Page images
PDF
EPUB

Pleas'd that the nobler principles could move His daughter's heart, and soften it to love, Icarius own'd the auspices divine,

Wove the fair crown, and bless'd the holy shrine.

But ah! the dreaded parting hour to brave!
Then strong affection griev'd for what it gave.
Should he the comfort of his life's decline,
His life's last charm to Ithaca resign?
Or, wand'ring with her to a distant shore,
Behold Eurotas' long-lov'd banks no more?
Expose his grey hairs to an alien sky,
Nor on his country's parent bosom die 10?
"No, prince," he cried; "for Sparta's hap-
pier plain

Leave the lov'd honours of thy little reign.
The grateful change shall equal honours bring.
-Lord of himself, a Spartan is a king."
When thus the prince, with obvious grief

opprest,

"Canst thou not force the father from thy breast?
Not without pain behold one child depart,
Yet bid me tear a nation from my heart?
-Not for all Sparta's, all Euboea's plains"-
He said, and to his coursers gave the reins.
Still the fond sire pursues with suppliant voice;
"Till, mov'd, the monarch yields her to her
choice.

"Tho' mine by vows, by fair affection mine,
And holy truth, and auspices divine,
This suit let fair Penelope decide,
Remain the daughter, or proceed the bride."
O'er the quick blush her friendly mantle fell,
And told him all that modesty could tell.
No longer now the father's fondness strove
With patriot virtue or acknowledg'd love,
But on the scene that parting sighs endear'd,
Fair Modesty's" first honour'd fane he rear'd.
The daughter's form the pictur'd goddess

wore,

The daughter's veil 12 before her blushes bore,

9 The women of ancient Greece, at the marriage ceremony, wore garlands of flowers, probably as emblems of purity, fertility, and beauty. Thus Euripides,

αλλ' όμως

IPH.

Σοι κατατέψατ' ἔγωνιν ἦνεν, ὡς γαμουμένην The modern Greek ladies wear these garlands in various forms, whenever they appear dressed; and frequently adorn themselves thus for their own amusement, and when they do not expect to be seen by any but their domestics.

Voyage Litteraire de la Grece.

10 The ancients esteemed this one of the greatest misfortunes that could befall them. The Trojans thought it the most lamentable circumstance attending the loss of their pilot Palinurus, that his body should lie in a foreign country.

Ignotâ, Palinure, jacebis arenâ. "Pausanias, who has recorded the story on which this little poem is founded, tells us that this was the first temple erected to Modesty in Greece.

12 See the Veil of Modesty in the Musum Capitolinum, vol. iii.; and for further proofs of its high antiquity, see Hom. Odyss. lib. vi. Claud. Epithal. Honor. where he says,

Et crines festina ligat, peplumque fluentem
Allevat-

And taught the maids of Greece this sovereign law

She most shall conquer, who shall most withdraw.

VERSES IN MEMORY OF A LADY.

WRITTEN AT SANDGATE CASTLE, 1768.

Nec tantum ingenio, quantum servire dolori.

PROPERT.

No nuptial charm to known, or known, to hide,
LET others boast the base and faithless pride,
With vain disguise from Nature's dictates part,
For the poor triumph of a vacant heart;
My verse the god of tender vows inspires,
Dwells on my soul, and wakens all her fires,

Dear, silent partner of those happier hours, That pass'd in Hackthorn's vales, in Blagdon's bowers!

If yet thy gentle spirit wanders here,
Borne by its virtues to no nobler sphere;
If yet that pity which, of life possest,
Fill'd thy fair eye, and lighten'd thro' thy breast;
If yet that tender thought, that gen'rous care,
The gloomy power of endless night may spare;
Oh! while my soul for thee, for thee complains,
Catch her warm sighs, and kiss her bleeding

strains.

[breath, Wild, wretched wish! Can pray'r with feeble Pierce the pale ear, the statu'd ear of death? Let patience pray, let hope aspire to prayer And leave me the strong language of despair!

