Since Lyttelton has crown'd the sweet domain With softer pleasures, and with fairer faine. Where the rough bowinan urg'd his headlong steed, Immortal bards, a polish'd race, retire; And where hoarse scream'd the strepent horn, succeed The melting graces of no vulgar lyre. See Thomson loitering near some limpid well, For Britain's friend the verdant wreath prepare! Or, studious of revolving seasons, tell, How peerless Lucia made all seasons fair! See ******* from civic garlands fly, And in these groves indulge his tuneful vein ! Or from yon summit, with a guardian's eye, Observe how Freedom's hand attires the plain! Here Pope! ah never must that towering mind To his lov'd haunts, or dearer friend, return> What art! what friendships! oh! what fame resign'd; -In yonder glade I trace his mournful urn. Where is the breast can rage or hate retain, And these glad streams and smiling lawns behold? Where is the breast can hear the woodland strain, And think fair Freedom well exchang'd for gold? Through these soft shades delighted let me stray, While o'er my head forgotten suns descend! Through these dear valleys bend my casual way, Till setting life a total shade extend! Here, far from courts, and void of pompous cares, I'll muse how much I owe mine humbler fate: Or shrink to find how much Ambition dares; To shine in anguish, and to grieve in state! Canst thou, O Sun! that spotless throne disclose, Where her bold arm has left no sanguine stain? Where, show me where, the lineal sceptre glows, Pure, as the simple crook that rules the plain? REFLECTIONS SUggested by his SITUA- Tremendous pomp! where hate, distrust, and fear, TION. BORN near the scene for Kenelm's fate renown'd, Where spreading oaks embower a Gothic fane; Th' ambitious maid could every care employ; Then with assiduous fondness cropt the flowers, To deck the cradle of the princely boy. But soon the bosom's pleasing calm is flown; Love fires her breast; the sultry passions rise; A favour'd lover seeks the Mercian throne, And views her Kenelm with a rival's eyes. How kind were Fortune, ah! how just were Fate, Would Fate or Fortune Mercia's heir remove! How sweet to revel on the couch of state! To crown at once her lover and her love! See, garnish'd for the chase, the fraudful maid To these lone hills direct his devious way; The youth all prone the sister guide obey'd, Ill-fated youth, himself the destin'd prey. But now, nor shaggy hill, nor pathless plain, Forms the lone refuge of the sylvan game; In kindred bosoms solve the social tie; There not the parent smile is half sincere; Nor void of art the consort's melting eye.. There with the friendly wish, the kindly flame, No face is brighten'd, and no bosoms beat; Youth, manhood, age, avow one sordid aim, And e'en the beardless lip essays deceit. There coward rumours walk their murderous round; The glance, that more than rural blame instills; Whispers, that ting'd with friendship doubly wound, Pity that injures, and concern that kills. Their anger whets, but love can ne'er engage; Caressing brothers part but to revile; There all men smile, and Prudence warns the wise, To dread the fatal stroke of all that smile.. There all her rivals! sister, son, and sire, With horrid purpose hug destructive arms; There soft-ey'd maids in murderous plots conspire, And scorn the gentler mischief of their charms. Let servile minds one endless watch endure; Day, night, nor hour, their anxious guard resign; But, lay me, Fate! on flowery banks, secure, Though my whole soul be, like my limbs, supine. Yes, may my tongue disdain a vassal's care; My lyre resound no prostituted lay : More warm to merit, more elate to wear The cap of Freedom, than the crown of bay, Sooth'd by the murmurs of my pebbled flood, I scorn the quarry where no shrub can grow. His love at once, and his ambition 's crown'd. ELEGY XXIV. He takes occasion, from the fate of Eleanor of Bretagne, to suggest the imperfect pleasures of a solitary life. WHEN Beauty mourns, by Fate's injurious doom, Hid from the cheerful glance of human eye; When Nature's pride inglorious waits the tomb, Hard is that heart which checks the rising righ. Fair Eleanora ! would no