
Yes, to deep sadnets fullenly refign'd,
He feels his body's bondage in his mind;
On man, a mourner in his beft eftate!!
And find submission more than half a cure ; $ 103: The Propagation of the Gospel in Greenland. Grief is itself a med'cine, and bestow'd
T'improve the fortitude that bears a load; AND Ntill it spreads: Sce Germany fend forth To teach the wand'rer, as his woes incrcafe,
Her sons to pour it on the farthest north * : The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace. Fir’d with a zcal peculiar, they defy
But Nav'ry!- virtuc drcads it as her grave; The rage and rigour of a polar sky,
Patience itself is meanness in a slave :
Bid suffer it awhile, and kiss the rod;
The beasts are charter'd-neither age nor force That grief, fequester'd from the public stage,
The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee!
§ 106. On Domeftic Happiness, as the Friend of § 105. On Liberty, and in Praise of Mr. Howard, Virtue, and of the false Good-nature of the COWPER. Age.
Cow PER. could I worship aught beneath the skies, DOMESTIC happiness, thou only bliss
That earth hath seen or fancy cuuld devise, Of Paradise that has surviv'd the fall!
Or tasting, long enjoy thce; too infirm
Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arms
She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is,
That reeling goddess with the zonclefs waist
Joys that her stormy raptures never yield.
Of honour, dignity, and fair renown,
In all our crowded streets, and senates seem
Th’adultrcfs! what a theme for angry versen
No. Let hier pass; and, charioted along,
And verie of inine shall never brand the wretch
And chaste themselves, are not asham'd to own.
Not to be pass'd : and the that had renounc'd
Her fex's honour, was renounc'd herself
By all that priz'd it; not for Prudery's fake,
But Dignity's, resentful of the wrong.
Desirous to return, and not receiv’d;
But was an wholesome rigour in the main,
Was mark'd and shuni'd as odious. He that fold
We are become so candid and so fair,
True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind, So liberal in construction, and fo rich
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern In Christian charity, a good-narur'd age! Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn; That they are fafe; finners of either sex And, having dropt th’expected bag, pass on. Tranfgrefs what laws they may. Well dress d, He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, well bred,
Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief Well equipagd, is ticket good enough
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to tome; To pals us readily through ev'ry door.
To him indiff'rent wicther grief or joy. Hypocrisy, deteft her as we may,
Houses in alhes, and the fall of stocks, (And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet) Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet? May claim this merit fill, that the admits With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks The worth of what the inimics with such care, Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, And thus gives virtue indirect applaule. Or charg'd with am'rous sighs of abfint swains, But he has burnt her marks, not needed here, Or nymphs responsive, equally affect Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts His hortc and him, unconscious of them all. And specious semblanas have lost their use. But oh th'important budget ! uther'd in
With such heart-thaking music, who can say § 107.
On the Employments of what is called What are its ridings : have our troops awak'd: an Idle Life.
CowPER. Or do thev still, as if with opium drugg d, HOW various his employments when the world Snore to the murmurs of th Atlantic wave Calls idle, return
Is India wear her plum'd Efteems that busy world an idler too!
And jewell'd turban with a sinile of
peace, Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, Or do we grind her still? The giand debate, Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,
The popular harangue, the tart reply, And nature in her cultivated trim
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad And the loud laugh-I long to know them all ; Can he want occupation who has these :
I burn to set th' imprison d wranglers frce, Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy? And give them voice and utt'rance once again. Me therefore, studious of laborious tali,
Now stir the fire and close the shutters fait, Not forhful; happy to deceive the time, Let fall the curtains, wheel the fofa round, Not wafcit; and aware that human life And while the bubbling and loud hilfing urn Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
Throws up a ftcamy column, and the cups When He shall call his debtors to account That cheer but not incbriate, wait on each, From whom are all our bleflings-bufiness finds So let us welcome peaceful ev’ning in. Ev’n here. While fedulous I fcek t'improve, Not such his ev'ning who with shining face At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd, Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeez'd, The mind he gave me; driving it, though slack And bor'd with elbowv-points thro'both his fides, Too oft, and much impeded in its work Outícolds the ranting actor on the stage. By causes not to be divulg'd in vain,
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb, To its just point-the service of mankind. And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath He that attends to his interior felf,
Of patriots bursting with heroic rage,
Which not ev’n critics criticitc, that holds
Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair,
Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ? Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies. Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge He that is ever occupied in storms
That tempts ambition. On the summit, fee, Or dives not for it; or brings up instead, The feals of office glitter in his eyes ; [heols, Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize.
He climbs, he pants, he grasps them. At his
Close at his heels, a demagogue afcends, § 108. The Post comes in--the News-paper is And with a dextrous jerk toon twists himn down, read-The World contemplated at a dijiance. And wins them, but to lose them in his turn.
Cowper. Here rills of oily cloquence in foft HARK! 'tis the twanging horn! o'er yonder Mcanders lubi icate the courte they take: bridge,
The modest speaker is alham'd and griev'd That with its wearifome but needful length T'engross a moment's notice; and yet begs, Bestrides the wint’ry food, in which the moon Begs a propitious car for his poor thoughts, Sces her unwrinkled face reflected bright, However trivial all that he conceives. He comes, the herald of a noisy world, [locks, Sweet bashfulness ! it claims at least this praise, With fpatter'd boots, ftrapp'd waist, and frozen The dearth of information and good sense News from all nations lumb'ring at his back. That it forctelj us, always comes to pass.
Cataracts of declamation thunder here,
Here are thy walks, O sacred Health !
The Monarch’s blifs, the Beggar's wealth ;
Pow'r of the soft and rosy face !
The vivid pulse, the vermil grace,
O sun of life, whose heavenly ray
The turbulence of hopes and fears,
The storm of fate, the cloud of years,
'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat Repofes late in Death's calm night:
Of death, of life, alike afraid;
Or, on the brow of mountain high,
With song and prospect which abound
While Heat fits fervent on the plain,
(All nature fick’ning in the blaze),
That clouds the vale with umbrage deep,
Impendent from the neighb'ring steep,
Wilt find betimes a calm retrcat,
There plung'd amid the lhadows brown,
Attentive, in his airy mood,
The warbling hill, the lowing vale ;
The distant woodman's echoing stroke;
The thunder of the falling oak.
Blows lib'ral o'er yon bloomy heath: He holds high converse with the Dead;
And shadowy skim before his eyes.
Hark! Orpheus strikes the lyre again,
That foften'd savages to men:
Lo! Socrates, the Sent of Heaven,
Fathers and Friends of human kind!
They form'd the nations, or refin'd,
Enlight’ning truth, adorning art.
Thus muling in the folemn shade,
At once the founding breeze was laid: