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POEMS

OF

CHRISTOPHER SMART.

ODES.

IDLENESS.

ODE I.

GODDESS of ease, leave Lethe's brink,
Obsequious to the Muse and me;
For once endure the pain to think,
Oh! sweet insensibility!

Sister of peace and indolence,

Bring, Muse, bring numbers soft and slow, Elaborately void of sense,

And sweetly thoughtless let them flow.

Near some cowslip-painted mead,

There let me doze out the dull hours,
And under me let Flora spread,
A sofa of her softest flow'rs.

Where, Philomel, your notes your breathe
Forth from behind the neighbouring pine,
And murmurs of the stream beneath
Still flow in unison with thine.

For thee, O Idleness, the woes
Of life we patiently endure,

Thou art the source whence labour flows,

We shun thee but to make thee sure.

For who'd sustain war's toil and waste,

Or who th' hoarse thund'ring of the sea, But to be idle at the last,

And find a pleasing end in thee.

TO ETHELINDA,

Happy Muse, that didst embrace
The sweet, the heav'nly-fragrant place!
Tell me, is the omen true,

Shall the bard arrive there too?

Oft thro' my eyes my soul has flown,
And wanton'd on that iv'ry throne:
There with extatic transport burn'd,
And thought it was to Heav'n return'd.
Tell me is the omen true,
Shall the body follow too?

When first at Nature's early birth,
Heav'n sent a man upon the Earth,
Ev'n Eden was more fruitful found,
When Adam came to till the ground:
Shall then those breasts be fair in vain,
And only rise to fall again?

No, no, fair nymph-for no such end
Did Heav'n to thee its bounty lend;
That breast was ne'er design'd by fate
For verse, or things inanimate;
Then throw them from that downy bed,
And take the poet in their stead.

ON AN EAGLE

CONFINED IN A COLLEGE COURT.
ODE III.

IMPERIAL bird, who wont to soar
High o'er the rolling cloud,

Where Hyperborean mountains hoar
Their heads in ether shroud ;-

Thou servant of almighty Jove,

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Who, free and swift as thought, could'st rove
To the bleak north's extremest goal;-
Thou, who magnanimous could'st bear

ON HER DOING MY VERSES THE HONOUR OF The sovereign thund'rer's arms in air,

WEARING THEM IN HER BOSOM.-WRIT

TEN AT THIRTEEN.

ODE II.

HAPPY verses! that were prest

In fair Ethelinda's breast!

VOL. XVI.

And shake thy native pole !

Oh cruel fate! what barbarous hand, What more than Gothic ire,

At some fierce tyrant's dread command, To check thy daring fire,

Has plac'd thee in this servile cell, Where discipline and dulness dwell,

Where genius ne'er was seen to roam; Where ev'ry selfish soul's at rest, Nor ever quits the carnal breast,

But lurks and sneaks at home!

Tho' dim'd thine eye, and clipt thy wing
So grov'ling! once so great!
The grief-inspired Muse shall sing
In tend'rest lays thy fate.
What time by thee scholastic pride
Takes his precise, pedantic stride,

Nor on thy mis'ry casts a care,

The stream of love ne'er from his heart
Flows out, to act fair pity's part;
But stinks, and stagnates there.

Yet useful still, hold to the throng-
Hold the reflecting glass,-
That not untutor'd at thy wrong

The passenger may pass :
Thou type of wit and sense confin'd,
Cramp'd by the oppressors of the mind,

Who study downward on the ground; Type of the fall of Greece and Rome; While more than mathematic gloom, Envelopes all around.

ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF A CLERGYMAN.

ODE IV.

I,, like th' Orphean lyre, my song could charm'
And light to life the ashes in the urn,
Fate of his iron dart I would disarm,

Sudden as thy disease should'st thou return,
Recall'd with mandates of despotic sounds,
And arbitrary grief that will not hear of bounds.
But, ah! such wishes, artless Muse, forbear;
'Tis impotence of frantic love,
Th' enthusiastic flight of wild despair,

To hope the Thracian's magic power to prove.
Alas! thy slender vein,

Nor mighty is to move, nor forgetive to feign,
Impatient of a rein,

Thou canst not in due bounds the struggling mea

sures keep,

-But thou alas! canst weep-
Thou canst-and o'er the melancholy bier
Canst lend the sad solemnity a tear.

[cold,

Hail to that wretched corse, untenanted and And hail the peaceful shade loos'd from its irk

some hold.

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See-hear the storms tempestuous sweepPrecipitate it falls-it falls-falls lifeless in the deep.

