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And oft as to thy mind thou shalt recal
The fweet companions of thy earlieft years,
Mates of thy fport, and rivals in the ftrife
Of every generous art, remember me.

$140. Ad Amicos. †. R. WEST.
YES, happy youths, on Camus' fedgy fide,
You feel each joy that friendship can divide;
Each realm of fcience and of art explore,
And with the ancient blend the modern lore.
Studious alone to learn whate'er may tend
To raise the genius, or the heart to mend;
Now pleas'd along the cloitter'd walk you rove,
And trace the verdant mazes of the grove,
Where focial oft, and oft alone, ye chufe
To catch the zephyr, and to court the Mufe.
Meantime at me (while all devoid of art
Thefe lines give back the image of my heart)
At me the pow'r that comes or foon or late,
Or aims, or feems to aim, the dart of fate,
From you remote, methinks, alone I stand,
Like fome fad exile in a defart land:
Around no friends their lenient care to join
In mutual warmth, and mix their heart with
Or real pains, or thofe which fancy raife, [mine.
For ever blot the funfhine of my days;
To ficknefs ftill, and ftill to grief a prey,
Wealth turns from me her roly face away.

'Tis like the stream, beside whose wat'ry bed
Some blooming plant exalts his flow'ry head.
Nars'd by the wave the fpreading branches ne
Shade all the ground, and flourish to the Ses; !
The waves the while beneath in fecret flow,
And undermine the hollow bank below:
Wide and more wide the waters urge their way,
Bare all the roots, and on their fibres prev.
Too late the plant bewails his foolish pride,
And finks, untimely, in the whelming ride.

But why repine, does life deferve my figh!
Few will lament my lofs whene'er I die.
For thofe, the wretches I defpife or hate,
I neither envy nor regard their fate.
For me, whene'er all conquering Death
His wings around my unrepining head,
I care not, tho' this face be feen no more,
The world will pafs as cheerful as before;
Bright as before the day-ftar will appear,
The fields as verdant, and the skies as clear;
Nor ftorms nor comets will my doom deciat,
Nor figns on earth, nor portents in the air;
Unknown and filent will depart my breath,
Nor nature e'er take notice of my death.
Yet fome there are (ere spent my vital days)
Within whofe breasts my tomb I with to rat
Lov'd in my life, lamented in my end, [me
Their praife would crown me, as their prec

Juft Heav'n! what fin, ere life begins to To them may thefe fond lines my name cada,


Devotes my head untimely to the tomb;

Did e'er this hand against a brother's life [knife?
Drug the dire bowl, or point the murd'rous
Did e'er this tongue the fland'rer's tale proclaim,
Or madly violate my Maker's name?
Did e'er this heart betray a friend or foe,
Or know a thought but all the world might
As yet just started from the lifts of time, [know?
My growing years have fcarcely told their prime;
Ufclefs, as yet, through life I've idly run,
No pleasures tafted, and few duties done.
Ah, who, ere autumn's mellowing funs appear,
Would pluck the promife of the vernal year;
Or, ere the grapes their purple hue betray,
Tear the crude clufter from the mourning fpray?
Stern power of Fate, whofe ebon fceptre rules
The Stygian defarts and Cimmerian pools,
Forbear, nor rafhly finite my youthful heart,
A victim yet unworthy of thy dart;
Ab, ftay till age fhall blaft my withering face,
Shake in my head, and falter in my pace;
Then aim the fhaft, then meditate below,
And to the dead my willing fhade fhall go.
How weak is Man to Reafon's judging eye!
Born in this moment, in the next we die;
Part mortal clay, and part ethereal fire,
Too proud to creep, too humble to afpire.
In vain our plans of happinefs we raife,
Pain is our lot, and patience is our praife;
Wealth, lineage, honors, conqueft, or a throne,
Are what the wife would fear to call their own.
Health is at best a vain precarious thing,
And fair-fac'd youth is ever on the wing:

Not from the Poet, but the Friend fincere.

$141. Hymn to Contentment. PARNELL LOVELY, lafting peace of mind!

Sweet delight of human kind!
Heav'nly born, and bred on high,
To crown the fav'rites of the fky
With more of happiness below
Than victors in a triumph know!
Whither, O whither art thou fled,
To lay the meek contented head;
What happy region doft thou please
To make the feat of calms and cafe!

