« EelmineJätka »
See to their seats they hye with merry glee,
And in beseemly order sitten there,
All but the wight of bum y-galled, he
Abhorreth bench and stool, and fourm, and chair,
(This hand in mouth y-fix'd, that rends his hair;)
And eke with snubs profound, and heaving breast,
Convulsions intermitting! does declare
His grievous wrong, his dame's unjust behest,
And scorns her offer'd love, and shuns to be caress'd.
His face besprent, with liquid crystal shines,
His blooming face, that seems a purple flow'r;
Which low to earth its drooping head declines,
All smear'd and sully'd by a vernal show'r:
O the hard bosoms of despotic pow'r!
All, all, but she, the author of his shame,
All, all, but she, regret this mournful hour;
Yet hence the youth, and hence the flow'r shall claim,
If so I deem aright, transcending worth and fame.
Behind some door, in melancholy thought,
Mindless of food, he, dreary caitiff! pines,
Ne for his fellows' joyaunce careth aught,
But to the wind all merriment resigns,
And deems it shame if he to peace inclines;
And many a sullen look ascance is sent,
Which for his dame's annoyance he designs;
And still the more to pleasure him she's bent,
The more doth he, perverse, her 'haviour past resent.
Ah me! how much I fear lest pride it be!
But if that pride it be, which thus inspires,
Beware, ye dames! with nice discernment see
Ye quench not too the sparks of nobler fires:
Ah! better far than all the Muses' lyres,
All coward arts, is valour's gen'rous heat!
The firm fixt breast which fit and right requires,
Like Vernon's patriot soul; more justly great
Than craft that pimps for ill, or flow'ry false deceit.
Yet nurs'd with skill, what dazzling fruits appear! Ev'n now sagacious foresight points to show
A little bench of heedless bishops here,
And there a chancellor in embryo,
Or bard sublime, if bard may e'er be so,
As Milton, Shakespeare, names that ne'er shall die!
Tho' now he crawl along the ground so low,
Nor weeting how the Muse should soar on high,
Wisheth, poor starv'ling elf! his paper kite may fly.
And this perhaps, who, cens'ring the design,
Low lays the house which that of cards doth build,
Shall Dennis be! if rigid fates incline,
And many an epic to his rage shall yield,
And many a poet quit the Aonian field;
And, sour'd by age, profound he shall appear,
As he who now with 'sdainful fury thrill'd,
Surveys mine work, and levels many a sneer,
And furls his wrinkly front, and cries, "What stuff
But now Dan Phoebus gains the middle sky,
And Liberty unbars her prison door,
And like a rushing torrent out they fly,
And now the grassy cirque han cover'd o'er
With boist'rous revel-rout and wild uproar;
A thousand ways in wanton rings they run,
Heav'n shield their short-liv'd pastimes, I implore!
For well may Freedom, erst so dearly won,
Appear to British elf more gladsome then the sun.
Enjoy, poor imps! enjoy your sportive trade,
And chase gay flies, and cull the fairest flow'rs,
For when my bones in grass-green sods are laid,
For never may ye taste more careless hours
In knightly castles or in ladies' bow'rs.
O vain to seek delight in earthly thing!
But most in courts, where proud Ambition tow'rs: Deluded wight! who weens fair peace can spring Beneath the pompous dome of kesar or of king.
See in each sprite some various bent appear!
These rudely carol most incondite lay:
Those saunt'ring on the green with jocund leer
Salute the stranger passing on his way;
Some builden fragile tenements of clay;
Some to the standing lake their courses bend,
With pebbles smooth at duck and drake to play:
Thilk to the huxter's sav'ry cottage tend,
In pastry kings and queens th' allotted mite to spend,
Here, as each season yields a different store,
Each season's stores in order ranged been,
Apples with cabbage-net y-cover'd o'er,
Galling full sore the unmoney'd wight, are seen,
And goosb'rie clad in liv'ry red or green;
And here of lovely dye the cath'rine pear,
Fine pear! as lovely for thy juice I ween:
O may no wight e'er pennyless come there,
Lest smit with ardent love he pine with hopeless care!
See! cherries here, ere cherries yet abound,
With thread so white in tempting posies ty'd,
Scatt'ring like blooming maid their glances round,
With pamper'd look draw little eyes aside,
And must be bought, tho' penury betide;
The plum all azure, and the nut all brown,
And here each season do those cakes abide,
Whose honor'd names the inventive city own,
Rend'ring thro' Britain's isleSalopia's praises known.*
Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave,
Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils try'd,
Her daughters lovely, and her striplings brave:
Ah! 'midst the rest, may flow'rs adorn his grave,
Whose art did first these dulcet cakes display!
A motivé fair to Learning's imps he gave,
Who cheerless o'er her dark'ling region stray,
Till Reason's morn arise and light them on their way.
SHEPHERD, wouldst thou here obtain
Pleasure unalloy'd with pain,
Joy that suits the rural sphere ?
Gentle shepherd, lend an ear.
Learn to relish calm delight,
Verdant vales and fountains bright,
Trees that nod on sloping hills,
Caves that echo, tinkling rills.
If thou canst no charm disclose
In the simplest bud that blows,
Go, forsake thy plain and fold,
Join the crowd, and toil for gold.
Tranquil pleasures never cloy;
Banish each tumultuous joy;
All but love-for love inspires
Fonder wishes, warmer fires.
Love and all its joys be thine-
Yet ere thou the reins resign,
Hear what Reason seems to say,
Hear attentive, and obey:-
Crimson leaves the rose adorn,
But beneath them, lurks a thorn;
Fair and flow'ry is the brake,
Yet it hides the vengeful snake.
Think not she, whose empty pride
Dares the fleecy garb deride,
Think not she who, light and vain,
Scorns the sheep, can love the swain.
Artless deed and simple dress
Mark the chosen shepherdess;
Thoughts by decency controll'd,
Well conceiv'd and freely told;
Sense that shuns each conscious air,
Wit that falls ere well aware;
Generous pity prone to sigh
If her kid or lambkin die.
Let not lucre, let not pride,
Draw thee from such charms aside;
Have not those their proper sphere?
Gentle passions triumph here.
See! to sweeten thy repose,
The blossom buds, the fountain flows;
Lo! to crown thy healthful board,
All that milk and fruits afford.
Seek no more-the rest is vain;
Pleasure ending soon in pain;
Anguish lightly gilded o'er;
Close thy wish, and seek no more.
A PASTORAL BALLAD.
IN FOUR PARTS.
Arbusta humilesque myricæ.
Groves and lovely shrubs.
E shepherds! so cheerful and gay,
Whose flocks never carelessly roam,
Should Corydon's happen to stray,
O! call the poor wanderers home.
Allow me to muse and to sigh,
Nor talk of the change that ye find;
None once was so watchful as I;
-I have left my dear Phillis behind.
Now I know what it is to have strove
With the torture of doubt and desire;
What it is to admire and to love,
And to leave her we love and admire.