gallant mind, The cause of love, the cause of justice own? Matchless thy charms, and was no life resign'd To see them sparkle from their native throne? Or had fair Freedom's hand unveil'd thy charms, Well might such brows the regal gem resign; Thy radiant mien might scorn the guilt of arms, Yet Albion's awful empire yield to thine. O shame of Britons! in one sullen tower She wet with royal tears her daily cell; She found keen Anguish every rose devour; [fell. They sprung, they shone, they faded, and they Through one dim lattice fring'd with ivy round, Successive suns a languid radiance threw ; To paint how fierce her angry guardian frown'd, To mark how fast her waning beauty flew. This, age might bear; then sated Fancy palls, Nor warmly hopes what splendour can supply; Fond youth incessant mourns, if rigid walls Restrain its listening ear, its curious eye. Believe me, ****, the pretence is vain! This boasted calm that smooths our early days; For never yet could youthful mind restrain Th' alternate pant for pleasure and for praise. E'en me, by shady oak or limpid spring, E'en ine, the scenes of polish'd life allure; Some genius whispers, "Life is on the wing, And hard his lot that languishes obscure. "What though thytriper mind admire no moreThe shining cincture, and the broider'd fold, Can pierce like lightning through the figur'd ore, And melt to dross the radiant forms of gold. "Furs, ermines, rods, may well attract thy scorn; The futile presents of capricious power! But wit, but worth, the public sphere adorn, And who but envies then the social hour? "Can Virtue, careless of her pupil's meed, Forget how *** sustains the shepherd's cause? Content in shades to tune a lonely reed, Nor join the sounding pæan of applause? "For public haunts, impell'd by Britain's weal, See Grenville quit the Muse's favourite ease; And shall not swains admire his noble zeal? Admiring praise, admiring strive to please? "Life,' says the sage, affords no bliss sincere ; And courts and cells in vain our hopes renew:' But ah! where Grenville charms the listening ear, 'T is hard to think the cheerless maxim true. "The groves may smile; the rivers gently glide; Soft through the vale resound the lonesome lay: E'en thickets yield delight, if Taste preside; But can they please, when Lyttelton 's away? "Pure as the swain's the breast of *** glows, Ah! were the shepherd's praise, like his refin'd! But, how improv'd the generous dictate flows Through the clear medium of a polish'd mind! Happy the youths who, warm with Britain's love, Her inmost wish in ***'s periods hear! Happy that in the radiant circle move, 66 Attendant orbs, where Lonsdale gilds the sphere! "While rural faith, and every polish'd art, Each friendly charm, in *** conspire, From public scenes all pensive must you part; All joyless to the greenest fields retire! "Go, plaintive youth! no more by fount or stream, Like some lone halcyon, social pleasure shun; Go dare the light, enjoy its cheerful beam, And hail the bright procession of the Sun. "Then cover'd by thy ripen'd shades, resume The silent walk; no more by passion tost: Then seek thy rustic haunts; the dreary gloom, Where every art that colours life, is lost."In vain! the listening Muse attends in vain! Restraints in hostile bands her motions waitYet will I grieve, and sadden all my strain, When injur'd Beauty mourns the Muse's fate. ELEGY XXV. TO DELIA, WITH SOME FLOWERS; Complaining how much his benevolence suffers on account of his humble fortune. WHATE'ER Could Sculpture's curious art employ, To learn the latent wishes of a friend! To spare the modest blush; to give unseen! Like showers that fall behind the veil of night, Yet deeply tinge the smiling vales with green. But happiest they, who drooping realms relieve! Whose virtues in our cultur'd vales appear! For whose sad fate a thousand shepherds grieve, And fading fields allow the grief sincere. To call lost Worth from its oppressive shade; To fix its equal sphere, and see it shine; To hear it grateful own the generous aid; This, this is transport-but must ne'er be mine. Faint is my bounded bliss; nor I refuse To range where daisies open, rivers