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So (the fimilitude is trite)

The moon ftill fhines with borrow'd light;
And, like the race of modern beaux,
Ticks with the fun for her lac'd clothes.
Methinks there is no better time
To fhew the ufe I make of rhyme,
Than now, when I, who from beginning
Was always fond of couplet-finning,
Prefuming on good-nature's fcore,
Thus lay my bantling at your door.
The firft advantage which I fee,
Is, that I ramble loofe 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 ftrut the more,
While, raving in pathetic ftrains,
He fhakes his legs to clank his chains.
From rhyme, as from a handfome face,
Nonfenfe acquires a kind of grace;
I therefore give it all its scope,
That fenfe may unperceiv'd elope.
So M- rs of bafeft tricks
(I love a fling at politics)
Amufe the nation, court, and king,

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With breaking F-kes, and hanging Byng;
And make each puny rogue a prey,
While they, the greater, flink away.
This fimile perhaps would ftrike,
If match'd with fomething more alike;
Then take it drefs'd a fecond time
In Prior's Eafe, 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 all in hafte to catch a thief;
While the fly rogue, who filch'd the prey,
Too close befet to run away,
Stop thief! ftop thief! exclaims aloud,
And fo efcapes among the crowd?
So Minifters, &c.

O England, how I mourn thy fate!
For fure thy loffes now are great;
Two fuch what Briton can endure,
Minorca, and the Connoiffeur !

To-day, or c'er the fun goes down,
Will die the Cenfor, Mr Town!
He dies, whoc'er takes pains to con him,
With blufhing honours thick upon him
O may his name thefe verfes fave,
Be thefe infcrib'd upon his grave!

"Know, Reader, that on Thurfday died, The Connoilleur, a Suicide! "Yet think not that his foul is fled, "Nor rank him 'mongst the vulgar dead.

"Howe'er defunct you fet him down, "He's only going out of Town."

§ 113. Ode to Arthur Onflow, Esq. †
THIS goodly frame what virtue fo approves,
And teftifies the pure ethereal spirit,
As mild Benevolence?

She with her fifter Mercy ftill awaits

Befide th'eternal throne of Jove,

And measures forth with unwithdrawing hand The bleffings of the various year, Sunfhine or fhow'r, and chides the madding tempeft.

With her the heaven-bred nymph, meek Charity, Shall fashion Onflow forth in fairest portrait; And with recording care

Weave the fresh wreathe that flow'ring virtue

But, oh, what mufe fhall join the band?
He long has fojourn'd in the facred haunts,
And knows each whifp'ring grot and

Trod by Apollo, and the light-foot Graces.
How then fhall aukward gratitude,
And the prefumption of untutor`d duty,

Attune my numbers, all too rude?
Little he recks the meed of fuch a fong;
Yet will I ftretch aloof,
And when I tell of Courtesy,
Of well-attemper'd Zeal,"

Of awful Prudence foothing fell Contention,
Where fhall the lineaments agree

But in thee, Onflow? You your wonted leave Indulge me, nor mifdeem a foldier's bold em


Who in the diffonance of barb'rous war, Long train'd, revifits oft the facred treasures Of antique memory;

Or where fage Pindar reins his fiery car,

Through the vaft vault of Heaven fecure,
Or what the Attic mufe that Homer fill'd,
Her other fon, thy Milton taught,
Or range the flow'ry fields of gentle Spenfer.
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 thrilling reeds!
To Henries and to Edwards eld,
Dread names! I'd meditate the faithful fong
Or tell what time Britannia,

Whilom the faircft daughter of old Ocean,
In loathly difarray, dull eyes,

And faded cheek, wept o'er her abject fons :
Till William, great deliverer,

Led on the comely train, gay Liberty,
Religion, matron ftaid,

With all her kindred goddesses;

*September 30th, 1756, when Mr. Town, author of the Connoiffeur, a periodical Effay (fince published, in four volumes, printed for R. Baldwin, London), took leave of his readers, with an humorous account of him.felf.

