תמונות בעמוד
[ocr errors]

Th'horizon glows from side to side,

Where, like our moderns fo profound, And flames with glancing rays;

Engag'd in dark dispute, The Aoating, trembling, lilver tide,

The ikuttles calt their ink around Is one continual blaze.

To puzzle the dispute. Your eyes the prospect now command,

Where sharks, like shrewd directors, thrive, All uncontrould and free,

Like lawyers, rob at will ; Fly like a thought from land to land,

Where flying-fish, like trimmers live; And dart from sea to sea.

Like soldiers, sword-fifh kill. Thus, while above the clouds we lit,

Where on the less the greater feed, And innocently gay,

The tyrants of an hour, Pass in amusements, winc, or wit,

Till the huge royal whale succeed, The fultry hours away;

And all at once devour. Sometimes, with pity, or disdain,

Thus in the mortal world we now In thought a glance we throw

Too truly understand, Down on the poor, the proud, the vain,

Each monster of the sea below In yonder world below.

Is match'd by one at land. We see, from this exalted feat,

ON MRS. WALKER'S POEMS. (How shrunk, reduc'd, confin'd!) The little person of the great,

PARTICULARLY THAT ON THE AUTES. As little as his mind.

Blush, Wilmot, blush ; a female muse, See there-amidst the crowds our view

Without one guilty line, Some scatter'd virtues strike;

The tender theme of love pursues But those so throng'd, and these so few,

In softer strains than thine. The world looks ali alike.

'Tis thine the passion to blaspheme, Yet, through this cloud of human-kind,

'Tis her's with wit and case The Talbots we survey,

(When a merc nothing is the theme) The Pitts, the Yorkes, the Seckers find,

Beyond thyself to please. Who Dhine in open day.

Then be to her the prize decreed,

Whose merit has prevailid;

For what male poet can fucceed,

If Rochester has sail'd ?

Since Phæbus quite forgetful grows, ON THE SAME SUBJECT.

And has not yet thought fit, O'er curious models as you rove

In his high wisdom, to impose The vales with piles to crown,

A falique law on wit ; And great Palladio's plants improve

Since of your thoughts he takes no care, With nobler of your own;

Ye Priors, Popes, and Gays;

'Tis hard !-but let the women wear O bid a structure o'er the floods

The breeches and the bags.
From this high mountain rise,
Where we may sit enthron'd like gods,

And revel in the skies.
Th’ascending breeze, at each repart,
Shall breathe an air divine,

Worked by tb: Young Ladies at King for Give a new brightness to the taste,

When Pallas faw the piece her pupils w New spirit to the wine.

She food long wondering at the lovely drie Or these low pleasures we may quit

“ And, Flora, now (she cried) no more. For banquets more refin'd,

Thy flowers, the trifling beauties of a day: The works of each immortal wit,

For fee! how these with life immortal blar. The luxury of the mind.

And spread and flourish for an age to coex Plato, or Boyle's, or Newton's page,

In what unguarded hour did I impart Our towering thoughts shall raise,

To these fair virgins all my darling art? Or Homer's fire, or Pindar's rage,

In all my wit I saw these rivals thine, Or Virgil's lofty lays.

But this one art I thought was always prie Or with amulive thoughts the sea

Yet lo! I yield; their mistress now no me

But proud to learn from these I taught bear Shall entertain the mind, While we the rolling scene survey,

For look, what vegetable feose is here! An emblem of mankind.

How warm with life these blushing leares.

What temper'd splendours o'er the piece Where, like sworn foes, successive all,

Shade seals on light, and light dies into a The furious furges run,

Through heaven's gay bow lefs various To urge their predecessor's fall,

run, Though follow'd by their own.

And far less bright, though painted by the



Fue in each blooming flower what spirit glows ! Some steal a page of sense from Tillotson, That vivid colours flush the opening rose ! And then conclude divinely with their own. - fome few hours thy lily disappears ;

Like oil on water, mounts the prelate up; at this shall flourish through a length of years, His Grace is always sure to be at top: e unfelt winters pass successive by,

That vein of mercury its beams will spread, ind scorn a mcan dependence on the sky. And Mine more strongly through a mine of lead. nd oh! may Britain, by my counsels sway'd, With such low arts your audience never bilk; ut live and flourish, till these flowers shall fade ! For who can bear a fultian lin'd with filk? hen go, fond Flora, go, the palm resign

Sooner than preach such stuff, I'd walk the 2 works more fair and durable than thine;

town, ir 1, ev'n I, in justice yield the crown

Without my scarf, in Whiston's draggled gown; 2 works so far superior to my own.”

