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Scarce stole a breeze to wave the leafy spray,
Scarce 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,
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 Lyceum lent its awful shade, [glade,
Tho' ev'ry Academic green impress'd
Its image full on thy reflecting breast,
Yet my pure stream shall boast as proud a name,
And Britain's Isis flow with Attic fame..
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 plausive 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 inelancholy 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 Phoebus 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 greans,

That Isis taught Rebellion to her Sons?
Forbid it, Heaven! and let my rising waves
Indignant swell, and whelm the recreant slaves!
In England's cause their patriot Hoods employ,
As Xanthus delug'd in the cause of Troy.
Is this denied; then point some secret way
Where far, far hence these guiltless streams
Some unknown channel lend, where Nature
Inglorious vales, and unfrequented ineads:
There, where a hind scarces tunes hisrusticstrain,
Where scarce a pilgrim treads the pathless plain,
Content I'll flow; forget that e'er my tide.
Saw yon majestic structures crown its side;

may stray;

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.

$115. Epistolary Verses to George Colman, Esq.
written in the Year 1756.

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 rhymes:
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 'in 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
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 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)

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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 rhyine,
Than now, when I, who from beginning
Was always fond of couplet-sinning,
2. Presuming on good-nature's score,
Thus lay my bantling at your door.
The first advantage which I see
Is, that I ranible 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

(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:"

may his name these verses save,
Be these inscrib'd upon his grave:

"Know, Reader, that on Thursday died "The Connoisseur, a Suicide! "Yet think not that his soul is fled, "Nor rank him 'mongst the vulgar dead, "Howe'er defunct you set him down, "He's only going out of Town."

§ 116. Ode to Arthur Onslow, Esq ↑.

THIS goodly frame what virtue so approves,
And testifies the pure ethereal spirit,
As mild Benevolence!

She, with her sister Mercy, still awaits
Beside th' eternal throne of Jove,
And measures forth with unwithdrawing hand
The blessings of the various year,
Sunshine or show'r, and chides the madding
With her the heaven-bred nymph, meek Cha-
Shall fashion Onslow forth in fairest portrait;
And with recording care

Weave the fresh wreath that flow'ring virtue claims.

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

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 emprize,

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 th' 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



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 humorous 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 Kk 2 Whiloin

Whilom the fairest daughter of old Ocean,

In loathly disarray, dull eyes,
And faded cheek, wept o'er her abject sous :
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

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

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


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
Sounds thro' the night her long-resounding
Where fell-eyed tigers, all athirst for blood,
Or bear me far to yon dark, dismal plain,
Howl to the desert: while the horrid train
Roams o'er the wild where once great Babel

That queen of nations! whose superior call

When warm'd to mirth, let judgement mark her Rous'd the broad East, and bid her arms destroy!

Forth from the gloomy south, in deep array, Athwart the dark'ning landscape throng, Fraught with loud storins, and thunder's dread-And deep reflection dash the lip of joy. [fall,

ful 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


Soon shall I greet 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
The weary flesh, and envy's rankling wound.
Such, after years mature,
In full account shall be thy meed.

Oh nay your rising hope
Well principled in ev'ry virtue bloom!

Till a fresh-springing flock implore With infant hands a grandsire's pow'rful pray'r, Or round your honor'd couch their prattling sports pursue.

§ 117. Ode to Melancholy. OGILVIE. HAIL, queen of thought sublime! propitious pow'r, [roam, Who o'er the unbounded waste art joy'd to Led by the moon, when, at the midnight hour, Her pale rays tremble thro' the dusky gloom. O bear me, Goddess, to thy peaceful seat! Whether to Hecla's cloud-wrapt brow convey'd, Qrlodg'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 murmurs from the distantdome? Or stray thy feet where pale, dejected Woe Pours her long wail from some lamented tomb?

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 naine. Then let thy pencil mark the traits of man; Full in the draught be keen-eyed Hope portray'd:

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


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 dart:
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,
Let Guilt revolve the thought-distracting sin;
Scar'd - !!
while her eyes survey th' ethereal blue,
Lest heaven's strong lightning burst the dark


Then paint, impending o'er the maddening deep
That rock, where heart-struck Sappho, vainly
Stood firm of soul-then from the dizzy steep
Impetuous sprung, and dash'd the boiling ware.
Here, wrapt in studious thought, let Fancy rove,
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.
Should e'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes inflame,
Let judging reason draw the veil aside;
Or, fir'd with envy at some mighty name,
Read o'er the monument that tells He d ed.


