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So, warbling o'er his urn, the woodland choirs
To Orpheus pay the song his shade inspires.

In Waller's fame, O fairest Harley! view.
What verdant palms shall owe their birth to you
To you what deathless charms are thence decreed,
In Sacbarissa's fate vouchsafe to read.
Secure beneath the wing of withering Time,
Her beauties flourish in ambrosial prime;
Still kindling rapture, see! she moves in state;
Gods, nymphs and heroes, on her triumph wait.
Nor think the lover's praise of love's delight
In purest minds may stain the virgin-white;
How bright, and chaste, the poet and his theme;
So Cynthia shines on Arethusa's stream.
A sainted virtue to the spheres may sing
Those straius, that ravish'd here the martyr-king,
Plenteons of native wit, in letter'd ease
Politely form'd, to profit and to please,
To Fame whate'er was due he gave to Fame;
And, what he could not praise, forgot to name:
Thus Eden's rose, without a thorn, display'd
Her bloom, and in a fragrant blush decay'd.

Such Foul-attracting airs were sung of old,
When blissful years in golden circles roll'd;
Pure from deceit, devoid of fear and strife,
While love was all the pensive care of life,
The swains in green retreats, with flowrets crown'd,
Taught the young groves their passion to resound:
Fancy pursu'd the paths where Beauty led,
To please the living, or deplore the dead.
While to their warbled woe the rocks reply'd,
The rills remurmur'd, and the Zephyrs sigh'd;
From death redeem'd by verse, the vanish'd fair
Breath'd in a flower, or sparkled in a star.
Bright as the stars, and fragrant as the flowers
Where spring resides in soft Elysian bowers;
While these the bowers adorn, and they the sphere,
Will Sacharissa's charms in song appear.
Yet, in the present age, her radiant name
Must take a dimmer interval of fame;
When you to full meridian lustre rise,
With Morton's shape, and Gloriana's eyes ;
With Carlisle's wit, her gesture, and her mien;
And, like scraphie Rich, with zeal serene:
In sweet assemblage all their graces join'd,
To language, mode, and manners, more refin'd'
That angel-frame, with chaste attraction gay,
Mild as the dove-ey'd Morn awakes the May,
Of noblest youths will reign the public care,
Their joy, their wish, their wonder, and despair.
Far-beaming thence what bright ideas flow!
The sister arts with sudden rapture glow:
Her Titian tints the painter-nymph resumes;
The canvas warm with roseate beauty blooms:
Inspir'd with life by Sculpture's happy toil,
The marble breathes, and softens with your smile;
Proud to receive the form, by Fate design'd
The fairest model of the fairer kind.
But hear, O hear, the Muse's heavenly voice!
The waving woods and echoing vales rejoice:
Attend, ye gales! to Margaretta's praise,
And, all ye listening Loves, record the lays!
So Philomela charms th' Idalian grove,
When Venus, in the glowing orb of love,
O'er occan, earth, and air, extends her reign;
The first, the brightest of the starry train.
What favourite youth assign the Fates to rise,
In bridal pomp to lead the blooming prize?
Whether his father's garter'd shield sustains
Trophies, achiev'd on Gallia's viny plains;

Or smiling Peace a mingled wreath displays
The patriot's olive, and the poet's bays:
Adoru, ye Fates! the favourite youth assign'd,
With each canobling grace of form, and mind:
In merit make him great, as great in blood;
Great without pride, and amiably good;
His breast the guardian ark of heaven-born law,
To strike a faithless age with conscious awe.
In choice of friends by manly reason sway'd:
Not fear'd, but honour'd, and with love obey'd.
In courts, and camps in council, and retreat,
Wise, brave, and studious to support the state.
With candour firm; without ambition bold;
No deed discolour'd with the guilt of gold.
That Heaven may judge the choicest blessings due,
And give the various good compris'd in yʊu.

