Bend down his ear to each afflicted cry,
Let beams of grace dart gently from his eye;
But the bright treafures of his facred breast
are too divine, too vaft to be exprest:

blours muit fail where words and numbers faint, and leave the hero's heart for thought alone to paint.

PART II.

Now, Mufe, pursue the fatyrift again, Wipe off the biots of his invenom'd pen; Hark, how he bids the fervile painter draw, #monftrous fhapes, the patrons of our law; At one flight dafh he cancels every name. on the white rolls of honefty and fame; This fcribbling wretch marks all he meets for knave, boots fudden bolts promifcuous at the bafe and And with unpardonable malice sheds [brave,

on and spite on undistinguish'd heads. inter, forbear; or if thy bolder hand ares to attempt the villains of the land, aw firft this poet, like fome baleful ftar, With filent influence fhedding civil war ; factious trumpeter, whofe magic found alls off the fubjects to the hoftile ground, And featters hellish feuds the nation round. hefe are the imps of hell, that curfed tribe hat firft create the plague, and then the pain describe.

Draw next above, the great ones of our ifle, all from the good diftinguishing the vile; at them in pomp, in grandeur, and command, feeling the fubjects with a greedy hand:

hint forth the knaves that have the nation fold, And tinge their greedy looks with fordid gold. Mark what a feififh faction undermines The pious monarch's generous defigns, poil their own native land as vipers do, pers that tear their mother's bowels through. et great Naffau, beneath a careful crown, Mournful in majefty, look gently down, Mingling foft pity with an awful frown:

grieves to fee how long in vain he strove To make us bleft, how vain his labours prove To fave the stubborn land he condefcends to love.

TO THE DISCONTENTED AND UNQUIET.
Imitated partly from Cafimire, B. IV. Od. 15.

ARIA, there's nothing here that's free
From wearifome anxiety:
And the whole round of mortal joys
With fhort poffeffion tires and cloys:
Tis a dull circle that we tread,
Juft from the window to the bed,
We vife to fee and to be seen,
Gaze on the world awhile, and then
We yawn, and stretch to fleep again.
But Fancy, that uncafy guest,
Still holds a longing in our breast:
She finds or frames vexations ftill.
Herfelf the greatest plague we feel,
We take ftrange pleasure in our pain,
And make a mountain of a grain,
Affame the load, and pant and sweat
Beneath th' imaginary weight.
With our dear felves we live at ftrife,
While the most constant scenes of life

From peevish humours are not free;
Still we affect variety
Rather than pafs an eafy day,
We fret and chide the hours away,
Grow weary of this circling fun,
And vex that he should ever run
The fame old track; and fill, and fill
Rife red behind you eaftern hill,
And chide the moon that darts her light
Through the fame casement every night.

We shift our chambers, and our homes,
To dwell where trouble never comes;
Sylvia has left the city crowd,
Against the court exclaims aloud,
Flies to the woods; a hermit faint!
She loaths her patches, pins, and paint,
Dear diamonds from her neck are torn:
But humour, that eternal thorn,
Sticks in her heart: She is hurry'd ftill,
Twixt her wild paffions and her will:
Haunted and hagg'd where-e'er she roves,
By purling ftreams, and filent groves,
Or with her furies, or her loves.

Then our own native land we hate,
Too cold, too windy, or too wet;
Change the thick climate, and repair
To France or Italy for air;

In vain we change, in vain we fly;
Go, Sylvia, mount the whirling sky,
Or ride upon the feather'd wind
In vain; if this difeafed mind
Clings faft, and ftili fits clofe behind.
Faithful difeafe, that never fails
Attendance at her lady's fide,
Over the defart or the tide,
On rolling wheels, or flying fails.

Happy the foul that virtue showe
Too fix the place of her repose,
Needlefs to move; for fhe can dwell
In her old grandfire's hall as well.
Virtue that never loves to roam,
But fweetly hides herself at home.
And eafy on a native throne
Of humble turf fits gently down.

Yet fhould tumultuous ftorms arise,
And mingle earth, and feas, and skies,
Should the waves fwell, and make her roll
Across the line, or near the pole,
Still fhe's at peace; for well fhe knows
To launch the stream that duty shows,
And makes her home where-e'er the goes.
Bear her, ye feas, upon your breast,
Or waft her, winds, from eaft to west
On the foft air; fhe cannot find

A couch fo eafy as her mind,

Nor breathe a climate half so kind.

• TO JOHN HARTOPP, ESQ.

