ENGLISH POEMS PART I PASTORAL I _MORNING_. DAMON.=ALEXIS. DAMON. AURORA now her welcome visit pays, Stern darkness flies before her chearful rays; Cool circling breezes whirl along the air, And early shepherd to the fields repair; Lead we our flocks, then to the mountain's brow, Where junipers and thorny brambles grow; Where founts of water 'midst the daisies spring, And soaring larks and tuneful linnets sing; Your pleasing song shall teach our flocks to stray, While sounding echoes smooth the sylvan lay. ALEXIS. 'Tis thine to sing the graces of the morn, The zephyr trembling o'er the rip'ning corn; Tis thine with ease to chant the rural lay, While bubbling fountains to your numbers play. No piping swain that treads the verdant field, But to your music and your verse must yield; Sing then,- for here we may with safety keep Our sportive lambkins on this mossy steep. DAMON. With ruddy glow the sub adorns the land, The pearly dew-drops on the bushes stand; The lowing oxen from the folds we hear, And snowy flocks upon the hills appear. ALEXIS. How sweet the murmurs of the neighbouring rill! Sweet are the slumbers which its floods distill: Thro' pebbly channels winding as they ran, And brilliant sparkling to the rising sun. DAMON. Behold Edina's lofty turrets rise, Her structures fair adorn the eastern skies; As Pentland cliffs o'ertop yon distant plain, So she the cities on our north domain. ALEXIS. Boast not of cities, or their lofty tow'rs, Where Discord all her baneful influence pours; The homely cottage, and the wither'd tree, With sweet Content, shall be preferr'd by me. DAMON. The hemlock dire shall please the heifer's taste, Our lands like wild _Arabia_ be waste; The bee forget to range for winter's food, 'Ere I forsake the forest and the flood. ALEXIS. Ye balmy breezers! wave the verdant field; Clouds! all your bounties, all your moisture yield; That fruits and herbage may our farms adorn, And furrow'd ridges teem with loaded corn. DAMON. The year already hath propitious smil'd, Gentle in spring-time, and in summer mild; No cutting blasts have hurt my tender dams, No hoary frosts destroy'd my infant lambs. ALEXIS. If Ceres crown with joy the bounteous year, A sacred altar to her shrine I'll rear; A vig'rous ram shall bleed, whose curling horns, His woolly neck and hardy front adorns. DAMON. Teach me, _O Pan!_ to tune the slender reed, No fav'rite ram shall at thine altars bleed; Each breathing morn thy woodland verse I'll sing, And hollow dens shall with the numbers ring. ALEXIS. _Apollo_, lend me thy celestial lyre, The woods in concert join at thy desire: At morn, at noon, at night, I'll tune the lay, And bid fleet Echo bear the sound away. DAMON. Sweet are the breezes, when cool eve returns, To lowing herds, when raging Syrius burns: Not half so sweetly winds the breeze along, As does the murmur of your pleasing song. ALEXIS. To hear your strains the cattle spurns their food, The feather'd songsters leave their tender brood; Around your seat the silent lambs advance, And scrambling he-goats on the mountains dance. DAMON. But haste, _Alexis_, reach yon leafy shade, Which mantling ivy round the oaks hath made; There we'll retire, and list the warbling note That flows melodious from the blackbird's throat; Your easy numbers shall his songs inspire, And ev'ry warbler joint he general choir. PASTORAL II _NOON_. CORYDON.=TIMANTHES. CORYDON. THE sun the summit of his orb hath gain'd, No flecker'd clouds his azure path hath stain'd, Our pregnant ewes around us cease to graze, Stung with the keenness of his sultry rays; The weary bullock from the yoke is led, And youthful shepherds from the plains are fled To dusky shades, where scarce a glimm'ring ray Can dart its lustre thro' the leafy spray. Yon cooling riv'let where the waters gleam, Where springing flow'rs adorn the limpid stream, invites us where the drooping willow grows, To guide our flocks, and take a cool repose. TIMANTHES. To thy advice a grateful ear I'll lend, The shades I'll court where slender osiers bend; Our weanings young shall crop the rising flow'r, While we retire to yon twining bow'r; The woods shall echo back thy chearful strains, Admir'd by all our Caledonian swains. CORYDON. There have I oft with gentle _Delia_ stray'd, Amidst th' embow'ring solitary shade; Before the gods to thwart my wishes strove, By blasting ev'ry pleasing glimpse of love: For Delia wanders o'er the _Anglian_ plains, Where civil discord and sedition reigns. There Scotia's sons in odious light appear. Tho' we for them have wav'd the hostile spear; For them my sire, enwrapp'd in curdled gore, Breath'd his last moments on a foreign shore. TIMANTHES. Six lunar months, my friend, will soon expire, And she return to crown your fond desire: For her O rack not your desponding mind! In Delia's breast a gen'rous flame's confin'd, That burns for Corydon, whose piping lay Hath caus'd the tedious moments steal away: Whose strains melodious mov'd the falling floods To whisper Delia to the rising woods. O! if your sighs could aid the floating gales, That favourably swell their lofty sails, Ne'er should your sobs their rapid flight give o'er Till Delia's presence grac'd our northern shore. CORYDON. Though Delia greet my love, I sigh in vain, Such joy unbounded can I ne'er obtain. Her sire a thousand fleeces number o'er, And grassy hills increase his milky store; While the weak fences of a scanty fold Will all my sheep and fatt'ning lambkins hold. TIMANTHES. Ah, hapless youth! although the early muse Painted her semblance on they youthful brows; Tho' she with laurels twin'd thy temples round, And in thy ear distill'd the magic sound; A cheerless poverty attends thy woes, Your song melodious unrewarded flows. CORYDON. Think not, _Timanthes_, that for wealth I pine, Tho' all the fates to make me poor combine; _Tay_ bounding o'er his banks with awful sway, Bore all my corns and all my flocks away. Of Jove's dread precepts did I 'ere complain? 'Ere curse the rapid flood or dashing rain? Ev'n now I sigh not for my former store, But wish the Gods had destin'd Delia poor. TIMANTHES. Tis joy, my friend, to think I can repay The loss you bore by Autumn's rigid away. Yon fertile meadow where the daisies spring Shall yearly pasture to your heifers bring: Your flock with mine shall on yon mountain feed, Chear'd by the warbling of your tuneful reed: No more shall Delia's ever-fretful sire Against your hopes and ardent love conspire. Rous'd by her smiles you'll tune the happy lay, While hills responsive waft your songs away. CORYDON. May plenteous crops your irksome labour crown, May hoodwink'd fortune cease her envious frown; May riches still increase with growing years? Your flocks be numerous as your silver hairs. TIMANTHES. But lo! the heats invite us at our ease To court the twining shades and cooling breeze; Our languid joints we'll peaceably recline, And 'midst the flowers and opening blossoms dine. PASTORAL III. _NIGHT_. AMYNTAS.=FLORELLUS. AMYNTAS. WHILE yet grey twilight does his empire hold, Drive all our heifers to the peaceful fold; With sullied wing grim darkness soars along, And larks to nightingales resign the song: The weary ploughman flies the waving fields, To taste what fare his humble cottage yields: As bees that daily thro' the meadows roam: Feed on the sweets they have prepar'd at home. FLORELLUS. The grassy meads that smil'd serenely gay, Chear'd by the ever-burning lamp of day; In dusky hue attir'd, are cramp'd with colds, And springing flow'rets shut their crimson folds. AMYNTAS. What awful silence reigns throughout the shade, The peaceful olive bends his drooping head; No sound is heard o'er all the gloomy maze, Wide o'er the deep the fiery meteors blaze. FLORELLUS. The west yet ting'd with _Sol_'s effulgent ray, With feeble light illumes our homeward way; The glowing stars with keener lustre burn, While round the earth their glowing axles turn. AMYNTAS. What mighty power conducts the stars on high! Who bids these comets through our system fly! Who wafts the lightning to the icy pole! And thro' our regions bids the thunders roll! FLORELLUS. But say, what mightier pow'r from nought could raise The earth, the sun, and all that fiery maze Of distant stars that gild the azure sky, And thro' the void in settl'd orbits fly! AMYNTAS. The righteous pow'r before whose heav'nly eye The stars are nothing and the planets die; Whose breath divine supports our mortal frame, Who made the lion wild and lambkin tame. FLORELLUS. At his command the beauteous spring returns; Hot summer, raging o'er the' Atlantic, burns; The yellow autumn crowns our sultry toil; And winter's snows prepare the cumb'rous soil. AMYNTAS. By him the morning darts his purple ray; To him the birds their early homage pay; With vocal harmony the meadows ring, While swains in concert heav'nly praises sing. FLORELLUS. Sway'd by his word, the nutrient dews descend, And growing pastures to the moisture bend; The vernal blossoms sip his falling showers; The meads are garnish'd with his op'ning flowers. AMYNTAS. For _man_, the object of his chiefest care, Fowls he hath form'd to wing the ambient air, For him the _steer_ his lusty neck doth bend; Fishes for him their scaly fins extend. FLORELLUS. Wide o'er the orient sky the moon appears, A foe to darkness and his idle fears; Around her orb the stars in clusters shine, And distant planets 'tend her silver shrine. AMYNTAS. Hush'd are the busy numbers of the day; On downy couch they sleep their hours away; Hail, balmy Sleep, that soothes the troubled mind! Lock'd in thy arms our cares a refuge find. Oft do you tempt us with delusibe dreams, When wild'ring Fancy darts her dazzling beams; Asleep the lover with his mistress strays Thro' lonely thickets and untrodden ways. But when pale Cynthia's sable empire's fled, And hov'ring slumbers shun the morning bed, Rous'd by the dawn, he wakes with frequent sigh, And all his flattering visions quickly fly. FLORELLUS. Now _owls_ and _bats_ infest the midnight scene, Dire snakes invenom'd twine along the green; Forsook by man the rivers mourning glide, And groaning echoes swell the noisy tide, Straight to our cottage let us bend our way; My drowsy pow'rs confess sleep's magic sway. Easy and calm upon our couch we'll lie, While sweet reviving slumbers round our pillows fly. THE COMPLAINT. A PASTORAL. _NEAR the heart of a fair spreading grove_, =_Where foliage shaded the green_, _A shepherd, repining at love_, =_In anguish was heard to complain_. O Cupid! thou wanton young boy! =Since, with thy invisible dart, Thou hast robb'd a fond youth of his joy, =In return grant with wish of his heart. Send a shaft so severe from thy bow =(His pining, his sighs to remove), That STELLA, once wounded, may know =How keen are the arrows of love. No swain once so happy as I, =Nor tun'd with more pleasure the reed; My breast never vented a sigh, =Till STELLA approach'd the gay mead. With mirth, with contentment endow'd, =My hours they flew wantonly by; I sought to repose in the wood, =Nor from my few sheep would I fly. Now my reed I have carelessly broke, =Its melody pleases no more; I pay no regard to a flock =That seldom hath wander'd before. O STELLA! whose beauty so fair =Excels the bright splendor of day, Ah! have you no pity to share =With DAMON thus fall'n to decay? For you have I quitted the plain =Forsaken my sheep and my fold; For you in dull languor and pain, =My tedious moments are told. For you have my roses grown pale, =They have faded untimely away; And will not such beauty bewail =A shepherd thus fall'n to decay? Since your eyes still requite me with scorn, =And kill with their merciless ray, Like a star at the dawning of morn, =I fall to their lustre a prey. some swain who shall mournfully go =To whisper love's sigh to the shade, Will hap'ly some charity show, =And under the turf see me laid. Would my love but in pity appear =On the spot where he moulds my cold grave, And bedew the green sod with a tear, ='Tis all the remembrance I crave. _To the sward then his visage he turn'd;_ =_'Twas wan as the lilies in_ May; _Fair_ STELLA _may see him inurn'd,_ =_He hath sigh'd all his sorrows away._ THE DECAY OF FRIENDSHIP. A PASTORAL ELEGY. WHEN gold, man's sacred deity, did smile, =My friends were plenty, and my sorrows few, Mirth, love, and bumpers did my hours beguile, =And arrow'd Cupids sound my slumbers flew. What shepherd then could boast more happy days? =My lot was envied by each humbler swain; Each bard in smooth eulogium sung my praise, =And DAMON listen'd to the guileful strain. FLATTERY, alluring as the Syren's lay, =And as deceitful thy enchanting tongue, How have you taught my wav'ring mind to stray, =Charm'd and attracted by the baneful song? My pleasant cottage, shelter'd from the gale, =Arose with moss, and rural ivy bound; And scarce a flow'ret in my lowly vale, =But was with bees of various colours crown'd. Free o'er my lands the neighb'ring flocks could roam; =How welcome were the swains and flocks to me! The shepherds kindly were invited home, =To chace the hours in merriment and glee. To wake emotions in the youthful mind, =Strephon with voice melodious tun'd the song; Each sylvan youth the sounding chorus join'd, =Fraught with contentment 'midst the festive throng. My clust'ring grape compens'd their magic skill, =The bowl capacious swell'd in purple tide; To shepherds, lib'ral as the chrystal rill, =Spontaneous gurgling from the mountain's side. But ah! these youthful sportive hours are fled; =These scenes of jocund mirth are now no more; No healing slumbers 'tend my humble bed. =No friends condole the sorrows of the poor. And what avail the thoughts of former joy? =What comfort bring they in the adverse hour? Can they the canker-worm of care destroy, =Or brighten fortune's discontented lour? He who hath long travers'd the fertile plain, =Where Nature in its fairest vesture smil'd, Will he not chearless view the fairy scene, =When lonely wand'ring o'er the barren wild? For now pale Poverty, with haggard eye =And rueful aspect, darts her gloomy ray; My wonted guests their proffer'd aid deny, =And from the paths of DAMON steal away. Thus when fair Summer's lustre gild the lawn, =When ri'ning blossoms deck the spreading tree, The birds with melody salute the dawn, =And o'er the daisy hangs the humming-bee. But when the beauties of the circling year =In chilling frosts and furious storms decay; No more the bees upon the plains appear, =No more the warblers hail the infant day. To the lone corner of some distant shore, =In dreary devious pilgrimage I'll fly, And wander pensive where Deceit no more =Shall trace my footsteps with a mortal eye. There solitary saunter o'er the beach, =And to the murm'ring surge my griefs disclose; There shall my voice in plaintive wailings teach =The hollow caverns to resound my woes. Sweet are the waters to the parched tongue; =Sweet are the blossoms to the wanton bee; Sweet to the shepherd sounds the lark's shrill song, =But sweeter far is SOLITUDE to me. Adieu, ye fields, where I have fondly stray'd! =Ye swains, who once the fav'rite DAMON knew! Farewell, ye sharers of my bounty's aid! =Ye sons of base Ingratitude, adieu! AGAINST REPINING AT FORTUNE. THO' in my narrow bounds of rural toil, =No _obelisk_ or splendid column rise; Tho' partial Fortune still averts her smile, =And views my labours with condemning eyes; Yet all the gorgeous vanity of state =I can contemplate with a cool disdain; Nor shall the honours of the gay and great =E'er wound my bosom with an envious pain. Avails it aught the grandeur of their halls, =With all the glories of the _pencil_ hung, If Truth, fair Truth! within th' unhallow'd walls, =Hath never whisper'd with her _seraph_ tongue? Avails it aught, if music's gentle lay =Hath oft been echo'd by the sounding dome; If _music_ cannot soothe their griefs away, =Or change a wretched to a happy home? Tho' Fortune should invest them with her spoils, =And banish _poverty_ with look severe, Enlarge their confines, and decrease their toils, =Ah! what avails if she increase their care? Tho' fickle she disclaim my moss-grown cot, =_Nature!