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Sav, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault,
Where the worm fattens on some scepter'd brow,
Beneath that roof with sculptur'd marble fraught,
Why sleeps unior'd the breathless dust below?
Sleeps it more sweetly than the simple swain
Beneath some mossy turf that rests his head;
Where the lone widow tells the night her pain,
And eve with dewy tears embalmis the dead?
The lily, screen'd from ev'ry ruder gale,
Courts not the cultur'd spot where roses spring;
But blows neglected in the peaceful vale,
And scents the zephyr's balmy breathing wing.
The busts of grandeur, and the pomp of pow'r,
Can these bid Sorrow's gushing tears subside?
Can these avail in that tremendous hour,[tide?
When Death's cold hand congeals the purple
Ah no! the mighty names are heard no more:
Pride's thought sublime, and Beauty's kindling

Serve but to sport one flying moment o'er,
And swell with pompous verse th' escutcheon'd

For me- may Passion ne'er my soul invade,
Nor be the whims of tow'ring Phrenzy giv'n;
Let Wealth ne'er court me from the peaceful
Where Contemplation wings the soul to Hea-
Oh guard me safe from Joy's enticing snare!
With each extreme that Pleasure tries to hide,
The poison'd breath of slow-consuming Care,
The noise of Folly, and the 'dreams of Pride.
But oft, when midnight's sadly solemu knell

'Or where the violet pale.

Droops o'er the green-embroider'd stream;
Or where young Zephyr stirs the rustling sprays,
Lies all dissolv'd in fairy dream.

yon bleak desert's unfrequented round
Seest 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'st thou the solemn music wind along?[song?
Or thrills the warbling note in thy mellifluous


I. 2.

Oft, while on earth, 'twas thine to rove
Where'er the wild-ey'd goddess lov'd to roam,
To trace serene the gloomy grove,
Or haunt meek Quiet's simple dome;
Still hovering round the Nine appear,
pour the soul transporting strain;
Join'd to the Loves' gay train,
The light wing'd gales that lead the vernal year,
The loose rob'd Graces, crown'd with flow'rs,
And wake the rosy-featur'd hours.
O'er all bright Fancy's beamy radiance shone,
How flam'd thy bosom as her charms reveal!
Her traces loose, that wanton'd on the gale:
sublime, her starry zone,
On thee the goddess fix'd her ardent look,
Then from her glowing lips these melting ac
cents broke:

Her fire-clad


1. 3 "To thee my favorite son, belong

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The lays that steal the list'ning hour; "To pour the rapture-darting song, "To paint gay Hope's Elysian bower.

From Nature's hand to snatch the dart, "To cleave with pangs the bleeding heart; "Or lightly sweep the trembling string,

And call the Loves with purple wing "From the blue deep, where they dwell With Naiads in the pearly cell. "Soft on the sea-born goddess gaze † ; ↑; "Or in the loose robes' floating maze, "Dissolv'd in downy slumbers rest;

Sounds long and distant from the sky-topt tow'r," Or flutter o'er her panting breast.
Calm let me sit in Prosper's lonely cell*,
Or walk with Milton thro' the dark obscure.
Thus, when the transient dream of life is fled,
May some sad friend recal the former
Then, stretch'd in silence o'er my dusty bed,
Pour the warm gush of sympathetic tears.

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"Or wild to melt the yielding soul,
"Let Sorrow, clad in sable stole,
"Slow to thy musing thought appear;
"Or pensive Pity, pale;.
"Or Love's desponding tale
"Call from th' intender'd heart the sympathetic
II. 1.

Say, whence the magic of thy mind?
Why thrills thy music on the springs of thought?
Why, at thy pencil's touch refin'd,
Starts into life the glowing draught?
On yonder fairy carpet laid;

Where beauty pours eternal bloom,
And zephyr breathes perfume;

There nightly to the tranced eye

Profuse the radiant goddess stood display'd,
With all her smiling offspring nigh.