AFTERWARDS SIR JOHN HARTOPP, BART.

Cafimire, Book I. Ode 4. imitated.
"Vive jucundæ metuens juventæ," &c.
July, 1700.

LIVE, my dear Hartopp, live to-day,
Nor let the fun look down and fay,
"Inglorious here he lies;"

Shake off your eafe, and fend your name
To immortality and fame,

By every hour that flies.

Youth's a foft fcene, but trust her not:
Her airy minutes, fwift as thought,
Slide off the flippery sphere;

Moons with their months make hafty rounds,
The fun has pafs'd his vernal bounds,
And whirls about the year.

Let folly drefs in green and red,
And gird her wafte with flowing gold,
Knit blufhing roses round her head,
Alas! the gaudy colours fade,
The garment waxes old.
Hartopp, mark the withering rofe,
And the pale gold how dim it shows!
Bright and lafting blifs below

Is all romance and dream;
Only the joys celestial flow

In an eternal stream,

The pleasures that the fmiling day
With large right hand bestows,
Falfely her left conveys away,
And fhuffles in our woes.
So have I feen a mother play,
And cheat her filly child,
She gave and took a toy away,
The infant cry'd and smil'd.
Airy chance, and iron fate,
Hurry and vex our mortal state,
And all the race of ills create;
Now fiery joy, now fullen grief,
Commands the reins of human life,
The wheels impetuous roll;

The harnest hours and minutes strive,
And days with ftretching pinions drive.
-down fiercely on the goal.

Not half fo faft the galley flies

O'er the Venetian fea,

When fails, and oars, and labouring skics,
Contend to make her way.

Swift wings for all the flying hours
The God of time prepares,

The reft lie ftill yet in their neft
And grow for future years.

TO THOMAS GUNSTON, ESQ.

HAPPY SOLITUDE.

Cafimire, Book IV. Ode 12. imitated.

Quid me latentem," &c. 1700.
THE noify world complains of me
That I fhould fhun their fight and flee
Vifits, and crowds, and company.
Gunfton, the lark dwells in her net
Till the afcend the skies;
And in my clofet I could reft

Till to the heavens I rife.

Yet they will urge, " This private life
"Can never make you bleft,

"And twenty doors are still at ftrife

"T' engage you for a guest."

Friend, fhould the towers of Windfor or Whitehall

Spread open their inviting gates
To make my entertainment gay;
I would obey the royal call,

But fhort fhould be my stay,
Since a diviner fervice waits

T'employ my hours at home, and better fill the da
When I within myself retreat,

I fhut my doors against the great;
My bufy eye-balls inward roll,
And there with large furvey I fee
All the wide theatre of me,

And view the various fcenes of my retiring foul
There I walk o'er the mazes I have trod,
While hope and fear are in a doubtful strife,
Whether this opera of life

Be acted well to gain the plaudit of my God.
There's a day haftening, ('tis an awful day!)
When the great fovereign fhall at large review
All that we speak, and all we do,
The feveral parts we act on this wide stage of ch
These he approves, and those he blames,
And crowns perhaps a porter, and a prince he dam
O if the judge from his tremendous feat

Shall not condemn what I have done,
I fhall be happy though unknown,
Nor heed the gazing rabble, nor the fhouting fire
I hate the glory, friend, that fprings
From vulgar breath, and empty found;
Fame mounts her upward with a flattering gale
Upon her airy wings,

Till envy fhoots, and fame receives the wound: Then her flagging pinions fail,

Down glory falls, and ftrikes the ground, And breaks her batter'd limbs. Rather let me be quite conceal'd from fame; How happy I fhould lie

In fweet obfcurity,

Nor the loud world pronounce my little name! Here I could live and die alone;

Or if fociety be due

To keep our tafte of pleasure new,
Gunfton, I'd live and die with you,
For both our fouls are one.

Here we could fit and país the hour,

And pity kingdoms, and their kings, And mile at all their fhining things, Their toys of ftate, and images of power; Virtue fhould dwell within our feat, Virtue alone could make it sweet, Nor is herself secure, but in a close retreat, While fhe withdraws from public praife, Envy perhaps would ceafe to rail, Envy itself would innocently gaze

At beauty in a vail:

But if the once advance to light, Her charms are loft in envy's fight, And virtue ftands the mark of universal spight,

TO JOHN HARTOPP, ESQ. AFTERWARDS SIR JOHN HARTOPP, BART

THE DISDAIN. 1700.