PROLOGUE

TO SOUTHERNE'S SPARTAN DAME

WHEN realms are ravag'd with invasive foes,
Each bosom with heroic ardour glows;
Old chiefs, reflecting on their former deeds,
Disdain to rust with batter'd invalids;
But active in the foremost ranks appear,
And leave young smock-fac'd beaux to guard the
So, to repel the Vandals of the stage, [rear.
Our veteran bard resumes his tragic rage:
He throws the gauntlet Otway us'd to wield,
And calls for Englishmen to judge the field:
Thus arm'd, to rescue Nature from disgrace,
Messieurs lay down your minstrels and grimace:
The brawniest youths of Troy the combat fear'd,
When old Etellus in the lists appear'd.
Yet what avails the champion's giant size,
When piginies are made umpires of the prize?
Your fathers (men of sense, and honest bowlers)
Disdain'd the mummery of foreign strollers:
By their examples would you form your taste,
The present age might emulate the past.
We hop'd that art and genius had secur'd you;
But soon facetious Harlequin allur'd you:
The Muses blush'd, to see their friends exalting
Those elegant delights of jig and vaulting:
So charm'd you were, you ceas'd awhile to dote
On nonsense, gargled in an eunuch's throat:
All pleas'd to hear the chattering monsters speak,
As old wives wonder at the parson's Greek.
Such light ragoûts and mushrooms may be good,
To whet your appetites for wholesome food:
But the bold Briton ne'er in earnest dines
Without substantial haunches and surloins.
In wit, as well as war, they give us vigour ;
Cressy was lost by kickshaws and soup-meagré.
Instead of light desserts and luscious froth,
Our poet treats to night with Spartan broth;
To which, as well as all his former feasts,
"The ladies are the chief-invited guests.
Crown'd with a kind of Glastonbury bays,
That bloom amid the winter of his days,
He comes, ambitious in his green decline,
To consecrate his wreath at Beauty's shrine.
His Oroonoko never fail'd t' engage
The radiant circles of the former age:
Each bosom heav'd, all eyes were seen to flow,
And sympathize with Isabella's woe:
But Fate reserv'd, to crown his elder fame,
The brightest audience for the Spartan dame

ON THE FIRST FIT OF THE GOUT.' WELCOME, thou friendly earnest of fourscore, Promise of wealth, that hast alone the power T" attend the rich, unenvy'd by the poor. Thou that dost Æsculapius deride, And o'er his gally-pots in triumph ride ; Thou that art us'd t' attend the royal throne, And under-prop the head that bears the crown ; Thou that dost oft in privy council wait, And guard from drowsy sleep the eyes of State; Thou that upon the bench art mounted high, And warn'st the judges how they tread awry; Thou that dost oft from pamper'd prelate's toe Emphatically urge the pains below; Thou that art ever half the city's grace, And add'st to solemn noddles solemn pace; Thou that art us'd to sit on ladies knee, To feed on jellies, and to drink cold tea; Thou that art ne'er from velvet slipper free ; Whence comes this unsought honour unto me? Whence does this mighty condescension flow? To visit my poor tabernacle, ()~!

As Jove vouchsaf'd on Ida's top, 'tis said,
At poor Philemon's cot to take a bei;
Pleas'd with the poor but hospitable feast,
Jove hid him ask, and granted his request;
So do thou grant (for thou 'rt of race divine,
Begot on Venus by the god of wine)

My humble suit !-And either give me store
To entertain thee, or ne'er see me more.

HORACE, BOOK I. QDE IX.

IMITATED.

FROM THE OXFORD AND CAMBRIDGE VERSES 2.

SINCE the hills all around us do penance in snow, And Winter's cold blasts have benumb'd us below;

The compilers having omitted some pretty verses, I have put them in here. DR. JOHNSON, 2 Which were thus dedicated, by Mr. Fenton, to Lionel earl of Dorset and Middlesex :

"My lord, I hope, on your return from having been admired in foreign courts to adorn our own, you will not be surprised with a privilege the poets assume, of being troublesome to persons of your rank. But they have more particularly applied themselves to your lordship's family, in which a continued race of genius has both advanced their art, and encouraged its professors, We owe the rise of our English tragedy to one of your lord. ship's ancestors, who fixed us second to the Greek stage before Shakespeare wrote. And, my lord, your father came the nearest of all the moderns to Horace, in the sweetness and gallantry of his lyrics, and equalled him in satire. Thus the stream flows pure in its descent, to receive a farther increase from your lordship. We read of a Scipio and a Macenas, who used to soften the troublesome honours of state by conversing with the Muses; and cherished those arts of which they themselves were masters: yet, as single instances of this kind are not frequent, so the vein is very seldom found to have continued a second generation. But, in your lordship's line, Nature seems industrious to preserve the genius of poetry, by successively uniting delicacy of taste, and bright

