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In vain no ill shall haunt the walks of life,
No vice in vain the human heart deprave.
The pois'nous flower, the tempest's raging strife
From greater pain, from greater ruin save.
Lavinia, form'd with every powerful grace,
With all that lights the flame of young desire;
Pure ease of wit, and elegance of face,
A soul all fancy, and an eye all fire:
Lavinia! Peace, my busy fluttering breast!
Nor fear to languish in thy former pain:
At length she yields-she yields the needful rest;
And frees her lover from his galling chain.
The golden star, that leads the radiant morn,
Looks not so fair, fresh-rising from the main;
But her bent eye-brow bears forbidding scorn,-
But Pride's fell furies every heart-string strain.
Lavinia, thanks to thy ungentle mind;
I now behold thee with indifferent eyes;
And Reason dares, tho' Love as Death be blind,
Thy gay, thy worthless being to despise.
Beauty may charm without one inward grace,
And fair proportions win the captive heart;
But let rank pride the pleasing form debase,
And Love disgusted breaks his erring dart. The youth that once the sculptur'd nymph admir'd,
Hadlook'd with scornful laughter on her charms, If the vain form, with recent life inspir'd,
Had turn'd disdainful from his offer'd arms.
Go, thoughtless maid! of transient beauty vain,
Feed the high thought, the towering hope ex-
Still may'st thou dream of splendour in thy train,
And smile superb, while love and flattery bend.
For me, sweet peace shall soothe my troubled
And easy slumbers close my weary eyes;
Since Reason dares, tho' Love as Death be blind,
Thy gay, thy worthless being to despise.
ON THE DOOR OF A STUDY.
O THOU that shalt presume to tread
This mansion of the mighty dead,
Come with the free, untainted mind;
The nurse, the pedant leave behind;
And all that superstition, fraught
With folly's lore, thy youth has taught
Each thought that reason can't retain,-
Leave it, and learn to think again.
Yet, while thy studious eyes explore,
And range these various volumes o'er,
Trust blindly to no fav'rite pen,
Rememb'ring authors are but men.
Has fair Philosophy thy love?
Away she lives in yonder grove.
If the sweet Muse thy pleasure gives ;-
With her in yonder grove she lives:
And if Religion claims thy care;
Religion, fled from books, is there.
For first from Nature's works we drew
Our knowledge, and our virtue too.
TO LORD GRANBY.
In spite of all the rusty fools
That glean old nonsense in the schools;
Nature, a mistress never coy,
Has wrote on all her works-Enjoy.
Shall we then starve, like Gideon's wife,
And die to save a makeweight's life?
No, friend of Nature, you disdain
So fair a hand shou'd work in vain.
And err not on the other side:
Like her, in all you deign to do,
Be liberal, but be sparing too.
When sly sir Toby, night by night,
With his dear bags regales his sight;
And conscience, reason, pity sleep,
Tho' virtue pine, tho' merit weep;
I see the keen reproaches fly
Each bounteous wish glows unconfin'd,
Indignant from your honest eye;
And your breast labours to be kind.
But, my good lord, make her your guide,
At this warm hour, my lord, beware
The servile flatterer's specious snare,
The fawning sycophant, whose art
Marks the kind motions of the heart:
Each idle, each insidious knave,
That acts the graceful, wise, or brave.
You've seen old Hospitality;
With festive board, and social eye,
Mounted astride the moss-grown wall,
The genius of the ancient hall.
So reverend, with such courtly glee,
He serv'd your noble ancestry;
And turn'd the hinge of many a gate,
For Russel, Rous, Plantagenet.
No lying porter levied there
His dues on all imported ware;
There, rang'd in rows, no liveried train
E'er begg'd their master's beef again;
No flatterer's planetary face
Plied for a bottle, or a place;
Toad-eating France, and fiddling Rome,
Kept their lean rascals starv'd at home.
"Thrice happy days!"
Old times were better than the new ;
Yet some egregious faults you'll see
In ancient Hospitality.
See motley crowds, his roof beneath,
Put poor Society to death!
Priests, knights, and 'squires, debating wild,
On themes unworthy of a child;
"Till the strange compliment commerces,
To praise their host, and lose their senses.
Go then, my lord! keep open hall;
Proclaim your table free for all;
Go, sacrifice your time, your wealth,
Your patience, liberty, and health,
To such a thought- renouncing crew,
Such foes to care-e'en care for you.