Ply at the Chapter, and at Child's, to read

For pence, and bury for a groat a-head.

Some easy subject choose, within your power,
Or you can never hold out half an hour.

One rule observe: this Sunday split your text; s this fair groumd, with ravish'd cyes,

Preach one part now, and t'other half the next. e fee a second Eden rise,

Speak, look, and move, with dignity and ease, $ gay and glorious as the first,

Like mitred Secker, you'll be sure to please. :fore th' offending world was curft.

But, if you whine like boys at country schools, "hile these bright nymphs the needle guide,

Can you be said to study Cambray's rules? paint the role in all her pride,

Begin with care, nor, like that curate vile, ature, like her, may blush to own

Set out in this high prancing stumbling style, crself so far by art out-done.

“ Whoever with a piercing eye can see nese flowers the rais'd with all her care,

“ Through the past records of futurity-" blooming, so divinely fair!

All gape—no meaning--the pufi'd orator he glorious children of the sun,

Talks much, and says just nothing for an hour. Chat David's regal heir outfhone,

Truth and the text he labours to display, 'here scarce like one of these array'd;

Till both are quite interpreted away : hey died, but these shall never fade.

So frugal dames insipid water pour,

Till green, bohea, and coffee, are no more.

His arguments in filly circles run

Still round and round, and end where they beIn imitation of Horace's Art of Poetry.

gun : Pedent opera interrupta.

So the poor turn-spit, as the wheel run- round,

The more he gains, the more he loses ground. HOULD some fam'd hand, in this fantastic age,

Surpris'd with solitary self-applause, raw Rich, as Rich appears upon the stage,

He fees the motley mingled (cene he draws: 'ith all his postures in one motley plan,

Dutch painters thus at their own figures start, he god, the hound, the monkey, and the man,

Drawn with their utmost uncreating art. lere o'er his head high brandishing a leg,

Thus when old Bruin tecnis, her children fail nd there just hatch'd, and breaking from his

Of limbs, form, figure, features, head, or tail; egg i

(piece, Nay though the licks her cubs, her tender cares "hile monster crowds on monster through the

At best can bring the bruins but to bcars. Fho could help laughing at a fight like this? Still to your hearers all your sermons fort; , as a drunkard's dream together brings

Who'd preach against corruption at the court ? A court of coblers, or a mob of kings *;" Against church-power at vifitations bawi, Ech is a sermon, where, confus’dly dark,

Or talk about damnation at Whitehall ? in Sharp t, South, Sherlock, Barrow, Wake, and Harangue the horse-guards on a cure of fouls, Clarke ;

Condemn the quirks of chancery at the rolls, - eggs of different parishes will run

Or rail at hoods and organ's at St. Paul's ? batter, when you beat six yolks to one;

Or be, like David Joncs, so indiscreet, fix bright chemic liquors when you mix, To rave at usurers in Lombard-freet ? one dark shadow vanish all the fix.

Ye country-vicars, when you preach in town, Full licence priests and painters ever had A turn at Paul's to pay your journey down, run bold lengths, but never to run mad; If you

would fun the sneer of every prig, or these can't reconcile God's grace to fin,

Lay by the little band and rusty wig; or those paint tigers in an ass's skin.

But yet be sure your proper language know, common dauber in one piece would join Nor talk as born within the found of bow; he fox and goose-unless upon a fign.

Speak not the phrase that Drury-lane affords,

Nor from 'Change-alley steal a cant of words : * Dryden.

Coachmen will criticise your style ; nay, further, Another copy reads,

Porters will bring it in for wilful murther : Join Hoadly, Sharp, South, Sherlock, Wake, and The dregs of the Caneille will look akcw, « Clarke."

To hear the language of the town from you ;

3 F iij


[ocr errors][ocr errors]

Nay, my Lord-mayor, with merriment poffelt, Before the morning-dawn compeli'd to rise,
Will break his nap, and laugh among the rest, And give attendance with his half-faut eyes?
And jog the aldermen to hear the jelt.

What makes that girl with hidcous visage far:
What fiends prevent Ead's journey to the lar

Why all this noise, this bustle and this rout! INVITATION TO MR. DODINGTON. “ Oh, nothing-but poor mafter has the goe_" In Ellufion to Horace, Book I. Ep. V.

