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Should aught my bofom discompose,

Say, dost thou mourn my ravish'd mate, Who now, with sweet complacent air,

That oft enamour'd on thy strains has hung?
Shall smooth the rugged brow of Care, Or has the cruel hand of Fate
And foften all
my woes?

Bercft thee of thy darling young ?
Too faithful Memory
Ceale, Occare

Alas, for both I weep !
How shall I e'er regain my peace?

In all the pride of youthful charms, (O to forget her!) — but how vain each art, A beautcous bride torn from my circling arms ! Whilft ev'ry virtue lives imprinted on my heart! A lovely babe, that should have liv'd to bless

And fill my doauing eyes with frequent And thou, my little cherub, left behind,

tears, To hear a father's plaints, to thare his woes,

At once the fource of rapture and distress, When Reason's dawn informs thy infant mind,

The flattering prop of my declining years! And thy sweet lisping tongue thall ask the cause,

In vain from death to rescuc I eslay'd, How oft with sorrow thall mine eyes run o'er,

By every art that science could devise; When, twining round my knees, I trace

Alas! it languish'd for a mother's aid, Thy mother's Imile upon thy face !

And wing'd its flight to feck her in the How oft to my full heart shalt thou restore

Then ( our comforts be the same, (lkies.Sad mein’ry of my joys--ah, now no more!

At ev’ning's peaceful hour, By bletlings once enjoyed now more distrest,

To thun the noisy paths of wealth and fame, More beggar by the riches once poffeft,

And breathe our forrows in this loncly My little darling_dearer to me grown; [hear!)

bow'r. By all the tears thou'lt caus’d-(0 strange to Bought with a life yet dcarer than thy own,

But why, alas! to thee complain !
Thy cradle purchas'd with thy mother's bier: To thee —uncontcious of my pain!
Who now shall seek with fond delight

Soon Ihalt thou cease to mourn thy lot severe,
Thy infant steps to guide aright? And hail the dawning of a happier year:
She, who with doating eyes would gaze The genial warmth of joy renewing spring
On all thy little artlets ways,

Again shall plume thy thatter'd wing;
By all thy soft endearments bleft,

Again thy little heart shall tranfport prove, And clap thee oft with transport to her breast,

Again shall flow thy notes responsive to thy Alas! is gone - Yet thalt thou prove But Oi for me in vain may seasons toll, [lovi. A father's deareft, tenderest love;

Nought can dry up the fountain of my tears ; And, O sweet senseless smiler (envy'd ftate!)

Deploring fill the comfort of my foul,
As yet unconscious of thy haplets fare,

I count my sorrows by increasing years.
When years thy judgment Thall mature,
And Reason shows those ills it cannot cure, Tell me, thou Syren Hope, deceiver, fay,
Wilt thou a father's grief t’asswage,

Where is the promis’d period of my woes?
For virtue prove the Phænix of the carth Full three long lingering years have rolld a way,
(Like her, thy mother dy'd to give thee birth) And yet I weep, a stranger to repofc:
And be the comfort of my age ?

• Ó what delulion did thy tongue employ! When fick and languishing I lie,

“ That Emma's fatal pledge of love,

“ Her last bequeft-with all a mother's care, Wilt thou my Emma's wonted care supply?

“ The bitternefs of forrow should remove, And oft as to thy lift’ning car,

“ Soften the horrors of despair, Thy mother's virtues and her fate I tell,

“ And cheer a heart long lost to joy!” Say, wilt thou drop the tender tear, Whilft on the mournful theme I dwell?

How oft, when fondling in mine arms, Then fondly stealing to thy father's fide,

Gazing enraptur’d on its angel-face, Whene'er thou seeft the soft diftrets,

My soul the maze of Fate would vainly trace, Which I ivould vainly seek to hide,

And burn with all a father's fond alarins ! Say, wilt thou strive to make it less?

And O what fatt'ring scenes had fancy feign'd! To sooth my forrows all thy cares employ,

How did I rave of bleilings vet in iłorc! And in my cup of grief infuse one drop of joy?