+ This elegant Poem was written by a Gentleman well known in the learned world, as a token of gratitude for favours conferred on his father during the last war, whofe character he has therein aflumed.


Juftice with fteady brow, TrimPlenty,laurcat Peace, and green-hair'dCom


In flowing vest of thousand hues. Fain would I fhadow 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-fwelling wafte it rolls avengeful. As when collected clouds

Forth from the gloomy fouth, in deep array,

Athwart the dark'ning landscape throng,

O lead my fteps beneath the moon's din ray,
Where Tadmor ftands all defert and alone!
While from her time-fhook tow'rs the bird of

Sounds thro' the night her long-refounding moan.
Or bear me far to yon dark difmal plain,
Where fell-eyed tygers, all athirst for blood,
Howl to the defart; while the horrid train
Roams o'er the wild where once great Babel

That queen of nations! whofe fuperior call

Fraught with loud ftorms, and thunder's dread-Rous'd the broad Eaft, and bid her arms deftroy!

ful peal,

At which the murd'rer ftands aghaft, And wafting Riot ill diffembles terror.

How headlong Rhone and Ebro, erft diftain'd With Moorish carnage, quakes thro' all her branches!

Soon fhall I greet the morn, When Europe fav'd, Britain and George's name, Shall found o'er Flandria's level field, Familiar in domestic merriment;

Or by the jolly mariner

Be carol'd loud adown the echoing Danube.

The juft memorial of fair deeds Still flourishes, and, like th' untainted foul, Bloffoms in freshest age, above The weary fleth, and envy's rankling wound. Such, after years mature,

In full account fhall be thy meed.

Oh may your rifing hope Well principled in ev'ry virtue bloom! Till a fresh-fpringing flock implore With infant hands a grandfire's pow'rful pray'r, Or round your honour'd couch their prattling fports purfue.

§ 114. Ode to Melancholy. OGILVIE. HAIL, queen of thought fublime! propitious


Who o'er th' unbounded wafte art joy'd to roam,
Led by the moon, when at the midnight hour
Her pale rays tremble thro' the dusky gloom.
O bear me, goddefs, to thy peaceful feat!
Whether to Hecla's cloud-wrapt brow convey'd,
Or lodg'd where mountains fcreen thy deep re-


Or wand'ring wild thro' Chili's boundlefs fhade.
Say, rove thy fteps o'er Lybia's naked waste?
Or feek fome diftant folitary fhore?
Or, on the Andes' topmoft mountain plac'd,
Doft fit, and hear the folemn thunder roar?
Fix'd on fome hanging rock's projected brow,
Hear'ft thou low murmurs from the diftant dome?
Or ftray thy feet where pale dejected Woe
Pours her long wail from fome lamented tomb?
Hark! yon deep echo ftrikes the trembling car!
See night's dun curtain wraps the dark fome pole!
O'er heaven's blue arch yon rolling worlds ap-


And route to folemn thought th' aspiring foul.

When warm'd to mirth, let judgment mark her fall, And deep reflection dafh the lip of joy.

Short is Ambition's gay deceitful dream; Though wreaths of blooring laurel bind her brow;

Calm thought difpels the vifionary fcheme,
And Time's cold breath diffolves the withering

Slow as fome miner faps th'afpiring tow'r,
When working secret with deftrućtive aim,
Unfeen, unheard, thus moves the ftealing 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-

Let flutt'ring Cupids crowd the growing plan:
Then give one touch, and dash it deep with shade.
Beneath the plume that flames with glancing


Be Care's deep engines on the foul imprefs'd;
Beneath the helmet's keen refulgent blaze
Let Grief fit pining in the canker'd breast.
Let Love's gay fons, a fmiling train, appear,
With Beauty pierc'd-yet heedless of the dart;
While, clofely couch'd, pale fick'ning Envy near