Hence, ye vain painters of ingenious woe, Ye Lytteltons, ye shining Petrarchs, go! I hate the languor of your lenient strain, Your flow'ry grief, your impotence of pain. Oh! had ye known what I have known, to

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

Oh! when beneath his golden shafts I bled,
And vainly bound his trophies round my head:
When crown'd with flowers, he led the rosy day,
Liv'd to my eye, and drew my soul away—
Could fear, could fancy, at that tender hour,
See the dim grave demand the nuptial flower?
There, there his wreathes dejected Hymen
strew'd;

And mourn'd their bloom unfaded as he view'd.
There each fair hope, each tenderness of life,
Each nameless charm of soft obliging strife,
Delight, love, fancy, pleasure, genius fled,
And the best passions of my soul lie dead;
All, all is there in cold oblivion laid,
But pale remembrance bending o'er a shade.
O come, ye softer sorrows, to my breast!
Ye lenient sighs, that slumber into rest! [wave,
Come, soothing dreams, your friendly pinions
We'll bear the fresh rose to yon honour'd grave;
For once this pain, this frantic pain forego,
And feel at last the luxury of woe!

Ye holy suff'rers, that in silence wait
The last sad refuge of relieving fate!

That rest at eve beneath the cypress' gloom,
And sleep familiar on your future tomb;
With you I'll waste the slow-departing day,
And wear with you th' uncolour'd hours away.
Oh! lead me to your cells, your lonely ailes,
Where resignation folds her arms and smiles:
Where holy faith unwearied vigils keeps,
And guards the urn where fair Constantia sleeps:
There, let me there in sweet oblivion lie,
And calmly feel the tutor'd passions die.

MONODY.

SUNG BY A REDBREAST,

THE gentle pair that in these lonely shades,
Wand'ring, at eve or morn, I oft have seen,
Now, all in vain, I seek at eve or morn,
With drooping wing, forlorn,

Along the grove, along the daisied green.
For them I've warbled many a summer's day,
Till the light dews impearled all the plain,
And the glad shepherd shut his nightly fold;
Stories of love, and high adventures old
Were the dear subjects of my tuneful strain.

Ah! where is now the hope of all my lay? Now they, perchance, that heard them all are dead!

With them the meed of melody is fled,
And fled with them the list'ning ear of praise.
Vainly I dreamt, that when the wint'ry sky
Scatter'd the white flood on the wasted plain,
When not one berry, not one leaf was nigh,
To sooth keen hunger's pain,
Vainly I dreamt my songs might not be vain.
That oft within the hospitable hall

Some scatter'd fragment haply I might find,
Some friendly crumb perchance for me design'd,
When seen despairing on the neighbouring wall.
Deluded bird, those hopes are now no more!
Dull Time has blasted the departing year,
And Winter frowns severe,
Wrapping his wan limbs in his mantle hoar;

1 See Spectator, No. 164.

Yet not within the hospitable hall
The cheerful sound of human voice I hear;
No piteous eye is near,

To see me drooping on the lonely wall,

TO A REDBREAST. LITTLE bird, with bosom red, Welcome to my humble shed! Courtly domes of high degree Have no room for thee and me; Pride and pleasure's fickle throug Nothing mind an idle song.

Daily near my table steal, Doubt not, little though there be, While I pick my scanty meal. But I'll cast a crumb to thee; Well rewarded, if I spy Pleasure in thy glancing eye; See thee, when thou'st eat thy fill, Plume thy breast, and wipe thy bill. · Come, iny feather'd friend, again, Well thou know'st the broken pane. Ask of me thy daily store; Go not near Avaro's door; Once within his iron hall, Woeful end shall thee befall. Savage!-He would soon divest Then, with solitary joy, Of its rosy plumes thy breast;

Eat thee, bones and all, my boy!

[blocks in formation]

INSCRIPTIONS...MONODY...IMITATION OF WALLER.

459

The various wreathes in vain; explores the | Ah me! my friend! in happier hours I spread,

shade

Where lowly lurks the violet blue, where droops,
In tender beauty, its fair spotted bells,
The cowslip oft with plaintive voice he calls
The wakeful Echo-What are streams or flowers,
Or songs of blithe birds? What the blushing
rose,

Young health, or music, or the voice of praise,
The smile of vernal suns, the fragrant breath
Of ev'ning gales, when Delia dwells afar?

INSCRIPTIONS ON A BEECH TREE,

IN THE ISLAND OF SICILY.