"Heav'ns! and are these the plagues that wait Around the hospitable gate ?—
Let tenfold iron bolt my door,
And the gaunt mastiff growl before;
There, not one human creature nigh,
Save, dear sir Toby, you and I,
In cynic silence let us dwell;
Ye plagues of social life, farewell!"
Displeases this?—The modern way,
Perhaps, may please-a public day.
"A public day! detested name!
The farce of friendship and the shame.
Did ever social freedom come
Within the pale of drawing-room?
See pictur'd round the formal crowd!
How nice, how just each attitude:
My lord approaches-what surprise!
The pictures speak, the pictures rise!
Thrice ten times told the same salute,
Once more the mimic forms are mute.
Meanwhile the envious rows between,
Distrust and Scandal walk unseen;
Their poisons silently infuse,
'Till these suspect, and those abuse.
"Far, far from these, in some lone shade,
Let me, in easy silence laid,
Where never fools, or slaves intrude,
Enjoy the sweets of solitude!"
What! quit the commerce of mankind! Leave virtue, fame, and worth behind! Who fly to solitary rest,
Are reason's savages at best.
Though human life's extensive field
Wild weeds and vexing brambles yield;
Behold her smiling vallies bear
Mellifluous fruits, and flowrets fair!
The crowds of folly you despise-
Associate with the good and wise;
For virtue, rightly understood,
Is to be wise, and to be good.
AH SCENES belov'd! ah conscious shades,
That wave these parent-vales along!
Ye bowers, where Fancy met the tuneful maids,
Ye mountains, vocal with my Doric song,
Teach your wild echoes to complain
In sighs of solemn woe, in broken sounds of pain.
Now the cold tenant of the thoughtless urn—
For her bewail these strains of woe,
For her these filial sorrows flow,
Source of my life, that led my tender years,
With all a parent's pious fears,
That nurs'd my infant thought, and taught my
mind to grow.
Careful, she mark'd each dangerous way,
Where youth's unwary footsteps stray.
She taught the struggling passions to subside,
Where sacred truth, and reason guide,
In virtue's glorious path to seek the realms of day. Lamented goodness! yet I see
The fond affections melting in her eye:
She bends its tearful orb on me,
And heaves the tender sigh:
As thoughtful, she the toils surveys,
That crowd in life's perplexing maze,
And for her children feels again
All, all that love can fear, and all that fear can feigu.
O best of parents! let me pour
My sorrows o'er thy silent bed;
There early strew the vernal flower,
The parting tear at evening shed-
WITH sense enough for half your sex beside,
With just no more than necessary pride;
With knowledge caught from Nature's living page,
Politely learn'd, and elegantly sage-
Alas! how piteous, that in such a mind
So many foibles free reception find!
Can such a mind, ye gods! admit disdain?
Be partial, envious, covetous, and vain ?
Unwelcome truth! to love, to blindness clear!
Yet, Gillman, hear it;-while you blush to hear:
That in your gentle breast disdain can dwell,
Let knavery, meanness, pride that feel it, tell!
With partial eye a friend's defects you see,
And look with kindness on my faults and me.
And does no envy that fair mind o'ershade ?
Does no short sigh for greater wealth invade;
When silent merit wants the fostering meed,
And the warm wish suggests the virtuous deed?
Fairly the charge of vanity you prove,
Vain of each virtue of the friends you love,
What charms, what art of magic have conspir'd Of power to make so many faults admir'd?
While earth and ocean yield their subject powers,
Neptune his waves and Cybele her towers;
Yet will you deign the Muse's voice to hear,
And let her welcome greet a monarch's ear?
Yes; midst the toils of glory ill-repaid,
Oft has the monarch sought her soothing aid.
See Frederic court her in the rage of war,
Though rapid Vengeance urge his hostile car:
With her repos'd in philosophic rest,
The sage's sunshine smooths the warrior's breast.
Whate'er Arcadian fancy feign'd of old
Of halcyon days, and minutes plum'd with gold;
Whate'er adorn'd the wisest, gentlest reign,
From you she hopes-let not her hopes be vain!
Rise, ancient suns! advance, Pierian days!
Flow, Attic streams! and spring, Aonian bays:
Cam, down thy wave in brisker mazes glide,
And see new honours crown thy hoary side!
Thy osiers old see myrtle groves succeed!