Whets her fell fting, and points it at the heart.
Perch'd like a raven on fome blafted yew,
Let Guilt revolve the thought-diftracting fin;
Scar'd-while her eyes furvey th' ethereal blue,
Left heaven's ftrong lightning burst the dark

Then paint impending o'er the maddening deep That rock where heart-ftruck Sappho, vainly brave,

Stood firm of foul-then from the dizzy fteep
Impetuous fprung, and dash'd the boiling wave.
Here wrapt in ftudious thought let Fancy rove,
Still prompt to mark Sufpicion's fecret fnare;
To fee where Anguifh nips the bloom of Love,
Or trace proud Grandeur to the domes of Care.
Should e'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes inflame,
Let judging Reafon draw the veil afide;
Or, fir'd with envy at fome mighty name,
Read o'er the monument that tells-He died.
What are the enfigns of imperial fway
What all that Fortune's lib'ral hand has brought?
Teach they the voice to pour a fweeter lay?
Or roufe the foul to more exalted thought?
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Say, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault,
Where the worm fattens on fome fcepter'd brow,
Beneath that roof with sculptur'd marble fraught,
Why fleeps unmov'd the breathlefs duft below?
Sleeps it more fweetly than the fimple fwain,
Beneath fome moffy turf that refts his head;
Where the lone widow tells the night her pain,
And eve with dewy tears embalins the dead?
The lily, fereen'd from ev'ry ruder gale,
Courts not the cultur'd fpot where rofes fpring:
But blows neglected in the peaceful vale,
And fcents the zephyr's balmy breathing wing.
The bufts of grandeur and the pomp of pow'r,
Can thefe bid Sorrow's gufhing tears fubfide?
Can thefe avail in that tremendous hour,"
When Death's cold hand congeals the purple tide?
Ah no! the mighty names are heard no more:
Pride's thought fublime, and Beauty's kindling

Serve but to fport one flying moment o'er,
And fwell with pompous verfe th' efcutcheon'd

For mc-may Paffion ne'er my foul invade,
Nor be the whims of tow'ring Phrenzy giv'n;

O'er bleak defart's unfrequented round
Seeft thou where Nature treads the deep'ning

Sits on yon hoary tow'r with ivy crown'd,
Or wildly wails o'er thy lamented tomb;
Hear'ft thou the folemn mufic wind along?
Or thrills the warbling note in thy mellifluous fong?

I. 2.

Oft while on earth 'twas thine to rove
Where'er the wild-eyed goddefs lov'd to roam,
To trace ferene the gloomy grove,
Or haunt meck Quiet's fimple dome;
Still hovering round the Nine appcar,
That pour the foul-transporting strain;
Join'd to the Loves' gay train,
The light-wing'd gales that lead the vernal
The loofe-rob'd Graces crown'd with flow'rs,
And wake the rofy-featur'd hours.
O'er all bright Fancy's beamy radiance shone,
How flam'd thy bofom as her charms reveal!
Her fire-clad eye fublime, her ftarry zone,
Her treffes loofe that wanton'd on the gale;
On thee the goddefs fix'd her ardent look,
Then from her glowing lips thefe melting accents

I. 3.

"To thee, my favourite fon, belong
"The lays that fteal the liftening hour;
"To pour the rapture-darting fong,
"To paint gay Hope's Elyfian bow'r.
"From Nature's hand to fnatch the dart,
"To cleave with pangs the bleeding heart;

Let Wealth ne'er court me from the peaceful" Or lightly fweep the trembling firing,


Where Contemplation wings the foul to Heaven!
Oh guard me fafe from Joy's enticing fnare!
With each extreme that Pleafure tries to hide,
The poifon'd breath of flow-confuming Care,
The noife of Folly, and the dreams of Pride.
But oft, when midnight's fadly folemn knell
Sounds long and diftant from the sky-topt tow`r,
Calm let me fit in Profper's lonely cell,
Or walk with Milton thro' the dark obfcure.
Thus, when the tranfient dream of life is fled,
May fome fad friend recal the former years;
Then, ftretch'd in filence o'er my dufty bed,
Pour the warm guth of fympathetic tears!

