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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?
Bercft thee of thy darling young ?
Alas, for both I weep !
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 !
Soon Ihalt thou cease to mourn thy lot severe,
Again shall plume thy thatter'd wing;
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,
I count my sorrows by increasing years.
Where is the promis’d period of my woes?
• 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 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,
For Oh! how grateful to a wounded heart
$ 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:
And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose
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,
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.
-Yet Truth is yours, remote, unenvy'd ifle,
§ 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
For the chief bleffings of my faireft days:
BUT ah! what with can profper, or what A captive bird into the boundless sky,
For merchants rich in cargoes of defpair,
This triple realın adores thee:-thou art come
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,
But fhipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and
Are mighty mifchiefs not to be withstood;
Patron of elfe the moft defpis'd of men,
And fnap the chain the moment when you may. To traverse feas, range kingdoms, and bring
Nature imprints upon whate'er we fee
Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome,
§ 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
Will he be idle who has much t’enjoy?
Me therefore, itudious of laborious eatc,
Not Nothful; happy to deceive the time,
Not waste it ; and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When he thall call his debtors to account,
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 in—The 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
Faft bound in chains of filence, which the fair,
The rest appears a wilderness of strange
The tumult, and am ftill. The found of war
$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!