Ere Colman wrote in style fo pure, Or the great Town the Connoiffeur; Ere I buriefqu'd the rural cit, Proud to hedge in my fcraps of wit; And, happy in the clofe connection, Tacquire fome name from their reflection: So (the fimilitude is trite)
The moon still thines with borrow'd light; And, like the race of modern beaux, Ticks with the fun for her lac'd clothes. Methinks there is no better time To fhew the ufe I make of rhyme, Than now, when I, who from beginning Was always fond of couplet-finning, Prefuming on good-nature's score, Thus lay my bantling at your door. The first advantage which I fee Is, that I ramble loofe and free: The bard indeed full oft complains That rhymes are fetters, links, and chains; And, when he wants to leap the fence, Still keeps him pris'ner to the sense. Howe'er in common-place he rage, Rhyme's like your fetters on the stage, Which, when the player once hath wore, It makes him only ftrut the more, While, raving in pathetic ftrains, He flakes his legs to clank his chains. From rhyme, as from a handfome face, Nonfenfe acquires a kind of grace; I therefore give it all its scope, That fenfe may, unperceiv'd, elope. So Mrs of baseft tricks
(I love a fling at politics)
Amufe the nation, court, and king, With breaking F-kes, and hanging Byng; And make each puny rogue a prey, While they, the greater, flink away. This fimile, perhaps, would strike, If match'd with fomething more alike; Then take it drefs'd a fecond time In Prior's Eafe, and my Sublime. Say, did you never chance to meet A mob of people in the street, Ready to give the robb'd relief, And all in hafte to catch a thief; While the fly rogue who filch'd the prey, Too close beset to ran away, Stop thief! ftop thief! exclaims aloud, And fo efcapes among the crowd? So Ministers, &c.
O England, how I mourn thy fate! For fure thy loffes now are great; Two fuch what Briton can endure? Minorca, and the Connoisseur!
To-day, or e'er the fun goes down, Will die the Cenfor, Mr Town!
He dies, whoe'er takes pains to con him, With "blushing honours thick upon him:"
$118. Ode to Arthur Onflow, Esq.†
THIS goodly frame what virtue fo approves, And teftifies the pure ethereal spirit, As mild Benevolence!
She, with her fifter Mercy, ftill awaits
Befide th' eternal throne of Jove, And measures forth with unwithdrawing The bleffings of the various year, [hand Sunshine or fhow'r, and chides the madding tempeft. [rity, With her the heaven-bred nymph, meek Cha Shall fashion Onflow forth in faireft portrait; And with recording care
Weave the fresh wreath that flow'ring virtue claims.
But, oh, what muse fhall join the band? He long has fojourn'd in the facred haunts, And knows each whifp'ring grot and glade
Trod by Apollo and the light-foot Graces, How then fhall awkward gratitude, And the prefumption of untutor'd duty, Attune my numbers, all too rude? Little he recks the meed of fuch a fong; Yet will I ftretch aloof, And when I tell of Courtesy, Of well-attemper'd Zeal,
Of awful Prudence foothing fell Contention, Where thall the lineaments agree
But in thee, Onflow? You your wonted leave Indulge me, nor mifdeem a foldier's bold em
Who, in the diffonance of barb'rous war Long train'd, revifits oft the facred treasures Of antique memory!
Or where fage Pindar reins his fiery car Through the vaft vault of Heaven fecure, Or what th Attic mufe that Homer fill'd, Her other fon, thy Milton taught, Or range the flow'ry fields of gentle Spencer. And, ever as I go, allurements vain Cherish a feeble fire, and feed my idle Fancy: oh could I once
Charm to their melody my thrilling reeds! To Henries and to Edwards old, Dread na.. es! I'd meditate the faithful fong; Or tell what time Britannia,
* September 30th, 1756, when Mr. Town, author of the Connoisseur, a periodical Essay, (since published in four volumes, printed for R. Baldwin, London), took leave of his readers, with an hu mourous account of himself.
This elegant Poem was written by a Gentleman well known in the learned world, as a token of gratitude for favours conferred on his father during the last war, whose character he has therein assumed.