SWEET land of Muses! o'er whose favour'd
plains

Ceres and Flora held alternate sway;
By Jove refresh'd with life-diffusing rains,
By Phoebus blest with ev'ry kinder ray!
O with what pride do I those times survey,

When Freedom, by her rustic minstrels led, Dauc'd on the green lawn many a summer's day,

While pastoral Ease reclin'd her careless head.
In these soft shades: ere yet that shepherd fled,
Whose music piere'd Earth,air,and Heav'n and
Hell,

And call'd the ruthless tyrant of the dead
From the dark slumbers of his iron cell.

His ear unfolding caught the magic spell:
He felt the sounds glide softly through his
[tell;
heart;
The sounds that deign'd of Love's sweet power to
And, as they told, would point his golden

dart.

Fix'd was the god: nor power had he to part,
For the fair daughter of the sheaf-crown'd

queen,

Fair without pride, and lovely without art,

Gather'd her wild flowers on the daisied green. He saw, he sigh'd; and that unmelting breast, Which arms the hand of death, the power of love confest.

A MONODY,

INSCRIBED TO MY WORTHY FRIEND
JOHN SCOTT, ESQ.

BEING WRITTEN IN HIS GARDEN AT AMWELL, IN
HERTFORDSHIRE, THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR 1769.

FRIEND of my genius! on whose natal hour,
Shone the same star, but shone with brighter
ray;

Oft as amidst thy Amwell's shades I stray, And mark thy true taste in each winding bower, From my full eye why falls the tender shower, While other thoughts than these fair scenes convey,

Like thee, the wild walk o'er the varied plain;
The fairest tribe of Flora's painted train,
Each bolder shrub that grac'd her genial bed,
When old Sylvanus, by young wishes led,

Stole to her arms, of such fair offspring vain,
That bore their mother's beauties on their head. ↑
Like thee, inspir'd by love-'twas Delia's charms!
'Twas Delia's taste the new creation gave:

For her my groves in plaintive sighs would

wave,

And call her absent to their master's arms.
She comes-Ye flowers, your fairest blooms un-
fold,

Ye waving groves, your plaintive sighs forbear,
Breathe all your fragrance to the am'rous air,
Ye smiling shrubs whose heads are cloth'd with
gold!

She comes, by truth, by fair affection led,
The long lov'd mistress of my faithful heart!
The mistress of my soul, no more to part,

And all my hopes and all my vows are sped.
Vain, vain delusions! dreams for ever fled!
Ere twice the spring had wak'd the genial hour,
The lovely parent bore one beauteous flower,
And droop'd her gentle head,

And sunk, for ever sunk, into her silent bed.
Friend of my genius! partner of my fate!
"To equal sense of painful suffering born!
From whose fond breast a lovely parent torn,
Bedew'd thy pale cheek with a tear so late-

Oh! let us mindful of the short, short date,
That bears the spoil of human hopes away,
Indulge sweet mem'ry of each happier day!
No, close, for ever close the iron gate
Of cold oblivion on that dreary cell,
Where the pale shades of past enjoyments dwell,
And, pointing to their bleeding bosoms, say,
"On life's disastrous hour what varied woes
await!"

Let scenes of softer, gentler kind,

Awake to fancy's soothing call,
And milder on the pensive mind,

The shadow'd thought of grief shall fall.
Oft as the slowly-closing day

Draws her pale mantle from the dew-star's eye,
What time the shepherd's cry

Leads from the pastur'd hills his flocks away,
Attentive to the tender lay

That steals from Philomela's breast,

Let us in musing silence stray,

Where Lee beholds in mazes slow

His uncomplaining waters flow,

And all his whisp'ring shores invite the charms of rest.

IMITATION OF WALLER.

WALLER TO ST. EVREMOND.

O VALES of Penshurst, now so long unseen!
Forgot each shade secure, each winding green;
These lonely paths, what art have I to tread,
Where once young Love,the blind enthuisiast,led?
Yet if the genius of your conscious groves

Bear on my trembling mind, and melts its His Sidney in my Sacharissa loves;

powers away?

Let him with pride her cruel power unfold;
By him my pains let Evremond be told.

THE DUCHESS OF MAZARINE.

ON HER RETIRING INTO A CONVENT.