And the green laurel meet the waving reed!
BEFORE HIS INVASION OF BRITAIN.
WHEN rough Helvetia's hardy sons obey,
And vanquish'd Belgia bows to Cæsar's sway
When, scarce-beheld, embattled nations fall,
The fierce Sicambrian, and the faithless Gaul;
Tir'd Freedom leads her savage sons no more,
But flies, subdued, to Albion's utmost shore.
'Twas then, while stillness grasp'd the sleeping
And dewy slumbers seal'd the eye of care;
Divine Ambition to her votary came:
Her left hand waving, bore the trump of Fame;
Her right a regal sceptre seem'd to hold,
With gems far-blazing from the burnish'd gold.
And thus, "My son," the queen of glory said;
"Immortal Cæsar, raise thy languid head.
Shall Night's dull chains the man of counsels
Or Morpheus rule the monarch of mankind?
See worlds unvanquish'd yet await thy sword!
Barbaric lands, that scorn a Latian lord. [sky,
See yon proud isle, whose mountains meet the
Thy foes encourage and thy power defy!
What, tho' by Nature's firmest bars secur'd,
By seas encircled, and with rocks immur'd,
Shall Cæsar shrink the greatest toils to brave,
Scale the high rock, or beat the maddening
She spoke her words the warrior's breast in-
With rage indignant, and with conscious shame;
Already heat, the swelling floods give way,
And the fell genii of the rocks obey:
Already shouts of triumph rend the skies,
Aud the thin rear of barbarous nations flies.
Quick round their chief his active legions
Dwell on his eye, and wait the waving hand.
The hero rose, majestically slow,
And look'd attention to the crowds below.
"Romans and friends! is there who seeks for
By labours vanquish'd, and with wounds opprest?
That respite Cæsar shall with pleasure yield,
Due to the toils of many a well-fought field.
Is there who shrinks at thought of dangers past,
The ragged mountain, or the pathless waste-
While savage hosts, or savage floods oppose,
Or shivering fancy pines in Alpine snows?
Let him retire to Latium's peaceful shore;
He once has toil'd, and Cæsar asks no more.
Is there a Roman, whose unshaken breast
No pains have conquer'd, and no fears deprest?
Who, doom'd through Death's dread ministers
Dares to chastise the insults of a foe;
Let him, his country's glory and her stay,
With reverence hear her, and with pride obey.
A form divine, in heavenly splendour bright,
Whose look threw radiance round the pall of
With calm severity approach'd and said,
Wake thy dull ear, and lift thy languid head.
What shall a Roman sink in soft repose,
And tamely see the Britons aid his foes?
See them secure the rebel Gaul supply;
Spurn his vain eagles and his power defy?
Go! burst their barriers, obstinately brave;
Scale the wild rock, and beat the maddening
Here paus'd the chief; but waited no reply,
The voice assenting spoke from every eye:
Nor, as the kindness that reproach'd with fear,
Were dangers dreadful, or were toils severe.
INSCRIPTION IN A TEMPLE OF
SACRED rise these walls to thee,
Blithe-eyed nymph, Society!
In whose dwelling, free and fair,
Converse smoothes the brow of Care.
Who, when waggish Wit betray'd
To his arms a sylvan maid,
All beneath a myrtle tree,
In some vale of Arcady,
Sprung, I ween, from such embrace,
The lovely contrast in her face.
Perchance, the Muses as they stray'd,
Seeking other spring, or shade,
On the sweet child cast an eye
In some vale of Arcady;
And blithest of the sisters three,
Gave her to Euphrosyne.
The Grace, delighted, taught her care
The cordial smile, the placid air;
How to chase, and how restrain
All the fleet, ideal train;
How with apt words well-combin'd,
To dress each image of the mind-
Taught her how they disagree,
Awkward fear and modesty,
And freedom and rusticity.
True politeness how to know
From the superficial show;
From the coxcomb's shallow grace,
And the many-modell'd face.
That Nature's unaffected ease
More than studied forms would please➡
When to check the sportive vein,
When to Fancy yield the rein;
On the subject when to be
Grave or gay, reserv'd or free:
The speaking air, th' impassion'd eye,
The living soul of symmetry;
And that soft sympathy which binds
In magic chaius congenial minds.
INSCRIPTION IN A SEQUESTERED GROTTO.