Till ev'ry aching fenfe was sweetly pain’d,

And my full heart could bear, nor tongue $ 116. An Evening Address to a Nightingale.

could utter inore. SHAW

“ Just Heav'n,” I cry'd with recent hopes WEET bird ! that kindly perching near,


(dead Poureft thy plaints melodious in my ear,

Yet will I live will live though Emma's Not, like bafe worldlings, tutor'd to forego

“ So long bow'd down beneath the storms of The mclancholy haunts of woe;

fate, Thanks for thy forrow-foothing strain :

Yet will I raise my woe-dejeîted head! For, Surely thou haft known to prove,

"Mi littic Emma, now my all, Like me, the pangs of hapless love;

" Will want a father's care; Else why to feelingly complain, [grove?

“ Her looks, her wants, my rath refolves recall, And with thy pitcous notes thus fadden all the

" And for her fake the ills of life I'll bear:

* And

G: 4

“ And oft together we'll complain, Tknow. I Condemn’d to nurse eternal care,

“ Complaint, the only bliss my soul can And ever drop the filent tear, “ From me my child thall learn the mournful Unheard I inourn, unknown I ligh, “ And prattle tales of woe.

(strain, Unfriended live, unpity'd die! “ And O! in that auspicious hour, (pow'r,

“ When Fate refigns her perfecuting 16 With duteous zeal her hand shall close,

§ 118. Elogy in Imitation of Tibullus. “No more to weep -- my forrow-streaming

SMOLLET, *** When death gives misery repole, [eyes, “ And opes a glorious passage to the skics.” WHERE now are all my fatering dreams of

joy? Vain thought! it must not be. She too is Monimia, give my soul her wonted reft: The flatt'ring scene is o'ır, [dead

Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving cye, My hopes for ever-ever Aled

Heart-gnawing cares corrode my penfive breast ! And vengeancc can no more

Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call, Cruth'd by misfortune-blasted by disease

With festive souls beguile the fleeting hour, And none-none left to bear a friendly part !

Lead beauty thro’ the mazes of the ball, Tó meditate my welfare, health, or ease,

Or press her wanton in love's roseate bow'r. Or footh the anguish of an aching heart! Now all one gloomy icene, till welcome Death, For me, no more I'll range th’empurpled mead,

With lenient hand (O fallely deem'd fevere) Where shepherds pipe, and virgins dance around, Shall kindly stop my grief-exhiausted breath,

Nor wander thro' the woodbine's fragrant shade, And dry up ev'ry tear,

To hear the music of the grove resound. Perhaps. obfequious to my will,

I'll seek some lonely church, or dreary hall, But ah! from my affections far remov'd!

Where fancy paints the glimn'ring taper blue, The last fad office itrangers nav fulfil,

Where damps hang mould'ring on the wy'd wall, As if I ne'er had been belov'd;

And theeted ghoits drink up the midnight dew : As if, unconscious of poetic fire,

There, leagu'd with hopless anguish and despair, I ne'er had touch'd the trembling lyre;

A while in lilurce o'er


fate repine: As if my niggard hand ne'er dealt relief,

Then, with a long farewell to love and care, Nor my heart melted at another's grief.

To kindred dust my weary limbs consign. Ye-while this weary life fhall last, Wilt thou, Monimia, Ned a gracious tear While yer my tongue can form th’impal- On the cold grave wliere all my forrows reft; fion'd train,

Strew vernal flow'rs, applaud my love sincere,
In piteous accents thall the Muse complain, And bid the turf lie caly on my breaft?
And dwell with fond delay on bleliings part:

For Oh! how grateful to a wounded heart
The tale of mifery to impart !

$ 119. The Propagation of the Gospel in Greenland, From others eves bid artlefs forrows flow, And raise cfteen upon the bafe of woe!

