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With wary spaniels furrow'd fields beset,
And close the partridge in the silken net :
Or search the woods, and with unerring aim
With leaden wounds transfix the flying game:
Or with stanch hounds the wily fox pursue,
And trace his footsteps o'er the tainted dew.
With what delight would friendly N-y change
Don's tertile valleys for this ampler range?
And with the music of th' enlivening horn
Cheer the fleet pack, and wake the lingering
But lo! faint Phoebus darts a languid ray,
And gold-edg'd clouds foretel the close of day;
The nymph observant took her airy flight,
And, like a vision, vanish'd from my sight.
Don. The river that runs by Doncaster.
FROM TELEMACHUS, BOOK I.
THE queen he follow'd as she mov'd along, Surrounded by her nymphs, a beauteous throng; But far the fairest, and supremely tall, She walk'd majestic, and outshone them all : Thus 'midst a grove the princely oak appears, And high in air his branching honours rears. Her radiant beauty charm'd his youthful mind, Her purple robe that floated in the wind, And locks bound graceful with a clasp behind: But her bright eyes, instilling fond desire, Beam'd sweetness temper'd with celestial fire. Sage Mentor follow'd, as in thought profound, And silent fix'd his eyes upon the ground. And now, conducted by the royal dame, Soon to the entrance of her grott' they came,
'Perhaps the reader will not be displeased to see Homer's description of this famous grotto, as it is translated by Mr. Pope from the fifth book of the Odyssey.
Large was the grott, in which the nymph he
(The fair-hair'd nymph with every beauty crown'd) She sat and sung; the rocks resound her lays: The cave was brighten'd with a rising blaze: Cedar and frankincense, an odorous pile, Flam'd on the hearth, and wide perfum'd the isle; While she with work and song the time divides, And through the loom the golden shuttle guides. Without the grott, a various sylvan scene Appear'd around, and groves of living green; Poplars and alders ever quivering play'd, And nodding cypress form'd a fragrant shade; On whose high branches, waving with the storm, The birds of broadest wing their mansion form; The chough, the sea-mew, the loquacious crow, And scream aloft, and skim the deeps below. Depending vines the shelving cavern screen, With purple clusters blushing through the green. Four limpid fountains from the clefts distil, And every fountain pours a several rill, In mazy windings wandering down the hill: Where bloomy meads with vivid greens were crown'd,
And glowing violets threw odours round.
Amaz'd to find within this lonely cell
Nature with all her rural graces dwell.
There no high-polish'd marble they behold,
No storied columns, and no sculptur'd gold;
No speaking busts, no silver richly wrought,
No breathing pictures seem'd inform'd with
The grott, divided into various cells,
Was deck'd with spar, and variegated shells;
The place of tap'stry a young vine supply'd,
And spread her pliant arms on ev'ry side:
Cool zephyrs, though the Sun intensely glow'd,
Breath'd through the place sweet freshness as
O'er amaranthine beds fair fountains stray'd,
And, softly murmuring, in the meadows play'd,
Or in broad basons pour'd the crystal wave,
Where oft the goddess wont her limbs to lave.
Fast by the grott sweet flowers of every hue,
Purpling the lawn, in gay confusion grew.
Here wav'd a wood, all glorious to behold;
Of trees that bloom with vegetable gold;
Whose branches, in eternal blossom, yield
Fragrance delicious as the flowery field,
This wood, impervious to the solar ray,
Crown'd the fair spot, and guarded it from day.
Here birds melodious pour'd the sprightly song;
There torrents thunder'd the rough rocks among,
Down dash'd precipitately from the hills,
Then o'er the level lawn diffus'd their curling
Calypso's grotto crown'd the breezy steep, From whence appear'd the party-colour'd deep; Now smooth and even as a mirror seen, Now vainly wreaking on the rocks its spleen, Indignant, foaming with tremendous roar, And in huge mountains rolling to the shore. More pleasing was the prospect to the plain; A river, winding through the rich champaign, Form'd various isles with lines sweet-flowering
Among the banks the sportive waters play'd,
And cloud-aspiring poplars border'd round.