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

All burst to sight! while glancing on the view,
Titania's sporting train brush'd lightly o'er the

II. 2.

The pale ey'd Genius of the shade
Led thy bold step to Prosper's magic how'r;
Whose voice the howling winds obey'd,
Whose dark spell chain'd the rapid hour:
Then rose serene the sea-girt isle;
Gay scenes, by Fancy's touch refin'd,
Glow'd to the musing mind:
Such visions bless the hermit's dream,

When hovering angels prompt his placid smile,
Or paint some high ecstatic theme.
Then flam'd Miranda on th' enraptur'd gaze,
'Then sail'd bright Ariel on the bat's fleet wing:
Or starts the list'ning throng in still amaze,
The wild note trembling on the aerial string!
The form, in heaven's resplendent vesture gay,
Floats on the mantling cloud, and pours the
melting lay *.

II. 3.

Oh lay me near yon limpid stream,
Whose murmur soothes the ear of woe!
There in some sweet poetic dream
Let Fancy's bright Elysiudi glow!
Tis done-o'er all the blushing mead
The dark wood shakes his cloudy head:
Below, the lily-fringed dale

Breathes its mild fragrance on the gale;
While, in pastime all unseen,
Titania, rob'd in mantle green,
Sports on the mossy bank: her train
Skis light along the gleaming plain :
Or to the flutt'ring breeze unfold
The blue wing streak'd with beamy gold;
Its pinions op'ning to the light!-
Say, bursts the vision on my sight?
Ah, no! by Shakspeare's pencil drawn,
The beauteous shapes appear;
While meek-eyed Cynthia near
Illumes with streamy ray the silver mantled
III. 1.


Hears not the mourner's unavailing moan:
Heart-pierc'd he bleeds; and, stung with wild
Bares his time-blasted head, and tears his silver
III. 2.

Lo! on yon long-resounding shore,
Where the rock totters o'er the headlong deep i
What phantoms bath'd in infant gore
Stand mutt'ring on the dizzy steep!
Their murmur shakes the zephyr's wing!
The storm obeys their powerful spell;
See from this gloomy cell

Fierce Winter starts! his scowling eye
Blots the fair mantle of the breathing Spring,
And lowers along the ruffled sky,

To the deep vault the yelling harpies run §;
Its yawning mouth receives th' infernal crew,
Din thro' the black gloom winks the glimmer-
ing sun,

And the pale furnace gleams with brimstoneblue.
Hell howls; andfiends, that join the dire acclaim,
Dance on the bubbling tide, and point the

livid flame.

III. 3.

But, ah! on Sorrow's cypress bough
Can beauty breathe her genial bloom?
On Death's cold cheek will passion glow?
Or Music warble from the tomb?
There sleeps the Bard, whose tuneful tongue
Pour'd the full stream of mazy song.
Young Spring, with lip of ruby, here
Show'rs from her lap the blushing year;
While, along the turf reclin'd,

The loose wing swimming on the wind,
The Loves, with forward gesture bold,
Sprinkle the sod with spangling gold:
And oft the blue-eyed Graces trim
Dance lightly round on downy limb,
Oft too, when eve, demure and still,
Chequers the green dale's purling rill,
Sweet Fancy pours the plaintive strain;
Or, wrapt in soothing dream,
By Avon's ruffled stream,
[the plain.
Hears the low-murmuring gale that dies along

§ 119. Ode to Time; occasioned by seeing the
Ruins of an old Castle. OGILVIE.
I. 1.

[waste! O THOU, who mid the world-involving gloom,
pathless Sitt'st on yon solitary spire!

But hark! the tempest howls afar,
Bursts the loud whirlwind o'er the
What cherub blows the trump of war?
What demon rides the stormy blast?
Red from the lightning's livid blaze,
The bleak heath rushes on the sight;
Then, wrapt in sudden night
Dissolves. But, ah! what kingly form
Roams the lone desert's desolated maze.
Unaw'd, nor heeds the sweeping storm?
Ye pale-ey'd lightnings, spare the cheek of age!
Vainwish! tho'anguishheavestheburstinggroan,
Deaf as the flint, the marble ear of rage

Ariel: see the Tempest.

Or slowly shak'st the sounding dome,
Or hear'st the wildly-warbling lyre;
Say, when thy musing soul
Bids distant times unrol,

And marks the flight of each revolving year,
Of years whose slow-consuming pow'r
Has clad with moss yon leaning tow'r
That saw the race of Glory run, -
That mark'd Ambition's setting sun,
That shook old Empire's tow'ring pride,
That swept them down the floating tide-
See the Midsummer Night's Dream.
The Witches in Macbeth,



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