_ thou look'st with more impartial eyes: Smile thou, fair godess I on my sober lot; =I'll neither fear her fall, nor court her rise. When early larks shall cease the _matin_ song; =When Philomel at night resigns her lays; When melting numbers to the owl belong, =Than shall the _reed_ be silent in thy praise. Can he, who with the tide of Fortune sails, =More pleasure from the sweets of _Nature_ share? Do zephyrs waft him more ambrosial gales, =Or do his groves a gayer liv'ry wear? To me the heav'ns unveil as pure a sky; =To me the flow'rs as rich a bloom disclose; The morning beams as radiant to my eye, =And darkness guides me to as sweet repose. If Luxury their lavish dainties piles, =And still attends upon their sates hours, Doth Health reward them with her open smiles, =Or Exercise enlarge their feeble pow'rs? 'Tis not in richest mines of India gold, =That Man this jewel _happiness_ can find, If his unfeeling breast, to _virtue_ cold, =Denies her entrance to his ruthless mind. Wealth, pomp, and honour are but gaudy toys; =Alas, how poor the pleasures they impart! _Virtue_'s the sacred source of all the joys =That claim a lasting mansion in the heart. CONSCIENCE. AN ELEGY. =_-Leave her to Heav'n,_ =_And to the thorns that in her bosom lodge,_ =_To prick and sting her._=======SHAKES. No choiring warblers flutter in the sky; =Phoebus no longer holds his radiant sway; While Nature, with a melancholy eye, =Bemoans the loss of his departed ray. O happy he, whose conscience knows no guile! =He to the sable night can bid farewell; From chearless objects close his eyes awhile, =Within the silken folds of Sleep to dwell. Elysian dreams shall hover round his bed, =His soul shall wing, on pleasing fancies borne, To shining vales where flow'rets lift their head, =Wak'd by the breathing zephyrs of the morn. But wretched he whose foul reproachful deeds =Can thro' an angry conscience wound his rest; His eye too oft the balmy comfort needs, =Tho' Slumber seldom knows him as her guest. To calm the raging tumults of his soul, =If wearied Nature should an hour demand, Around his bed the sheeted spectres howl, =Red with revenge the grinning furies stand. Nor state nor grandeur can his pain allay; =Where shall he find a requiem to his woes? Pow'r cannot chace the frightful gloom away, =Nor music lull him to a kind repose. Where is the king that Conscience fears to chide? =Conscience, that candid judge of right and wrong, Will o'er the secret of each heart preside, =Nor aw'd by pomp, nor tam'd by soothing song. DAMON TO HIS FRIENDS. THE billows of life are supprest, =Its tumults, its toils disappear, to relinquish the storms that are past, =I think on the sunshine that's near. Dame Fortune and I are agreed; =Her frowns I no longer endure; For the goddess has kindly decreed, =That Damon no more shall be poor. Now riches will ope the dim eyes, =To view the increase of my store; And many in friendship will prize =Who never knew Damon before. But those I renounce and abjure, =Who carried contempt in their eye; May poverty still be their dow'r, =That could look on misfortune awry! Ye pow'rs that weak mortals govern, =Keep pride at his bay from my mind; O let me not haughtily learn =To despise the few friends that were kind. For theirs was a feeling sincere, ='Twas free from delusion and art; O may I that friendship revere, =And hold it yet dear to my heart! By which was I ever forgot? =It was both my physician and cure, That still found the way to my cot, =Altho' I was wretched and poor. Twas balm to my canker-tooth'd care; =The wound of affliction it heal'd: In distress it was Pity's soft tear, =And naked cold Poverty's shield. Attend, ye kind youth of the plain! =Who oft with my sorrows condol'd; You cannot be deaf to the stain, =Since Damon is master of gold. I have chose a sweet sylvan retreat, =Bedeck'd with the beauties of spring; Around my flocks nibble and bleat, =While the musical choristers sing. I force not the waters to stand =in an artful canal at my door, But a river, at Nature's command, =Meanders both limpid and pure. She's the goddess that darkens my bow'rs =With tendrils of ivy and vine; She tutors my shrubs and my flow'rs =Her taste is the standard of mine. What a pleasing diversified grouse =Of trees has she spread o'er my ground! She has taught the grave _large_ to droop, =And the birch to deal odours around. For whom has she perfum'd my groves? =For whom has she cluster'd my vine? If friendship despise my alcoves, =They'll ne'er be recesses of mine. He who tastes his grape juices by stealth, =Without chosen companions to share, Is the basest of slaves to his wealth, =And the pitiful minion of care. O come, and with Damon retire =Amidst the green umbrage embower'd; Your mirth and your songs to inspire, =Shall the juice of his vintage be pour'd? O come, ye dear friends of his youth! =Of all his good fortune partake; Nor think 'tis departing from truth, =To say 'twas preserv'd for your sake. RETIREMENT. COME, inspiration, form thy vernal bow'r, =To thy celestial voice attune the lyre; Smooth gliding strains in sweet profusion pour, =And aid my numbers with seraphic fire. Under a lonely spreading oak I lay, =My head upon the daisied green reclin'd, The evening sun beam'd forth his parting ray, =The foliage bended to the hollow wind. There gentle sleep my acting pow'rs supprest, =The city's distant hum was heard no more; Yet Fancy suffer'd not the mind to rest, =Ever obedient to her wakeful pow'r. She left me near a chrystal fountain's noise, =Where undulating waters sportive play; Where a young comely swain, with pleasing voice, =In tender accents sung his sylvan lay. "Adieu, ye baneful pleasure of the town! ="Farewell, ye giddy and unthinking throng! "Without regret your foibles I disown; ="Themes more exalted claim the Muse's song. "Your stony hearts no social feelings share; ="Your souls of distant sorrows ne'er partake; "Ne'er do you listen to the needy pray'r, ="Nor drop a tear for tender pity's sake. "Welcome, ye fields, ye fountains and ye groves! ="Ye flow'ry meadows, and extensive plains! "Where soaring warblers pour their plaintive loves, ="Each landscape chearing with their vocal strains. "Here rural Beauty rears her pleasing shrine; ="She on the margin of each streamlet glows; "Where, with the blooming hawthorn roses twine, ="And the fair lily of the valley grows. "Here Chastity may wander unassail'd ="Thro' fields where gay seducers cease to rove; "Where open Vice o'er Virtue near prevail'd; ="Where all is innocence, and all is love. "Peace with her olive wand triumphant reigns, ="Guarding secure the peasant's humbler bed; "Envy is banish'd from the happy plains, ="And Defamation's busy tongue is laid. "Health and Contentment usher in the morn, ="With jocund smiles the chear the rural swain, "For which the Peer, to pompous titles born, ="Forsaken sighs, but all his sighs are vain. "For the calm comforts of an easy mind, ="In yonder lonely cot delight to dwell, "And leave the statesman for the lab'ring hind, ="The regal palace for the lowly cell. "Ye, who to Wisdom would devote your hours, ="And far from riot, far from discord stray! "Look back disdainful on the city's tow'rs, ="Where Pride, where Folly point the slipp'ry way. "Pure flows the limpid stream in chrystal tides, ="Thro' rocks, thro' dens, and ever verdant vales, "Till to the town's un hallow'd wall it glides, ="Where all its purity and lustre fails." ODE TO HOPE. HOPE! lively chearer of the mind, =In lieu of real bliss design'd, Come from thy ever verdant bow'r To chace the dull and ling'ring hour; O! bring, attending on thy reign, All thy ideal fairy train, To animate the lifeless clay, And bear my sorrows hence away. Hence gloomy featur'd black Despair, =With all thy frantic furies fly, Nor rend my breast with gnawing care, =For Hope in lively garb is nigh; Let pining Discontentment mourn, =Let dull ey'd Melancholy grieve, Since pleasing Hope must reign by turn, =And every bitter thought relieve. =O smiling Hope! in adverse hour I feel thy influencing pow'r: Tho' frowning Fortune fix my lot, In some defenceless lonely cot, Where Poverty, with empty hands, In pallid meagre aspect stands; Thou can'st enrobe me, 'midst the great, With all the crimson pomp of state, Where luxury invites his guests To pall them with his lavish feasts: What case so dark, what gloom so drear, So black with horror, dead with fear! But thou can'st dart thy streaming ray, And change close night to open day. Health is attendant is thy radiant train, =Round her the whisp'ring zephyrs gently play, Behold her gladly tripping o'er the plain, =Bedeck'd with rural sweets and garlands gay. ==When vital spirits are depress'd, ==And heavy languor clogs the breast, ==Comforting hope! 'tis thine to cure, ==Devoid of Esculapian power; ==For oft thy friendly aid avials, ==When all the strength of physic fails. Nay, even tho' death should aim his dart, =I knew he lifts his arm in vain, Since thou this lesson can'st impart, =Mankind but die to live again. Deprived of thee must banners fall; =But where a living hope is found, The legion's shout at danger's call, =And victors are triumphant crown'd. Come then , bright Hope! in smiles array'd, =Revive us by thy quick'ning breath, Then shall we never be afraid =To walk thro' danger and thro' death. THE RIVERS OF SCOTLAND. AN ODE. _Set to Music by Mr. Collett._ O'ER SCOTIA'S parched land the NAIADS flew, =From towering hills explor'd her shelter'd vales, Caus'd Forth in wild meanders please the view, =And lift her waters to the zephyr's gales. Where the glad swain surveys his fertile fields, And reaps with plenty which his harvest yields. Here did these lovely nymphs unseen, =Oft wander'd by the river's side, And oft unbind their tresses green, =To bathe them in the fluid tide. Then to the shady grottos would retire, And sweetly echo to the warbling choir; Or to the rushing waters tune their shells, =To call up echo from the woods, =Or from the rocks or chrystal floods, Or from surrounding banks, or hills, or dales. CHORUS Or to the rushing waters tune their shells, =To call up echo from the woods, =Or from the rocks or chrystal floods, Or from surrounding banks, or hills, or dales. When the cool fountains first their springs forsook, =Murmuring smoothly to the azure main, Exulting _Neptune_ then his trident shook, =And wav'd his waters gently to the plain. The friendly Tritons on his chariot born, With cheeks dilated blew the hollow-sounding horn. =Now _Lothian_ and _Fifan_ shores, ==Resounding to the mermaid's song, Gladly emit their limpid stores, =And bid them smoothly sail along. To Neptune's empire, and with him to roll Round the revolving sphere from pole to pole; To guard _Britannia_ from envious foes, =To view her angry vengeance hurl'd =In awful thunder round the world, And trembling nations bending to her blows. CHORUS To guard Britannia from envious foes, =To view her angry vengeance hurl'd, =In awful thunder round the world, And trembling nations bending to her blows. High towering on the zephyr's breezy wing, =Swift fly the _Naiads_ from FORTHA'S shores, And to the southern airy mountains bring =Their sweet enchantment and their magic powers. Each nymph her favourite willow takes, =The earth with fev'rous tremor shakes, The stagnant lakes obey their call, =Streams o'er the grassy pastures fall. TWEED spreads her waters to the lucis ray, Upon the dimpled surf the sub-beams play: On her green banks the tuneful shepherd lies, =Charm'd with the music of his reed, =Amidst the wavings of the Tweed: From sky-reflecting streams the river nymphs arise. CHORUS. On her green banks the tuneful shepherd lies, =Charm'd with the music of his reed, =Amidst the wavings of the Tweed: From sky-reflecting streams the river nymphs arise. The list'ning muses heard the shepherds play, =Fame with her brazen trump proclaim'd his name, And to attend the easy graceful lay, =PAN from _Arcadia_ to Tweda came. Fond of the change, along the banks he stray'd, And sung unmindful of th' Arcadian shade. AIR, TWEEDSIDE. I. Attend every fanciful swain, =Whose notes softly flow from the reed, With harmony guide the sweet strain, =To sing of the beauties of Tweed. II. Where the music of woods and of streams =In soothing sweet melody join, To enliven your pastoral themes, =And make human numbers divine. CHORUS Ye warblers from the vocal grove, The tender woodland strain approve, While Tweed in smother cadence glides, O'er flow'ry vales in gentle tides; And as she rolls her silver waves along, Murmurs and sighs to quit the rural song. SCOTIA'S great GENIUS in _russet_ clad, From the cool sedgy bank exalts her head, In joyful rapture she the change espies, Sees living streams descend and roves arise. AIR, GILDEROY. I. As sable clouds at early day =Oft dim the shining skies, So gloomy thoughts create dismay, =And lustre leaves her yes. II. "Ye powers! are Scotia's ample fields ="With so much beauty grac'd, "To have those sweets your bounty yields ="By foreign foes defac'd? III. "O Jove! at whose supreme command, ="The limpid fountains play, "O'er _Caledonia's northern land ="Let restless waters stray. IV. "Since from the void creation rose, ="Thou'st made a sacred vow, "That _Caledon_ to foreign foes ="Should ne'er be known to bow." The mighty Thund'rer on his sapphire throne, In mercy's robes attir'd, heard the sweet voice Of female woe-soft as the moving song Of Philomela 'midst the evening shades; And thus return'd and answer to her pray'rs: "Where birds at nature's call arise; "Where fragrance hails the vaulted skies; "Where my own oak its umbrage spreads, "Delightful 'midst the woody shades; "Where ivy mould'ring rocks entwines; "Where breezes bend the lofty pines: "There shall the laughing NAIADS stray, "'Midst the sweet banks of winding Tay." From the dark womb of earth Tay's waters spring, =Ordain'd by Jove's unalterable voice; The sounding lyre celestial muses string, =The choiring songsters in the groves rejoice. Each fount its chrystal fluids pours, =Which from surrounding mountains flow; The river bathes its verdant shores, =Cool o'er the surf the breezes blow. Let England's sons extol their gardens fair, =Scotland may freely boast her gen'rous streams, Their soil more fertile and their milder air, =Her fishes sporting in the solar beams. _Thames, Humber, Severn,_ all must yield the bay To the pure streams of Forth, of Tweed, and Tay. CHORUS. _Thames, Humber, Severn,_ all must yield the bay To the pure streams of Forth, of Tweed, and Tay. =O Scotia! when such beauty claims =A mansion near thy flowing streams, =Ne'er shall stern Mars, in iron car, =Drive his proud coursers to the war: =But fairy forms shall strew around =Their olives on the peaceful ground; =And turtles join the warbling throng, =To usher in the morning song. Or shout in chorus all the live-long day, From the green banks of Forth, of Tweed, and Tay. =When gentle Phoebe's friendly light =In silver radiance clothes the night; =Still music's ever-varying strains =Shall tell the lovers, Cynthia reigns; =And woo them to her midnight bowers, =Among the fragrant dew-clad flowers, =Where ev'ry rock, and hill, and dale, =With echoes greet the nightingale, =Whose pleasing, soft, pathetic tongue, =To kind condolence turns the song; =And often wins the love-sick swain to stray =To hear the tender variegated lay, Thro' the dark woods of Forth, of Tweed, and Tay. =Hail, native streams, and native groves! =Oozy caverns, green alcoves! =Retreats for Cytherea's reign, =With all the Graces in her train. =Fail, Fancy, thou whose ray so bright =Dispels the glimm'ring taper's light! =Come in aerial vesture blue, =Ever pleasing, ever new, =In these recesses deign to dwell =With me in yonder moss-clad cell: Then shall my reed successful tune the lay, In numbers wildly warbling as they stray Thro' the glad banks of Fortha, Tweed, and Tay. THE TOWN AND COUNTRY CONTRASTED. IN AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. FROM noisy bustle, from contentions free, =Far from the busy town I careless toll, Not like swain _Tityrus_, or the bards of old, Under a beechen, venerable shade; But on a furzy heath, where blooming broom And thorny whins the spacious plains adorn: Here health sits smiling on my youthful brow; For 'ere the sun beams forth his earliest ray, And all the east with yellow radiance crowns; E'er dame Aurora, from her purple bed, 'Gins with her kindling blush to paint the sky, The soaring lark, morn's chearful harbinger, And linnet joyful flutt'ring from the bush, Stretch their small throats in vocal melody, To hail the dawn, and drowsy sleep exhale From man, frail man! on downy softness stretch'd. Such pleasing scenes _Edina_ cannot boast; For there the slothful slumber seal'd mine eyes, Till nine successive strokes the clock had knell'd, There not the lark, but fishwives noisy screams, And inundations plung'd from ten house height, With smell more fragrant than the spicy groves Of _Indus_, fraught with all her orient stores, Rous'd me from sleep; not sweet refreshing sleep, But sleep infested with the burning sting Of _bug_ infernal, who the live-long night With direct vapours in our zenith reign'd, And fill'd with irksome pestilence the air. There ling'ring sickness held his feeble court, Rejoicing in the havoc he had made; And Death, grim Death! with all his ghastly train, Watch'd the broke slumbers of Edina's sons. Hail, rosy health! thou pleasing antidote 'Gainst troubling cares! all hail, these rural fields, Those winding rivulets and verdant shades, Where thou the heav'n-born Goddess deign'st to dwell! With thee the hind, upon his simple fare, Lives chearful, and from Heav'n no mere demands. But ah! how vast, how terrible the change With him who night by night in sickness pines! Him nor his splendid equipage can please, Nor all the pageantry the world can boast; Nay, not the consolation of his friends Can aught avail : his hours are anguish all, Nor cease till envious death hath clos'd the sťance. But, _Carlos_, if we court this maid celestial, Whether we thro' meand'ring rivers stray, Or 'midst the city's jarring noise remain, Let temperance, health's blyth concomitant, To our desires and appetites set bounds, Else, cloy'd at last, we surfeit every joy; Our slack'ned nerves reject their wonted spring; We reap the fruits of our unkindly lusts, And feebly totter to the silent grave. ODE TO PITY. TO what sequester'd gloomy shade Hath ever gentle Pity stray'd? What brook is water'd from her eyes? What gales convey her tender sighs? Unworthy of her grateful lay, She hath despis'd the great, the gay, Nay, all the feelings she imparts Are far estrang'd from human hearts. Ah Pity! whether wouldst thou fly, From human heart, from human eye? Are desart woods and twilight groves The scenes the sobbing pilgrim loves? If there thou dwell'st, O Pity, say In what lone path you pensive stray. I'll know thee by the lily's hue, Besprinkl'd with the morning's dew: For thou wilt never blush to wear The pallid look and falling tear. In broken cadence from thy tongue, Oft have we heard the mournful song; Oft have we view'd the loaded bier Bedew'd with Pity's softest tear. Her sighs and tears were ne'er deny'd When innocence and virtue died. But in this black and iron age, Where Vice and all his daemons rage, Tho' bells in solemn peals are rung, Tho' dirge in mournful verse is sung; Soon will the vain parade be o'er, Their name, their memory no more: Who love and innocence despis'd, And ev'ry virtue sacrific'd. Here Pity, as a statue dumb, Will pay no tribute to the tomb; Or wake the memory of those Who never felt for others woes. Thou mistress of the feeling heart! Thy pow'rs of sympathy impart, If mortals would but fondly prize Thy falling tears, thy passing sighs, Then should wan poverty no more Walk feebly from the rich man's door; Humility should vanquish pride, And vice be drove from virtue's side: Then happiness at length should reign, And golden age being again. ON THE COLD MONTH OF APRIL, 1771. ===_Oh! who can hold a fire in his hand_ ===_By thinking on the frosty _Caueasus_; ===_Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite_ ===_By bare the imagination of a feast;_ ===_Or wallow naked in_ December's _snow_ ===_By thinking on fantastic summer's heat._ =======SHAKESP. RICH . II. POETS in vain have hail'd the op'ning spring, =In tender accents woo'd the blooming maid, In vain have taught the April birds to wing =Their flight thro' fields in verdant hue array'd. The muse in ev'ry season taught to sing =Amidst the desart snows by fancy's powers, Can elevated soar, on placid wing, =To climes where spring her kindest influence showers. April, once famous for the zephyr mild, =For sweets the early in the garden grow, Say, how converted to his chearless wild, =Rushing the torrents of dissolving snow. Nurs'd by the moisture of a gentle shower, =Thy foliage oft hath sounded to the breeze; Oft did thy choristers melodious pour =Their melting numbers thro' the shady trees. Fair have I seen thy morn, in smiles array'd, =With crimson blush bepaint the eastern sky; But now the dawn creeps mournful o'er the glade, =Shrouded in colours of a sable dye. So have I seen the fair with laughing eye, =And visage cheerful as the smiling morn, Alternate changing for the heaving sigh, =Or frowning aspect of contemptuous scorn. Life! What are thou?-a variegated scene =Of mingl'd light and shade, of joy and woe; A sea where calms and storms promiscuous reign, =A stream where sweet and bitter jointly flow. Mute are the plains; the shepherd pipes no more; =The reed's forsaken, and the tender flock, While echo, listening to the tempest's roar, =In silence wanders o'er the beetling rock. Winter, too potent for the solar ray, =Bestrides the blast, ascends his icy throne, and views BRITANNIA, subject to his sway, =Floating emergent on the frigid zone. Thou savage tyrant of the fretful sky! =Wilt thou for ever in our zenith reign? To Greenland's seas, congeal'd in chillness, fly, =Where howling monsters tread the bleak domain. Relent, O Boreas! leave thy frozen cell; =Resign to Spring her portion of the year; Let west winds temp'rate wave the flowing gale, =And hills, and vales, and woods a vernal aspect wear. THE SIMILE. AT noontide as _Colin_ and _Sylvia_ lay =Within a cool jessamine bow'r, A _butterfly_, wak'd by the heat of day, =Was sipping the juice of each flow'r. Near the shade of this covert a young shepherd boy =The gaudy brisk flutterer spies, Who held it as pastime to seek and destroy =Each beautiful insect that flies. From the lily he haunted this fly to the rose, =From the rose to the lily again, Till weary with tracing its motions, he chose =To leave the pursuit with disdain. Then _Colin_ to _Sylvia_ smilingly said, =_Amyntor_ has follow'd you long; From him , like the butterfly, still you have fled, =Tho' woo'd by his musical tongue. Beware in persisting to start from his arms, =But with his fond wishes comply; Come, take my advice; or he's pall'd with your harms, =Like the youth and the beautiful fly. Says _Sylvia_,-_Colin_, thy simile's just, =But still to _Amyntor_ I'm coy; For I vow she's a simpleton blind that would trust =A swain, when he courts to destroy. THE BUGS. THOU source of long sublime! thou chiefest Muse! Whose sacred fountain of immortal fame Bedew'd the flow'rets cull'd for HOMER'S brow, When he on Grecian plains the battles sung Of frogs and mice: Do thou, thro' Fancy's maze Of sportive pastime, lead a lowly Muse Her rites to join, while, with a fault'ring voice, She sings of reprises yet in song unknown. Nor you, ye bards! who oft have struck the lyre, And tun'd it to the movement of the spheres In harmony divine, reproach the lays, Which, tho' they wind not thro' the starry host Of bright creation, or on earth delight To hunt the murm'ring cadence of the floods, Thro' scenes where Nature, with a hand profuse, Hath lavish strew'd her gems of precious dye; Yet, in the small existence of a gnat, Or tiny bug, doth she, with equal skill, If not transcending, stamp her wonders there, Only disclos'd to microscopic eye. Of old the DRYADS near Edina's walls Their mansions rear'd, and groves unnumber'd rose, Of branching oak, spread beech, and lofty pine, under whose shade, to shun the noontide blaze, Did Pan resort, with all his rural train of shepherds and of nymphs.-The DRYADS pleas'd Would hail their sports, and summon Echo's voice To send her greetings thro' the waving woods; But the rude axe, long brandish'd by the hand Of daring innovation, shav'd the lawns; Then not a thicket or a copse remain'd To sigh in concert with the breeze of eve. Edina's mansions with lignarian art Were pil'd and fronted.-Like an ARK she seem'd To lie on mountain's top, with shapes replete, Clean and unclean, that daily wander o'er Her streets, that once were spacious, once were gay. To JOVE the DRYADS pray'd, nor pray'd in vain, For vengeance on her sons,-At midnight drear Black show'rs descend, and teeming myriads rise Of BUGS abhorrent, who by instinct steal Thro' the diseased and corrosive pores Of sapless trees, that late in forest stood With all the majesty of summer crown'd. By Jove's command dispers'd, they wander wide O'er all the city.-Some their cells prepare, Midst the rich trappings and the gay attire Of state luxuriant, and are fond to press The waving canopy's depending folds; While others, destin'd to an humbler fate, Seek shelter from the dwellings of the poor, Plying their nightly suction to the bed Of toil'd _mechanic_, who, with folded arms, Enjoys the comforts of a sleep so sound, That not the' alarming sting of glutting Bug To murd'rous deed can rouse his brawny arm Upon the blood-swoln fiend, who basely steals Life's genial current from his throbbing veins. Happy were GRANDEUR, could she triumph here, And banish from her halls each misery, Which she must brook in common with the poor, Who beg subsistence from her sparing hands; Then might the rich, to fell disease unknown, Indulge in fond excess, nor ever feel The slowly creeping hours of restless night, When shook with guilty horrors-But the WIND, Whose fretful gusts of anger shake the world, Bear more destructive on th' aspiring roofs Of dome and palace, than on cottage low, That meets AEOLUS with his gentle breath, When safely shelter'd in the peaceful vale. Is there a being breathes, howe'er so vile, Too pityful for Envy?