And woo'd the lovely islands which they made:
Some swiftly pour'd their crystal currents strong;
Some led their waves with liquid lapse along ;
With many an errour lingering seem'd to stray,
As if they wish'd for ever here to stay,
And murmuring in their course reluctant roll'd
The distant mountains their hoar heads on high
Upheav'd, and lost their summits in the sky:
Their airy forms fantastic pleas'd the sight,
And fill'd the mind with wonder and delight.
The neighb'ring hills were spread by nature's
With vines that hung in many a fair festoon;
Whose swelling grapes in richest purple dy'd,
The leaves attempted, but in vain, to hide :
So lov'd the generous vine to flourish here,
It bent beneath the plenty of the year.
Here purple figs with luscious juice overflow'd,
With deepen'd red the full pomegranate glow'd ;
The peaceful olive spread her branches round,
And every tree, with verdant honours crown'd,
Whose fruit the taste, whose flower the eye
And seem'd to make a new Elysium here.
Ye sons of harmony, prepare
Your hymns to greet this happy pair:
Let the sweet notes, distinctly clear,
In soft divisions melt upon the ear,
Such as may all the tender passions move,
Sooth the rapt soul, and be the food of love.
Hark! the mighty queen of sound
Wakes each instrument around,
The merry pipe, the mellow-breathing lute,
The warbling lyre, the love-lamenting lute:
Now the light fantastic measure
Ravishes our ears with pleasure;
Now the trumpets loud and shrill,
From yon river-circled hill,
With manly notes our hearts inspire,
And emulate the golden lyre;
While the majestic, deep-mouth'd organs blow
In lengthen'd strains magnificently slow,
Divinely sweet, and delicately strong;
Till gently dying by degrees,
Like the last murmurs of the breeze,
Expires the soft-attenuated song:
And at the close of each mellifluous lay,
This verse is sung in honour of the day.
Happy they as gods above
Whom Hymen binds in wreaths of love!
Love's pure flame itself endears,
And brightens with the length of years:
Love contents the humble state,
And show'rs down blessings on the great,
Sooths desires that wildly roll,
And calms the tempests of the soul.
But, lo! sweet Emily, the fair, And Eugenio, happy pair! With placid look and graceful mien, Appear advancing o'er the green : Mark well the youth's love-darting eye, Soft-beaming with expressive joy, To view the object of his wishes near, Mild as the gentlest season of the year, Blooming as health, and fresh as early day, Fair, sweet, and bright as all the flowers of May.
And as, intent upon her charms,
Eugenio woos the damsel to his arms,
Her cheeks vermilion'd with a lovely blush,
Glow like twin roses on the verdant bush
While thus, methinks, I hear him say,
"Come, my fair one, come away;
Let us fleeting time improve
In the chaste joys of wedded love: I see propitious Hymen stand, His torch bright-blazing in his hand, To light us to the genial bed By the decent Graces spread, Where the rosy-finger'd Hours Scatter never-fading flowers. Love admits not of delay, Haste, my fair one, haste away." And you, Heav'n-favour'd pair, Who now the purest pleasures share, In happy union may you long enjoy Those heart-felt blandishments that never cloy; And may kind Heav'n the full abundance pour Of nuptial blessings in a fruitful shower; Crown all our wishes with a beauteous race, That may your bright accomplishments inherit,
The mother's mildness, loveliness, and grace, The father's honest heart, and sense, and ge
Like two pure springs whose gentle rills unite, Long may your stream of life serenely glide,
Through verdant vales, and meadows of delight, Where flow'rs unnumber'd, deck'd in beauty's pride, [side.
Blow on the blissful banks, and bloom on either
May no rude tempest discompose
Your course of quiet as it flows,
No clonded care, no chilling fear,
Nor anxious inurmur hover there;
But mildest zephyrs on the surface play,
And waft each light disquietude away:
Till after all the winding journey past,
You mingle with eternity at last.
That tranquil sea, where sorrows are no more,
No storm-vext billows lash the peaceful shore:
There in Heav'n's bliss embosom'd, may you
A breathing fragrance, or a lovely hue:
Sweet pipes the shepherd, the fair morn to greet,
To his stout team the ploughman whistles sweet.
All nature smiles around. On airy wing
The lark, harmonious herald of the spring,
Rises aloft to breath his mattins loud
On the bright bosom of some fleccy cloud.