HARTOPP, I love the foul that dares
Tread the temptations of his years
Beneath his youthful feet:

GIVE me, Mitio, that there fhould be any portifying lines in the following poems infcribed you, fo foon after your entrance into that state hich was defigned for the completeft happiness earth: But you will quickly discover, that the afe in the firft poem only reprefents the fhades nd dark colours that melancholy throws upon ve, and the focial life. In the fecond, perhaps the delges her own bright ideas a little. Yet if the counts are but well balanced at laft, and things in a due light, I hope there is no ground for fure. Here you will find an attempt made to alk of one of the most important concerns of huan nature in verfe, and that with a folemnity coming the argument. I have banished grimace ridicule, that perfons of the most serious chader may read without offence. What was writen feveral years ago to yourself, is now permitted entertain the world; but you may affume it to urfelf as a private entertainment still, while you concealed behind a feigned name.

THE MOURNING-PIECE.

Larr's a long tragedy: This globe the stage,
Weil fix'd and well adorn'd with ftrong machines,
Gay fields, and fkies, and feas: The actors many:
The plot immenfe: A flight of demons fit
On every failing cloud with fatal purpose;

And fhoots across the fcenes ten thousand arrows
Perpetual and unfeen, headed with pain,
With forrow, infamy, disease, and death.
The pointed plagues fly filent through the air,
Nor twangs the bow, yet fure and deep the wound.

Dianthe acts her little part alone,
Nor wishes an affociate. Lo fhe glides
Single through all the ftorm, and more fecure;
Les are her dangers, and her breaft receives
The feweft darts. "But, O my lov'd Marilla,
My fifter, once my friend, (Dianthe cries)
How much art thou expofed! Thy growing foul
*Doubled in wedlock multiply'd in children,
Stands but the broader mark for all the mischiefs
That rove promifcuons o'er the mortal stage:

"Children, thofe dear young limbs, those tendereft

pieces

"Of your own flefh, thofe little other felves, "How they dilate the heart to wide dimensions, "And foften every fibre to improve

"The mother's fad capacity of pain!

"I mourn Fidelio too; though heaven has chose "A favourite mate for him, of all her fex "The pride and flower: How bleft the lovely pair, "Beyond expreffion, if well mingled loves "And woes well mingled could improve our blifs! "Amidst the rugged cares of life behold "The father and the hufband; flattering names, "That spread his title, and enlarge his fhare "Of common wretchedness. He fondly hopes "To multiply his joys, but every hour "Renews the difappointment and the smart. "There not a wound afflicts the meanest joint "Of his fair partner, or her infant train, "(Sweet babes!) but pierces to his inmost soul. "Strange is thy power, O Love! what numer❝ous veins,

"And arteries, and arms, and hands, and eyes, "Are link'd and fasten'd to a lover's heart, "By ftrong but fecret ftrings! With vain attempt "We put the Stoic on, in vain we try "To break the ties of nature and of blood; "Thofe hidden threads maintain the dear com

"munion

"Inviolably firm; their thrilling motions "Reciprocal give endless fympathy "In all the bitters and the fweets of life. "Thrice happy man, if pleasure only knew "Thefe avenues of love to reach our fouls, "And pain had never found them!"

Nor

Thus fang the tuneful maid, fearful to try The bold experiment. Oft Daphnia came, And oft Narciffus, rivals of her heart, Luring her eyes with trifles dipt in gold, And the gay filken bondage. Firm fhe ftood, And bold repuls'd the bright temptation ftill, put the chains on; dangerous to try, And hard to be diffolv'd. Yet rifing tears Sate on her eye-lids, while her numbers flow'd Harmonious forrow; and the pitying drops Stole down her cheeks, to mourn the hapless flate Of mortal love. Love, thou beft bleffing fent To soften life, and make our iron cares Eafy: But thy own cares of fofter kind Give fharper wounds: They lodge too near the Beat, like the pulfe, perpetual, and create A strange uneafy sense, a tempting pain.