CowPER, Ev'n he *, the nobiett of the tuneful throng,


ND fill it spreads. See Germany send forth Shall deign my love-lorn talo to hcar,

Her / fons to pour it on the fartheft north:
Shall catch the soft contagion of my fong, (tear. Fird with a ztal peculiar, they defy
And pay my pentive Mule the tribute of a The rage and rigour of a polar sky,

And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose
On icy plains, and in eternal Inows.

Oh! bleft within th’inclosure of your rocks, § 117. An Ode 10 Narcillu. SMOLLET. Nor herds have ye to boalt, nor bleating fotks,

No fertilizing ftreams your fields divide,

That thew revers'd the villas on their side; I bow before thinc altar, Love!

No groves have ye; no checrful sound of bitd, I feel thy soft refintless flame

Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard: Glide swift thro'all iny vital frame!

Nor grateful eylantine regales the smell For while I gaze my bofom glows,

Of thote that walk at ev’ning, where ye dwell

But Winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown, My blood in tides impetuous fows;

Sits absolute on his unihaken throne,
Hope, fear, and joy alternate roll,
And floods of transports whelm my soul!

Piles up his fores amidst the frozen waste,

And bids the mountains he has built ftand fast; My fault'ring tongue attempts in vain

Eeckons the legions of his storms away In soothing murmurs to complain;

From happier scenes, to make your land a prey; My tongue fome secret magic ties,

Proclaims tie kwil a conquest he hias won, My murmur's fink in broken lighs!

And (corns to share it with the distant fun.

# Lord Lyttleton,

+ The Moravian Misionaries in Greenland. Vide Krantz.


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-Yet Truth is yours, remote, unenvy'd ifle,
And peace, the genuine offspring of her fimile:
The pride of letter'd ignorance, that binds
In chains of error our accomplish'd minds;
That decks, with all the splendour of the true,
A falfe religion, is unknown to you.
"Nature indeed vouchfafes for our delight
The fweet viciffitudes of day and night;
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flow'r, and ev'ry creature here;
But brighter beams than his who fires the fkies
Have ris'n at length on your admiring eyes,
That shoot into your darkest caves the day,
From which our nicer optics turn away.

§ 120. On Slavery, and the Slave Trade.


$121. On Liberty, and in Praije of Mr. Howard. COWPER.


H, could I worship aught beneath the skies
That earth hath feen, or fancy could devife,
Thine altar, facred Liberty, fhould stand,
Built by no mercenary vulgar hand,
With fragrant turf, and flow'rs as wild and fair
As ever drefs'd a bank, or fcented fummer air,
Duly as ever on the mountain's height
The peep of morning fhed a dawning light;
Again, when Evening in her fober vest
Drew the grey curtain of the fading Weft,
My foul fhould yield the willing thanks and

For the chief bleffings of my faireft days:
But that were facrilege-praife is not thine,
But his who gave thee, and preferves thee mine:
Elfe I would fay, and as I fpake bid fly

BUT ah! what with can profper, or what A captive bird into the boundless sky,


For merchants rich in cargoes of defpair,
Who drive a loathfome traffic, gage and fpan,
And buy the mufcles and the bones of man'
The tender ties of father, husband, friend,
All bonds of nature in that moment end,
And each endures, while yet he draws his breath,
A ftroke as fatal as the feythe of death.
The fable warrior, frantic with regret
Of her he loves, and never can forget,
Lofes in tears the far-receding fhore,

This triple realın adores thee:-thou art come
From Sparta hither, and art here at home;
We feel thy force ftill active, at this hour
Enjoy immunity from prieftly pow'r,
While Confcience, happier than in ancient years,
Owns no fuperior but the God fhe fears.
Propitious fpirit! yet expunge a wrong
Thy rights have fuffer'd, and our land, too long;
Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts that share
The fears and hopes of a commercial care:
Prifons expect the wicked, and were built

But not the thought that they must meet no To bind the lawlefs, and to punifh guilt;


Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow,
What has he left that he can yet forego?
Yes, to deep fadnefs fullenly refign'd,
He feels his body's bondage in his mind;
Puts off his gen'rous nature, and to fuit
His manners with his fate, puts on the brute.
Oh moft degrading of all ills that wait
On'man, a mourner in his beft cftate!
All other forrows virtue may endure,
And find fubmiflion more than half a cure;
Grief is itself a med'cine, and beftow'd
T'improve the fortitude that bears the load;
To teach the wand'rer, as his woes increase,
The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace.
But flav'ry-Virtue dreads it as her grave;
Patience itself is meannefs in a flave:
Or, if the will and fovereignty of God
Bid Tuffer it a while and kifs the rod,
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,

But fhipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and


Are mighty mifchiefs not to be withstood;
And honeft merit ftands on flipp'ry ground,
Where covert guile and artifice abound:
Let juft reftraint, for public peace defign'd,
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind,
The foe of virtue has no claim to thee,
But let infolvent innocence go free.

Patron of elfe the moft defpis'd of men,
Accept the tribute of a ftranger's pen;
Verfe, like the laurel, its immortal meed,
Should be the guerdon of a noble deed:
I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame
(Charity chofen as my theme and aim)
I must incur, forgetting Howard's name.
Bleft with all wealth can give thee, to refign
Joys doubly fweet to feelings quick as thine,
To quit the blifs thy rural fcenes bestow,
To feek a nobler amidft fcenes of woe; [home,

And fnap the chain the moment when you may. To traverse feas, range kingdoms, and bring

Nature imprints upon whate'er we fee
That Has a heart and life in it, Be free!
The beafts are charter'd;-neither age nor force
Can quell the love of freedom in a horfe:
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack,
And, conscious of an unincumber'd back,
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein,
Loofe fly his forelock and his ample mane;
Refponfive to the diftant neigh he neighs,
Nor ftops till, overleaping all delays,
He finds the pasture where his fellows graze.

Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome,
But knowledge-fuch as only dungeons teach!
And only fympathy like thine could reach!
That grief, fequefter'd from the public stage,
Might fmooth her feathers and enjoy her cage,
Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal
The boldest patriot might be proud to feel.
Oh that the voice of clamour and debate,
That pleads for peace till it difturbs the ftate,
Were huth'd in favour of thy gen'rous plea,
The poor thy clients, and Heav'n's finile thy fee!


§ 122. On Domestic Happiness as the Friend of (And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet) Virtue, and of the false Good-nature of the Age. May claim this merit still, that the admits

The worth of what the mimics with such care, CowPER. And thus gives virtue indirect applause;

But she has burnt her masks not needed here, DOMESTIC happiness, thou only bliss Of Paradise that has surviv'd the fail!

Where Vice has such allowance, that her shifts Tho' few now talte thee unimpair'd and pure,

And specious semblances have lost their use. Or, tafting, long enjoy thee; too infirm, Or too incautious, to preserve thy fivects Unmixt with drops of bitter, which neglect § 123. On the Employments of what is called Or temper fheds into thy crystal cup,

an Idle Life. CowPER. Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arms She smiles, appearing, as in truth the is, HoW various his employments whom the world Heaven-born, and deftin’d to the skies again.

Calls idle, and who justly in return Thou art not known where Pleasure is ador'd,

Efteems that busy world an idler too! That 'celing goddess, with the zoneless waist

Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, And wand'ring eyes, still leaning on the arı

Delightful industry enjoy'd at home, Of novelty, her fickle, frail support:

And nature in her cultivated trim For thou art meck and constant

, hating change, Can he want occupation who has these?

Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad
And finding in the calın.of truth-ty'd love.
Joys that her stormy raptures never yield.

Will he be idle who has much t’enjoy?

Me therefore, itudious of laborious eatc,
Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made
Of honour, dignity, and fair renown,

Not Nothful; happy to deceive the time,

Not waste it ; and aware that human life
Till prostitution elbows us ahdc
In all our crowded streets, and senates seein

Is but a loan to be repaid with use,

When he thall call his debtors to account,
Conven'd for purposes of empire less,
Than to release th'aduleress from her bond!