-She, with venom'd tooth And grinning madness, frowns upon the bliss Of ev'ry species.-From the human form That spurns the earth, and bends his mental eye Thro' the profundity of space unknown, Down to the crawling Bug's detested race. Thus the lover pines, that reptile rude Should 'midst the lilies of fair CHLOE'S breast Implant the deep carnation, and enjoy Those sweets which angel modesty hath sear'd From eyes profane-Yet murmur not, ye few Who gladly would be Bugs for CHLOE'S sake! For soon, alas! the fluctuating gales Of early joy invert the happy scene; The breath of Spring may, with her balmy pow'r, And warmth diffusive, give to Nature's face Her brightest colours-But how short the space! Till angry EURUS, from his putrid cave, Deform the year, and all these sweets annoy. Ev'n so befalls it to this creeping race, This envy'd commonwealth-For they awhile On CHLOE'S bosom, alabaster fair, May steal ambrosial bliss-or may regale On the rich _viands_ of luxurious blood, Delighted and suffic'd. But mark the end: Lo! WHITSUNTIDE appears with gloomy train Of growing desolation.-First, _Upholsterer_ rude Removes the waving drapery, where, for years, A thriving colony of old and young Had his their numbers from the prying day; Anon they fell, and gladly would retire To safer ambush, but his merc'less foot, Ah, cruel pressure! cracks their vital springs, And with their deep-dy'd scarlet smears the floor. Sweet pow'rs! has pity in the female breast No tender residence-no lov'd abode, To urge from murd'rous deed the' avenging hand Of angry house-maid? - She'll have blood for blood! For lo! the boiling streams from copper tube, Hot as her rage, sweep myriads to death. Their carcases are destin'd to the urn Of some chaste Naiad, that gives birth to floods, Whose fragrant virtues hail Edina, fam'd For yellow limpid-whose chaste name the Muse Thinks too exalted to retail in song. Ah me! No longer they at midnight shade, With baneful sting, shall seek the downy couch Of slumb'ring mortals.-Nor shall love-sick swain, When, by the bubbling brook, in fairy dream, His nymph, but held reluctant to his wish, Is gently folded in his eager arms, E'er curse the shaft envenom'd, that disturbs His long lov'd fancies.-Nor shall hungry bard, Whose strong imagination, whetted keen, Conveys him to the feast, be tantaliz'd With pois'nous tortures, when the cup, brimful Of purple vintage, gives him greater joy Than all the heliconian streams that play And murmur round Parnassus. Now the wretch Oft doom'd to restless days and sleepless nights, By bugbear Conscience thrall'd, enjoys an hour Of undisturb'd repose. - The miser too May brook his golden dreams, nor wake with fear That thieves or kindred (for no soul he'll trust) Have broke upon his chest, and strive to steal The shining idols of his useless hours. Happy the Bug, whose unambitious views To gilded pomp ne'er tempt him to aspire; Safely may he, enwrapt in russet fold Of cobweb'd curtain, set at bay the fears That still attendant are on bugs of state: He never knows at morn the busy brush Of scrubbing Chambermaid; his coursing blood Is ne'er obstructed with obnoxious dose By OLIPHANT prepar'd - Too pois'nous drug! As deadly fatal to this crawling tribe As ball and powder to the sons of war. A SATURDAY'S EXPEDITION IN MOCK HEROICS. _Non mira, sed vera, canam_. AT that sweet period of revolving time When Phoebus lingers not in Thetis' lap, When twinkling stars their feeble influence shed, And scarcely glimmer thro' the' ethereal vault, Till Sol again his near approach proclaims, With ray purpureal, and the blushing form Of fair Aurora, goddess of the dawn, Leading the winged coursers to the pole Of Phoebus car. - 'Twas in the season fair, When jocund Summer did the meads array In Flora's rip'ning bloom - that we prepar'd To break the bond of bus'ness, and to roam Far from Edina's jarring noise awhile. Fair smil'd the wak'ning morn on our design, And we with joy elate our march began For LEITH'S fair port, where oft EDINA'S sons The week conclude, and in carousal quaff Port, punch, run, brandy, and Geneva string, Liquors too nervous for the feeble purse. With all convenient speed we there arriv'd, Nor had we time to touch at house or hall, Till from the boat a hollow thund'ring voice Bellow'd vociferous, and our ears assail'd With, "Ho! Kinghorn, oho! come straight aboard." We fail'd not to obey the stern command, Utter'd with voice as dreadful as the roar Of Polyphemus, 'midst rebounding rocks, When overcome by sage Ulysses' wiles. "Hoist up your sails," the angry skipper cries, While fore and aft the busy sailors run, And loose th' entangled cordage. - O'er the deep Zephyrus blows, and hugs our lofty sails, Which, in obedience to the powerful breeze, Swell o'er the foaming main, and kiss the wave. Now o'er the convex surface of the flood Precipitate we fly - our foaming prow Divides the saline stream - on either side Ridges of yeasty surge dilate apace; But from the poop the waters gently flow, And undulation for the time decays, In eddies smoothly floating o'er the main. Here let the muse in doleful numbers sing The woeful state of those whose cruel stars Have doom'd them subject to the languid powers Of wat'ry sickness. - Tho' with stomach full Of juicy beef, of mutton in its prime, Of all the dainties luxury can boast, They brave the laments, - yet the rocking bark, Truly regardless of their precious food, Converts their visage to the ghastly pale, And makes the sea partaker of the sweets On which they sumptuous far'd. - And this the cause Why those of Scotia's sons, whose wealthy store Hath blest them with a splendid coach and six, Rather incline to linger on the way, And cross the river Forth by Stirling bridge, Than be subjected tot he ocean's swell, To dang'rous ferries, and to sickness dire. And now at equal distance shews the land; Gladly the tars the joyful task pursue Of gathering in the freight - Debates arise From counterfeited halfpence - In the hold The seamen scrutinize and eager peep Thro' ev'ry corner where their watchful eye Suspect a lurking place, or dark retreat, To hid the timid corpse of some poor soul, Whose scanty purse can scarce one groat afford. At length we chearful land on Fifan shore, Where sickness vanishes, and all the ills Attendant on the passage of Kinghorn. Our pallid cheeks resume their rosy hue, And empty stomachs keenly crave supply- With eager step we reach'd the friendly inn, Nor did we think of beating our retreat Till ev'ry gnawing appetite was quell'd. Eastward along the Fifan coast we stray; And here th' unwearied eye may fondly gaze O'er all the tufted groves and pointed spires With which the pleasant banks of Forth are crown'd. Sweet navigable stream! where Commerce reigns, Where Peace and jocund Plenty smile serene: On thy green banks sits Liberty enthron'd, But not that shadow which the English youth So eagerly pursue; but freedom bought, When Caledonia's triumphant sword Taught the proud sons of Anglia to bemoan Their fate at _Bannockburn_, where thousands came Never to tread their native soil again. Far in a hollow den, where nature's hand Had careless strew'd the rocks - a dreadful cave, Whose concave ceiling echo'd to the floods Their hollow murmurs on the trembling shore, Demanded our approach. - The yawning porch Its massy sides inclos'd, and o'er the top The ivy tendrills twin'd th' uncultur'd fern: Fearful we pry into the dreary vault, Hoary with age, and breathing noxious damps: Here busy owls may unmolested dwell In solitary gloom - for few there are Whose inclination leads them to review A cell were putrid smells infectious reign. Then turning westward, we our course pursue Along the verge of Fortha's briny flood, Till we o'ertake the gradual rising date Where fair Burntisland rears her rev'rend dome; And here the vulger sign-post, painted o'er With imitations vile of man and horse, Of small-beer frothing o'er th' unshapely jug, With courteous invitation, spoke us fair To enter in, and taste that precious drops Were there reserv'd to moisten stranger's throats, Too often parch'd upon the tedious way. After regaling here with sober cant, Our limbs we plied, and nimbly measur'd o'er The hills, the vales, and the extensive plains, Which forms the distance from _Burntisland's_ port To _Inverkeithing_. Westward still we went, Till in the ferry-boat we loll'd at ease; Nor did we long on Neptune's empire float, For scarce ten posting minutes were elaps'd Till we again on _Terra Firma_ stood, And to M'LAREN'S march'd, where roasted lamb, With cooling lettuce, crown'd our social board. Here too the chearing glass, chief foe to cares! Went briskly round; and many a virgin fair Receiv'd our homage in a bumper full. Thus having sacrific'd a jocund hour, To smiling Mirth, we quit the happy scene, And move progressive to Edina's walls. Now still returning eve creep'd gradual on, And the bright sun, as weary of the sky; Beam'd forth a languid occidental ray; Whose ruby-tinctur'd radiance faintly gleam'd Upon the airy cliffs and distant spires, That float on the horizon's utmost verge. So we, with fessive joints and ling'ring pace. Mov'd slowly on, and did not reach the town Till Phoebus had unyok'd his prancing steeds. Ye sons of Caledonia! who delight With all the pomp and pageantry of state, To roll along in gilded affluence, For one poor moment wean your thoughts from these, And list this humble strain. - If you, like us, Could brave the angry waters, be uprous'd By the salutation to the morn Paid by the watchful cock; or be compell'd On foot to wander o'er the lonely plain For twenty tedious miles; then should the gout With all his racking pangs forsake your frame: For he delights not to traverse the field, Or rugged steep, but prides him to recline On the luxuriance of velvet fold, Where Indolence on purple sopha lolls. THE CANONGATE PLAY-HOUSE IN RUINS. A BURLESQUE POEM. YE few whose feeling hearts are ne'er estrang'd From soft emotions !- Ye who often wear The eye of Pity, and oft vent her sighs, When sad Melpomene, in woe-fraught strains, Gains entrance to the breast; or often smile When brisk _Thalia_ gaily trips along Scenes of enliv'ning mirth, attend my song! And Fancy, thou! whose ever-flaming light Can penetrate into the dark abyss Of chaos and of hell: O! with thy blazing torch The wistful scene illumine, that the Muse With daring pinions, may her flight pursue, Nor with timidity be known to soar O'er the _theatric world_, to chaos chang'd. Can I contemplate on those dreary scenes Of mould'ring desolation, and forbid The voice elegiac, and the falling tear! No more from box to box the basket pil'd With oranges as radiant as the spheres, Shall with their luscious virtues charm the sense Of _taste_ and _smell_. No more the gaudy beau, With handkerchief in lavender well drench'd, Or _bergamot_, or _rose water_ pure, With flavoriferous sweets shall chace away The pestilential fumes of vulger cits, Who, in impatience for the curtain's rise, Amus'd the ling'ring moments, and apply'd Thirst-quenching _porter_ to their parched lips. Alas, how sadly alter'd is the scene! For lo! those sacred walls, that late were brush'd By rustling silks and waving capuchines, Are now become the sport of wrinkled Time! Those walls, that late have echo'd to the voice Of stern King _Richard_, to the seat transform'd Of crawling spiders and detested moths, Who in the lonely crevices reside; Or gender in the beams, that have upheld Gods, demi-gods, and all the joyous crew Of thund'rers in the galleries above. O Shakespeare! where are all thy tinsell'd kings, Thy fawning courtiers, and thy waggish clowns? Where all thy fairies, spirits, witches, fiends, That here have gambol'd in nocturnal sport, Round the lone oak, or sunk in fear away From the shrill summons of the cock at morn? Where now the temples, palaces, and tow'rs? Where now the groves that ever-verdant smil'd? Where now the streams that never ceas'd to flow? Where now the clouds, the rains, the hails, the winds, The thunders, lightnings, and the tempests string! Here shepherds, lolling in their woven bow'rs, In dull _recitativo_ often sung Their loves, accompanied with clangor string From horns, from trumpets, clarinets, bassoons; From violinos sharp, or droning bass, Or the brisk tinkling of a harpsichord. Such is thy pow'r, O Music! such thy fame That it has fabled been, how foreign song, Soft issuing from _Tenducci's_ slender throat, Has drawn a plaudit from the gods enthron'd Round the empyreum of Jove himself, High seated on Olympus' airy top. Nay, that his fev'rous voice was known to soothe The shrill ton'd prating of the female's tongues, Who, in obedience to the lifeless song, All prostrate fell, all fainting dy'd away In silent exstacies of passing joy. Ye who oft wander by the silver light Of sister _luna_, - or to church-yard's gloom, Or cypress shades, if Chance should guide your steps To this sad mansion, think not that you tread Unconsecrated paths; for on this ground Have holy streams been pour'd, and flow'rets strew'd; While many a kingly diadem, I ween, Lies useless here entomb'd, with heaps of coin Stampt in _theatric mint :_ offenceless god! That carries not persuasion in its hue, To tutor mankind in their evil ways. After a lengthen'd series of years, When the unhallow'd spade shall discompose This mass of earth, then relics shall be found, Which, or for gems of worth, or Roman coins, Well may obtrude on antiquary's eye. Ye spouting blades! regard this ruin'd fane, And nightly come within those naked walls, to shed the tragic tear. Full many a drop Of precious inspiration have you suck'd From its dramatic sources. O! look here Upon this roofless and forsaken pile, And stalk in pensive sorrow o'er the ground Where you've beheld so many noble scenes. Thus, when the mariner to foreign clime His bark conveys, where odoriferous gales, And orange-groves, and love-inspiring wine, Have oft repaid his toil; if earthquake dire, With hollow groanings and convulsive pangs, The ground hath rent, and all those beauties foil'd, Will he refrain to shed the grateful drop, A tribute justly due (tho' seldom paid) To the blest memory of happier times? FASHION. A POEM. _Bred up where discipline most rare is,_ _In Military Garden_ Paris.