§ 115. Ode to the Genius of Shakespeare.
I. I.

RAPT from the glance of mortal eye,
Say, burfts thy Genius to the world of light?
Secks it yon ftar-befpangled fky?

Or fkims its fields with rapid flight?
Or, nid yon plains where Fancy strays,
Courts it the balmy breathing gale ?
Or where the violet pale

Droops o'er the green-embroider'd stream;
Or where young Zephyr ftirs the ruftling prays,
Lies all diffolv'd in fairy dream.

* See Shakespeare's Tempest.

"And call the Loves with purple wing
"From the blue deep, where they dwell
"With Naiads in the pearly cell,
"Soft on the fea-born goddess gaze †;
"Or in the loofe robe's floating maze,
"Diffolv'd in downy flumbers reft;
"Or flutter o'er her panting breaft.
"Or wild to melt the yielding foul,
"Let Sorrow, clad in fable ftole,
"Slow to thy mufing thought appear;
"Or penfive Pity pale;


"Or Love's defponding tale
"Call from th' intender'd heart the fympathetic
II. I.

Say, whence the magic of thy mind?

Why thrills thy mufic on the fprings of thought?
Why, at thy pencil's touch refin'd,
Starts into life the glowing draught?
On yonder fairy carpet laid,.
And zephyr breathes perfume;
Where beauty pours eternal bloom,
There nightly to the tranced eye
Profufe the radiant goddefs ftood difplay'd,
With all her finiling offspring nigh.

Sudden the mantling cliff, the arching wood,
The broider'd mead, the landfkip, and the grove,
Grots, rills, and fhades, and bow'rs that breath'd
Hills, vales, and sky-dipt feas, and torrents rude,
of love,

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The pale-eyed Genius of the fhade

Led thy bold step to Profper's magic bow'r;
Whofe voice the howling winds obey'd,
Whofe dark spell chain'd the rapid hour:
Then rofe ferene the fea-girt ifle;
Gay fcenes, by Fancy's touch refin'd,
Glow'd to the mufing mind:

Such vifions blefs the hermit's dream,
When hovering angels prompt his placid smile,
Or paint fome high ecstatic theme.

Then flam'd Miranda on th' enraptur'd gaze,
Then fail'd bright Ariel on the bat's fleet wing:
Or ftarts the lift'ning throng in ftill amaze,
The wild note trembling on th' aerial string!
The form, in Heaven's refplendent vesture gay,
Floats on the mantling cloud, and pours the
melting lay*.

II. 3.
Oh lay me near yon limpid ftream,
Whole murmur foothes the ear of woe!
There in fome fweet poetic dream
Let Fancy's bright Elyfium glow!
'Tis done-o'er all the blushing mead
The dark wood fhakes his cloudy head;
Below, the lily-fringed dale

Breathes its mild fragrance on the gale;
While, în paftime all-unfeen,
Titania rob'd in mantle green
Sports on the moffy-bank: her train
Skims light along the gleaming plain;
Or to the flutt'ring breeze unfold

The blue wing ftreak'd with beamy gold;
Its pinions op'ning to the light!-
Say, burfts the vifion on my fight?
Ah, no! by Shakefpeare's pencil drawn,
The beauteous fhapes appear;
While meek-eyed Cynthia near
Iliumes with ftreamy raythe filver-mantled lawnt.
III. 1.

III. 2.

Lo! on yon long-refounding fhore,
Where the rock totters o'er the headlong deep;
What phantoms bath'd in infant
Stand mutt'ring on the dizzy fteep!
Their murmur fhakes the zephyr's wing!
The storm obeys their pow'rful spell;
Sec, from his gloomy cell

Fierce Winter starts! his fcowling eye
Blots the fair mantle of the breathing Spring,
And lowers along the ruffled fky.