Cease, cease, ye weeping youth,

Sincerity's soft sighs, and all the tears of truth. And you, his kindred throng, forbear Marble memorials to prepare,

And sculptur'd in your breasts his busto wear. 'Twas thus when Israel's legislator dy'd, No fragile mortal honours were supply'd,

But even a grave denied.

Better than what the pencil's daub can give,
Better than all that Phidias ever wrought,

Is this that what he taught shall live,
And what he liv'd for ever shall be taught.

ON GOOD-NATURE.
ODE V.

HALL cherub of the highest Heav'n,
Of look divine, and temper ev'n,

Celestial sweetness, exquisite of mien,
Of ev'ry virtue, ev'ry praise the queen!

Soft gracefulness, and blooming youth,
Where, grafted on the stem of truth,

That friendship reigns, no interest can divide,
And great humility looks down on pride.
Oh! curse on slander's viprous tongue,
That daily dares thy merit wrong;

Ideots usurp thy title, and thy frame,
Without or virtue, talent, taste, or name.

Is apathy, is heart of steel,

Nor ear to hear, nor sense to feel,

Life idly inoffensive such a grace,

That it shou'd steal thy name and take thy place?

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Great, generous acts thy ductile passions And smilingly thou weep'st with joy.and love.

Mild is thy mind to cover shame,

Averse to envy, slow to blame,

Bursting to praise, yet still sincere and free From flattery's fawning tongue, and bending knee.

Extensive, as from west to east,

Thy love descends from man to beast,

Nought is excluded, little, or infirm,

Thou canst with greatness stoop to save a

worm.

Come, goddess, come with all thy charms,
For Oh! I love thee, to my arms-

All, all my actions guide, my fancy feed,
So shall existence then be life indeed.

Next comes illiberal scrambling Avarice,

Then Vanity, and Affectation niceSee, she salutes her shadow with a bow

As in short Gallic trips she minces by, Starting antipathy is in her eye,

And squeamishly she knits her scornful brow. To thee, Ill-Nature, all the numerous group With lowly reverence stoop

They wait thy call, and mourn thy long delay, Away-thou art infectious-haste away.

ON ILL-NATURE.

ODE VI.

d;

OFFSPRING of folly and of pride,
To all that's odious, all that's base allied
Nurs'd up by vice, by pravity misled,
By pedant affectation taught and bred:
Away, thou hideous hell-born spright,
Go, with thy looks of dark design,
Sullen, sour, and saturnine;

Fly to some gloomy shade, nor blot the goodly light.

Thy planet was remote, when I was born; 'Twas Mercury that rul'd my natal morn,

What time the Sun exerts his genial ray, And ripens for enjoyment every growing day; When to exist is but to love and sing, And sprightly Aries smiles upon the spring.

There in yon lonesome heath, Which Flora, or Sylvanus never knew,

Where never vegetable drank the dew, Or beast, or fowl attempts to breathe; Where Nature's pencil has no colours laid; But all is blank, and universal shade;

Contrast to figure, motion, life and light, There may'st thou vent thy spite,

For ever cursing, and for ever curs'd, Of all th' infernal crew the worst ;

The worst in genius, measure and degree; For envy, hatred, malice, are but parts of thee.

Or would'st thou change the scene, and quit the Behold the Heav'n-deserted fen, [den, Where spleen, by vapours dense begot and bred, Hardness of heart, and heaviness of head, Have rais'd their darksome walls, and plac'd their thorny bed;

There may'st thou all thy bitterness unload, There may'st thou croak in concert with the toad, With thee the hollow howling winds shall join, Nor shall the bittern her base throat deny, The querulous frogs shall mix their dirge with thine,

Th' ear-piercing hern, the plover screaming high, Millions of humming gnats fit oestrum shall supply.

Away-away-behold an hideous band

An herd of all thy minions are at hand, Suspicion first with jealous caution stalks,

And ever looks around her as she walks, With bibulous ear imperfect sounds to catch, And prompt to listen at her neighbours latch. Next Scandal's meagre shade,

Foe to the vigins, and the poet's fame,
A wither'd time-deflower'd old maid,
That ne'er enjoy'd love's ever sacred flame.
Hypocrisy succeeds with saint-like look,
And elevates her hands and plods upon her
book.

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But when the King of Righteousness arose,
And on the illumin'd east serenely smil'd,
He shone with meekest mercy on his foes,
Bright as the Sun, but as the Moon-beams
mild;

From anger, fell revenge, and discord free,
He bad war's hellish clangour cease,
In pastoral simplicity and peace,
And show'd to man that face, which Moses could
not see.