====HUDIBRAS. O NATURE, parent goddess! at thy shrine, Prone to the earth, the Muse, in humble song, Thy aid implores! Nor will she wing her flight Till thou, bright form! in thy effulgence pure, Deign'st to look down upon her lowly state, And shed thy pow'rful influence benign. Come then, regardless of vain Fashion's fools, Of all those vile enormities of shape That crowd the world, and with thee bring Wisdom in sober contemplation clad, To lash those bold usurpers from the stage. On that bless'd spot where the Parisian dome To fools the stealing hand of Time displays, FASHION her empire holds, a goddess great! View her amidst the _Millenarian_ train On a resplendent throne exalted high, Strangely diversified with gewgaw forms. Her busy hand glides pleasureably o'er The darling novelties, the trinkets rare That greet the sight of the admiring dames, Whose dear-bought treasures o'er their native isle Contagious spread, infect the wholesome air That cherish'd vigour in Britannia's sons. Near this proud seat of Fashion's antic form A sphere revolves, on whose bright orb behold The circulating mode of changeful dress, Which, like the image of the sun himself, Glories in coursing thro' the diverse signs Which blazon in the zodiac of heav'n. Around her throne coquets and _petits beaux_ Unnumber'd shrine, and with each other view In nameless ornaments and gaudy plumes. O worthy emulation! to excel In trifles such as there : how truly great! Unworthy of the peevish blubb'ring boy, Crush'd in his childhood by the foundling nurse, Who, for some fav'rite babble, frets and pines. Amongst the proud attendants of this shrine, The wealthy, young, and gay _Clarinda_ draws, From poorer objects, the astonish'd eye: her looks, her dress, and her affected mien Doom her enthusiast keen in Fashion's train: White as the cover'd _Alps_, or wintry face Of snowy _Lapland_, her _toupee_ uprear'd, Exhibits to the view a cumb'rous mass Of curls high nodding o'er her polish'd brow; From which ribbons too of various dye, Where all the colours in th' ethereal bow Unite, and blend, and tantalize the sight. Nature! to thee alone, not Fashion's pomp, Does Beauty owe her all-commanding eye. From the green bosom of the wat'ry main, Array'd by thee, majestic Venus rose, With waving ringlets carelessly diffus'd, Floating luxurious o'er th' restless surge. What _Rubens_ then, with his enliv'ning hand, Could paint the bright vermillion of her cheek, Pure as the roseate portal of the east, That opens to receive the chearing ray of Phoebus beaming from the orient sly? For sterling Beauty needs no faint essays, Or colourings of art, to gild her more: She is all prefect. And, if Beauty fail, Where are those ornaments, those rich attires Which can reflect a lustre on that face, Where she with light innate disdains to shine? Britons, beware of Fashion's 'luring wiles: On either hand, chief guardians of her pow'r, And sole dictators of her fickle voice, _Folly_ and full _effeminacy_ reign; Whose blackest magic and unhallow'd spells The Roman ardour check'd; their strength decay'd, And all their glory scatter'd to the winds. Tremble, O Albion! for the voice of Fate Seems ready to decree thy after-fall. By pride, by luxury, what fated ills Unheeded have approach'd thy mortal frame! How many foreign weeds their heads have rear'd In thy fair garden? Hasten, 'ere their strength And baneful vegetation taint the soil, To root out rank disease, which soon must spread, If no bless'd antidote will purge away Fashion's proud minions from our sea-girt isle. A BURLESQUE ELEGY ON THE AMPUTATION OF A STUDENT'S HAIR, BEFORE HIS ORDERS. O SAD catastrophe! O event dire! =How shall the loss, the heavy loss be borne? Or how the Muse attune the plaintive lyre, =To sing of _Strephon_ with his ringlets shorn? Say ye, who can divine the mighty cause, =From whence this modern circumcision springs? Why such oppressive and such rigid laws =Are still attendant on religious things? Alas! poor _Strephon_, to the stern decree =Which prunes your tresses, are you doom'd to yield? Soon shall your _caput_, like the blasted tree, =Diffuse its faded honours o'er the field. Now let the solemn sound of mourning swell, =And wake sad echoes to prolong the lay, For hark! methinks I hear the tragic knell; =This hour bespeaks the barber on his way. O razor! yet thy poignant edge suspend; =O yet indulge me with a short delay; Till I once more portray my youthful friend, ='Ere his proud locks are scatter'd on the clay. 'Ere the huge _wig_, in formal curls array'd, =With pulvile pregnant, shall o'ershade his face; Or, like the wide umbrella, lend its aid, =To banish lustre from the sacred place. Mourn, O ye zephyrs! for, alas! no more =His waving ringlets shall your call obey! For, ah! the stubborn wig must now be wore, =Since _Stephon's_ locks are scatter'd on the clay. _Amanda_, too, in bitter anguish sighs, =And grieves the metamorphosis to see; Mourn not, _Amanda_, for the hair that lies =Dead on the ground shall be reviv'd for thee. Some skilful artist of a French _frizeur_, =With graceful ringlets shall thy temples bind, And cull the precious relics from the floor, =Which yet may flutter in the wanton wind. WRITTEN AT THE HERMITAGE OF BRAID, NEAR EDINBURGH. WOULD you relish a rural retreat, =Or the pleasure the groves can inspire, The city's allurements forget, =To this spot of enchantment of retire. Where a valley, and chrystaline brook, =Whose current glides sweetly along, Give Nature a fanciful look, =The beautiful woodlands among. Behold the umbrageous trees =A covert of verdure have spread, Where shepherds may loll at their ease, =And pipe to the musical shade: For, lo! thro' each op'ning is heard, =In concert with waters below, The voice of a musical bird, =Whose numbers do gracefully flow. The bushes and arbours so green, =The tendrils of spray interwove, With foliage shelter the scene, =And form a retirement for love. Here Venus transported may rove =From pleasure to pleasure unseen, Nor wish for the Cyprian grove =Her youthful Adonis to screen. Oft let me contemplative dwell =On a scene where such beauties appear; I could live in a cot or a cell, =And never think solitude near. A TALE. THOSE rigid pedagogues and fools, Who walk by self-invented rules, Do often try, with empty head, The emptier mortals to mislead, And fain would urge, that none but they Could rightly teach the A, B, C; On which they've got an endless comment, To trifling minds of mighty moment, Throwing such barriers in the way Of those who genius display, As often, ah! too often teaze Them out of patience, and of fees, Before they're able to explode Obstructions thrown on Learning's road. May mankind all employ their tools To banish pageantry from schools! And may each pedagogue avail, By list'ning to the after tale! Wise Mr. BIRCH had long intended The alphabet should be amended, And taught that H a breathing was, _Ergo_ he saw a no proper cause, Why such a letter should exist: Thus in a breath was he dismiss'd, With, "O beware, beware, O youth! "Take not the villain in your mouth." One day this alphabetic sinner Was eager to devour his dinner, When to appease the craving glutton, His boy Tom produc'd the mutton. Was such disaster ever told? Alas! the meat was deadly cold! Here take and h-eat it, says the master; Quoth Tom, that shall be done, and fast, Sir; And few there are, who will dispute it, But he went instantly about it; For _Birch_ had scorn'd the H to say, And blew him with a puff away. The bell was rung with dread alarm; "Bring me the mutton, is it warm?" _Sir you desir'd, and I have eat it;_ "You lie, my orders were to heat it." Quoth Tom, I'll readily allow That H is but a breathing now. THE PEASANT, THE HEN, AND YOUNG DUCKS. A FABLE. A HEN, of all the dung-hill crew The fairest, stateliest to view, Of laying tir'd, she fondly begs Her keeper's leave to hatch her eggs: He, dunn'd with the incessant cry, Was forc'd for peace' sake to comply; And in a month the downy brood Came chirping round the hen for food, Who view'd them with parental eyes Of pleasing fondness and surprise, And was not at a loss to trace Her likeness growing in their face; Tho' the broad _bills_ could well declare That they another's offspring were; So string will prejudices blind, And lead astray the easy mind. To the green margin of the brook The hen her fancied children took; Each young one shakes his unfledg'd wings. And to the flood by instinct springs; With willing strokes they gladly swim, Or dive into the glassy stream, While the fond mother vents her grief, And prays the _peasant's_ kind relief. The peasant heard the bitter cries, And thus in terms of rage replies: "You fool! give o'er your useless moan, "Nor mourn misfortunes not your own; "But learn in wisdom to forsake "The offspring of the _duck_ and _drake_." To whom the hen, with angry crest And scornful look, herself addrest: "If _reason_ were my constant guide "(Of man the ornament and pride), "Then should I boast a cruel heart, "And foreign feeling all depart; "But since poor I, by _instinct_ blind, "Can boast no feelings so refin'd, "'Tis hop'd your reason will exclude, "Tho' I your counsel sage refuse, "And from the perils of the flood "Attempt to save another's brood." MORAL. _When Pity, gen'rous nymph! possest,_ _and mov'd at will the human breast,_ _No tongue its distant sufferings told,_ _But she assisted, she condol'd,_ _And willing bore her tender part_ _In all the feelings of the heart;_ _But now from her our hearts decoy'd,_ _To sense of other woes destroy'd,_ _Act only from a selfish view,_ _Nor give the aid to Pity due._ TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN CUNNINGHAM THE POET. =_Sing his praises that doth keep_ ==_Our flocks from harm,_ =PAN, _the father of our sheep:_ ==_And arm in arm_ =_Tread we softly in a round,_ =_While the hollow neighb'ring ground_ =_Fills the music with her sound._ ====BEAUMONT _and_ FLETCHER. YE mournful meanders and groves, =Delight of the Muse and her song! Ye grottos and dropping alcoves, =No strangers to Corydon's tongue! Let each Sylvan and Dryad declare =His themes and his music how dear; Their plaints and their dirges prepare, =Attendant on Corydon's bier. The echo that join'd in the lay, =So amorous, sprightly, and free, Shall send forth the sounds of dismay, =And sigh with sad pity for thee. Wild wander his flocks with the breeze; =His reed can no longer controul; His numbers no longer can please, =Or send kind relief to the soul. But long may they wander and bleat, =To bills tell the tale of their woe; The woodlands the tale shall repeat, =And the waters shall mournfully flow. For there were the haunts of his love, =The sacred retreats of his ease, Where favourite Fancy would rove, =As wanton, as light as the breeze. Her zone will discolour'd appear, =With fanciful ringlets unbound, A face pale and languid she'll wear, =A heart fraught with sorrow profound. The reed of each shepherd will mourn, =The shades of Parnassus decay; The Muses will dry their sad urn, =Since 'reft or young Corydon's lay. To him ev'ry passion was known =That throbb'd in the breast with desire; Each gentle affection was shewn =In the soft sighing songs of his lyre. Like the carolling thrush on the spray =In music soft warbling and wild, To love was devoted each lay, =In accents pathetic and mild. Let beauty and virtue revere, =And the songs of the shepherd approve, Who felt, who lamented the snare, =When repining at pityless love. The summer but languidly gleams, =Pomona no comfort can bring, Nor valleys, nor grottoes nor streams, =Nor the May-born _flow'rets_ of Spring. They've fled all with Corydon's Muse, =For his brows to form chaplets of woe; Whose reed oft awaken'd their boughs, =As the whispering breezes that blow. To many a fanciful spring, =His lyre was melodiously string; While _fairies_ and _fauns_ in a ring =Have applauded with swain as he sung. To the chearful he usher'd his smiles, =To the woeful his sigh and his tear; A condoler with want and her toils, =When the voice of oppression was near. To' _titles_ and _wealth_ were his due, =Tho' Fortune denied the reward; Yet Truth and Sincerity knew =What the goddess would never regard. Avails aught the generous heart, =Which Nature to Goodness design'd, If Fortune denies to impart =Her kindly relief to the mind? 