From whom are all our blessings, bus’ness finds Th’adultress! what a theme for angry verse,

Ev'n here. While fedulous I feek t'improve, What provocation to th’indignant heart

At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd That feels for injur'd love! but I disdain

The mind he gave me; driving it, tho' lack The nauseous talk to paint her as she is,

Too oft, and much impeded in its work Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame.

P'y caufes not to be divulg'd in vain, No. Let her pass, and, chariotted along

Toits just pointmthe service of mankind, In guilty fplendour, shake the public ways;

He that attends to his interior self, The frequency of erimes has wash'd them white; That has a heart and keeps it; has a mind And verle of mine shall never brand the wretch, That hungers, and fupplies it; and who seeks Whom marrons now of character unlimirch'd

A focial, not a dissipated life, And chaste theinfelves, are not alham'd to own..

Has bus’ness: feels himself engag'd t'atchieve Virtue and Vice had boundries in old time

No unimportant, tho' a filent talk.

A life all turbulence and coife may seem Not to be pass’d; and she that had renounc'd

To him that leads it wise, and to be prais'd; Her sex's honour, was renounc'd herself By all that priz'd it; not for Prudery's fakc,

But wisdom is a pearl with moft succets But Dignity's, resentful of the wrong.

Sought in still water, and bencath clear skies, 'Twas hard, perhaps, on here and there a waif

He that is ever occupy'd in storms,

Or dives not for it, or brings up instead, Desirous to return, and not receiv'd; But was an wholesome rigour in the main, Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. And taught th’unblernisb’d to preserve with care That purity, whole lots was loss of all. Men too were nice of honour in those days, 124. The Poft comes inThe Nerus-paper is And judgid offenders well; and he that sharp'd real-The World contemplared at a distance. And pocketted a prize by fraud obtain’d, [fold

CowPER. Was mark'd and shuund as odious. He that His country, or was llack when she requir'd


(ARK'tis the twanging horn! o'er yonder His ev'ry nerve in action and at ftretchi,

bridge Paid with the blood that he had basely spar'd That with its wearisome but needful length The price of his default. But now, yes, now, Bestrides the wintry food, in which the moon We are become so candid and so fair,

Secs her unwrinkled face reflected bright; So lib’ral in construction, and so rich

He comes, the herald of a noisy world, [locks, In Christian charity, a good-natur'd age ! With fpatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen That they are safe; sinners of either sex News from all nations lumb'ring at his back. Transgress what laws they may. Well dress’d, True to his charge, the close pack'd load behind, well bred,

Yet careless what he brings, his one concern Well equipag'd, is ticket good enough

Is to conduct it to the defun'd inn; To pass us readily thro' ev'ry door.

And having dropt en’expected bag-pass on. Hypocrisy, dcteft her as we may,

He whittles as he goes, light-hcarted wretch,


Cold and yet cheerful: meffenger of grief
Perhaps to thoufands, and of joy to fome;
To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy.
Houses in afhes, and the fall of stocks,
Births, deaths, and marriages, epiftles wet
With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks
Faft as the periods from his fluent quill,
Or charg'd with am'rous fighs of abfent fwains,
Or nymphs refponfive, equally affect
His horfe and him, unconfcious of them all.
But oh th'important budget! usher'd in
With fuch heart-fhaking mufic, who can fay
What are its tidings? have our troops awak'd!
Or do they ftill, as if with opium drugg'd,
Snore to the murmurs of th' Atlantic wave?
Is India free? and does the wear her plum'd
And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace,
Or do we grind her still the grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wifdom, and the wit,
And the loud laugh-I long to know them all;
I burn to fet th'imprifon'd wranglers free,
And give them voice and utt'rance once again.
Now ftir the fire, and clofe the fhutters faft,
Let fall the curtains, wheel the fofa round,
And while the bubbling and loud hiffing urn
Throws up a fteamy column, and the cups,
That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each,
So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in.
Not fuch his ev'ning who, with fhining face,
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, fqueez'd
And bor'd with elbow-points thro' both his fides,
Outfcolds the ranting actor on the stage:
Nor his, who patient ftands till his feet throb
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath
Of patriots bursting with heroic rage;
Or placemen, all tranquillity and fmiles.
This folio of four pages, happy work!
Which not ev'n critics criticife, that holds
Inquifitive attention, while I read,