WEET Peace, that lov'st the silent hour, The still retreat of leisure free; Associate of each gentle power,
And eldest born of Harmony!
O, if thou own'st this mossy cell,
If thine this mansion of repose; Permit me, nymph, with thee to dwell, With thee my wakeful eye to close. And tho' those glittering scenes should fade, That Pleasure's rosy train prepares; What vot'ry have they not betray'd? What are they more than splendid cares? But smiling days, exempt from care,
But nights, when sleep, and silence reign; Serenity, with aspect fair,
And love and joy are in thy train.
ANOTHER INSCRIPTION IN THE SAME GROTTO. 1756.
O FAIREST of the village-born,
Content, inspire my careless lay! Let no vain wish, no thought forlorn
Throw darkness o'er the smiling day. Forget'st thou, when we wander'd o'er The sylvan Beleau's' sedgy shore,
Or rang'd the woodland wilds along;
How oft on Herclay's mountains high
We've met the Morning's purple eye,
Delay'd by many a song?
From thee, from those by fortune led;
To all the farce of life confin'd;
At once each native pleasure fled,
For thou, sweet nymph, wast left behind.
Yet could I once, once more survey
Thy comely form in mantle grey,
Thy polish'd brow, thy peaceful eye; Where e'er, forsaken fair, you dwell, Though in this dim sequester'd cell, With thee Pd live and die.
2 A romantic village in the above mentioned
To rest in fearless ease!
Save weeping rills, to see no tear,
Save dying gales, no sigh to hear,
No murmur, but the breeze.
Say, would you change that peaceful cell,
Where Sanctity and Silence dwell,
For Splendor's dazzling blaze?
For all those gilded toys that glare
Round high-born Power's imperial chair,
Inviting fools to gaze?
Ah friend! Ambition's prospects close,
And, studious of your own repose,
Be thankful here to live:
For, trust me, one protecting shed,
And nightly peace, and daily bread
Is all that life can give.
WRITTEN AMONG THe ruins OF PONTEFRACT CASTLE.
RIGHT Sung the bard, that all-involving age With hand impartial deals the ruthless blow; That war, wide-wasting with impetuous rage, Lays the tall spire and sky-crown'd turret low. A pile stupendous, once of fair renown,
This mould'ring mass of shapeless ruin rose, Where nodding heights of fractur'd columas frown,
And birds obscene in ivy-bow'rs repose:
Oft the pale matron from the threat'ning wall,
Suspicious, bids her heedless children fly;
Oft, as he views the meditated fall,
Full swiftly steps the frighted peasant by.
But more respectful views th' historic sage,
Musing, these awful relics of decay,
That once a refuge form'd from hostile rage,
In Henry's and in Edward's dubious day.
He pensive oft reviews the mighty dead,
That erst have trod this desolated ground;
Reflects how here unhappy Sal'sbury bled,
When Faction aim'd the death-dispensing
Rest, gentle Rivers! and ill-fated Gray!
A flow'r or tear oft strews your bumble grave, Whom Envy slew, to pave Ambition's way, And whom a monarch wept in vain to save. Ah! what avail'd th' alliance of a throne? The pomp of titles what, or pow'r rever'd? Happier to these the humble life unknown, With virtue lionour'd, and by peace endear'd. Had thus the sons of bleeding Britain thought, When hapless here inglorious Richard lay, Yet many a prince, whose blood full dearly bought
The shameful triumph of the long-fought day; Yet many a hero, whose defeated hand
In death resign'd the well-contested field, Had in his offspring sav'd a sinking land, The tyrant's terrour, and the nation's shield. Ill could the Muse indignant grief forbear, Should Mem'ry trace her bleeding country's
county, formerly the seat of the Herclays, earls I could she count, without a bursting tear, [woes; Th' inglorious triumphs of the vary'd Rose !
While York, with conquest and revenge elate,
Insulting, triumphs on St. Alban's plain,
Who views, nor pities Henry's hapless fate,
Himself a captive, and his leaders slain?
Ah prince! unequal to the toils of war,
To stem ambition, faction's rage to quell;
Happier, from these had Fortune plac'd thee far,
In some lone convent, or some peaceful cell.
For what avail'd that thy victorious queen
Repair'd the ruins of that dreadful day; [green,
That vanquish'd York, on Wakefield's purple
Prostrate amidst the common slaughter lay:
In vain fair Vict'ry beam'd the gladd'ning eye,
And, waving oft her golden pinions, smil'd;
Full soon the flatt'ring goddess meant to fly,
Full rightly deem'd unsteady Fortune's child.