'Twas but faint the relief to _dismay_, =The cells of the wretched among; Tho' sympathy sung in the lay, =Tho' melody fell from his tongue. Let the favour'd of Fortune attend =To the ails of the wretched and poor: Tho' Corydon's lays can befriend, ='Tis riches alone that can cure. But they to Compassion are dumb, =To Pity their voices unknown; Near Sorrow they never can come, ='Till _Misfortune_ has mark'd them her own. Now the shades of the evening depend; =Each warbler is lull'd on the spray; The cypress doth ruefully bend =Where the cold corpse of Corydon stay. Adieu then the songs of the swain! =Let Peace still attend on his shade; And his pipe that is dumb to his strain, =In the grave be with CORYDON laid. THE DELIGHTS OF VIRTUE. RETURNING Morn, in orient blush array'd, =With gentle radiance hail'd the sky serene; No rustling breezes wav'd the verdant shade, =Nor swelling surge disturb'd the azure main. These moments, Meditation, sure are thine; =These re the halcyon joys you wish to find, When Nature's peaceful elements combine =To suit the calm composure of the mind. The Muse, exalted by thy sacred pow'r, =To the green mountain's air-born summit flew, Charm'd with the thoughtful stillness of an hour, =That usher'd beaming Fancy to her view. Fresh from old Neptune's fluid mansion sprung =The sun, reviver of each drooping flow'r; At his approach the lark, with _matin_song, =In notes of gratitude confess'd his pow'r. So shines fair VIRTUE, shedding light divine, =On those who wish'd to profit by her ways; Who ne'er at parting with their vice recpine???, =To taste the comforts of her blessful rays. She with fresh hopes each sorrow can beguile, =Can dissipate Adversity's stern gloom, Make meagre Poverty contented smile, =And the sad wretch forget his hapless doom. Sweeter than shady groves in summer's pride, =Than flow'ry dales or grassy meads is she; Delighted as the honey'd streams that glide =From the rich labours of the busy bee. Her paths and alleys are for ever green; =There Innocence, in snowy robes array'd, With smiles of pure content is hail'd the queen =And happy mistress of the sacred shade. O let not transient gleams of earthly joy =From Virtue lure your lab'ring steps aside; Nor instant grandeur future hopes annoy =With thoughts that spring from Insolence and Pride. Soon will the winged moments speed away, =When you'll no more the plumes of honour wear: Grandeur must shudder at the sad decay, =And Pride look humble when he ponders there. Depriv'd of Virtue, where is Beauty's pow'r? =Her dimpl'd smiles, her roses charm no more; So much can guilt the loveliest form deflow'r, =We loath that beauty which we lov'd before. How fair are Virtue's buds where-e'er they blow, =Or in the desart wild, or garden gay! Her flow'rs how sacred wheresoe'er they show, =Unknown to the black canker of decay! A TAVERN ELEGY. FLED are the moments of delusive Mirth, =The fancy'd pleasure! paradise divine! Hush'd are the clamours that derive their birth =From gen'rous floods of soul-reviving wine. Still night and silence now succeed the noise; =The ebbing tides of passion rage no more; But all is peaceful as the ocean's voice =When breezeless waters kiss the silent shore. Here stood the _juice_ whose care-controuling pow'rs =Could every human misery subdue, And wake to sportive joy the lazy hours, =That to the languid senses hateful grew. Attracted by the magic of the bowl, =Around the swelling brim in full array The glasses circl'd, as the planets roll, =And hail with borrow'd light the god of day. Here Music, the delight of moments gay, =Bade the unguarded tongues their motions cease, And with a mirthful, a melodious lay, =Aw'd the fell voice of Discord into Peace. These are the joys that Virtue must approve, =While Reason shines with majesty divine, Ere our ideas in disorder move, =And sad excess against the soul combine. What evils have not frenzy'd mortals done =By wine, that _ignis fatuus_ of the mind! How many by its force to vice are won, =Since first ordain'd to tantalize mankind! By Bacchus' pow'r, ye sons of riot! say, =How many watchful sentinels have bled! How many travellers have lost their way, =By _lamps_ unguided thro' the evening shade! O spare those friendly twinklers of the night! =Let no rude cane their hallow'd orbs assail! For _cowardice_ alone condemns the light, =That shews her countenance aghast and pale. Now the short taper warns me to depart ='Ere Darkness shall assume his dreary away; 'Ere Solitude fall heavy on my heart, =That lingers for the fair approach of day. Who would not vindicate the happy doom =To be for ever number'd with the dead, Rather than bear the miserable gloom, =When all his comfort, all his friends are fled? Bear me, ye gods! where I may calmly rest =From all the follies of the night secure; The balmy blessings of Repose to taste, =Nor hear the tongue of Outrage at my door. GOOD EATING. HEAR, O ye host of Epicurus! hear! Each portly form, whose overhanging paunch Can well denote the all-transcendent joy That springs unbounded from fruition full Of rich repasts to you I consecrate The song advent'rous; happy if the Muse Can cook the numbers to your palates keen, Or send but half the relish with her song, That smoaking _sirloins_ to your souls convey. Hence now, ye starv'lings wan! whose empty wombs Oft echo to the hollow-murm'ring tones Of Hunger fell. - Avaunt, ye base born hinds! Whose fates unkind ne'er destin'd you to gorge The banquet rare, or wage a pleasing war With the delicious morsels of the earth. To you I sing not: for alas! what pain, What tantalizing tortures would ensue, To aid the force of Famine's sharpest tooth, Were I to breathe my accents in your ear! Hail, ROAST BEEF! monarch of the festive throng, To hunger's bane the strongest antidote; Come, and with all thyrage-appeasing sweets Our appetites allay! For, or attended By _root Hibernian_, or _plumb-pudding_ rare, Still thou art welcome to the social board. Say, can the spicy gales from _Orient_ blown, Or zephyr's wing, that from the _orange_ groves Brushes the breeze, with rich perfumes replete, More aromatic or reviving smell To nostrils bring? Or can the glassy streams Of _Pactolus_, that o'er its golden sands Delightful glide, thy luscious drops outvie, That from thy sides embrown'd unnumber'd fall? Behold, at thy approach, what smiles serene Beam from the ravish'd guests !- Still are their tongues, While they with whetted instruments prepare For deep incision. - Now the _abscess_ bleeds, And the devouring band, with stomach's keen, And glutting rage, thy beauteous form destroy, Leave you a marrowless skeleton and bare, A prey to dunghills, or vexatious sport Of torrent rushing from _defilement's urns_, That o'er the city's flinty pavement hurls. So fares it with the man, whose pow'rful pelf Once could command respect. Caress'd by all, His bounties were a lavish as the hand Of yellow _ceres_, till his stores decay'd, And then (O dismal tale!) those precious drops Of flatt'ry that bedew'd his spring of fortune, Leave the sad winter of his state so fall'n, Nor nurse the thorn from which they ne'er can hope Again to pluck the odour-dropping rose! For thee, _Roast Beef!_ in variegated shapes, Have mortals toil'd. - The _Sailor_ sternly braves The strength of _Boreas_, and exulting stands Upon the sea-wash'd deck - with hopes inspir'd Of yet indulging in thy wish'd-for sweets, He smiles amidst the dangers that surround him Chearful he steers to cold forbidden climes, Or to the torrid zone explores his way. Be kind, ye _Pow'rs!_ and still propitious send This paragon of feeding to our halls. With this regal'd, who would vain glorious wish For tow'ring pyramids superbly crown'd, With _jellies, syllabubs,_ or _ice creams_ rare? These can amuse the eye and may bestow A short-liv'd pleasure to a palate strange; But, for a moment's pleasure, who would vend A life-time that would else be spent in joy For hateful _loathings_ and for _gouty rheums_, Ever preceded by indulg'd excess? Blest be those walls where HOSPITALITY And Welcome reign at large! There may you oft Of social cheer partake, and love and joy, Pleasure that to the human mind convey Ideal pictures of the bliss supreme: But near the gate where Parsimony dwells, Where Ceremony cool, and brow austere, Confront the guests, ne'er let thy foot approach! For, void of kind benev'lence, heav'nly virtue! What is life's garden but a devious wild, Thro' which the traveller must pass forlorn, Unguided by the aid of Friendship's ray? Rather, if Poverty hold converse with thee, To the lone _garret's_ lofty bield ascend, Or dive to some sad cell; there have recourse To meagre _offals_, where, though small thy fare, Freedom shall wing thee to a purer joy Than banquets with superfluous dainties crown'd, Mix'd with reserve and coolness, can afford. But, if your better fortunes have prepar'd Your purse with -ducats_, and with health thy frame, Assemble, friends! and to the tavern straight, Where the officious _waiter_, bending low, Is passive to a fault. Then, not the _Signior Grand_, Or Russia's Empress, signaliz'd for war, Can govern with more arbitrary sway. Ye who for health, for exercise, for air, Oft saunter from _Edina's_ smoke-capt spires, And, by the grassy hill or dimpl'd brook, An appetite revive, should oft-times stray O'er _Arthur's-seat's_ green pastures, to the town For _sheep heads_ and bone-bridges fam'd of yore, That in our country's annals stands yclept Fair _Duddingstonis_, where you may be blest With simple fare and vegetable sweets, Freed from the clamours of the busy world. Or, if for recreation you should stray To _Leithian_ shore, and breathe the keener air Wafted from Neptune's empire of the main; If appetite invite, and cash prevail, Ply not your joints upon the homeward track, Till LAWSON, chiefest of the Scottish hosts! To nimble footed waiters give command The cloth to lay. - Instinctively they come, And lo! the table wrapt in cloudy streams, Groans with the weight of the transporting fare That breathes frankincense on the guests around. Now, while stern Winter holds his frigid sway, And to a period spins the closing year; While festivals abound, and sportive hours Kill the remembrance of our weaning time, Let not Intemperance, destructive fiend! Gain entrance to your halls. - Despoil'd by him, Shall cloyed appetite, forerunner sad Of rank disease, invet'rate clasp your frame. Contentment shall no more be known to spread Her cherub wings round thy once happy dwelling, But misery of thought, and racking pain, Shall plunge you headlong to the dark abyss. TEA. A POEM. YE maidens modest! on whose sullen brows Hath weaning Chastity her wrinkles cull'd, Who constant labour o'er consumptive oil, At midnight knell, to wash Sleep's nightly balm From closing eye-lids, with the grateful drops Of TEA'S blest juices; list th' obsequious lays That come not with Parnassian honours crown'd, To dwell in murmurs o'er your sleepy sense, But fresh from _Orient_ blown to chace far off Your _lethargy_, that dormant _needles_ rous'd May pierce the waving _Mantua's_ silken folds: For many a dame, in chamber sadly pent, Hath this reviving limpid call'd to life; And well it did, to mitigate the frowns Of anger reddening on _Lucinda's_ brow With flash malignant, that had harbour'd there, If she at masquerade, or play, or ball, Appear'd not in her newest, best attire. But VENUS, goddess of th' eternal smile, Knowing that stormy brows but ill become Fair patterns of her beauty, had ordain'd Celestial Tea !- A fountain that can cure The ills of passion, and can free the fair From frowns and sighs, by Disappointment earn'd. To her, ye fair, in adoration bow! Whether at blushing morn, or dewy eve; Her smoaking cordials greet your fragrant board, With Sushong, Congo, or coarse Bohea crown'd. At midnight skies, ye _Mantua-makers_, hail, The sacred offering !- For the haughty _Belles_ No longer can upbraid your ling'ring hands With trains upborn aloft by dusty gales That sweep the ball-room - swift they glide along, And, with their sailing streamers, catch the eye Of some _Adonis_, mark'd to love a prey, Whose bosom ne'er had panted with a sigh, But for the silken drap'ries that inclose Graces which Nature has by Art conceal'd. Mark well the fair! observe their modest eye, With all the innocence of beauty blest. Could Slander o'er that tongue its pow'r retain Whose breath is music? Ah, fallacious thought! The surface is Ambrosia's mingl'd sweets; But all below is death. At tea-board met, Attend their prattling tongues - they scoff - they rail Unbounded; but their darts are chiefly aim'd At some fay _Fair_, whose beauties far eclipse Her dim beholders - who, with haggard eyes, Would blight those charms where raptures long have dwelt In extacy, delighted and suffic'd. In vain hath Beauty, with her varied robe, Bestow'd her glowing blushes o'er her cheeks, And call'd attendant graces to her aid, To blend the scarlet and the lily fair. In vain did Venus in her fav'rite mould Adapt the slender form to Cupid's choice- When Slander comes, her blasts too fatal prove, Pale are those cheeks where youth and beauty glow'd, Where smiles, where freshness, and where roses grew: Ghastly and wan their _Gorgon_ picture comes, With ev'ry Fury grinning from the looks Of frightful monster - _Envy's_ hissing tongue, With deepest vengeance wounds, and ev'ry wound With deeper canker, deeper poison teems. O GOLD! thy luring lustre first prevail'd On MAN to tempt the fretful winds and waves, And hunt new fancies. Still thy glaring form Bids Commerce thrive, and o'er the Indian waves, O'er-stemming danger, draw the lab'ring keel From _China's_ coast to _Britain's_ colder clime, Fraught with the fruits and herbage of their vales; In them whatever vegetable springs, How loathsome and corrupted, triumphs here, The bane of life, of health the sure decay; Yet, yet we swallow, and extol the draught, Tho' nervous ails should spring, and vap'rish qualms Our senses and our appetites destroy. Look round, ye _sipplers_ of the poison'd cup From foreign plant distill'd! no more repine That _Nature_, sparing of her sacred sweets, Hath doom'd you in a wilderness to dwell, While round Britannia's streams she kindly rears Green _Sage_ and _Wild Thyme_. - These were sure decreed As plants of _Britain_ to regale her sons With native moisture, more refreshing sweet, And more profuse of health and vigour's balm, Than all the stems that _India_ can boast. THE SOW OF FEELING. _Well! I protest there's no such thing as dealing_ _With these starch'd poets - with these_ MEN _of_ FEELING! ====EPILOGUE TO PRINCE OF TUNIS. MALIGNANT planets! do you still combine Against this wayward, dreary life of mine! Has pityless Oppression - (cruel case!) gain'd sole possession of the human race? By cruel hands has ev'ry virtue bled, And Innocence from men to vultures fled! Thrice happy had I liv'd in Jewish time, When swallowing pork or pig was thought a crime; My husband long had blest my longing