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GODDESS of ease, leave Lethe's brink,
Sister of peace and indolence,
Bring, Muse, bring numbers soft and slow, Elaborately void of sense,
And sweetly thoughtless let them flow,
Near some cowslip-painted mead,
There let me doze out the dull hours,
Where, Philomel, your notes your breathe
For thee, O Idleness, the woes
Thou art the source whence labour flows,
We shun thee but to make thee sure.
For who'd sustain war's toil and waste,
Or who th' hoarse thund'ring of the sea,
But to be idle at the last,
And find a pleasing end in thee.
Happy Muse, that didst embrace
Oft thro' my eyes my soul has flown,
When first at Nature's early birth,
No, no, fair nymph-for no such end
ON AN EAGLE
CONFINED IN A COLLEGE COURT,
IMPERIAL bird, who wont to soar
High o'er the rolling cloud,
Thou servant of almighty Jove,
Who, free and swift as thought, could'st rove
ON HER DOING MY VERSES THE HONOUR OF The sovereign thund'rer's arms in air,
TEN AT THIRTEEN,
HAPPY verses! that were prest
In fair Ethelinda's breast!
And shake thy native pole !
Oh cruel fate! what barbarous hand,
What more than Gothic ire,
At some fierce tyrant's dread command,
Tho' dim'd thine eye, and clipt thy wing
Nor on thy mis'ry casts a care,
Yet useful still, hold to the throng-
The passenger may pass :
Who study downward on the ground; Type of the fall of Greece and Rome; While more than mathematic gloom, Envelopes all around.
ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF A CLERGYMAN.
Ir, like th' Orphean lyre, my song could charm'
Sudden as thy disease should'st thou return,
To hope the Thracian's magic power to prove.
Nor mighty is to move, nor forgetive to feign,
Thou canst not in due bounds the struggling mea
Hail to that wretched corse, untenanted and
See-hear the storms tempestuous sweep— Precipitate it falls-it falls-falls lifeless in the deep.
Cease, cease, ye weeping youth,
Sincerity's soft sighs, and all the tears of truth. And you, his kindred throng, forbear Marble memorials to prepare,
And sculptur'd in your breasts his busto wear. 'Twas thus when Israel's legislator dy'd, No fragile mortal honours were supply'd,
But even a grave denied.
Better than what the pencil's daub can give,
HAIL cherub of the highest Heav'n,
Celestial sweetness, exquisite of mien,
That friendship reigns, no interest can divide,
Ideots usurp thy title, and thy frame,
Is apathy, is heart of steel,
Nor ear to hear, nor sense to feel,
Life idly inoffensive such a grace,
That it shou'd steal thy name and take thy
No-thou art active-spirit all-
Of injur'd innocence, or griev'd desert,
Thy appetites in easy tides
(As reason's luminary guides)
Soft flow-no wind can work them to a storm,
Yet if a transport thou canst feel
And hail the peaceful shade loos'd from its irk-'Tis only for thy neighbours weal :
Great, generous acts thy ductile passions And smilingly thou weep'st with joy and
There in yon lonesome heath, Which Flora, or Sylvanus never knew,
Where never vegetable drank the dew, Or beast, or fowl attempts to breathe; Where Nature's pencil has no colours laid; But all is blank, and universal shade;
Contrast to figure, motion, life and light, There may'st thou vent thy spite,
For ever cursing, and for ever curs'd, Of all th' infernal crew the worst ;
The worst in genius, measure and degree; For envy, hatred, malice, are but parts of thee.
Or would'st thou change the scene, and quit the
There may'st thou all thy bitterness unload, There may'st thou croak in concert with the toad, With thee the hollow howling winds shall join, Nor shall the bittern her base throat deny,
The querulous frogs shall mix their dirge with thine,
Th'ear-piercing hern, the plover screaming high, Millions of humming gnats fit cestrum shall supply.
Away-away-behold an hideous band
An herd of all thy minions are at hand,
Foe to the vigins, and the poet's fame,
But when the King of Righteousness arose,
From anger, fell revenge, and discord free,
Well hast thou, Webster, pictur'd Christian love,
Or croud thy portrait in a nook malign→
Shall think the bright original they see, The likeness nobly lost in the identity.
Oh hadst thou liv'd in better days than these,
There, where thy dignify'd inferiors sit
Oh they are in their generations wise,
DESCEND, descend, ye sweet Aonian maids,
Leave the Parnassian shades,
Than fiction can devise, or eloquence declare,
And you, ye winged choristers, that fly
Chant thro' th' enamel'd grove,
Stretch from the trembling leaves your little
From the Zephyrs steal her sighs,
That as did Daphne thee,
Now see the bridegroom rise,
Oh! how impatient are his joys! Bring zephyrs to depaint his voice, Bring lightning for his eyes.
He leaps, he springs, he flies into her arms, With joy intense,
Feeds ev'ry sense,
And sultanates o'er all her charms. Oh! had I Virgil's comprehensive strain, Or sung like Pope, without a word in vain, Then should I hope my numbers might con
Engaging nymph, thy boundless happiness,
Like two coeval pines in ida's grove,
With all the wild variety of artless notes, [throats, The Author apologizes to a Lady for his being a
But let each note be love.
Fragrant Flora, queen of May,
All bedight with garlands gay,
Where in the smooth-shaven green
The spangled cowslips variegate the scene,
There let him hate the light, and curse the
And blame the tardy hours.
But see the bride-she comes with silent pace, Full of majesty and love;
Not with a nobler grace
Look'd the imperial wife of Jove,
In Venus' irresistible, enchanting zoue.
Fhoebus, great god of verse, the nymph observe,
Then touch each sweetly-trem'lous nerve
Her like huntress-Dian paint,
Modest, but without restraint;