Ambition fearches all its sphere
Of pomp and ftate, to meet thee there:
Encreafing avarice would find
Thy prefence in its gold inshrin'd:
The bold advent'rer ploughs his way
Through rocks, amidft the foaming fla,
To gain thy love; and then perceives
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves:
The filent heart which grief affails,
Treads foft and lonefome o'er the vales,
Sees daifies open, rivers run,
And fecks (as I have vainly done)
Amufing thought; but learns to know
That Solitude's the nurfe of woc.
No real happiness is found

In trailing purple o'er the ground:
Or in a foul exalted high,
To range the circuit of the sky,
Converfe with stars above, and know
All Nature in its forms below;

+ Almost all Tibullus's Elegy is imitated in this little piece, from whence his tranfition to Mr. Pare letter is very artfully contrived, and befpeaks a degree of judgment much beyond Mr. Weft's year.


The rest it seeks, in fecking dies ;

And hurrying him, impatient of his stav, And doubts at last for knowledge rise.

Down to the roly Welt. But kindly still Lovely, lasting peace, appear;

Compensating his loss with aided hours This world ittelf, if thou art here,

Of focial converse and instructive case, Is once again with Eden bleft,

And gathering at thort notice in one group And man contains it in his breast.

The family dispers’d, and fixing thought 'Twas thus, as under Thade I stood,

Not less dispers’d by daylight and its cares, I sung my wishes to the wood,

I crown thee King of intimate delights, And, lost in thought, no more perceiv'd Fire-fide enjoyments, home-born happiness, The branches whisper as they way'd;

And all the comforts that the lowly roof It seem'd as all the quiet place

Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours Confess’d the presence of his grace,

Of long uninterrupted evening know. When thus the spoke-Go rule thy will, No rattling wheels stop short before these gates ; Bid thy wild passions all be still,

No powder'd pert proficient in the art Know God and bring thy heart to know Of founding an alarm, affaults these doors The joys which from religion flow;

Till the street rings. No stationary steeds Then ev'ry grace shall prove its guest,

Cough their own knell, while heedless of the And I'll be there to crown the rest.

found Oh! by yonder moffy seat,

The Silent circle fan themselves, and quake; In my hours of fiveet retreat,

But here the needle plies its busy task. Might I thus my foul employ,

The pattern grows, the well-depicted flow'r, With sense of gratitude and joy ;

Wrought patiently into the frowy lawn, Rais'd as ancient prophets were,

Unfolds its bosom, buds, and leaves, and sprigs, In heav'nly vision, praise, and prayer;

And curling ti» drils, gracefully dispos'd, Pleasing all men, hurting nonc,

Follow the nimble finger of the fair, Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone;

A wreath that cannot fade, of Aow'rs that blow Then while the gardens take my sight,

With most success when all befides decay. With all the colours of delight!

The poet's or historian's page, by one While silver waters glide along,

Made vocal for th'amusement of the reft; To pleate my ear and court my song,

The sprightly lyre, whole trcature of fivcet I'll lift my voice and tune my string,


[out; And thee, Great Source of Nature, fing. The touch from many a trembling chord Inakes The fun that walks his airy way,

And the clear voice symphonious, yet diftinét, To light the world, and give the dav; And in the charming Itrife triumphant still, The moon that thines with borrow'd light; Beguile the night, and fet a kcener cdge The stars that gild the gloomy night;

On female industry ; the threaded itcel The feas that roll unnumber'd waves;

Flies tiviftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. The wood that spreads its shady leaves ; The volume clos'd, the customary rites The field whose cars conceal the grain,

Of the last mcal coininence: a Roman mcal, The yellow treasure of the plain ;

Such as the mistress of the world once found All of these, and all I foc,

Delicious, when her patriots of high note, Should be fung, and sung by me :

Perhaps by moon-light at their humble doors, They speak their Maker as they can,

And under an old oak's domeftic shade
But want and ask the


Enjoy'd, spare feast! a radish and an egg.
Go search among your idle dreams,

Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull, Your busy or your vain extremes ;

Nor luch as with a frown forbids the play And find a life of equal bliss,

Of fancy, or prescribes the found of mirth. Or own the next begun in this.

Nor do we madly, like an impious world,
Who deem religion frenzy, and the God

That made them an intruder on their joys, 142. An Address to Winter. Cowper.

Start ar his awful name, or deem his praise OH H Winter ! ruler of th’inverted year, A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone

The scatter'd hair with flect like alhes fill'd, Exciting oft our gratitude and love, Thy breath congealid upon thy lips, thy chceks While we retrace with mcm'ry's pointing wand, Fring'd with a beard made white with other That calls the past to our exact review, snows

The dangers we have 'Icap'd, the broken snare, Than those of age; thy forehead wrapt in clouds, The disappointed fot, delivrance found A leaflcss branch thy sccptre, and thy throne Unlook'd for, life prcserv'd and peace restor’d, A sliding car indebted to no wheels,

Fruits of omnipotent éternal love. But urg'd by storing along its flipp’ry way ; Oh evenings worthy of the Gods ! exclaim'd I love thee, all unlovely as thou seein'st, The Sabine bard. 'Oh evenings, I reply, And drcaded as thou art. Thou hold'st the sun More to be priz’d and coveted than yours, A pris'ner in the yet undawning Eali,

As more illumin'd and with nobler truths, Short'ning his journey between morn and noon, 'That I and Mine, and those we love, enjov.