Well hast thou, Webster, pictur'd Christian love,
And copied our great master's fair design,
But livid Envy would the light remove,

Or croud thy portrait in a nook malign→
The Muse shall hold it up to popular view-
Where the more candid and judicious few

Shall think the bright original they see, The likeness nobly lost in the identity.

Oh hadst thou liv'd in better days than these,
F'er to excel by all was deem'd a shame!
Alas! thou hast no modern arts to please,
And to deserve is all thy empty claim.
Else thou'dst been plac'd, by learning, and by
wit,

There, where thy dignify'd inferiors sit

Oh they are in their generations wise, Each path of interest they have sagely trod,To live-to thrive-to rise-and still to riseBetter to bow to men, than kneel to God.

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EPITH ALAMIUM.
ODE VIII.

DESCEND, descend, ye sweet Aonian maids,
Leave the Parnassian shades,
The joyful Hymeneal sing,
And to a lovelier fair

Than fiction can devise, or eloquence declare,
Your vocal tributes bring.

And you, ye winged choristers, that fly
In all the pensile gardens of the sky,

Chant thro' th' enamel'd grove,

Stretch from the trembling leaves your little

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With all the wild variety of artless notes, [throats, The Author apologizes to a Lady for his being a

But let each note be love.

Fragrant Flora, queen of May,

All bedight with garlands gay,

Where in the smooth-shaven green

The spangled cowslips variegate the scene,
And the rivulet between,
Whispers, murmurs, sings,

As it stoops, or falls, or springs;
There spread a sofa of thy softest flowers,
There let the bridegroom stay,

There let him hate the light, and curse the
day,

And blame the tardy hours.

But see the bride-she comes with silent pace, Full of majesty and love;

Not with a nobler grace

Look'd the imperial wife of Jove,
When erst ineffably she shone

In Venus' irresistible, enchanting zone.

Fhoebus, great god of verse, the nymph observe,
Observe her well;

Then touch each sweetly-trem❜lous nerve
Of thy resounding shell:

Her like huntress-Dian paint,

Modest, but without restraint;
From Pallas take her decent pace,
With Venus sweeten all her face,

little Man.

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ODES.

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Where I defy, and challenge, all thy utmost love.

ODE XI.

ODE XI.

ON TAKING A BACHELOR'S
DEGREE.

In allusion to Horace. Book iii, Ode 30
Exegi monumentum ære perennius, &c.
'Tis done: I tow'r to that degree,

And catch such heav'nly fire,
That Horace ne'er could rank like me,
Nor is King'schapel higher'.—
My name in sure recording page

Shall time itself o'erpow'r',
If no rude mice with envious rage
The buttery books devour.
A title3 too with added grace,

My name shall now attend,
Till to the church with silent pace
A nymph and priest ascend4.
Ev'n in the schools I now rejoice,

Where late I shook with fear,
Nor heed the moderator's voice

Loud thundering in my ears.
Then with Folian flute I blow
A soft Italian lay",

Or where Cam's scauty waters flow7,
Releas'd from lectures, stray.
Meanwhile, friend Banks, my merits claim
Their just reward from you,

For Horace bids us challenge fame,

When once that fame's our due9,
Invest me with a graduate's gown,
Midst shouts of all beholders,

An Ode on the 26th of January, being the Birth- My head with ample square-cap crown',

Day of a Young Lady.

ALL hail, and welcome joyous morn,
Welcome to the infant year;

Whether smooth calms thy face adorn,
Or lowering clouds appear;
Tho' billows lash the sounding shore,
And tempests thro' the forests roar,

Sweet Nancy's voice shall soothe the sound;

Tho' darkness shou'd invest the skies,
New day shall beam from Nancy's eyes,
And bless all nature round.

Let but those lips their sweets disclose,
And rich perfumes exhale,
We shall not want the fragrant rose,
Nor miss the southern gale.
Then loosely to the winds unfold,
Those radiant locks of burnish'd gold,
Or on thy bosom let them rove;
His treasure-house there Cupid keeps,
And hoards up, in two snowy heaps,
His stores of choicest love.

This day each warmest wish be paid
To thee the Muse's pride,

Í long to see the blooming maid

Chang'd to the blushing bride.
So shall thy pleasure and thy praise
Increase with the increasing days,

And present joys exceed the past;
To give and to receive delight,
Shall be thy task both day and night,
While day and night shall last.

And deck with hood my shoulders.
CAMBRIDGE.

A MORNING PIECE,

21

B.A.

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