Meantime, superior to the pains below,

Your thoughts in soaring meditations flow, Iç Dodington will condescend

In rapturous trance on Virgil's genius dwell, To visit a poetic friend,

To us, poor mortals, his strong beauties teil, And leave a numerous bill of fare,

And, like Æneas, from your couch of state, For four or five plain dishes here;

In all the pomp of words display the Troja ir No cofily welcome, but a kind

Can nothing your aspiring thoughts retrais He and his friends will always find;

Or does the muse suspend the rage of pain? A plain, but clean and spacious rooin,

Awhile give o'er your rage; in fickness pront The master and his heart at home,

Like other mortals, if you'd pity move : A cellar open as his face,

Think not your friends compassionate can be A dinner shorter than his grace ;

When such the product of disease they lee; Your mutton comes from Pimpern-down,

Your sharpelt pangs but add to our delight, Your fish (if any) from the town;

We'll with you fill the gout, if still you wil. Qur'rogues, indeed, of late, o'eraw'd, By human laws. not those of God,

WRITTEN IN THE FOLDS OF AN No venison steal, or none they bring,

Or send it all to master Kingt;
And yet, perhaps, some venturous spark

Of old, a hundred Cyclops (trove
May bring it, now the nights are dark.

To forge the thunder-bolt for Jove; Punch I have store, and beer beside,

I coo employ a hundred hands, And port that's 's good, though Frenchified.

And travel through as many lands. 'Then, if you come, I'm sure to get

A head I have, though very small, From Eastbery 1-a desert--of wit.

But then I have no brains at all. One line, good Sir, to name the day,

The miser locks me up with care, And your petitioner will pray, &c.

Close as his money all the year.

When John and Joan are both at strife, MR. R. PITT, TO HIS BROTHER. C. PITT.

'Tis I find money for the wise.

Ac court I make the ladies shine,
On bis having a Fit of the Gout.

I grace ev'n gracious Caroline :

And, though I often take my way AMONG the well-bred natives of onr ifle,

Through town and country, land and sea, “ I kiss your hand, Sir,” is the modish style; I'm neither filh, fleth, nor herring, In humbier manner, as my fate is low,

And now I live with goody Verringt.
I beg to kiss your venerable toe,
Not old' infallibilities can have

Profounder'reverence from its meanest flave.
What dignity attends the solemn gout !

AUTORE LUDOVICO DUNCOMSE. What conscious greatness if the heart be fout! Methinks I see you o'er the house prcfide,

Exigua crescit de glande altissima quercus, In painful majetty and decent pride,

Et tandem patulis surgit in aftra comis: With leg toit high, on stately lofa fit,

Dumque anni pergunt, crescit latiffima mols, More like a sultan than a modern wit;

Mox fecat æquoreas bellica navis aquas. Quick at your call the trembling slaves appear, Angliacis hinc fama, salus hinc nafcitur oras, Advance with caucion, and retire with fear;

Et glans eft noftri præfidium imperii. Ev'n Peggy trembles, though (or authors fail) At times the anti-falic laws prevail.

TRANSLATION OF THE FORE GOING, BT NL. " Now, Lord have mercy on poor Dick! say I ; Where's the lac'd fhoe--who laid the flannel From a small-acorn, see! the oak arife, by?"

Supremely call, and towering in the skies! "Wirhin, 'tis hurry, the houfe seems posleit; Queen of the groves! her stately head fte teza Without, the horses wonder at their ret.

Her bulk increafing with increasing years : What terrible disniay, what scenes of care ! Now moves in pomp, majestic, o'er the deep, Why is the footy Mintrem's hopeful heir $ While in her womb ten thousand thunders die • Created Lord Melcimbe in 1765.

Another servant of Pit!. + The Blindford carrier.

Blandford fair ; two miles from Pimpern, F. Mr. Dudington's seat at that time.

rectory. $ Pitt's fuivent, the few of a blackmith,

A feller of pins at Blandferd.

[ocr errors]


Tience Britain boasts her far-extended reign, Each, like a Niobe, his fare bemoan,
nd by ch' expanded acorn rules the main, Melt into tears, or harden into stone.

From dark obscurity his virtues save,

And, like pale (pedres, hover round his grave.

With them the marble should due measures keep, cribed on a Stone that covers bis Father, Mother, and Relent at every ligh, at every accent weep. Brother

Britannia mourn thy hero, nor refuse

To vent the sighs and sorrows with the mure : sacred spirits! while your friends distress’d Oh! let thy rising groans load every wind, eep o'er your ashes, and lament thc biels'd; Nor let one fuggith accent lag behind. let the pensive mufe inscribe that stone,

Thy heavy fate with justice to deplore, d with the general forrows mix her own : Convey a gale of fighs from thore to shore. e penli ve mute! — who, from this mournful hour, And thou, her guardian angel, widely !pread ll raise her voice, and wake the string no more! Thy golden wings, and shield the nighty dead. love, of duty, this last pledge receive;

B:ood o'er his a thes, and illustrious duit, s all a brother, all a son can give.

