Nor in the Thefpian vallies did you play; Nor where Clitumnus + rolls his gentle ftreain; Nor where, thro' hanging woods, Nor yet where Mcles or Iliffus § ftray. Ill does it now befcem, That, of your guardian care bereft, To dire difeafe and death your darling fhould be left. Now what avails it, that in early blooin, Are all her fex's joys, With you the fearch'd the wit of Greece And all that in her latter days, Bright fparkling could infpire, Moft favour'd with your fimile, Of all these treafures that enrich'd her mind, To black Oblivion's gloom for ever now con fign'd'! At least, ye Nine, her fpotlefs name But foremost thou, in fable vestment clad, Tell how each beauty of her mind and face Thro' her expreffive eyes her foul distinctly [fin'd, Tell how her manners, by the world re- [agree Of more than female tenderness : How, in the thoughtlefs days of wealth and joy, Which oft the care of others good destroy, Her kindly melting heart, To every want and every woe, To guilt itfelf when in diftrefs, The balm of pity would impart, And all relief that bounty could beftow! E'en for the kid or lamb, that pour'd its life Beneath the bloody knife, Her gentle tears would fall; [all. Tears from fweet Virtue's fource, benevolent to But ftrong and elevated was her mind: On Fortune's fmile or frown; All pleafing fhone; nor ever paft [hand, In life's and glory's fretheft bloom, Death came remorfclefs on, and funk her to the tomb. So, where the filent ftreams of Liris glide, The Mincio runs by Mantua, the birth-place of Virgil. The Clitumnus is a river of Umbria, the refidence of Propertius. The Anio runs thro' Tibui or Tivoli, where Horace had a villa. The Meles is a river in Ionia, from whence Homer, fuppofed to be born on its banks, is called Mellifigenes. The Iliffus is a river at Athens. Arife, and hither bring the filver lyre, Tun'd by thy fkilful hand, To the foft notes of elegant defire, With which o'er many a land Was fpread the fame of thy difaftrous love; To me refign the vocal thell, And teach my forrows to relate Their melancholy tale fo well, As may e'en things inanimate, [move. Rough mountain oaks and defart rocks, to pity What were, alas! thy woes, compar❜d to mine ? To thee thy miftrefs in the blissful band Of Hymen never gave her hand; The joys of wedded love were never thine. She never bore a share, Would heal thy wounded heart Without my fweet companion can I live? The dear reward of every virtuous toil, What pleafures now can pall'd Ambition give? E'en the delightful sense of well-earn'd praife, Unfhar'd by thee, no more my lifeless thoughts could raife. For my diftracted mind On whom for confolation fhall I call? Your kind affiftance lend, To bear the weight of this oppreffive woe. My dear departed love, fo much was thine, In every other grief, Are now with your idea fadden'd all : Each favourite author we together read, O fatal, fatal stroke! That all this pleafing fabric Love had rais’d Of rare felicity, On which ev'n wanton Vice with envy gaz'd, And ev'ry fcheme of blifs our hearts had form'd, With foothing hope for many a future day, In one fad moment broke! Yet, O my foul! thy rifing murmurs stay; Or against his fupreme decree That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade, Was his moft righteous will-and be that will obey'd! Would thy fond love his grace to her controul; Unjustly, for thy partial good, detain? That heavenly radiance of eternal light, Is ev'ry mortal blifs; Ev'n Love itself, if rifing by degrees Rife then, my foul, with hope clate, [fec; And cruel was my mother, that fuch a fight could And cruel is the wint'ry wind, that chills my heart with cold; [for gold! But crueller than all, the lad that left my love Hush, hush, my lovely baby, and warm thee in my breaft; [treft; My tortur'd memory wounds, and fpeaks of Ah! little thinks thy father how fadly we're dif Lucy dead." We were the happiest pair of human kind: For cruel as he is, did he know but how we fare, He'd fhield us in his arms from this bitter pierc. ing air. Cold, cold, my dearcft jewel! thy little life is gone: Oh! let my tears revive thee, fo warm that trickle down: [they fall: My tears that gush so warm, oh they freeze before Ah, wretched, wretched mother! thou'rt now bereft of all." Then § 105. The School Miftrefs. In Imitation of Spenfer. AH me! full forely is my heart forlorn, To think how modeft worth neglected lies, While partial Fame doth with her blafts adorn Such deeds alone as pride and pomp difguife; Deeds of ill fort, and mifchievous emprize : Lend me thy clarion, Goddess! 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 fpire, Embow'r'd in trees, and hardly known to Fame, 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 relentles dame, And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent, For unkempt hair, or tafk unconn'd, are forely thent. And all in fight doth rife a birchen trec, Which Learning near her little dome did Whilome a twig of fmall regard to fee, [ftow, Tho' now fo wide its waving branches flow, And work the fimple vaffals mickle woe; For not a wind night 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 bercave Of sport, of song, of pleature, of repast : They start, they ftare, they wheel, they look aghaft; Sad fervitude! fuch comfortless annoy May no bold Briton's riper age e'er taste! Ne fuperftition clog his dance of joy, Ne vifion empty, vain, his native blifs destroy. Near to this dome is found a patch fo On which the tribe their gambols do difplay; And at the door impris'ning board is feen, Left weakly wights of finaller fize fhould ftray, green, Her cap, far whiter than the driven fnow, Emblem right meet of decency does yield; Her apron, dy'd in grain, as blue, I trowe, As is the harc-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 fharp affliction join'd; And fury uncontroul'd, and chaftifement unkind. Few but have kenn'd, in femblance meet pourtray'd, The childish faces of old ol's train, Libs, Notus, Aufter*: these in frowns array'd, 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 fatutes to maintai, The cot no more, I ween, were deem'd the cell Edwell Where comely peace of mind and decent order A ruffet