Ah! little conscious that he dies to day,
He sports his hour in innocence away,
And from the treble of his tuneful throat
Pours the sof, strain, or trills the sprightly note;
II. SAMUEL, Chap. xii.
To Israel's king thus spoke the holy seer:
O mighty monarch, fam'd for wisdom, hear
While to my lord a tale of woe I tell :
Two men, O king, in one fair city dwell;
The one is friendless, and exceeding poor,
The other rich, and boastful of his store:
Large herds of oxen in his pastures feed,
And flocks unnumber'd whiten every mead.
The poor man's stock was only one ewe-lamb
Of snowy fleece, wean'd lately from its dam;
He bought it with what treasure he could spare,
Ev'n all his wealth, and 'twas his only care;
Nurs'd by his hand, and with his children bred,
With them it wanton'd, and with them it fed;
Of his own mess it eat without control,
And drank the beverage of his milky bowl;
Then lightly-sportful skipt, and, tir'd with play,
Dear as a daughter in his bosom lay.
A traveller of no ignoble fame,
By chance conducted, to the rich man came;
Yet from his herds he could not spare an ox
To treat him, nor a wether from his flocks,
But took by cruel force, and kill'd and drest
The poor man's lamb to feed his pamper'd guest."
The monarch paus'd-then made this stern
Incens'd: "I swear by God that rules the sky,
The man that did this thing shall surely die:
The lamb fourfold he likewise shall restore,
To recompense the friendless and the poor:
Because his heart no soft compassion felt,
At other's woe unknowing how to melt."
"Thou art the man," reply'd the holy seer,
Thus saith the Lord, the God of Israel, hear:
A king thou art, anointed at my call,
O'er Israel; and I rescued thee from Saul;
And gave thee all thy master's servants lives,
His large possessions, and his numerous wives:
Was that too little? Could'st thou more require?
I would have given thee all thy heart's desire.
Then wherefore didst thou God's commandment
Committing this great evil in his sight? [slight,
Lo! thou hast robb'd Uriah of his wife,
Defil'd his bed, and then destroy'd his life,
Hast slain him with the adversary's sword :
Now therefore hear the judgment of the Lord,
And lock this awful sentence in thy heart;
The sword shall never from thy house depart, For thou hast robb'd Uriah of his wife, Defil'd his bed, and then destroy'd his life.' Thus saith the Lord, nor thou his words despise, The power of evil in thy house shall rise, Lo! I will take thy wives before thine eyes; Thy concubines shall be in triumph led, The Sun shall see them in thy neighbour's bed: Thou didst it secret-this thing shall be done Before all Israel, and before the Sun."
Aghast, convict the mighty monarch stood, And from his eyes stream'd sorrow in a flood; And while a sigh repentant heav'd his breast, He thus the anguish of his sout exprest: [sword, Thy words are sharper than the two-edg'd For I, alas! have sinn'd against the Lord."
Stung with remorse he mourn'd his past of
With bitter tears, and heart-sprung penitence.
The seer then sooth'd him with this calm reply;
"Thy sin is pardon'd, and thou shall not die."
Thus may we clearly see each secret sin,
Warn'd by the faithful monitor within:
Thus may we, blest with bounteous grace from
Like Judah's king repent, and be forgiven.
THE SONG OF DEBORAH.
LEND, O ye princes, to my song an ear,
Ye mighty rulers of the nations, hear,
While to the Lord the notes of praise I sing,
To Israel's God, the everlasting king.
When from aerial Seir, in dread array, From Edom when th' Almighty took his way, "On Cherub, and on Cherubim he rode," [God: The trembling Earth proclaim'd th' approach of The heavens dissolv'd, the clouds in copious rains [plains: Pour'd their black stores, and delug'd all the The rent rocks shiver'd on that awful day, And mountains melted like soft wax away.
In Shamgar's days, in Jael's hapless reign, How were the princes, and the people slain? When Sisera, terrific with his hosts, Pour'd dire destruction on pale Judah's coasts; The cities no inhabitants contain'd; The public ways unoccupied remain'd; The travellers through dreary deserts stray'd, Or pensive wander'd in the lonely glade, Till, sent by Heaven, I, Deborah, arose To rule and rescue Israel from their foes.