And soothe with care the venerable ghost.

To guard the nobler relics, leave a while

The kind protection of thy favourice ille :
Around his filent tomb, thy station keep,

And, with thy sister-angel, learn to weep.
Humbly Inscribed to tbe Countess of Stanbope.

Ye fons of Albion, o'er your patriot mourn, At length, grim fate, thy dreadful triumphs And cool with streams of tears his sacred urn. " cease :

His wondrous virtucs, stretch'd to distant Thores, Lock up the tomb, and seal the grave in peace.” Demand all Europe's tears, as well as yours.

Nature can't bring in every period forth, w from thy riot of destruction breathe,

A finish'd hero, of exalted worth, 11 in thy raging plagues, thou tyrant death : Whole godlike genius, towering and subline, Po nean's the conqueit which thy arms beitow, Must long lie ripening in the womb of time : o mean to sweep a nation at a blow,

Before a Stanhope enters on the fage, ps, thy unbounded triumphs higher run,

The birth of years, and labour of an age. :d seem to strike at all mankind in one ;

In field, and council, born the palm to thare, 1 tince Stanhope is thy prey, the great, the brave, His voice a senate, as his sword a war: nobler prey was never paid the grave.

And each illustrious action of his life, Sie seem to feel from this thy daring crime, Conspire to form the pacriot, and the chief : blank in nature, and a pause in time.

On either side, unite their blended rays, ftood so high in reason's towering sphere, And kindly mingle in a friendly blaze. high as man unglorify'd could bear.

Siand out, and witness this, unhappy Spain, arms, and eloquence, like Cæsar, thone

Lift up to view the mountains of thy flain : bright, that each Minerva was his own. Tell how thy heroes yielded to their fear, ow could so vast a fond of learning lie

When Stanhope rous'd the thunder of the war: ut up in such a short mortality?

With what fierce cumules of severe delight he world of science nobly travellid o'er,

Th' impetuous hero plung'd into the fight. ke Philip's glorious son, he wept for more. How he the dreadtul front of death dcfac'i, And now resign'd to tears, th' angelic choirs, Pour'd on the foe, and laid the battle wafte. ith drooping heads unftring their golden lyres, Did not his arm the ranks of war deform,

rapt in a cloud of grief, they sigh to view And point the hovering tumult where to form ? : reir sacred image laid by death fo low :

Did not his sword through legions cleave his way, ad deep in anguish sunk, on Stanhope's fate, Break their dark squadrons, and let in the day? 'gin to doubt their own immortal state.

Did not he lead the terrible attack, But hold, my muse, thy mournful transport errs, Puth conqueft on, and bring her bleeding back? old here, and listen to Lucinda's tears,

Throw wide the scenes of horror and defpair, While thy vain surrows echo to his tomb,

The tide of conflict, and the Itream of war? hold a light that strikes all sorrow dumb : Bid yellow Tagus, who in triumph rolla, hold the partner of his cares and life,

Till then his turbid rides of foanımg gold, right in her tears, and beautiful in grief.

Boait his rich channels to the world no more, all then in vain those streams of sorrow fiow, Since all his glittering Itreams, and liquid ore, rest up in all the elegance of woe ?

Lie undistinguish'd in a flood of gore. nd shall the kind officious muse forbear

Bid his charg'd waves, and loaded billows sweepo o answer sigh for sigh, and tell out tear for tear? Thy slaughter'd thousands to the frighted deep. h! no; at luch a melancholy scene,

Confels, fair Albion, how the listening throng he poet echoes back her woes again.

Dwele on the moving accents of his tongue. ach weeping muse should minister relief,

In the fage co:incil seat him, and confess rom all the moving eloquence of grief.

Thy arm in war, thy oracle in peace :

How here triumphant too, his nervous sense Robert Pitt, 4. M. bis eldef brother.

Bore off the palm of manly eloquence :

31 in

[ocr errors]

The healing balm to Albion's wounds apply'd, Who with low verse profanes thy facred nami,
And charm'd united factions to his fide :

Lost in the spreading circle of thy fame.
Fix'd on his sovereign's head the nodding crown, Thy same, which, like thyself, is mounted his
And propp'd the tottering basis of the throne, Wide as thy heaven, and infty as thy fky.
Supported bravely all the nation's weight,

And thou, his piogs confort, here below,
And stood the public Atlas of the flate.