roll; While prose or song the languid hours amuse, I bless the silent path the Fates decree; ELEGY XXVI. Describing the sorrow of an ingenuous mind, on the melancholy event of a licentious amour. WHY mourns my friend? why weeps his downcast eye, That eye where mirth, where fancy us'd to shine? Thy cheerful meads reprove that swelling sigh; Spring ne'er enamell'd fairer meads than thine. Art thou not lodg'd in Fortune's warm embrace? Wert thou not form'd by Nature's partial care? Blest in thy song, and blest in every grace That wins the friend, or that enchants the fair? "Damon," said he, "thy partial praise restrain ; Not Damon's friendship can my peace restore; Alas! his very praise awakes my pain, And my poor wounded bosom bleeds the more. "For oh! that Nature on my birth had frown'd, Or Fortune fix'd me to some lowly cell; Then had my bosom 'scap'd this fatal wound, Nor had I bid these vernal sweets farewell. "But led by Fortune's hand, her darling child, My youth her vain licentious bliss admir'd; In Fortune's train the syren Flattery smil'd, And rashly hallow'd all her queen inspir'd. "Of folly studious, e'en of vices vain, Ah vices! gilded by the rich and gay! I chas'd the guileless daughters of the plain, Nor drop'd the chase, till Jessy was my prey. "Poor artless maid! to stain thy spotless name, Expense, and art, and toil, united strove; To lure a breast that felt the purest flame, Sustain❜d by virtue, but betray'd by love. "School'd in the science of love's mazy wiles, I cloth'd each feature with affected scorn; I spoke of jealous doubts, and fickle smiles, And, feigning, left her anxious and forlorn. "Then, while the fancy'd rage alarm'd her care, Warm to deny, and zealous to disprove; I bade my words their wonted softness wear, Feels not the sharpness of a pang like mine. "Nine envious moons matur'd her growing shame; Ere-while to flaunt it in the face of day; When, scorn'd of virtue, stigma iz'd by fame, Low at my feet desponding Jessy lay. 666 'Henry,' she said, by thy dear form subdu'd, See the sad reliques of a nymph undone ! I find, I find this rising sob renew'd: I sigh in shades, and sicken at the Sun. "Amid the dreary gloom of night, I cry, When will the morn's once pleasing scenes return? Yet what can morn's returning ray supply, But foes that triumph, or but friends that mourn! "Alas! no more that joyous morn appears That led the trauquil hours of spotless fame; For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears, And ting'd a mother's glowing check with shame. "The vocal birds that raise their matin strain, The sportive lambs, increase my pensive moan; All seem to chase me from the cheerful plain, And talk of truth and innocence alone. "If through the garden's flowery tribes I stray, Where bloom the jasmines that could once allure, Hope not to find delight in us, they say, For we are spotless, Jessy; we are pure. "Ye flowers! that well reproach a nymph so frail; Say, could ye with my virgin fame compare? The brightest bud that scents the vernal gale Was not so fragrant, and was not so fair. "Now the grave old alarm the gentler young; And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee; Trembles each lip, and faulters every tongue, That bids the morn propitious smile on me. "Thus for your sake I shun each human eye; I bid the sweets of blooming youth adieu; To die I languish, but I dread to die, Lest my sad fate should nourish pangs for you. "Raise me from earth; the pains of want remove, And let me silent seek some friendly shore: There only, banish'd from the form I love, My weeping virtue shall relapse no more. "Be but my friend; I ask no dearer name; Be such the meed of some more artful fair; Nor could it heal my peace, or chase my shame, That pity gave, what love refus'd to share. "Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread; Nor hurl thy Jessy to the vulgar crew; Not such the parent's board at which I fed! Not such the precept from his lips I drew! "Haply, when Age has silver'd o'er my hair, Malice may learn to scorn so mean a spoil; Envy may slight a face no longer fair; And pity, welcome, to my native soil.' "She spoke nor was I born of savage