Since the rivers, chain'd up, flow with the same speed

[read, As criminals move tow'rds the psalin they can't Throw whole oaks at a time, nay, whole groves, on the fire,

To keep out the cold, and new vigour inspire;
Ne'er waste the dull time in impertinent thinking,
But urge and pursue the grand business of drinking.
Come, pierce your old hogsheads, ne'er stint us in
sherry,

For this is the season to drink and be merry;
That, reviv'd by good liquor and billets together,
We may brave the loud storms, and defy the cold
weather.

We'll have no more of business; but, friend, as you love us,

Leave it all to the care of the good folks above us. Whilst your appetite's strong, and good-humour

remains,

And active brisk blood does enliven your veins,
Improve the sweet minutes in scenes of d light,
Let your friend have the day, and your mistress the

night;

In the dark you may try whether Phyllis is kind, The night for intriguing was ever design'd; Though she runs from your arms, and retires to a shade,

Some friendly kind sign will betray the coy maid: All trembling you'll find then the poor bashful Such a trespass is venial in any beginner; [sinner, But remember this counsel, when once you have

met her.

[better !" "Get a ring from the fair-one, or something's that

CATULLUS, EPIG. V.

TRANSLATED.

LET's live, my dear, like lovers too,
Nor heed what old men say or do.

ness of wit, with the greatest abilities for council and action. Thus she reconciles the seasons in her most generous productions, by allowing them to bear fruit and blossoms together, and both in perfection. These shining qualities made your father the delight and wonder of his age; and had he not survived himself in your lordship, he had been the envy of ours. The praises which he received from the most refined wits of our nation have proved real prophecies of you; and it is with pleasure we foresee, that posterity, to deserve the highest characters, will form themselves on the model of your family, and copy from my lords of Dorset as the finest originals. But, my lord, I am afraid I shall forfeit all hopes of your patronage, by violating your modesty; and therefore I only beg leave to add, that as the cabinet and the field have been happily supplied, to render her majesty's reign, at least, a rival to her virgin predecessor's; so, to complete the parallel, it was necessary that you, my lord, like another Sidney, should arise, to receive the softer arts into your protection; to excite the young writers of this age to attempt those actions in verse, which will shine so fairly distinguished in our British story. My lord, I am your lordship's most humble, and most obedient servant,

E. FENTON,''

The falling Sun will surely rise,

And dart new glories through the skies.
But when we fall, alas! our light
Will set in everlasting night.

Come, then, let mirth and amorous play
Be all the business of the day.
Give me this kiss-and this-and this!
A hundred thousand more.-Let's kiss
Till we ourselves cannot express,
Nor any lurking spy confess,

The boundless measure of our happiness.

CLAUDIAN'S OLD MAN OF VERONA.
HAPPY the man, who all his days does pass
In the paternal cottage of his race;
Where first his trembling infant steps he try'd,
Which now supports his age, and once his youth
employ'd.

This was the cottage his forefathers knew,

It saw his birth, shall see his burial too;
Unequal fortunes and ambition's fate

Are things experience never taught him yet.
Him to strange lands no rambling humour bore,
Nor breath'd he ever any air but of his native shore..
Free from all anxious interests of trade,

No storms at sea have e'er disturb'd his head:
He never battle's wild confusions saw,
Nor heard the worse confusions of the law.
A stranger to the town and town-employs,
Their dark and crowded streets, their stink and
He a more calm and brighter sky enjoys, [noise;
Nor does the year by change of consuls know,
The year his fruit's returning seasons show;
Quarters and months in Nature's face he sees,
In flowers the Spring, and Autumn on his trees.
The whole day's shadows, in his homestead drawn,
Point out the hourly courses of the Sun.
Grown old with him, a grove adorns his field,
Whose tender setts his infancy beheld.
Of distant India, Ervthræan shores,
Benacus' lake, Verona's neighbouring towers,
(Alike unseen) from common fame has heard,
Alike believes them, and with like regard.
Yet, firm and strong, his grandchildren admire
The health and vigour of their brawny sire.
The spacious globe let those that will survey,
This good old man, content at home to stay,
More happy years shall know, more leagues and
countries they.