[heart,

Say, my companion Mitio, speak fincere,
(For thou art learned now) what anxious thought,
What kind perplexities tumultuous rife,
If but the abfence of a day divide

Thee from thy fair beloved! Vainly fmiles
The cheerful fun, and night with radiant eyes
Twinkles in vain: The region of thy foul
Is darkness, till thy better ftar appear.
Tell me, what toil, what torment to fuftain
The rolling burden of the tedious hours?
The tedious hours are ages. Fancy roves
Reftlefs in fond inquiry, nor believes
Charifla fafe: Chariffa, in whofe life
Thy life confifts, and in her comfort thine,
Fear and furmife put on a thousand forma

With reverence and abasement deep they fall
Before his Sovereign Majefty, to pay

Due worthip: Then his mercy on their fouls
Smiles with a gentler ray, but fovereign ftill;
And leads their meditation and difcourfe
Long ages backward, and across the feas
To Bethlehem of Judah: There the Son,
The filial Godhead, character exprefs
Of brightness inexpreffible, laid by

His beamy robes, and made defcent to earth:
Sprung from the fons of Adam he became
A fecond father, ftudious to regain
Left paradife for men, and purchase heaven.
The lovers with endearment mutual thus
Promifcuous talk'd, and questions intricate
His manly judgment still refolv'd, and still
Held her attention fix'd: fhe mufing fat
On the fweet mention of incarnate love,
Till rapture wak'd her voice to fofteft ftrains.

譯

She fang the Infant God; (mysterious theme!) "How vile his birth-place, and his cradle vile! The ox and afs his mean companions; there In habit vile the shepherds flock around, Salating the great mother, and adore Ifrael's anointed King, the appointed heir Of the creation. How debas'd he lies Beneath his regal state; for thee, my Mitio, Debas'd in fervile form; but angels flood Ministering round their charge with folded wings [hours Obfequious, though unfeen; while lightfome Fulfill'd the day, and the gray evening rofe. * Then the fair guardians hovering o'er his head "Wakeful all night, drive the foul fpirits far, "And with their fanning pinions purge the air "From bufy phantoms, from infectious damps, "And impure taint; while their ambrofial plumes A dewy flumber on his fenfes fhed.

"Nail'd to the cruel wood, he groans, he dies, "For thee he dies. Beneath thy fins and mine " (Horrible load!) the finlefs Saviour groans, "And in fierce anguifh of his foul expires.

66

Adoring angels pry with bending head "Searching the deep contrivance, and admire "This infinite defign. Here peace is made ""Twixt God the Sovereign, and the rebel man: "Here Satan overthrown with all his hofts "In fecond ruin rages and defpairs; "Malice itself defpairs. The captive prey "Long held in flavery hopes a sweet release, "And Adam's ruin'd offspring fhall revive "Thus ranfom'd from the greedy jaws of death."

The fair difciple heard; her paffions move Harmonious to the great difcourfe, and breathe Refin'd devotion: while new fmiles of love Repay her teacher. Both with bended knees Read o'er the covenant of eternal life Brought down to men; feal'd by the facred Three In heaven; and feal'd on earth with God's own

blood.

Here they unite their names again, and fign
Thofe peaceful articles. (Hail, bleft co-heirs
Celeftial! Ye fhall grow to manly age,
And, spite of earth and hell, in feafon due
Poffefs the fair inheritance above.)
With joyous admiration they furvey
The gofpel treasures infinite, unfeen
By mortal eye, by mortal ear unheard,
And unconceiv'd by thought: Riches divine
And honours which the Almighty Father God
Pour'd with immenfe profufion on his Son,
High treasurer of heaven. The Son bestows
The life, the love, the bleffing, and the joy
On bankrupt mortals who believe and love
His name. "Then, my Chariffa, all is thine.
"And thine, my Mitio, the fair faint replies.
"Life, death, the world below, and worlds on high,
"And place, and time, are ours; and things to
come,

"And paft, and prefent; for our intereft stands
"Firm in our myftic head, the title fure.
""Tis for our health and sweet refreshment, (while
"We fojourn strangers here) the fruitful earth
"Bears plenteous; and revolving feafons still
"Drefs her vaft globe in various ornament.
"For us this cheerful fun and cheerful light
"Diurnal fhine. This blue expanse of sky

Hangs a rich canopy above our heads, "Covering our flumbers, all with stary gold "Inwrought, when night alternates her return. "For us time wears his wings out: Nature keeps "Her wheels in motion: and her fabric ftands. "Glories beyond our ken of mortal fight "Are now preparing, and a manfion fair "Awaits us, where the faints unbody'd live. Spirits releas'd from clay, and purg'd from sin: "Thither our hearts with mofl incffeant with

Panting afpire; when fhall that dearest hour "Shine and release us hence, and bear us high, "Bear us at once unfever'd to our better home?"

O bleft connubial ftate! O happy pair, Envy'd by yet unfociated fouls Who feck their faithful twins! Your pleasures rife Sweet as the morn, advancing as the day, Fervent as the glorious noon, ferenely calm