Whilom the fairest daughter of old Ocean,
In loathly difarray, dull eyes, And faded cheek, wept o'er her abject fons: Till William, great deliverer!
Led on the comely train, gay Liberty, Religion, matron ftaid,
With all her kindred goddesses; Juftice, with steady brow,
Trim Plenty, laureat Peace, and green-hair'd Commerce,
In flowing veft of thousand hues. Fain would I fhadow out old Bourbon's pile Tott'ring with doubtful weight, and threat'ning cumb'rous fall;
Or trace our navy, where in tow`ring pride O'er the wide fwelling wafte it rolls avengeful. As when collected clouds
Forth from the gloomy fouth, in deep array, Athwart the dark'ning landscape throng, Fraught with loud ftorms, and thunder's dreadful peal,
At which the murd'rer stands aghast, And wafting Riot ill diffembles terror. How headlong Rhone and Ebro, erit diftain'd With Moorish carnage, quakes thro' all her branches!
Soon fhall I greet the morn, [naine, When, Europe fav'd, Britain and George's
Shall found o'er Flandria's level field, Familiar in domeftic merriment;
Or by the jolly mariner
Be carol'd loud adown the echoing Danube. The juft memorial of fair deeds Still flourishes, and, like th' untainted foul, Bloffoms in freshest age above The weary flesh, and envy's rankling wound. Such, after years mature, In full account fhall be thy meed.
Oh may your rifing hope Well principled in ev'ry virtue bloom!
Till a fresh-fpringing flock implore With infant handsa grandfire's pow'rfulpray'r; Or round your honour'd couch their prattling sports pursue.
Hark! yon deep echo ftrikes the trembling ear! See night's dun curtain wraps the darkfome polt O'er heaven's blue arch yon rolling worlds ap
And roufe to folemn thought th'afpiring foul. O lead my steps beneath the moon's dim ray, Where Tadmor ftands all defert and alone! While from her time-shook tow'rs the bird of (moan.
Sounds thro' the night her long-refounding
or bear me far to yon dark, difmal plain, Howl to the defert: while the horrid train Where fell-eyed tigers, all athirst for blood, Roams o'er the wild where once great Babel stood;
That queen of nations! whofe fuperior call Rous'd the broad Eaft, and bid her arms deftroy! When warm'd to mirth, let judgment mark ber And deep reflection dafh the lip of joy. [fall, Short is Ambition's gay, deceitful dream, Though wreaths of blooming laurel bind her brow: Calm thought difpels the vifionary scheme, And Time's cold breath diffolves the with'ring bough.
Slow as fome miner faps th' afpiring tow`r, When working fecret with deftructive aim, Unfeen, unheard, thus moves the stealing hour, But works the fall of empire, pomp, and name. Then let thy pencil mark the traits of man; Full in the draught be keen-eyed Hope por tray'd:
Let flutt'ring Cupids crowd the growing plan: Then give one touch, and dafh it deep with thale Beneath the plume that flames with glancing
Be Care's deep engines on the foul impress'd; Beneath the hemlet's keen refulgent blaze Let Love's gay fons, a fmiling train, appear, Let Grief fit pining in the canker'd breast. With beauty pierc'd-yet heedless of the darts While, clofely couch'd,pale, fick'ningEnvy near Whets her fell fting, and points it at the heart. Perch'd, like a raven, on some blasted yew, Let Guilt revolve the thought-distracting fin; the dark [roam, Scar'd-while her eyes furvey th' ethereal blue,
§ 119. Ode to Melancholy. OGILVIE. HAIL, queen of thought fublime! propitious pow'r, Who o'er the unbounded wafte art Led by the moon, when, at the midnight hour, Her pale rays tremble thro' the dusky gloom. O bear me, Goddess, to thy peaceful feat! Whether to Hecla's cloud-wrapt brow convey'd, Orlodg'dwheremountains fcreen thydeep retreat, Or wand'ring wild thro' Chili's boundless fhade. Say, rove thy steps o'er Libya's naked waste? Or feek fome distant folitary fhore? Or, on the Ande's topmost mountain plac'd, Doft fit, and hear the folemn thunder roar?