YE holy cares that haunt these lonely cells,
These scenes where salutary sadness dwells;
Ye sighs that minute the slow wasting day,
Ye pale regrets that wear my life away;
O bid these passions for the world depart,
These wild desires, and vanities of heart,
Hide every trace of vice, of follies past,
And yield to Heaven the victory at last.
To that the poor remains of life are due,
"Tis Heaven that calls, and I the call pursue.

Lord of my life, my future cares are thine,
My love, my duty greet thy holy shrine:
No more my heart to vainer hopes I give,
But live for thee, whose bounty bids me live.
The power that gave these little charms their

grace,

His favours bounded, and confin'd their space;
Spite of those charms shall time, with rude essay,
Tear from the cheek the transient rose away.
But the free mind, ten thousand ages past,
Its Maker's form, shall with its Maker last.
Uncertain objects still our homes employ;
Uncertain all that bears the name of joy!
Of all that feel the injuries of fate

Uncertain is the search, and short the date,
Yet ev'n that boon what thousands wish to gain?
That boon of death, the sad resource of pain!

Once on my path all Fortune's glory fell,
Her vain magnificence, and courtly swell:
Love touch'd my soul at least with soft desires,
And vanity there fed her meteor fires,
This truth at last the mighty scenes let fall,
An hour of innocence was worth them all.

Lord of my life! O, let thy sacred ray
Shine o'er my heart, and break its clouds away,
Deluding, flattering, faithless world, adieu !
Long hast thou taught me, God is only true:
That God alone I trust, alone adore,
No more deluded, and misled no more.
Come, sacred hour, when wav'ring doubts
shall cease!

Come, hoły scenes of long repose and peace!
Yet shall my heart, to other interests true,
A moment balance 'twixt the world and you?
Of pensive nights, of long-reflecting days,
Be yours, at last, the triumph and the praise.
Great, gracious Master, whose unbounded
sway,

Felt thro' ten thousand worlds, those worlds obey;
Wilt thou for once thy awful glories shade,
And deign t' espouse the creature thou hast

inade?

All other ties indignant I disclaim,
Dishonour'd those, and infamous to name!

O fatal ties for which such tears I've shed.
For which the pleasures of the world lay dead!
That world's soft pleasures you alone disarm;
That world without you, still in'ght have its
charm.

But now those scenes of tempting hope I close,
And seek the peaceful studies of repose:
Look on the past as time that stole away,
And beg the blessings of a happier day.

Ye gay saloons, ye golden-vested halls,
Scenes of high treats, and heart-bewitching balls!

Dress, figure, splendour, charms of play, farewell,
And all the toilet's science to excel;
E'en Love that ambush'd in this beauteous hair,
No more shall lie, like Indian archers, there.
Go, erring Love! for nobler objects given !
Go, beauteous hair, a sacrifice to Heaven!

Soon shall the veil these glowing features hide,
At once the period of their power and pride!
The helpless lover shall no more complain
Of vows unheard, or unrewarded pain;
While calmly sleep in each untutor'd breast
My secret sorrow, and his sighs profest.

Go, flattering train! and, slaves to me no

more,

With the same sighs some happier fair adore!
Your alter'd faith I blame uot, nor bewail-
And haply yet, (what woman is not frail?)
If he that lov'd me knew no other love!
Yet, haply, might I calmer minutes prove,

Yet were that ardour, which his breast in-
By charms of more than mortal beauty fir'd;
spir'd,
What nobler pride! could I to Heaven resign
The zeal, the service that I boasted mine!
O, change your false desires, ye flattering train,
And love me pious, whom you lov'd profane!

These long adieus with lovers doom'd to go,
Or prove their merit, or my weakness show,
May spare the tribute of a female tear,
But Heaven, to such soft frailties less severe,
May yield one tender moment to deplore
Those gentle hearts that I must hold no more.

THE AMIABLE KING.

THE free-born Muse her tribute rarely brings,
Or burns her incense to the power of kings!
But Virtue ever shall her voice cominand,
Alike a spade or sceptre in her hand.
Is there a prince untainted with a throne,
That makes the interest of mankind his own;
Whose bounty knows no bounds of time or place,
Who nobly feels for all the human race:
A prince that acts in reason's steady sphere,
No slave to passion, and no dupe to fear;
A breast where mild humanity resides,
Where virtue dictates, and where wisdom guides;
A mind that, stretch'd beyond the years of
youth,

Explores the secret springs of taste and truth?
These, these are virtues which the Muse shall
sing;

And plant, for these, her laurels round a king!
Britannia's monarch! this shall be thy praise;
For this be crown'd with never-fading bays!