arms, Long, long had known Love's sympathetic charms! My children too - a little suckling race, With all their father growing in their face, From their prolific _dam_ had ne'er been torn, Nor to the bloody stalls of butchers borne. Ah! Luxury! to you my being owes Its load of misery - its load of woes! With heavy heart I saunter all the day; Gruntle and murmur all my hours away! In vain I try to summon old desire For favourite sports, - for wallowing in the mire: Thoughts of my husband, of my children slain, Turn all my wonted pleasure into pain! How oft did we, in Phoebus' warming ray, Bask on the humid softness of the day Oft did his lusty head defend my tail From the rude whispers of the angry gale; While nose-refreshing puddles stream'd around, And floating odours hail'd the dung clad ground. Near by a rustic mill's enchanting clack, Where plenteous bushels load the peasant's back, In straw-crown'd hovel, there to life we came, One boar our father, and one sow our dam. While tender infants on our mother's breast, A flame divine in either shone confest: In riper hours love's more than ardent blaze, Enkindled all his passion, all his praise! No deadly, sinful passion fired his soul; Virtue o'er all his actions gain'd controul! That cherub which attracts the female heart, And makes them soonest with their beauty part, Attracted mine ;- I gave him all my love, In the recesses of a verdant grove: 'Twas there I listen'd to his warmest vows, Amidst the pendant melancholy boughs; 'Twas there my trusty lover shook for me A shower of acorns from the oaken tree; And from the terming earth, with joy plough'd out The roots salubrious with his hardy snout. But happiness! a floating meteor, thus, That still inconstant art to man and sow, Left'st us in gloomiest horrors to reside, Near by the deep-dy'd sanguinary tide, Where whetting steel prepares the butchering knives, With greater ease to take the harmless lives Of cows, and calves, and sheep, and hogs, who fear The bite of bull-dogs, that incessant tear Their flesh, and keenly suck the blood-distilling ear! At length, the day, the eventful day, drew near, Detested cause of many a briny tear! I'll weep, till sorrow shall my eyelids drain, A tender husband, a brother slain! Alas, the lovely languor of his eye, When the base murderers bore him captive by! His mournful voice, the music of his groans, Had melted any hearts - but hearts of stones! O! had some angel at that instant come, Given me four-nimble fingers and a thumb, The blood-stain'd blade I'd turn'd upon his foe, And sudden sent him to the shades below, - Where, or _Pythagoras'_ opinion jests, Beasts are made _butchers_-butchers chang'd to _beasts_. In early times the law had wise decreed, For human food but reptiles few should bleed; But monstrous man, still erring from the laws, The curse of heaven on his banquet draws! Already has he drain'd the marshes dry For _frogs_, new emblems of his luxury; And soon the _toad_ and _lizard_ will come home, Pure victims to the hungry glutton's womb: _cats, rats,_ and _mice,_ their destiny may mourn, In time their carcasses on spits must turn; They may rejoice to-day - while I resign Life to be number'd 'mongst the _feeling swine_. AN EXPEDITION TO FIFE AND THE ISLAND OF MAY, ON BOARD THE BLESSED ENDEAVOUR OF DUNBAR, CAPTAIN ROXBURGH COMMANDER. LIST, O ye slumb'rers on the peaceful shore! Whose lives are one unvariegated calm Of stillness and of sloth: And hear, O nymph! In heav'n yclepit _Pleasure:_ from your throne Effulgent send a heav'nly radiant beam, That, cheer'd by thee, the _Muse_ may bend her way; For from no earthly flight she builds her song, But from the bosom of green Neptune's main Would fain emerge, and under _Phoebe's_ reign, Transmit her numbers to inclining ears. Now when the choiring songsters quit the groves, And solemn sounding whispers lull the spray, To Meditation sacred, let me roam O'er the blest floods that wash our natal shore, And view the wonders of the deep profound, While now the western breezes reign around, And Boreas, sleeping in his iron cave, Regains his strength and animated rage, To wake new _tempests_ and inswell new _seas_. And now _Favonius_ wings the sprightly gale; The willing canvas, swelling with the breeze, Gives life a motion to our bounding prow, While the hoarse _boatswain's_ pipe shrill sounding far, Calls all the tars to action. _Hardy sons!_ Who shudder not a life's devouring gales; But smile amidst the tempest-sounding jars, Or 'mid'st the hollow thunders of the war: Fresh sprung from _Greenland's_ cold, they hail with joy The happier clime, the fresh autumnal breeze, By _Syrius_ guided to allay the heat, That else would parch the vigour of their veins. Hard change, alas! from petrifying cold Instant to plunge to the severest ray That burning _Dog-star_ or bright _Phoebus_ sheds. Like _comet_ whirling thro' th' ethereal void, Now they are redden'd with the solar blaze, Now froze and tortur'd with the frigid zone. Thrice happy Britons! whose well-temper'd clay Can face all climes, all tempests, and all seas. These are the sons that check the growing war; These are the sons that hem _Britannia_ round From sudden innovation; awe the shores, And make their drooping pendants hail their queen And mistress of the globe. - They guard our beds, While fearless we enjoy secure repose, And all the blessings of a bounteous sky. To them in fev'rous adoration bend, Ye fashion'd _Macaronies!_ whose bright blades Were never dimm'd or stain'd in hostile blood, But still hand dangling at your feeble thigh, While thro' the _Mall_ or _Park_ you shew away, Or thro' the drawing-room on tiptoe steal. On poop aloft, to _messmates_ laid along, Some son of Neptune, whose old wrinkl'd brow Has bay'd the rattling thunder, tells his tale Of dangers, sieges, and of battles dire, While they, elate with success of the day, Cheer him with happy smiles, or bitter sighs, When Fortune with a sourer aspect grins. Ah! how unstable are the joys of life! The pleasures, ah! how-few!- Now smile the skies With visage mild, and now the thunders shake, And all the radiance of the heav'ns deflow'r. Thro' the small op'nings of the mainsail bread, Lo, _Boreas_ steals, and tears him from the yard, Where long and lasting he has play'd his part! So suffers _Virtue_. When in her fair form The smallest flaw is found, the whole decays. In vain she may implore with piteous eye, And spread her naked pinions to the blast: A reputation main'd finds no repair, Till Death, the ghastly monarch, shuts the scene. And now we gain the _May_, whose midnight light, Like vestal virgins' off'rings undecay'd, To mariners bewilder'd acts the part Of social Friendship, guiding those who err With kindly radiance to their destin'd port. Thanks, kindest Nature! for those floating gems, Those green-grown isles, with which you lavish strew Great Neptune's empire. But for thee! the main Were an uncomfortable mazy flood. No guidance then would bless the steersman's skill, No resting-place would crown the mar'ner's wish, When he to distant gales his canvas spreads To search new wonders. - Here the verdant shores Teem with new freshness, and regale our sight With caves that antient Time, in days of yore, Sequester'd for the haunt of _Druid_ lone, There to remain in solitary cell, Beyond the pow'r of mortals to disjoin From holy meditation. - Happy now To cast our eyes around from shore to shore, While by the oozy caverns on the beech We wander wild, and listen to the roar Of billows murm'ring with incessant noise. And now by fancy led, we wander wild Were o'er the rugged steep the buried dead Remote lie anchor'd in their parent mould; Where a few fading willows point the state Of man's decay. Ah, Death! where'er we fly, Whether we seek the busy and the gay, The mourner or the joyful, these art thou. No distant isle, no surly swelling surge, E'er aw'd thy progress, or controul'd thy sway, To bless us with that comfort, _length of days_, By all aspir'd at, but by few attain'd. To Fife we steer, of all beneath the sun The most unhallow'd 'midst the _Scotian_ plains? And here, sad emblem of deceitful times! Hath sad Hypocrisy her standard borne. Mirth knows no residence, but ghastly Fear Stands trembling and appall'd at airy sights. One, _only once!_ Reward it O ye Pow'rs! Did _Hospitality_, with open face, And winning smile, cheer the deserted sight, That else had languish'd for the blest return Of beauteous day, to dissipate clouds Of endless night, and superstition wild, That constant hover o'er the dark abode. O happy _Lothian!_ Happy thrice her sons! Who ne'er yet ventur'd from the southern shore To tempt Misfortune on the _Fifan_ coast, Again with thee we dwell and taste thy joys, Where Sorrow reigns not, and where ev'ry gale Is fraught with fullness, blest with living hope, That fears no canker from the year's decay. TO SIR JOHN FIELDING, ON HIS ATTEMPT TO SUPPRESS THE BEGGAR'S OPERA. ==_When you censure the age,_ ==_Be cautious and sage,_ =_Left the courtiers offended should be;_ ==_When you mention vice or bribe,_ ==_'Tis so pat to all the bribe,_ =_Each cries, it was levell'd at me._ =======GAY. =_'Tis woman that seduces all mankind._ =======FILCH. BENEATH what cheerful region of the sky Shall _Wit_, shall _Humour_, and the _Muses_ fly? For _ours_, a cold, inhospitable clime, Refuses quarter to the Muse and Rhime; If on her brows an envy'd laurel springs, They shake the foliage, crop her growing wings, That with the _plumes_ of virtue wisely soar, And all the follies of the age explore. But should old _Grub_ her rankest venom pour, And ev'ry virtue with a vice deflow'r, Her verse is sacred, _Justices_ agree,- Ev'n _Justice Fielding_ signs the wise decree. Let fortune-dealers, wise predictors! tell From what bright planet _Justice Fielding) fell; _Augusta_ trembles at the awful name; The darling tongue of Liberty is tame, Basely confin'd in _Newgate_ chains, Nor dare exclaim how harshly _Fielding_ reigns. In days when ev'ry _mercer_ has his _scale_, To tell what _pieces lack_, how few _prevail!_ I wonder not the low-born menial trade By partial _justice_ has aside been laid: For she gives no discount for _Virtue_ worn, Her aged joints are without mercy torn. In vain, O GAY! thy muse explor'd the way Of yore to banish the Italian lay, Gave homely numbers sweet, tho' warmly strong; The _British chorus_ blest the happy song: Thy manly voice and _Albion's_ then were heard, Felt by her sons, and by her sons rever'd: _Eunuchs_, nor _men_, now bear aloft the palm, And o'er our senses pour lethargic balm. The _Stage_ the truest mirror is of life; Our passions there resolve in active strife; Each character is there display'd to view; Each hates his own, tho' well assur'd 'tis true. No marvel then that all the world should own, In _Peachum's_ treach'ry _Justice Fielding_ known, Since thieves so common are, and, Justice, you Thieves to the _gallows_ for reward pursue. Had GAY by writing rous'd the stealing trade, You'd been less active to suppress your bread; For, trust me! when a _robber_ loses ground, You lose your living with your _forty pound._ 'Twas _Woman_ first that snatch'd the luring bait, The tempter taught her to transgress and eat; Tho' wrong the deed, her quick compunction told, She banish'd ADAM from an age of _gold_. When women now transgress fair Virtue's rules, Men are their pupils, and the stews their schools; From simple wh-d-m greater sins began To shoot, to bloom, to center all in man; Footpags??? on _Hounslow_ flourish here to-day, The next _old Tyburn_ sweeps them all away; For woman's faults, the cause of ev'ry wrong! Men robb'd and murder'd, thieves at _Tyburn_ strung. In panting breast to rise the fond alarm, Make females in the cause of Virtue warm, GAY has compar'd them to the summer flow'r, The boast and glory of an idle hour; When cropt it falls, shrinks, withers, and decays, And to oblivion dark consigns its days. Hath this a pow'r to win the female heart Back from its vice, from virtue ne'er to part; If so the wayward virgin will restore, And _murders, rapes,_ and _plunders_ be no more. These were the lays of him who virtue knew, Rever'd her dictates, and practis'd them too; No idle theorist in her stainless ways, He gave the parent Goddess all his days. O _Queensberry!_ his best and earliest friend, ALL that his wit or learning could commend; Best of _patrons!_ the Muse's only pride! Still in her pageant shalt thou first preside; No idle pomp that riches can procure, Sprung at a start, and faded in an hour, But pageant, lasting as the uncropt bay, That verdant triumphs with the Muse of GAY. TO DR SAMUEL JOHNSON: FOOD FOR A NEW EDITION OF HIS DICTIONARY. =_Let_ Wilkes _and_ Churchill _rage no more,_ ==_Tho' scarce provision, learning's good;_ =_What can these hungries next explore,_ ==_E'en_ SAMUEL JOHNSON _loves our food._ GREAT _pedagogue_, whose literarian lore, With _syllable_ and _syllable_ conjoin'd, To transmuteate and varify, has learn'd The whole revolving scientific names That in the alphabetic columns lie, Far from the knowledge of mortalic shapes; As we, who never can peroculate The miracles by thee miraculiz'd, The Muse silential long, with mouth apart, Would give vibration to stagnatic toungue, And loud encomiate thy puissant name, Eulogiated from the green decline Of Thames's banks to Scoticanian shores, Where _Loch-lomondian_ liquids undulize. To meminate thy name in after times, The might Mayor of each regalian town Shall consingate thy word to parchment fair In roll burgharian, and their tables all Shall fumigate with fumigation strong: _Scotland_, from perpendicularian hills, Shall emigrate her fair _mutlonian_??? store, Which late had there in pedestration walk'd, And o'er her airy heights perambuliz'd. Oh, blackest execrations on thy head, _Edina_ shameless! tho' he came within The bounds of your _Notation;_ tho' you knew His _honorific_ name, you noted not, But basely suffer'd him to chariotize Far from your tow'rs, with smoke that nubilate, Nor drank one amicitial swelling cup To welcome him convivial. _Bailies_ all! With rage inflated, catenations tear, Nor ever after you be vinculiz'd, Since you that sociability denied To him whose potent Lexiphanian stile Words can _prolongate_, and inswell his page With what in others to a line's confin'd. Welcome, thou verbal potentate and prince! To hills and vallies, where emerging oats From earth assuage our pauperty to bay, And bless thy name, thy dictionarian skill, Which there definitive will still remain, And oft be speculiz'd by taper blue, While youth _studentious_ turn thy folio page. Have you as yet, in per'patetic mood, Regarded with the texture of the eye The cave _cavernick_, where fraternal bard, _Churchill_, depicted pauperated swains, With thraldom and bleak want reducted sore; Where Nature, coloriz'd, so coarsely fades, And puts her russet par'phernalia on? Have you as yet the way explorified To let lignarian chalice, swell'd with oats, Thy orifice approach? Have you as yet With skin fresh rubified by scarlet sphere, Apply'd _brimstonie_ unction_ to your hide, To terrify the _salamandarian_ fire That from involuntary digits asks The strong allaceration ?