Then paint, impending o'er the maddening deep That rock, where heart-ftruck Sappho, vainly
Stood firm of foul-then from the dizzy fteep Impetuous fprung, and dafh'd the boiling wave. Here, wrapt in studious thought, let Fancy rove, Still prompt to mark Sufpicion's fecret fare; To fee where Anguifh nips the bloom of Love, Or trace proud Grandeur to the domes of Care, Should e'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes inflame, Let judging reafon draw the veil afide; Or, fir'd with envy at fome mighty name, Pours her long wail from fome lamented tomb? Read o'er the monument that tells-He died.
Fix'd on fome hanging rock's projected brow, Hear'ft thou low murmurs from the diftantdome? Or ftray thy feet where pale, dejected Woe
Say, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault, Where the worm fattens on fome fceptered brow, Beneath that roof with fculptur'dmarble fraught, Why fleeps unmov'd the breathlefs duft below? Sleeps it more fweetly than the fimple swain Beneath fome molly turf that refts his head; Where the lone widow tells the night her pain, And eve with dewy tears embalms the dead? The lily, fcreen'd from ev'ry ruder gale, Courts not the cultur'd spot where rofes fpring; But blows neglected in the peaceful vale, And fcents the zephyr's balmy breathing wing. The bufts of grandeur, and the pomp of pow'r, Can thefe bid Sorrow's gufhing tears fubfide? Can these avail in that tremendous hour, [tide? When Death's cold hand congeals the purple Ah no! the mighty names are heard no more: Pride's thought fublime, and Beauty's kindling bloom,
Droops o'er the green-embroider'd stream; Or where young Zephyr ftirs the rustling sprays, Lies all diffolv'd in fairy dream.
O'er yon bleak defert's unfrequented round Seeft thou where Nature treads the deep'ning gloom,
Sits on yon hoary tow'r with ivy crown'd, wildly wails o'er thy lamented tomb ? Hear it thou the folemn mufic wind along?[fong? Or thrills the warbling note in thy melliflous I. 2.
Oft, while on earth, 'twas thine to rove Where'er the wild-eyed goddess lov'd to roam, To trace ferene the gloomy grove, Or haunt meek Quiet's fimple dome; That pour the foul tranfporting ftrain; Still hovering round the Nine appear, Join'd to the Loves' gay train,
The loofe rob'd Graces, crown'd with flow'rs, The light wing'd gales that lead the vernal year, And wake the rofy-featur'd hours. O'er all bright Fancy's beamy radiance fhone, How flam'd thy bofom as her charms reveal! Her fire-clad eye fublime, her starry zone, Her traces loofe, that wanton'd on the gale; On thee the goddefs fix'd her ardent look, Then from her glowing lips these melting accents broke: I. 3. Serve but to sport one flying moment o'er, "To thee, my favourite fon, belong And fwell with pompous verfe th' efcutcheon'd" The lays that steal the liftening hour;
"To pour the rapture-darting fong, "To paint gay Hope's Elyfan bower. "From Nature's hand to fnatch the dart, "To cleave with pangs the bleeding heart; "Or lightly fweep the trembling string, "And call the Loves with purple wing "From the blue deep, where they dwell "With Naiads in the pearly cell. "Soft on the fea-born goddefs gaze†; "Or in the loofe robes' floating maze, "Diffolv'd in downy flumbers reft; "Or flutter o'er her panting breast.
For me-may Passion ne'er my foul invade, Nor be the whims of tow'ring Phrenzy giv'n; Let Wealth ne'er court me from the peaceful fhade [ven! Where Contemplation wings the foul to Hea- Oh guard me safe from Joy's enticing fnare! With each extreme that Pleasure tries to hide, The poifon'd breath of flow-confuming Care, The noife of Folly, and the dreams of Pride. But oft, when midnight's fadly folemn knell Sounds long and diftant from the sky-topt tow'r,« Or wild to melt the yielding foul, Calm let me fit in Profper's lonely cell, Or walk with Milton thro' the dark obfcure.