ftole was o'er her fhoulders thrown; A rulet kirtle fenc'd the nipping air; 'Twas fimple ruilet, but it was her own: 'Twas her own country bred the lock 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; And think, no doubt, the been the greatest wight For they in gaping wonderment abound, on ground. Albeit, ne flatt'ry did corrupt her truth; Ne pompous title did debauch her ear; Goody, good-woman, gotlip, n'aunt, forfooth, Or dame, the fole additions the did hear; Yet thefe fhe challeng'd, thefe the hell right dear: Ne would efteem him act as mought behove, Who fhould not honor'd eld with thefe revere; For never title yet fo mean could prove, But there was eke a mind which did that title love. One ancient hen fhe took delight to feed, Into her fchool, begirt with chickens, came; 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 ftreak, But herbs for use and phyfic, not a few, Of grey renown, within thofe 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; And marj'ram fweet, in fhepherd's pofie found; And lavender, whofe fpikes of azure bloom Shall be, erewhile, in arid bundles bound, To lurk amidft the labours of her loom, And crown her kerchiefs clean with mickle rare perfume. And here trim rofemarine,that whilom crown'd A facred fhelter for its branches here; Where edg'd with gold its glitt'ring skirts appear. O waffel days! O cuftoms meet and well! Ere this was banish'd from its lofty sphere; Simplicity then fought this humble cell, Nor ever would fhe more with thane and lordling dwell. Here oft the dame, on Sabbath's decent eve, mete; If winter 'twere, fhe to her hearth did cleave; How Ifrael's fons, beneath a foreign king, While taunting foe-men did a fong entreat, All for the nonce untuning ev'ry string, Up-hung their useless lyres-finall heart had they to fing. For fhe was juft, and friend to virtuous lore, The matron fate and fome with rank fhe grac'd; [pride!) (The fource of childrens and of courtier's 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 the knew each temper to defcry; Tothwart the proud, and the fubmifs to raife; Some with vile copper prize exalt on high, And fome entice with pittance fmall of praife; And other fome with baleful sprig the 'frays: E'en abfent, fhe 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 whilper in her ear, and all the fcene un fold. Lo! now with ftate fhe utters the command! The work fo gay, that on their back is feen, St. George's high atchievements does declare, On which thilk wight that has ygazing been, [ween! Kens the forth-coming rod, unpleafing fight I Ah! lucklefs he, and born beneath the beam And down they drop; appears his dainty Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny (If gentle pardon could with dames agree) To her fad grief that fwells in either eye, The times when Truth by Popifh rage did And wrings her fo, that all for pity she could die. 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 mould'ring flames did burn: Ah, dearest Lord! forefend thilk days should e'er return. In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish ftem, By the sharp tooth of cank'ring Eld defac'd, No longer can fhe now her fhrieks command; And hardly the forbears, thro' awful fear, To rufhen forth, and, with prefumptuous hand, To stay harsh 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 domestic vifage near, And foon a flood of tears begin to flow, And gives a loofe at last to unavailing woe. But ah! what pen his piteous plight may trace! Or what device his loud laments explain? The form uncouth of his difguised face? The pallid hue that dyes his looks amain! The plenteous fhow'r that docs his check diftain? When he in abject wife implores the dame, Ne hopeth aught of fweet reprieve to gain; Or when from high fhe levels well her aim, And thro' the thatch his cries each falling ftroke proclaim. The other tribe, aghaft, with fore dismay Attend, and con their tasks with mickle By turns, aftony'd, ev'ry twig furvey, [care; And from their fellow's hateful wounds beware, [fhare; Knowing, I wift, how each the fame may 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 [fweet! greet, And gingerbread y-rare, His grievous wrong, his dame's unjust And fcorns her offer'd love, and fhuns to be His blooming face,that feems a purple flow'r, Which low to earth its drooping head declines, All imear'd and fully'd by a vernal show'r. ✪ the hard bofoms of defpotic pow'r! All, all, but the, the author of his fhame; All, all but fhe, regret this mournful hour: Yet hence the youth, and hence the flow'r, fhall claim, If so 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 aught, But to the wind all merriment reigns, And deems it fhame if he to peace inclines; And many a fullen look afkaunce is fent, Which for his dame's annoyance he designs; And fill the more to pleature him the's bent, The more doth he, perverfe, her 'haviour paft 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, fee Ye quench not too the parks 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 pumps for ill, or flow'ry falfe deceit. Yet, nurs'd with fkill, what dazzling fruits appear! E'en now fagacious forefight points to show A little bench of heedlefs bishops here, And there a chancellor in embryo, Tho'now he crawls along the ground fo low; high, [fly, Wifheth, poor ftarv'ling elf! his paper kite may 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'Aonian field: And four'd by age, profound he shall appear, As he who now, with 'fdainful fury thrill'd, Surveys mine work, and levels many a fneer, And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, What ftuff is here?' But now Dan Phœbus gains the middle sky, And Liberty unbars her prifon door; And, like a rushing torrent, out they fly, And now the graily cirque han cover'd o'er With boift'rous revel-rout and wild uproar. A thoufand ways in wanton rings they run; Heav'n fhield their fhort-liv'd paftimes, I implore! For well may Freedom erft fo dearly won, Appear to British elf more gladfome than thefun. 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; [fpring Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can Beneath the pompous dome of kefar or of king. 1 |