- Or can you swill The _usquebalion_ flames of _whisky_ blue In fermentation strong? Have you applied The kelt aerian to your Anglian thighs, And with rununciation assigniz'd Your breeches in _Londona_ to be worn? Can you, in frigor??? of Highlandian sky, On healthy summit take nocturnal rest? It cannot be - You may as well desire An alderman leave _plumb-puddenian_ store, And scratch the tegument from pottage dish, As bid thy countrymen, and thee conjoin'd, Forsake stomachic joys. Then hie you home, And be a malcontent, that naked hinds, On lentiles fed, can make your kingdom quake, And tremulate old England libertiz'd! CHARACTER OF A FRIEND, IN AN EPITAPH WHICH HE DESIRED THE AUTHOR TO WRITE. UNDER this turf, to mould'ring earth consign'd, Lies he, who once was fickle as the wind, Alike the scenes of good and ill he knew, From the chaste temple to the lewdest stew. Virtue and vice in him alternate reign'd; That fill'd his mind, and this his pocket drain'd. Till in the contest they so stubborn grew, Death gave the parting blow, and both withdrew. EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR. WILSON, AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, IN THE CHARACTER OF AN EDINBURG BUCK. YE who oft finish care in Lethe's cup, Who love to swear, and roar, and _keep it up_, List to a brother's voice, whose sole delight Is _sleep_ all day, and _riot_ all the night. Last night, when potent draughts of mellow wine Did sober reason into wit refine; When lusty _Bacchus_ had contriv'd to drain The sullen vapours from our shallow brain, We sallied forth (for Valour's dazzling sun Up to his bright meridian had run); And, like renowned Quixotte and his squire, Spoils and adventures were our sole desire. First we approach'd a seeming sober dame, Preceded by a lanthorn's pallid flame, Borne by a livry'd puppy's servile hand, The slave obsequious of her stern command. Curse on those cits, said I, who dare disgrace Our streets at midnight with a sober face; Let never tallow-chandler give them light, To guide them thro' the dangers of the night. The valet's cane we snatch'd, and, damme! I Made the frail lanthorn on the pavement lie, The guard, still watchful of the lieges' harm, With slow-pac'd motion stalk'd at the alarm. Guard, seize the rouges! the angry madam cry'd, And all the guard with _seize a rogue_ reply'd. As in a war, there's nothing judg'd so right As a concerted and prudential flight; So we, from guard and scandal to be freed, Left them the field, and burial of the dead. Next we approach'd the bounds of _George's square_, Blest place! No watch, no constable, comes there. Now had they borrow'd _Argus'_ eyes who saw us, All was made dark and desolate as chaos: Lamps tumbl'd after lamps, and lost their lustres, Like Doomsday, when the stars shall fall in clusters. Let fancy paint what dazzling glory grew From chrystal gems, when Phoebus came to view; Each shatter'd _orb_ ten thousand fragments strews, And a new sun in ev'ry fragment shews. Hear then, my Bucks! how drunken fate decreed us For a nocturnal visit to the _Meadows_, And how we, val'rous champions! durst engage- O deed unequall'd - both the _Bridge_ and _Cage;_ The rage of per'lous winters which had stood, This 'gainst the wind, and that against the flood; But what nor wind, nor flood, nor heav'n could bend e'er. We tumbl'd down, my Bucks, and made surrender. What are your far-fam'd warriors to us, 'Bout whom historians make such mighty fuss: Posterity may think it was uncommon That _Troy_ should be pillag'd for a woman; But ours your ten years sieges will excel, And justly be esteem'd the nonpareil. Our cause is slighter than a dame's betrothing, For all these mighty feats have sprung from - _nothing_. SONG. WHERE winding Forth adorns the vale, =Fond _Strephon_, once a shepherd gay, Did to the rocks his lot bewail, =And thus address'd his plaintive lay: "O Julia! more than lily fair, ="More blooming than the budding rose, "How can thy breast relentless bear ="A heart more cold than winter's snows. "Yet nipping winter's keenest sway ="But for a short-liv'd space prevails; "Spring-time returns and chears each spray, ="Scented with _Flora's_ fragrant gales. "Come, Julia, come thy love obey, ="Thou mistress of angelic charms! "Come smiling like the morn in May, ="And center in thy Strephon's arms. "Else haunted by the fiend Despair, ="He'll court some solitary grove, "Where mortal foot did ne'er repair, ="But swains oppress'd by hapless love. "From the once pleasing rural throng ="Remov'd, he'll thro' the desart stray, "Where Philomela's mournful song ="Shall join his melancholy lay." SONG. AMIDST a rosy bank of flowers, =Young Damon mourn'd his forlorn fate; In sighs he spent his languid hours, =And breath'd his woes in lonely state. Gay joy no more shall cheer his mind, =No wanton sports can sooth his care, Since sweet Amanda prov'd unkind =And left him full of black despair. His looks that were as fresh as morn =Can now no longer smiles impart; His pensive soul, on sadness born, =Is rack'd and torn by Cupid's dart. Turn, fair Amanda! cheer your swain, =Unshroud him from his veil of woe; Range every charm to ease the pain =That in his tortur'd breast doth grow. EPITAPH ON GENERAL WOLFE. In worth exceeding, and in virtue great, Words would want force his actions to relate. Silence, ye bards! eulogiums vain forbear, It is enough to say that WOLFE _lie here_. EPIGRAM ON THE NUMEROUS EPITAPHS FOR GENERAL WOLFE; FOR THE BEST OF WHICH A PREMIUM OF ONE HUNDRED POUNDS WAS PROMISED. THE Muse, s shameless mercenary jade! Has now assum'd the arch-tongu'd lawyer's trade: In WOLFE'S deserving praises silent she, Till flatter'd with the prospect of a fee. EXTEMPORE, ON SEEING STANZAS ADDRESSED TO MRE HARTLEY, COMEDIAN, WHEREIN SHE IS DESCRIBED AS RESEMBLING MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. HARTLEY resembles Scotland's Queen, =Some bard enraptur'd cries; A flattering bard his is I ween, =Or else the PAINTER LIES. ON SEEING A LADY PAINT HERSELF. WHEN, by some misadventure cross'd, The banker bath his fortune lost, _Credit_ his instant need supplies, And for a moment blinds our eyes: So _Delia_, when her beauties flown, Trades on a bottom not her own, And labours to escape detection, By putting on a false complexion. EXTEMPORE, ON BEING ASKED WHICH OF THREE SISTERS WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL. WHEN _Paris_ gave his voice, in Ida's grove, For the resistless Venus, queen of love, 'Twas no great task to pass a judgement there, Where she alone was exquisitely fair; But here what could his abled judgement teach, When wisdom, power, and beauty reign in each; The youth, nonplus'd, behov'd to join with me, And wish the apple had been cut in three. ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMAS LANCASHIRE, COMEDIAN. ALAS, poor Tom! how oft, with merry heart, Have we beheld thee play the Sexton's part! Each comic heart must now be griev'd to see The Sexton's dreary part perform'd on thee. EPIGRAM, ON SEEING SCALES USED IN A MADON LODGE. WHY should the brethren met in Lodge =Adopt such awkward measures, To set their scales and weights to judge =The value of their treasures? The law laid down from age to age, =How can they well o'ercome it? For it forbids them to engage =With aught but Line and Plummet. MY LAST WELL. WHILE sober folks, in humbler _prose_, Estate, and goods, and gear _dispose_, A poet surely may disperse His _moveables_ in _doggerel verse;_ And fearing death my blood will fast chill, I hereby constitute my last _will_. Then _wit ye me_ to have made o'er To _Nature_ my _poetic_ lore; To her I give and grant the freedom Of paying to the bards who need 'em As many talents as she gave, When I became the Muse's slave. Thanks to the gods, who made me poor! No _lukewarm_ friends molest my door, Who always shew a busy care For being legatee or heir: Of this stamp none will ever follow The youth that's favour'd by Apollo. But to those few who know my case, Nor thought a _poet's friend disgrace,_ The following trifles I bequeathe, And leave them with my kindest breath; Nor will I burden them with payment Of debts incurr'd, or coffin raiment, As yet 'twas never my intent To pass an Irish compliment. To JAMIE RAE, who oft _jocosus_ With me partook of cheering doses, I leave my SNUFF-BOX to regale His senses after drowsy meal, And wake remembrance of a friend Who lov'd him to his latter end: But if this pledge should make him sorry, And argue like _memento more_, He may bequeath't 'mong stubborn fellows, To all the fines feelings callous, Who think that parting breath's a sneeze To set sensations all at ease. To OLIPHANT, my friend, I legate Those scrolls poetic which he may get, With ample freedom to correct Those writs I ne'er could retrospect, With power to him and his succession To print and seal a new impression: And here I fix on _Oddian's??? Head_ A domicile for Doric reed, With as much power _ad Musoe??? bona_ As I _in propia persona_. To HAMILTON I give the task Outstanding debts to crave and ask; And that my muse he may not dub ill, For loading him with so much trouble, My debts I leave him _singulatim_, As they are mostly _desperatim_. To WOODS, whose genius can provoke His passions to the bowl or sock, For love to thee, and to the nine, Be my immortal Shakespeare thine; Here may you through the alleys turn, Where Falstaff laughs, where heroes mourn. And boldy catch the glowing fire That dwells in raptures on his lyre, Now at my dirge (if dirge there be!) Due to the Muse and poetry, Let HUTCHISON attend, for none is More fit to guide the ceremonies; As I in health with him would often This clay-built mansion wash and soften, So let my friends with him partake The gen'rous wine at dirge or wake. And I consent to registration Of this my will for preservation, That patent it may be, and seen In WALTER'S Weekly Magazine. Witness whereof, these presents wrote are By _William Blair_, the public notar, And for the tremor of my hand, Are sign'd by him at my command. ====R. F. X _his Mark._ CODICILE TO ROB. FERGUSSON'S LAST WILL. WHEREAS, by test'ment, dated _blank_, Inroll'd in the poetic rank, 'Midst brighter themes that weekly come To make parade at _Walter's_ DRUM, I there, for certain weighty causes, Produc'd some kind bequeathing clauses, And left to friends (as 'tis the custom With nothing till our death to trust 'em) Some tokens of a pure regard From one who liv'd and died a Bard. If _poverty_ has any crime in Teaching mankind the art of rhiming, Then, by these presents, know all mortals Who come within the Muse's _portals_, That I approve my will aforesaid, But think that something might be more said, And only now would humbly seek The liberty to add and eik To test'ment which already made is, And duly register'd, as said is. To TULLOCH, who, in kind compassion, Departed from the common fashion, And gave to me, who never paid it, Two flasks of port upon my credit; I leave the FLASKS as full of air As his of ruddy moisture were; Nor let him to complain begin, He'll get no more of cat than skin. To WALTER RUDDIMAN, whose pen Still screen'd me from the _Dunce's Den_, I leave of PHIZ a picture, saving To him the freedom of engraving Therefrom a copy, to embellish, And give his work a smarter relish; For prints and frontispieces _bind do_ Our eyes to stationary window, As superfluities in cloaths Set off and signalize the beaux; Not that I think that in readers' eyes My visage will be deem'd a prize; But works that OTHERS would out-rival, At glaring copperplates connive all; And prints do well with him that led is, To shun the substance, hunt the shadows; For if a picture, 'tis enough, A NEWTON or a _Jamie Duff_. Nor would I recommend to WALTER, This scheme of copperplates to alter, Since others at the samen prices Propose to give a dish that nice is, Folks will deset??? his ordinary, Unless, like theirs, his dishes vary. To WILLIAMSON, and his resetters, Dispersing of the burial letters, That they may pass with little cost Fleet on the wings of Penny-Post; Always providing and declaring, That PETER shall be ever sparing To make, _as use is_, the demand For letters that may come to hand, To me address'd, while _tocum tenens_ Of _earth_ and of _corporeal penance;_ Where, if he fail, it is my will, His legacy is _void_ and _null_. Let honest GREENLAW be the staff On which I lean for _Epitaph_. And that the Muses at my end May know I had a learned friend; Whate'er of character he's seen In me thro' humour or chagrin, I crave his genius may narrate in The strength of _Ciceronian Latin_. RESERVING to myself the pow'r To alter this at latest hour, _Cum privilegio revocare,_ Without assigning _ratio quare;_ And I (as in the will before did) Consent this deed shall be recorded: _In testimonium cujus rei,_ These presents are deliver'd by ====R. FERGUSSON.