MARTIAL,

LIB. X. EPIG. XLVII.

WOULD you, my friend, in little room express
The just description of true happiness;
First set me down a competent estate,
But rais'd and left me by a parent's sweat;
('Tis pleasure to improve, but toil to get:)
Not large, but always large enough to yield
A cheerful fire, and no ungrateful field.
Averse to law-suits, let me peace enjoy,
And rarely pester'd with a town-employ.
Smooth be my thoughts, my mind serene and clear,
A healthful body with such limbs I'd bear
As should be graceful, well proportion'd, just,
And neither weak, nor boorishly robust.

Nor fool, nor knave, but innocently wise;
Some friends indulge me, let a few suffice:
But suited to my humour and degree,
Not nice, but easily pleas'd, and fit for me;
So let my board and entertainments be.
With wholesome homely food, not serv'd in state,
What tastes as well in pewter as in plate.
Mirth and a glass my cheerful evenings share,
At equal distance from debauch and care.
To bed retiring, let me find it blest
With a kind modest spouse and downy rest:
Pleas'd always with the lot my Fates assign,
Let me no change desire, no change decline;
With every turn of Providence comply,
Nor tir'd with life, nor yet afraid to die.

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Him loudest storms can't from his centre move,
He braves th' almighty thunder ev'n of Jove.
If all the heavenly orbs, confus'dly hurl'd,
Should dash in pieces, and should crush the world;
Undaunted he the mighty crush would hear,
Nor in his breast admit a thought of fear.

Pollux and wandering Hercules of old
Were by such acts among the gods enroll'd.
Augustus thus the shining powers possess'd,
By all th' immortal deities caress'd;

He shares with them in their ethereal feasts,
And quaffs bright nectar with the heavenly guests.
This was the path the frisking tigers trod,
Dragging the car that bore their jolly god,

Who fix'd in Heaven his crown and bis abode.
Romulus by Mars through this blest path was
And 'scap'd the woes of gloomy Acheron. [shown,
In Virtue's rugged road he took his way,
And gain'd the mansions of eternal day;
For him ev'n Juno's self pronounc'd a word,
Grateful to all th' ethereal council-board.

"Olion! Ilion! I with transport view
The fall of all thy wicked perjur'd crew;
Pallas and I have borne the rankling grudge
To that curst shepherd, that incestuous judge;
Nay, ev'n Laomedon his gods betray'd,
And basely broke the solemn oath he made.
But now the painted strumpet and her guest
No more are in their pomp and jewels drest;
No more is Hector licens'd to destroy,
To slay the Greeks, and save his perjur'd Troy.
Priam is now become an empty ghost,
Doom'd with his house to tread the burning coast.
The god of battle now has ceas'd to roar,
And I, the queen of Heaven, pursue my hate no
I now the Trojan priestess' son will give
Back to his warlike sire, and let him live
In lucid bowers, and give him leave to use
Ambrosia, and the nectar's heavenly juice;
To be enroll'd in these serene abodes,
And wear the easy order of the gods.
In this blest state I grant him to remain,
While Troy from Rome's divided by the main;

[more.

While savage beasts insult the Trojan tombs,
And in their caves unlade their pregnant wombs.
Let th' exil'd Trojans reign in every land,
And let the Capitol triumphant stand,
And all the tributary world command.
Let awful Rome, with seven refulgent heads,
Still keep her conquest o'er the vanquish'd Medes.
With conquering terrour let her arms extend
Her mighty name to shores without an end;
Where mid-land seas divide the fruitful soil
From Europe to the swelling waves of Nile.
Let them be greater by despising gold,
Than digging it from forth its native mould.
To be the wicked instrument of ill,
Let sword and ruin every country fill,
That strives to stop the progress of her arms;
Not only those that sultry Sirius warms;
But where the fields in endless winter lie,
Whose frosts and snows the Sun's bright rays
defy.