Lavish of grief, and prodigal of woe:
Sound the loud trunipet, let the folemn knell Oh! choke thy griess, thy rising fighs loppis
Bid with due horror his great soul farewell. Nor let thy forrows violate his peace.
Tune every martial instrument with care,

This rage of anguish, that disdaios relief,
At once wake all the harmony of war.

Dims his bright joys, with some allay of gte Let each sad hero in proceflion go,

Look on his dearest pledge, he left behind,
And swell the vast solemnity of woe.

And see how nature, bountiful and kind,
Neglect the yew, the mournful cypress leave, Stamps the paternal image on his mind,
And with fresh laurels strew the warrior's grave. Oh! may th' hereditary virtues run
There they shall rise, in honour of his name, In fair succellion, to adorn the son;
Grow green with victory, and bloom with fame. The last best hopes of Albion's realms to grazie

LO! from his azure throne, old father Thames And form the hero worthy of his race: Sighs through his floods, and groans from all his Some means at lait by Britain may be found streams:

To dry hep tears, and close her bleeding v. O'er his full urn he droops his reverend head, And if the mose through future times can k. And finks down deeper in his oozy bed,

Fair youth, thy father thall revive in chee :
As the sad pomp proceeds along his fides,

Thou shalt the wondering nation's hopes en
O'ercharg'd with sorrow, pant his heaving tides. To rise the Stanhope of the future age.
Low in his humid palace laid to mourn,
With streams of tears, the god supplies his urn.

Within his channels he forgets to flow,
And pours o'er all his bounds the deluge of his woe.

But see, my mufe, if yer thy ravish'd light
Can bear that blaze, that rushing stream of light;

BENEATH this stone the world's juft were
Where the great hero's disencumber'd foul,

who, while on earth, had rang'd the spacine

Around the fars his active foul had flow.
Springs from the earth, to reach her native pole.
Boldly she quits th'abandon'd cask of clay,

And seen their courses Anith'd ere his ow:
Freed from her chains, and towers th'ethereal way:

Now he enjoys those realms he could expecm Soars o'er ch' eternal funds of hail and snow,

And finds that heaven he knew so well be And leaves heaven's stormy magazines below.

He through more worlds his vi&ory pur: 'I hence through the vast profound of heaven she flies, Than the brave Greck could wish to bus And measures all the concave of the skies ;

dued ; Sees where the planetary worlds advance,

In triumph ran one vast creation o'er, Orb above orb, and lead the starry dance.

Then stopp'd, -for nature could afford cNor rests the there, but, with a bolder flight,

With Czfar's speed, young Ammon's nc :
Explores the undiscover'd realms of light,

He came, saw, vanquish d, wept, return'd, a.
Where the fix'd orbs, to deck the spangled pole,
In state around their gaudy axles roll.

Thence his aspiring course in triumph steers,
Beyond the golden circles of the spheres;

Into the heaven of heavens, the seat divine,

'Tis said, dear Sir, no pocts please the tour Where nature never drew her mighty line.

Who drink mere water, though from Hela
A region that excludes all time and place,

For in cold blood they seldom boldly think
And shuts creation from th’ unbounded space :
Where the full tides of light in oceans flow,

Their rhymes are more infipid than their tra

Not great Apolio could the train inspire,
And sec the sun ten thousand worlds below.
So far from our inferior orbs disjoin'd,

Till generous Bacchus help'd to fan the fire.

Warm'd by two gods at once, they drink ads The tir'd imagination pants behind.

Rhyme all the day, and fuddle all the night
Then cease thy painful flight, nor venture more, Homer, says Horace, nods in many a plas,
Where never muse has fretch'd her wing before.

But hints, he nodded oftnes o'er the glass
Thy pinions tempt inmortal heights in vain,
That throw thee fluttering back to earth again.

Inspir'd with wine old Ennius sung and the

With the same fpirit, that his heroes fougk ; On earch a while, bleit fhade, thy thoughes em And we from Johnson's tavern-laws diranc, ploy,

That bard was no great enemy to winc.
And steal one moment from eternal joy.
While there, in heaven, immortal songs inspire

'Twas from the bottle King derir'd his wit, Thy golden strings, and tremble on the lyre,

Drank till he could not talk, and then he was

Let no coif'd serjeant touch the facred juice,
Which raise to nobler Itrains th' angelic choir.
Look down with pily on a mortal's Jays,

But leave it to the bards for better use:
Who strives, io vain, to reach thy boundless praise :

Late Bilbop of Lendas.

« הקודםהמשך »