"Let Sorrow, clad in fable stole, "Slow to thy musing thought appear;
"Or Love's defponding tale
Thus, when the tranfient dream of life is fled," Or penfive Pity, pale; May fome fad friend recall the former years; Then, ftretch'd in filence o'er my duity bed, Pour the warin gush of sympathetic tears.
[tear." "Call from th' intender'd heart the sympathetic II. 1.
Say, whence the magic of thy mind? Why thrills thy mufic on the fprings of thought? Why, at thy pencil's touch refin'd, Starts into life the glowing draught? On yonder fairy carpet laid, Where beauty pours eternal bloom, And zephyr breathes perfume; There nightly to the tranced eye Profuse the radiant goddefs ftood display'd, With all her fmiling offspring nigh.
Sudden the mantling cliff, the arching wood, The broider'd mead, the landscape and the grove, Hills, vales, and sky-dipt feas, and torrents rude, Grots, rills, and fhades, and bow'rs that breath'd Bares his time-blafted head, and tears his filver
The pale ey'd Genius of the fhade Led thy bold step to Profper's magic bow'r; Whofe voice the howling winds obey'd,. Whofe dark spell chain'd the rapid hour: Then rofe ferene the fea-girt ifle; Gay scenes, by Fancy's touch refin'd, Glow'd to the mufing mind: Such visions bless the hermit's dream, When hovering angels prompt his placid fmile, Or paint fome high ecftatic theme. Then flam'd Miranda on th' enraptur'd gaze, Then fail'd bright Ariel on the bat's fleet wing: Or starts the lift'ning throng in ftill amaze, The wild note trembling on the aërial string! The form, in heaven's refplendent vefture gay, Floats on the mantling cloud, and pours the melting lay*.
11. 3. Oh lay me near yon limpid stream, Whose murmur fooths the ear of woe! There in fome fweet poetic dream Let Fancy's bright Elyfium glow! 'Tis done-o'er all the blushing mead The dark wood fhakes his cloudy head: Below, the lily-fringed dale
Breathes its mild fragrance on the gale; While, in paftime all unfeen, Titania, rob'd in mantle green, Sports on the moffy bank: her train Skims light along the gleaming plain; Or to the flutt ring breeze unfold The blue wing ftreak'd with beamy gold; Its pinions op'ning to the light!- Say, burfts the vifion on my fight? Ah, no! by Shakespeare's pencil drawn, The beauteous fhapes appear; While meek-eyed Cynthia near
Illumes with ftreamy ray the filver-mantled
Hears not the mourner's unvailing moan: Heart-pierc'd he bleeds; and, ftung with wild defpair,
Lo! on yon long-refounding shore, Where the rock totters o'er the headlong deep; What phantoms bath'd in infant gore Stand mutt'ring on the dizzy steep! Their murmur (hakes the zephyr's wing! The storm obeys their powerful spell; See from his gloomy cell
Fierce Winter ftarts! his fcowling eye Blots the fair mantle of the breathing Spring, And lowers along the ruffled sky, To the deep vault the yelling harpies run; Its yawning mouth receives th' infernal crew, Dim thro' the black gloom winks the glimmering fun,
And the pale furnacegleams with brimstone blue. Hell howls; and fiends, that join the dire acclaim, Dance on the bubbling tide, and point the livid flame.
But, ah! on Sorrow's cyprefs bough Can Beauty breathe her genial bloom! On Death's cold cheek will paffion glow! Or Mufic warble from the tomb? There fleeps the Bard, whofe tuneful tongue Pour'd the full stream of mazy fong. Young Spring, with lip of ruby, here Show'rs from her lap the blufhing year While, along the turf reclin'd,
The loofe wing fwimming on the wind The Loves, with forward gefture bold, Sprinkle the fod with fpangling gold: And oft the blue-eyed Graces trim Dance lightly round on downy limbą Oft too, when eve, demure and still, Chequers the green dale's purling rill, Sweet Fancy pours the plaintive strain; Or, wrapt in foothing dream, By Avon's ruffied stream, [the plain. Hears the low-murmuring gale that dies along
121. Ode to Time; occafioned by feing the Ruins of an old Cafile.
[wafte!THOU,who mid the world-involving gloom Sitt it on yon folitary fpire!