But yet, on this condition, I decree
The warlike Romans happy destiny:
That, when they universal rule enjoy,

They not presume to raise their ancient Troy :
For then all ugly omens shall return,
And Troy be built but once again to burn;
Ev'n I myself a second war will move,
Ev'n I, the sister and the wife of Jove.
If Phoebus' harp should thrice erect a wall,
And all of brass, yet thrice the work should fall,
Sack'd by my favourite Greeks; and thrice again
The Trojan wives should drag a captive chain,
And mourn their children and their husbands
slain."

But whither would'st thou, soaring Muse, aspire,
To tell the counsels of the heavenly choir?
Alas thou canst not strain thy weakly strings,
To sing, in humble notes, such mighty things:
No more the secrets of the gods relate,
Thy tongue's too feeble for a task so great.

THE ROSE.

SEP, Sylvia, see, this new-blown rose,
The image of thy blush,
Mark how it smiles upon the bush,

And triumphs as it grows!
"Oh, pluck it not! we'll come anon,"
Thou say'st. Alas! 'twill then be gone.

Now its purple beauty's spread,
Soon it will droop and fall,
And soon it will not be at all;

No fine things draw a length of thread.
Then tell me, seems it not to say,
"Come on, and crop me whilst you may ?"

EPIGRAM,

OUT OF MARTIAL,

MILO's from home; and, Milo being gone,
His lands bore nothing, but his wife a son:
Why she so fruitful, and so bare the field ?
The lands lay fallow, but the wife was till'.

TO A YOUNG LADY,
WITH FENTON'S MISCELLANIES.

BY WALTER HARTE, M. A.

THESE various strains, where every talent charms,
Where humour pleases, or where passion warms;
(Strains, where the tender and sublime conspire,
A Sappho's sweetness, and a Homer's fire)
Attend their doom, and wait, with glad surprise,
Th' impartial justice of Cleora's eyes.

'Tis hard to say, what mysteries of Fate,
What turns of Fortune, on good writers wait.
The party slave will wound them as he can,
And damns the merit, if he hates the man.
Nay, ev'n the bards with wit and laurels crown'd,
Bless'd in each strain, in every art renown'd;
Misled by pride, and taught to sin by power,
Still search around for those they may devour;
Like savage monarchs on a guilty throne,
Who crush all might that can invade their own.
Others who hate, yet want the soul to dare,
So ruin bards-as beaux deceive the fair:
On the pleas'd ear their soft deceits employ ;
Smiling they wound and praise but to destroy.
These are th' unhappy crimes of modern days,
And can the best of poets hope for praise?

How small a part of human blessings share
The wise, the good, the noble, and the fair!
Short is the date unhappy Wit can boast,
A blaze of glory in a moment lost!
Fortune, stiil envious of the great man's praise,
Curses the coxcomb with a length of days.
So (Hector dead) amid the female choir,
Unmanly Paris tun'd the silver lyre.

Attend, ye Britons, in so just a cause.
"Tis sure a scandal to withhold applause;
Nor let posterity, reviling, say,

"Thus unregarded Fenton pass'd away!"
Yet if the Muse may faith and merit claim,
(A Muse too just to bribe with venal fame)
Soon shalt thou shine" in majesty avow'd,
As thy own goddess breaking through a cloud '.”
Fame, like a nation-debt, though long delay'd,
With mighty interest must at last be paid.

Like Vinci's strokes, thy verses we behold,
Correctly graceful, and with labour bold.
At Sappho's woes we breathe a tender sigh,
And the soft sorrow steals from every eye.
Here Spenser's thoughts in solemn numbers roll,
Here lofty Milton seems to lift the soul.
There sprightly Chaucer charms our hours away
With stories quaint, and gentle roundelay.

Muse at that name each thought of pride recall,
Ah, think how soon the wise and glorious fall!
What though the Sisters every grace impart,
To smooth thy verse, and captivate the heart:
What though your charms, my fair Cleora, shine
Bright as your eyes, and as your sex divine:
Yet shall the verses and the charms decay,
The boast of youth, the blessing of a day!
Not Chaucer's beauties could survive the rage
Of wasting Envy, and devouring Age:
One mingled heap of ruin now we see;
Thus Chaucer is 3, and Fenton thus shall be!

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