H h 4

$143. Liberty renders England preferable to other Nations, notwithstanding Taxes, &c. COWPER.

"TIS liberty alone that gives the flow'r

Of fleeting life its luftre and perfume,
And we are weeds without it. All constraint,
Except what wildom lays on evil mon,
Is evil; hurts the faculties, impedes
Their progress in the road of feience; blinds
The eye fight of difcov'ry, and begets
In those that fuffer it, a fordid mind
Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit

To be the tenant of man's noble form.
Thee therefore ftill, blame-worthy as thou art,
With all thy lofs of empire, and though squeez'd
By public exigence till annual food
Fails for the craving hunger of the state,
Thee I account still happy, and the chief
Among the nations, feeing thou art free!
My native nook of earth! thy clime is rude,
Replete with vapours, and difpofes much
All hearts to fadnefs, and none more than mine;
Thine unadult'rate manners are less foft
And plaufible than focial life requires,
And thou haft need of difcipline and art
To give thee what politer France receives
From Nature's bounty-that humane addrefs
And fweetness, without which no pleasure is
In converfe, either starv'd by cold reserve,
Or flush'd with fierce difpute, a fenfelefs brawl;
Yet, being free, I love thee. For the fake
Of that one feature, can be well content,
Difgrac'd as thou hast been, poor as thou art,
To feek no fublunary rest beside.

But once enflay'd, farewell! I could endure
Chains nowhere patiently; and chains at home,
Where I am free by birthright, not at all.
Then what were left of roughnefs in the grain
Of British natures, wanting its excufe
That it belongs to freemen, would disgust
And fhock me. I fhould then with double pain
Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime;
And if I must bewail the bleffing loft

So when remote futurity is brought
Before the keen enquiry of her thought,
A terrible fagacity informs

The Poct's heart, he looks to diftant ftorms,
He hears the thunder ere the tempeft lowrs,
And, arm'd with ftrength furpaffing huma

Seizes events as yet unknown to man,
And darts his foul into the dawning plan.
Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name
Of Prophet and of Poet was the fame;
Hence British poets too the priesthood fhar,
And ev'ry hallow'd druid was a bard.

145. Love Elegies. By

"TIS night, dead night; and o'er the plain
Darkness extends her ebon ray,

While wide along the gloomy fcene

Deep filence holds her folemn fway.
Throughout the earth no cheerful beam
The melancholic eye furveys,
Save where the worm's fantastic gleam
The 'nighted traveller betrays.
The favage race (fo Heav'n decrees)
No longer through the foreft rove;
All nature refts, and not a breeze

All nature refts; in Sleep's soft arms
Disturbs the stillness of the grove.

The village fwain forgets his care:
Sleep, that the fting of Sorrow charms,
And heals all fadness but Despair.
Defpair alone her power denies,

And when the fun withdraws his rays,
To the wild beach distracted flies,

Or cheerless through the defart strays;
Or, to the church-yard's horrors led,
While fearful echoes burst around,
On fome cold ftone he leans his head,
Or throws his body on the ground.

For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, To fome fuch drear and folemn scene,

I would at least bewail it under skies
Milder, among a people less auftere,

In fcenes which having never known me free,
Would not reproach me with the loss I felt.

$144 Defcription of a Poet. CowWPER.
I KNOW the mind that feels indeed the fire
The mufe imparts, and can command the

Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal,
Whate'er the theme, that others never feel.
If human woes her foft attention claini,
A tender fympathy pervades the frame:
She pours a fenfibility divine
Along the nerve of ev'ry feeling line.
But if a deed not tamely to be borne,
Fire indignation and a fenfe of fcorn,
The ftrings are fwept with fuch a pow'r, fo loud,
The ftorm of mufic shakes th'aftonifh'd crowd.