Let Towton's field-but cease the dismal tale:
For much its horrours would the Muse appal,
In softer strains suffice it to bewail
The patriot's exile, or the hero's fall.
Thus, silver Wharf', whose crystal-sparkling urn
Reflects the brilliance of his blooming shore,
Still, melancholy-mazing, seems to mourn,
But rolls, confus'd, a crimson wave no more..
ADDRESSED TO THE EARL OF HALIFAX 2
FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1762.
'Twas on Time's birth-day, when the voice divine
Wak'd sleeping Nature, while her infant eye,
Yet trembling, struggl'd with created light;
The heaven-born Muse, sprung from the source
'A river near the field of battle, in which were slain 35,000 men.
2 The following resolution of the Irish house of commons respecting the revenue of the lord lieutenant, and his excellency's speech in consequence thereof, will both illustrate this poem
and show the occasion of it.
Of Harmony immortal, first receiv'd
Her sacred mandate. "Go, seraphic maid,
Companion still to Nature; from her works
Derive thy lay melodious, great, like those,
Copy of the answer of the lord lieutenant to the address of the house of commons, Feb. 27, 1762. "I shall take the first opportunity of laying before his majesty the sense of the house of commons contained in this address. I enter
fully into the truly liberal motives which have influenced your conduct in this unanimous resolution. That you are solicitous not only to support his majesty's government, but to support it with becoming grandeur and magnificence, reflects the highest honour on yourselves: that you have chosen the time of my administration; that you have distinguish'd my person as the object of your favour, reflects the highest honour on me ; and I must ever consider this event as one of the most fortunate and honourable circumstances of my life. Whatever merit you ascribe to me in the government of this kingdom, in reality arises from your own conduct, though your partiality would transfer it to mine. Your unanimity has first created this merit, and your libera-lity would now reward it.
"I am sensible of the obligation you confer; and I can in no way properly demonstrate my sense of it, but by being, as I am, unalterably determined to implore his majesty, that I may be permitted to enjoy it pure and unmixed with the lucrative advantages which you propose should attend it. This affectionate address is intended as an honour to me; that intention has, on your part, been fully answered: to make it truly honourable, something is still necessary on mine: it becomes me to vie with the generosity of parliament, and to keep up an emulation
It has been my duty, in the course of this session, to propose large plans of public economy; and I could not without pain submit, expense, and to promise an attention to public that the establishment, already burthened at my recommendation, should be still further charged for my own particular profit.
"But while I consider myself at liberty to sacrifice my private interests to my private feelings,' I must consider myself as bound likewise to consult, in compliance with your enlarged and liberal sentiments, the future support of the station the emoluments are, as you represent them, inin which I am placed, to the dignity of which adequate. I shall transmit therefore the sense of the house of commons, that the augmentation which your generosity has proposed, may, it his majesty shall think fit, be made the esta blishment of my successor, when he shall enter on the government of this kingdom; and when it is probable the circumstances of this country may be better able to support such additional
Copy of a resolution of the Irish parliament, respecting the revenue of the lord lieutenant. Veneris, 26 Feb. 1762. "Resolved, nemine contradicente, That an address be presented to his excellency the lord lieutenant, that he will represent to his majesty the sense of this bouse, that the entertainments andappointments of the lord lieutenant of Ireland are become inadequate to the dignity of that high office, and to the expense with which it is, and ought to be supported ; and that it is the humble desire of this house, that his majesty will be graciously pleased to grant such an augmentation to the entertainment of the lord lieutenant for the time being, as, with the present allowances, will in the whole amount to the annual sum of sixteen thousand pounds. And to express that satisfaction which we feel at the pleasing hope, that this just and necessary augmentation But while I must decline accepting should take place during the administration of any part of the profits, I rejoice to charge myself a chief governor, whose many great and amiable with the whole of the obligation; abundantly qualities, whose wise and happy administration happy, if, when I shall hereafter be removed from in the government of this kingdom, have univer-tuation, I should leave it, through your liberality, this high, and, through your favour, desireable sisally endeared him to the people of Ireland. " E. STERLING, Cler. Dom. Com. H.ALCOCK,
augmented in its emoluments, and by my inability not diminished in its reputation."