race; Nor could these hands a niggard boon assign; Grateful she clasp'd me in a last embrace, And vow'd to waste her life in prayers for mine. "I saw her foot the lofty bark ascend; I saw her breast with every passion heave; I left her-torn from every earthly friend; Oh! my hard bosom, which could bear to leave! "Brief let me be; the fatal storm arose; The billows rag'd, the pilot's art was vain; My Jessy-floats upon the watery plain! ODES, SONGS, BALLADS, &c. RURAL ELEGANCE. AN ODE TO THE LATE DUTCHESS OF SOMERSET. WHILE orient skies restore the day, And dew-drops catch the lucid ray; Ye rural thanes that o'er the mossy down The wretched swain your sport survey; He finds his faithful fences torn, He finds his labour'd crops a prey; And with no random curses loads the deed, Nor yet, ye swains, conclude That Nature smiles for you alone; Your bounded souls, and your conceptions crude, O may it still reward your toil! Of clinging infants ask support in vain! But though the various harvest gild your plains, Does the mere landscape feast your eye? Or the warm hope of distant gains Far other cause of glee supply? Is not the red-streak's future juice Athirst ye praise the limpid stream, 'tis true: Unpleas'd ye see the thickets bloom, For well she knows, your froward sense accuse: Forth to the solemn oak you bring the square, And span the massy trunk, before you cry, 't is fair. Nor yet ye learn'd, nor yet ye courtly train, Lo! not an hedge-row hawthorn blows, Or purple heath is ting'd in vain: E'en thriftless furze detains their wandering sight, And the rough barren rock grows pregnant with delight. With what suspicious fearful care The sordid wretch secures his claim, If haply some luxurious heir Should alienate the fields that wear his name! What scruples lest some future birth Should litigate a span of earth! Bonds, contracts, feoffments, names unmeet for prose, The towering Muse endures not to disclose; More comprehensive and more free, Her lavish charter, taste, appropriates all we see. In nuptial sort, with bridal gold, E'en Adria scorns the mock embrace, She seeks the rural calm retreat; Which genius grac'd with rank obtains, That oil the tongue, and bow the knee, While, studious of the moral theme, Likens the swain's inglorious day; O blind to truth, to virtue blind, Who slight the sweetly pensive mind! Should Fame's wide-echoing trumpet swell; Each future age with rapture dwell; Yet shall such bosoms claim a part Yet these the spirits, form'd to judge and prove All Nature's charms immense, and Heaven's unbounded love. And oh the transport, most ally'd to song, Or smooth below the verdant mead; Or through meandering mazes lead; Reflect flowers, woods, and spires, and brighten all the scene. O sweet disposal of the rural hour! [bower, O beauties never known to cloy! A train of helpless infants dear, For half her graceless deeds atone, [her own. And hails the bounteous work, and ranks it with Why brand these pleasures with the name Of soft, unsocial toils, of Indolence and Shame ? Search but the garden, or the wood, Let yon admir'd carnation own, Not all was meant for raiment, or for food, There while the seeds of future blossoms dwell, 'Tis colour'd for the sight, perfum'd to please the smell. Why knows the nightingale to sing? Why flows the pine's nectareous juice? For preservation? Every sphere Shall bid fair Pleasure's rightful claim appear. Some born to shun the solemn strife; Some for amusive tasks design'd, To soothe the certain ills of life; Call forth refreshing shades, and decorate Repose. Smit by the glare of rank and place, To courts the sons of Fancy flew; There long had Art ordain'd a rival seat; There had she lavish'd all her care To form a scene more dazzling fair, And call'd them from their green retreat To share her proud control; Had given the robe with grace to flow, Had taught exotic gems to glow; And, emulous of Nature's power, Mimick'd the plume, the leaf, the flower; Chang'd the complexion's native hue, Moulded each rustic lumb anew, And warp'd the very soul. A while her magic strikes the novel eye, Adieu the simple, the sincere delight— The rural herds, the vernal gale, |