THE HAPPY VILLAGER.
VIRTUE dwells in Arden's vale;
There her hallow'd temples rise,
There her incense greets the skies,
Grateful as the morning gale;
There, with humble Peace and her,
Lives the happy villager;

There, the golden smiles of morn
Brighter every field adorn;

There the Sun's declining ray
Fairer paints the parting day:
There the woodlark louder sings,
Zephyr moves on softer wings,
Groves in greener honours rise,
Purer azure spreads the skies;
There the fountains clearer flow,
Flowers in brighter beauty blow:
For, with Peace and Virtue, there
Lives the happy villager.

Distant still from Arden's vale
Are the woes the bad bewail;
Distant fell Remorse, and Pain,
And Frenzy smiling o'er her chain!

Grief's quick pang, Despair's dead groan,
Are in Arden's vale unknown:

For, with Peace and Virtue, there
Lives the happy villager!

In his hospitable cell,

Love, and Truth, and Freedom dwell;
And, with aspect mild and free,
The graceful nymph, Simplicity.
Hail, ye liberal graces, hail!
Natives all of Arden's vale:

For, with Peace and Virtue, there
Liyes the happy villager.

HYMENEAL.

ON THE MARRIAGE OF HIS PRESENT MAJESTY.

AWAKE, thou everlasting lyre!

That once the mighty Pindar strung, When wrapt with more than mortal fire, The gods of Greece he sung! Awake!

Arrest the rapid foot of Time again

With liquid notes of joy, and pleasure's melting. strain.

Crown'd with each beauteous flower that blows
On Acidalia's tuneful side;
With all Aonia's rosy pride,
Where numerous Aganippe flows;
From Thespian groves and fountains wild,
Come, thou yellow-vested boy,
Redolent of youth and joy,
Fair Urania's favour'd child'!
George to thee devotes the day:
Io! Hymen, haste away!
Daughter of the genial main!

Queen of youth and rosy smiles,
Queen of dimple-dwelling wiles;
Come with all thy Paphian train:

O, give the fair that blooms for Britain's throne, Thy melting charms of love, thy soul-enchanting zone!

Daughter of the genial main !

Bring that heart-dissolving power,
Which once in Ida's sacred bower
The soul of Jove oppos'd in vain :

The sire of gods thy conquering charms confess'd; And, vanquish'd, sunk, sunk down of Juno's fost'ring breast.

She comes, the conscious sea subsides;
Old Ocean curbs his thund'ring tides:
Smooth the silken surface lies,
Where Venus' flow'ry chariot flies:

1 See Catullus.

Paphian airs in ambush sleep

On the still bosom of the deep;

Paphian maids around her move, Keen-ey'd Hope, and Joy, and Love:

Their rosy breasts a thousand Cupids lave, And dip their wanton wings, and beat the buxom

wave.

But mark, of more than vulgar mein,
With regal grace and radiant eye,
A form in youthful majesty!
Britain, hail thy favour'd queen!

For her the conscious sea subsides;
Old Ocean curbs his thund'ring tides,
O'er the glassy-bosom'd main
Venus leads her laughing train;

The Paphian maids move graceful by her side,

And o'er the buxom waves the rosy Cupids ride.

Fly, ye fairy-footed hours!
Fly, with aromatic flowers!
Such as bath'd in orient dews,
Beauty's living glow diffuse;
Such as in Idalia's grove

Breathe the sweets, the soul of love!

Come, genial god of chaste delight, With wreathes of festive roses crown'd, And torch that burns with radiance bright, And liberal robe that sweeps the ground! Bring the days of golden joy, Pleasures pure, that never cloy! Bring to Britain's happy pair, All that's kind, and good, and fair! George to thee devotes the day: lo! Hymen, haste away. Daughters of Jove! ye virgins sage, That wait on Camus' boary age; That oft his winding vales along Have smooth'd your silver-woven song; O wake once more those lays sublime, That live beyond the wrecks of time! To crown your Albion's boasted pair, The never-fading wreath prepare ; While her rocks echo to this strain, "The friends of freedom and of Britain reign."

[blocks in formation]
« EelmineJätka »