Some friendly power dirc&t my way,
Where pale Misfortune's haggard train,
Sad luxury delight to stray.
Wrapp'd in the folitary gloom,
Retir'd from life's fantastic crew,
Refign'd, I'll wait my final doom,
And bid the bufy world adieu.
The world has now no joy for me,
Nor can life now one pleasure boaft,
Since all my eyes defir'd to see,

My wifh, my hope, my all, is loft;
Since the, fo form'd to please and blefs,
Sa wife, fu innocent, so fair,
Whofe converfe fweet made forrow lefs,

And brighten'd all the gloom of care;
Since the is loft-Ye powers divine,
What have I done, or thought, or faid?
O fay, what horrid act of mine

Has drawn this vengeance on my head!


hy fhould Heav'n favour Lycon's claim?
Why are my heart's best wishes croft?
What fairer deeds adorn his name?
What nobler merit can he boast?
Vhat higher worth in him was found
My true heart's fervice to outweigh?
fenfelefs fop!-A dull compound
Of fcarcely animated clay!
-Ie drefs'd, indeed, he danc'd with case,
And charm'd her by repeating o'er
Jnmeaning raptures in her praife,

That twenty fools had told before:
But I, alas! who thought all art
My paffion's force would meanly prove,
Ege Could only boast an honeft heart,


And claim'd no merit but by love. Have I not fat-ye confcious hours

Be witness-while my Stella fung From morn to eve, with all my powers Rapt in th'enchantment of her tongue! Ye confcious hours that faw me stand

Entranc'd in wonder and furprise, In filent rapture prefs her hand,

With paffion bursting from my eyes. Have I not lov'd-O earth and heav'n!

Where now is all my youthful boast? The dear exchange I hop'd was given,

For flighted fame and fortune loft; Where now the joys that once were mine? Where all my hopes of future blifs? Muft I those joys, those hopes resign ?

Is all her friendship come to this? Muft then each woman faithless prove,

And each fond lover be undone ? Are vows no more l-Almighty Love! The fad refemblance let me fhun ! It will not be-My honeft heart

The dear fad image ftill retains;
And, fpite of reafon, fpite of art,

The dreadful memory remains,
Ye Pow'rs divine, whofe wond'rous skill
Deep in the womb of time can see,
Behold I bend me to your will,

Nor dare arraign your high decree.
Let her be bleft with health, with ease,
With all your bounty has in store;
Let forrow cloud my future days:

Be Stella bleft! I ask no more.

But lo! where high in yonder caft

The ftar of morning mounts apace!
Hence!let me fly th'unwelcome guest,
And bid the Mufe's labour ceafe.

WHEN, young, life's journey I began,
The glittering profpect charm'd my eyes,
I faw along th❜extended plan

Joy after joy exceffive rife:

And Fame her golden trumpet blew ;
And Power difplay'd her gorgeous charms;
And Wealth engag'd my wandering view,
And Pleafure woo'd me to her arms:

To each by turns my vows I paid,

As Folly led me to admire;
While Fancy magnify'd each fhade,

And Hope encreas'd each fond defire.
But foon I found 'twas all a dream;

And learn'd the fond pursuit to fhun,
Where few can reach their purpos’d'aim,'
And thousands daily are undone:
And Fame, I found, was empty air;

And Wealth had Terror for her gueft;,
And Pleasure's path was ftrewn with Care;
And Power was vanity at best.
Tir'd of the chace I gave it o'er;

And in a far fequester'd shade,
To Contemplation's fober power
My youth's next fervices I paid.
There Health and Peace adorn'd the scene;
And oft, indulgent to my prayer,

With mirthful eye and frolic mien
The Mufe would deign to vifit there.
There would the oft delighted rove
The flower-enamell'd vale along :
Or wander with me through the grove,
And listen to the woodlark's fong.
Or 'mid the foreft's awful gloom,
Whilst wild amazement fill'd my eyes,
Recall paft ages from the tomb,
And bid ideal worlds arise.
Thus in the Mufe's favour bleft,

One with alone my foul could frame,
And Heav'n beftow'd, to crown the rest,
A friend, and Thyrfis was his name.
For manly conftancy and truth,

And worth, unconfcious of a stain,
He bloom'd the flower of Britain's youth;
The boast and wonder of the plain.
Still with our years our friendship grew;
No cares did then my peace destroy;
Time brought new bleffings as he flew,

And every hour was wing'd with joy.
But foon the blissful scene was lost,

Soon did the fad reverse appear;
Love came, like an untimely froft,
To blaft the promise of my year.
I faw young Daphne's angel-form

(Fool that I was I blefs'd the smart)
And, while I gaz'd, nor thought of harm,
The dear infection feiz'd my heart.
She was at least in Damon's eyes,—
Made up of loveliness and grace;
Her heart a ftranger to disguise,

Her mind as perfect as her face.
To hear her fpeak, to fee her move

(Unhappy I, alas! the while)
Her voice was joy, her look was love,

And Heaven was open'd in her fimile!
She heard me breathe my amorous prayers,
She liften'd to the tender strain,

She heard my fighs, the faw my tears,
And feem'd at length to share my pain.