Those patriot warriors of immortal fame, Who sav'd their country all my favour claim: Ye judges, speak, ye shepherd swains, rehearse Jehovah's praise in never-dying verse. Awake, awake; raise, Deborah, thy voice, And in loud numbers bid the lyre rejoice: Raise to the Lord of Heaven thy grateful song, Who gave the weak dominion o'er the strong.
The tribes of Israel sent their mighty men, That wield the falchion, or that guide the pen. Gilead, Oh shame! by fountful Jordan lay, Dan in his ships, and Asher in his bay: Their bleating flocks (ignoble care!) withheld The tribes of Reuben from the tented field: But chiefs intrepid to the conflict came, Heroes that fought for empire and for fame: In Taanach where Megiddo's streams are roll'd, There fought the monarchs resolutely bold. Heav'n's thunders to our foes destruction
The stars 'gainst Sisera conspiring fought.
The river Kishon swept away the slain,
Kishon, that antient river, to the main.
For ever bless'd be Jael's honour'd name!
For ever written in the rolls of fame!
He ask'd refreshment from the limpid wave,
The milky beverage to the chief she gave:
He drank, he slept extended on the floor,
She smote the warrior, and he wak'd no more:
Low at her feet he bow'd his nail-pierc'd head;
Low at her feet he bow'd, he fell, he lay down
The hero's mother, anxious for his stay,
Thus, fondly sighing, chid his long delay:
"What hopes, what fears my tortur'd bosom | A genius form'd in every light to shine,
Alas! why linger thus his chariot-wheels?
Some captive maid, distinguish'd for her charms,
Perchance detains the conqueror in her arms :
Perchance his mules, rich laden from afar,
Move slowly with the plunder of the war."
Ah, wretched mother! all thy hopes are vain, Thy son, alas! lies breathless on the plain, Vanquish'd by Israel's sons, and by a woman slain.
Oh let your once-lov'd friend inscribe the stone, And, with domestic sorrows, mix his own!
ON A VERY GOOD WOMAN. COULD marble know what virtue's buried here, This monument would scarce refuse a tear, But mourn, so early snatch'd from mortal life, The tenderest parent, and the dearest wife, Bless'd with sweet temper, and of soul so even, She seem'd a copy of the saints in Heaven.
A well bred scholar, and a sage divine; An orator in every art refin'd,
To teach, to animate and mend mankind:
The wise and good approv'd the life he led,
And, as they lov'd him living, mourn him dead.
ON MRS. FOUNTAYNE,
DAUGHTER OF THOMAS WHICHCOT. ESQ. AND WIFE TO THE DEAN OF YORK; WHO DIED IN CHILD-BED, JULY 1750. ÆTAT. 19.
IF e'er thy bosom swell'd with grief sincere, View this sad shrine, and pour the pitying tear: Here Fountayne lies, in whom all charms combin'd,
All that e'er grac'd, or dignified her kind.
Farewel, bright pattern of unblemish'd youth, Of mildest merit, modesty, and truth! Death snatch'd thy sweetness in the genial hour, Just when thy stem put forth its infant flower: Still blooms the tender flower; as oft we see Fair branches budding from the lifeless tree.
ON A YOUNG GENTLEMAN
WHO DIED A. D. 1743, ÆTAT. 15.
IN A CHURCH IN CHESHIRE.
WHEN age, all patient, and without regret,
Lies down in peace, and pays the general debt,
'Tis weakness most unmanly to deplore
The death of those who relish life no more.
But when fair youth, that every promise gave,
Sheds his sweet blossom in the blasting grave,
All eyes o'erflow with many a streaming tear,
And each sad bosom heaves the sigh sincere.
ON A YOUNG GENTLEMAN,
WHO DIED FOR LOVE.
If modest merit ever claim'd thy tear,
Behold this monument, and shed it here:
Here every blooming virtue beam'd in one,
The friend, the lover, and the duteous son.
Bless'd youth! whose bosom nature form'd to
With purest flame the heart of man can know,
Go, where bright angels heavenly raptures
And melt in visions of seraphic love.
ON JAMES FOX, ESQ.