To the deep vault the yelling harpies run §;
Its yawning mouth receives th' infernal crew.
Dim thro' the black gloom winks the glimmering

And the pale furnace gleams with brimstone blue.
Hell howls; and fiends that join the dire acclaim
Dance on the bubbling tide, and point the livid

III. 3.

But, ah! on Sorrow's cyprefs bough
Can Beauty breathe her genial bloom?
On Death's cold check will paffion glow?
Or Mufic warble from the tomb?
There fleeps the Bard, whofe tuneful tongue
Pour'd the full stream of mazy fong.
Young Spring, with lip of ruby, here
Show'rs from her lap the blushing year;
While along the turf reclin'd,

The loofe wing fwimming on the wind,
The Loves, with forward gefture bold,
Sprinkle the fod with fpangling gold;
And oft the blue-eyed Graces trim
Dance lightly round on downy limb;
Oft too, when eve demure and ftill
Chequers the green dale's purling rill,
Sweet Fancy pours the plaintive ftrain;
Or, wrapt in foothing dream,
By Avon's ruffled stream,

[plain, Hears the low-murmuring gale that dies along the

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wafte!THOU who, mid the world-involving gloom,
Sit'ft on yon folitary spire!
Or flowly fhak'ft the founding dome,
Or hear'ft the wildly-warbling lyre;
Say, when thy mufing foul
Bids diftant times unroll,

But, hark! the tempeft howls afar!
Burfts the loud whirlwind o'er the pathlefs
What cherub blows the trump of war?
What demon rides the ftormy blast?
Red from the lightning's livid blaze,
The bleak heath rushes on the fight;
Then wrapt in fudden night
Diffolves. But, ah! what kingly form
Roams the lone defart's defolated maze
Unaw'd, nor heeds the fweeping ftorm;?
Ye pale-eyed lightnings, fpare the cheek of age!
Vain with! tho' anguifli heaves the bursting groan,
Deaf as the flint, the marble ear of rage
Hears not the mourner's unavailing moan:
Heart-pierc'd he bleeds; and, ftung with wild
Bares his time-blafted head, and tears his filver

* Ariel: fee the Tempest,


And marks the flight of each revolving year,
Of years whofe flow-confuming pow'r
Has clad with mofs yon leaning tow'r,
That faw the race of Glory run,
That mark'd Ambition's fetting fun,
That shook old Empire's tow'ring pride,
That fwept them down the floating tide-
Say, when thefe long-unfolding fcenes appear,
Streams down thy hoary check the pity-darting


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I. 2.

Or waving woods detain the fight

Caft o'er yon trackless wafte thy wand'ring eye: When from the gloomy cave of night

Yon hill, whofe gold-illumin'd brow,
Juft trembling thro' the bending fky,
O'erlooks the boundlefs wild below ;
Once bore the branching wood
That o'er yon murm'ring flood
Hung wildly waving to the ruftling gale;
The naked heath with mofs o'ergrown,
That hears the lone owl's nightly moan,
Once bloom'd with fummer's copious store,
Once rais'd the lawn-befpangling flow'r;
Or heard fome lover's plaintive lay,
When by pale Cynthia's filver
All wild he wander'd o'er the lonely dale,
And taught the lift ning moon the melancholy tale.
I. 3.