She said the loy'd—and I, poor youth !

The dregs and fæculence of ev'ry land. (How soon, alas, can Hope persuade) In cities toul example on most minds Thought all the said no more than truth ;

Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds And all my love was well repaid.

In gross and pamper'd cities floth and luit, In jovs unknown to courts or kings,

And wantonness and gluttonness excess. With her I sat the live-long day,

In cities, vice is hidden with most ease, And said and look'd such tender things,

Or fecn with least reproach ; and virtue, taught As none bcfide could look or tay!

By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there

Beyond th'archiavement of successful flight. How soon can Fortune thift the scene,

I do confess them nurs'ries of the arts, And all our earthly bliss destroy!

In which they flourish most; where, in the beains Care hovers round, and Grief's fell train Of warm encouragement, and in the eye Still treads upon the heels of Joy.

Of public note, they reach their perfećt size. My age's hope, my youth's best boast,

Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd My soul's chief blessing, and my pride,

The faireft capital of all the world, In one fad moment all were lost,

By riot and incontinence the worft. And Daphne chang'd, and Thyrsis dy'd d There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank beO! who, that heard her vows ere-while,

A lucid mirror, in which Nature fces [comes

All her reflected features. Bacon there
Could dream thcsc vows were insincere !
Or who could think, that law her sinile,

Gires more than female beauty to a stone,
That fraud could find admittance there !

And Chatham's cloquence to marble lips.

Vor docs thc chiflel occupy alone Yet the was falfc-my licart will break!

The pow'rs of sculpture, but the style as much: Her frauds, her perjuries were fuch- Each province of her art her cqual care. Soine other tongue than mine must spcak- With nice incision of her guided steel I have not power to say how much!

She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a foil Ye fwains, hence warn'd, avoid the bait, So ferile with what charms foc'er she will,

Q thun her paths, the traitress thun! The richest fccn'ry and the loveliest forms. Hur voice is death, her smile is fate;

Where finds philofophy her eagle eye, Who hears or fees her is undone,

With which ihe gazes at yon burning disk

Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots ? And when Death's hand Mall close my eves

In London. Where her implements exact, (For foon, I know, the day will come)

With which she calculates, computes, and icans, O cheer my spirit with a high,

All distance, motion, magnitude, and now
And grave these lines upon my tomb :

Measures an atom, and now girds a world?
In London. Wherc has coinmerce such a mart,

So rich, fo throng'd, so drain'd, and so supplied CONSIGN:D to dust, bencath this stone,

As London, opulent, enlarg'd, and still In manhood's prime, is Damon laid ; Incrcaling London ? Babylon of old Joyless he liv'd, and dy'd unknown,

Not inore the glory of the earth, then she in bleak misfortune's barren shade.

A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now, Lov'd by the Muse, but lov'd in vain :

She has her praite. Now mark a spot or two 'Twas beauty drew his ruin on ;

That so much beauty would do well to purge ; He saw young Daphine on the plain ;

And flew this queen of cities, that fo fair He lov'd, believ'd-and was undonc ! Vay yet be foul, 1o witty, yet not wise. His heart then funk beneath the itorm

It is not seemly, nor of goood report, (Sad meed of unexampl’d youth!)

That the is llack in in discipline : more prompt And Torrow, like an envious worm,

T'avenge than to prevent the breach of law. Devour'd the bloilom of his youth.

That she is rigid in denouncing death

On petiy robbers, and indulges life Bencath this stone the youth is laid

And liberty, and oft-times honor too, Ogreer his alhes with a tear!

To peculators of the public gold.
May Heaven with bleflings crown his shade, That thieves at home must hang; but he that puts
And grant that peace he wanted here !

Into his overgorg'd and bloated purse
The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.

Nor is it well, nor can it come to good, $ 146. Great Cities, and London in particular, That, through profane and infidel contempt alloved their due Praise. CowPER.

Of holy writ, she has presum'd t'annul

And abrogotc, as roundly as she may, BUT tho' true worth and virtue, in the mild The total ordinance and will of God; And genial foil of cultivated life

Advancing fashion to the post of truth, Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, And cent'ring all authority in modes Yet not in critics oft. In proud and gay And customs of her own, till Sabbath rites And gain-devoted cities : thither flow, Have dwindled into unrespected forms, As to a coinmon and moit noiloinc fcwer, And knces and hasocks are well-nigh divarç'd.



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