EACE to the noblest, most ingenuous mind,
In wisdom's philosophic school refin'd,
The friend of man; to pride alone a foe;
Whose heart humane would melt at others woe,
Oft has he made the breast of anguish gay,
And sigh'd, like Titus, when he lost a day.
All vice he lash'd, or in the rich or great,
But prais'd mild merit in the meanest state.
Calm and serene in virtue's paths he trod,
Lov'd mercy, and walk'd humbly with his God.
Oft did the 'squire that keeps the great hallhouse,
Invite the willing vicar to a goose;
For goose could make his kindred Muse aspire
From earth to air, from water to the fire;
But now, alas! his towering spirit's fled,
His muse is founder'd, for poor Dobbin's dead.
Last Friday was a luckless day, I wot,
For Friday last lean Dobbin went to pot;
No drinks could cherish, no prescriptions save;
In Cn's hounds he found a living grave:
Weep all, and all (except sad dogs) deplore,
Dame Jolt's brown horse, old Dobbin, is no
Scnlk, Reynard, sculk in the secnrest grounds,
Now Dobbin hunts thee in the shape of hounds:
I ate sure but slow he march'd as foot could fall,
Sure to march slow whene'er he march'd at all;
Now fleeter than the pinions ofthe wind,
He leaves the huntsmen, and the hunt behind,
Pursues thee o'er the hills, and down the steep,
Through the rough copse, wide woods, and waters
Along th' unbounded plain, along the lea,
But has no pullet, and no goose for thee.
Ye dogs, ye foxes, howl for Dobbin dead,
Nor thou, Muse, disdain the tear to shed;
Ye maids of Cray, your butter'd rolls deplore,
Dame Jolt's brown horse, old Dobbin. is no
ON THE MARRIAGE OF A COBLER AND A CHIMNEY-
YE sable sweepers, and ye coblers all,
Sons of the chimney, masters of the stall,
Whether ye deal in smearing soot, or leather,
Hail to the day that joins your trades together.
Huzza, my jolly coblers! and huzza,
My sable sweepers! Hail the joyous day.
Immortal fame, O coblers, ye derive
From Crispin, a good cobler when alive,
Who kept his stail at Hockley in the Hole,
With nut-brown beer encouraging his soul:
A bonnet blue he wore unon his head,
His nose was copper, and his jerkin red; .
For conjurer and astrologer he past,
And mended understandings to his last.
Huzza, my jolly coblers! and huzza,
My sable sweepers! Hail the joyous day. Sly Jobson, though he never learn'd in France, Not only mended shoes, but taught to dance; So when he'd worn his pupils' soles quite out, With leading of the booby bears about, He soon repair'd the damage with his awl, And brought convenient custom to his stall.
Huzza, my jolly coblers! and huzza,
My sable sweepers! Hail the joyous day.
Nor less distinguish'd is your noble line,
Ye sweepers, sprung from pedigree divine!
Your ancient ancestor, whose name was Smut,
Work'd at the forge, with Vulcan, in bis hut.
Once as the limping god was hammering out
Those tongs that pinch'd the Devil by the snout,
Smut chanc'd to jest upon his awkward frame,
Which chaf'd the bickering blacksmith into
He hurl'd his hammer at the joker's head,
Which sure had left him on the pavement dead,
But Smut was nimble, and, to shun the stroke,
Sheer up the chimney went, like wreaths of
Happy to find so snug a hole to creep in,
And since that time he took to chimney-sweeping.
Huzza, my jolly sweepers! hail the day!
My joy coblers! roar aloud huzza.
And you, meet couple, memorable match,
May live with comfort in your cot of thatch;
While venal members sell their venal friends,
The cobler brings all soles to serve his ends.
And as the fair miss Danae sate smiling,
To see the gold come pattering through the tiling,
Our sweeper joys to see the chimney drop her
Meat, drink, and clothing, in a shower of copper.
Huzza, my jolly coblers! and huzza,
My sable sweepers! Hail the joyous day.
THE SMOKING DOCTOR'S SOLILOQUY OVER HIS PIPE.
Dulce tubo, genitos haurire & reddere fumos, EMERGING awful through a cloud of smoke, The tall lean doctor snapt his box and spoke :