Ye wilds where heaven-rapt Fancy roves!
Ye fky-crown'd hills, and folemn groves!
Ye low-brow'd vaults, ye gloomy cells!
Ye caves where night-bred Silence dwells!
Ghosts that in yon lonely hall
Lightly glance along the wall;
Or beneath yon ivy'd tow'r,
At the filent midnight hour,
Stand array'd in fpotlefs white,
And ftain the dusky robe of Night;

Or with flow folemn paufes roam

O'er the long-founding hollow dome!
Say, mid yon defart folitary round,

When darkness wraps the boundless fpheres,
Does ne'er fome difmal dying found
On Night's dull ferious ear rebound, [years?
That mourns the ccafclefs lapfe of life-confuming

II. 1.


O call th' infpiring glorious hour to view,
When Caledonia's martial train
From yon fteep rock's high-arching brow
Pour'd on the heart-ftruck flying Dane!
When War's blood-tinctur'd fpear
Hung o'er the trembling rear;
When light-heel'd Terror wing'd their headlong
Yon tow'rs then rung with wild alarms!
Yon defart gleam'd with fhining arms!
While on the bleak hill's bright'ning spire
Bold Vict'ry flam'd, with eyes of fire;
Her limbs celeftial robes infold,

Her wings were ting'd with spangling gold,
She spoke her words infus'd refiftlefs might,
And warm'd the bounding heart, and rous'd the
foul of fight.

II. 2.

Some cloud fiveeps fhadowy o'er the dusky skies, And wraps the flying fcene, that fades, and fwims, and dies.

II. 3.

Lo! rifing from yon dreary tomb,
What fpectres ftalk across the gloom!
With haggard eyes, and vifage pale,
And voice that moans with feeble wail!
O'er yon long refounding plain
Slowly moves the folemn train;
Wailing wild with fhricks of woe
O'er the bones that reft below!
Shrinks, aghaft with thrilling fear
While the dull night's ftartled ear
Or ftand with thin robes wafting foon,
And eyes that blaft the fick'ning moon!
Yet thefe, ere Time had roll'd their years away,
Ere Death's fell arm had mark'd its aim;
Rul'd yon proud tow'rs with ample fway,
Beheld the trembling fwains obey:

And wrought the glorious deed that fwell'd the
trump of Fame.

III. 1.

But why o'er thefe indulge the bursting figh
Feels not each fhrub the tempeft's pow'r?
Rocks not the dome when whirlwinds fly?
Nor fhakes the hill when thunders roar?
Lo! mould'ring, wild, unknown,

What fanes, what tow'rs o'erthrown,

What tumbling chaos marks the wafte of Time!
I fee Palmyra's temples fall;
Old Ruin thakes the hanging wall!
Yon wafte where roaming lions how!,
Yon aifle where moans the grey-eyed owl,
Shows the proud Perfian's great abode *;
Where fcepter'd once, an earthly god!

His pow'r-clad arm controul'd each happier clime,
Where sports the warbling Mufe, and Fancy foars

III. 2.

Hark! what dire found rolls murm'ring on the
Ah! what foul-thrilling fcene appears? [gale?
I fee the column'd arches fail!
And ftructures hoar, the boaft of years!
What mould'ring piles decay'd
Gleam thro' the moon-ftreak'd fhade,
Where Rome's proud Genius rear'dher awful brow?
Sad monument !-Ambition near

Rolls on the duft, and pours a tear;
Pale Honour drops the flutt'ring plume,

But, ah! what hand the smiling profpe&t brings? | And Conqueft weeps o'er Cafar's tomb;

What voice recals th' expiring day?

See, darting fwift on eagle-wings,
The glancing moment burfts away!
So from fome mountain's head,

In mantling gold array'd,

While bright-eyed Fancy ftands in fweet furprife:
The vale where mufing Quiet treads,

The flow'r-clad lawns, and bloomy meads,
Or ftreams where zephyr loves to stray
Beneath the pale eve's twinking ray;

Slow Patience fits with eye depreft,

And Courage beats his fobbing breast;
Ev'nWar's red check the guthing ftreams o'erflow,
And Fancy's lift'ning ear attends the plaint of

III. 3.

Lo, on yon pyramid fublime,
Whence lies Old Egypt's defart clime,
Bleak, naked, wild! where ruin low'rs,
Mid fanes, and wrecks, and tumbling tow'rs:
• Perfepolis.

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