Faft bound in chains of filence, which the fair,
Tho' eloquent themfelves, yet fear to break,
What is it but a map of bufy life,
Its Auctuations, and its vaft concerns?
Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge
That tempts ambition. On the fummit, fee,
The feals of office glitter in his eyes; [heels,
He climbs, he pants, he grafps them. At his
Clofe at his heels, a demagogue afcends,
And with a dext'rous jerk foon twifts him down,
And wins them-but to loose them in his turn.
Here rills of oily eloquence in foft
Meanders lubricate the course they take:
The modeft fpeaker is afham'd and griev'd
T'engrofs a moment's notice, and yet begs,
Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts,
However trivial all that he conceives.
Sweet bathfulness! it claims at least this praife,
The dearth of information and good-fenfe
That it foretells us, always comes to pafs.
Cataracts of declamation thunder here:
There forefts of no meaning fpread the page
In which all comprehenfion wanders loft;
While fields of pleasantry amufe us there,
With merry
defcants on a nation's woes.

The rest appears a wilderness of strange
But gay confufion-rofes for the cheeks
And lilies for the brows of faded age,
Teeth for the toothlefs, ringlets for the bald,
Heav'n, earth, and ocean, plunder'd of their
Nectareous effences, Olympian dews, [tweets,
Sermons and city feafts, and fav'rite airs,
Ethereal journies, fubmarine exploits,
And Katterfelto, with his hair on end
At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread.
'Tis pleafant thro' the loop-holes of retreat
To peep at fuch a world; to fee the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd;
To hear the roar fhe fends thro' all her gates
At a fafe diftance, where the dying found
Falls a foft murmur on th'uninjur'd ear.
Thus fitting, and furveying thus at cafe
The globe and its concerns, I feem advanc'd
To fome fecure and more than mortal height,
That lib'rates and exempts me from them all.
It turns fubmitted to my view, turns round
With all its generations; I behold

The tumult, and am ftill. The found of war
Ha loft its terrors ere it reaches me;
Grieves, but not alarms me. I mourn the pride
And av'rice that makes man a wolf to man;
Hear the faint echo of thefe brazen throats
By which he fpeaks the language of his heart,
And figh, but never tremble at the found.
He travels and expatiates; as the bee
From flow'r to flow'r, fo he from land to land;
The manners, cuftoms, policy of all.
Pay contribution to the ftore he gleans;
He fucks intelligence in ev'ry clime,
And fpreads the honey of his deep research
At his return, a rich repaft for me.
He travels and I too. I tread his deck,
Afcend his topmaft, thro' his peering eyes
Difcover countries, with a kindred heart
Suffer his woes, and fhare in his escapes;
While fancy, like the finger of a clock,
Runs the great circuit, and is ftill at home.

$125. A Fragment. MALLET. FAIR morn afcends: fresh zephyrs breath Blows lib'ral o'er yon bloomy heath; Where fown profufely, herb and flow'r, Of balmy finell, of healing pow'r, Their fouls in fragrant dews exhale, And breathe fresh life in ev'ry gale. Here spreads a green expanfe of plains, Where, fweetly penfive, Silence reigns: And there, at utmost stretch of eye, A mountain fades into the sky; While, winding round, diffus'd and deep. A river rolls with founding fweep. Of human art no traces near,

I feem alone with nature here!

Here are thy walks, O facred Health! The Monarch's blifs, the Beggar's wealth; The feas'ning of all good below, The fov'reign friend in joy or woe. O Thou, moft courted, moft defpis'd: And but in abfence duly priz'd!


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