But hark! the tempeft howls afar! Burfts the loud whirlwind o'er the pathlefs What cherub blows the trump of war? What demon rides the ftormy blaft? Red from the lightning's livid blaze, The bleak heath rufhes on the fight; Then, wrapt in fudden night Diffolves. But, ah! what kingly form Roams the tone defert's defolated maze Unaw'd, nor heeds the fweeping ftorm? Ye pale-ey'd lightnings, fpare the cheek of age! Va. with! tho anguifth heaves theburtinggroan, Deaf as the flint, the marble ear of rage
* Aniel: see the Tempest.
Or flowly fhak'ft the founding dome, Or hear it the wildly warbling lyre; Say, when thy mufing foul Bids diftant times unrol,
And marks the flight of each revolving year Of years whofe flow-confuming pow'r Has clad with mofs yon leaning tow'r, That faw the race of Glory run, That mark'd Ambition's fetting fun, That thook old Empire's tow'ring pride, That fwept them down the floating tide- See the Midsummer Night's Dream. + Lear. The Witches in Macbeth.
Say, when thefe long-unfolding scenes appear, [The vale where mufing Quiet treads. Streams down thy hoary cheek the pity-darting The flow'r-clad lawns, and bloomy meads, Or ftreams where zephyr loves to stray Beneath the pale eve's twinkling ray;
Caft o'er yon trackless waste thy wand'ring eye: Or waving woods detain the fight
Yon hill, whofe gold-illumin'd brow, Just trembling thro' the bending sky, O'erlooks the boundlefs wild below, Once bore the branching wood That o'er yon murmuring flood Hung wildly waving to the rustling gale; The naked heath with mofs o'ergrown, That hears the lone owl's nightly moan, Once bloom'd with fummer's copious store, Once rais & the lawn-befpangling flow'r; Or heard fome lover's plaintive lay, When, by pale Cynthia's filver ray,
All wild he wander'd o'er the lonely dale, [tale. And taught the lift'ning moon the melancholy
Ye wilds where heaven-rapt Fancy roves! Ye sky crown'd hills, and folemn groves! Ye low-brow'd vaults, ye gloomy cells! Ye caves where night-bred Silence dwells! Ghots that in yon lonely hall Lightly glance along the wall; Or beneath yon ivy'd tow'r, At the flent midnight hour, Stand array'd in fpotlefs white, And ftain the dusky robe of Night; Or with flow folemn paufes roam O'er the long-founding hollow dome! Say, mid yon defert folitary round, When darkness wraps the boundless fpheres, Does ne'er fome difmal, dying found
On Night's dull ferious ear rebound; [years? Thatmourns the ceafelefs lapfe of life-consuming 11. 1.
O call th' infpiring glorious hour to view, When Caledonia's martial train From yon fteep rock's high-arching brow Pour'd on the heart-ruck flying Dane! When War's blood-tinctur'd fpear Hung o'er the trembling rear; [flight: When light-heel'dTerror wing'd their headlong Yon tors then rung with wild alarms!
Yon defert gleam'd with fhining arms! While on the bleak hill's bright'ning spire Bold Vict'ry flam'd, with eyes of fire; Her Embs celeftial robes infold,
Her wings were ting'd with fpangling gold, &te fpoke: her words infus'd refiltlefs might, And warm'd the bounding heart, and rous'd the foul of fight.
When from the gloomy cave of night
Some cloud fweeps fhadowy o'er the dusky fkies, And wraps the flying fcene, that fades, and fwims, and dies. II. 3.
Lo! rifing from yon dreary tomb, What fpectres ftalk across the gloom! With haggard eyes, and vifage pale, And voice that moans.with feeble wail! O'er yon long refounding plain Slowly moves the folemn train; Wailing wild with thrieks of woe O'er the bones that rest below! While the dull night's ftarded ear Shrinks aghaft with thrilling fear! Or ftand with thin robes wafting soon, And eyes that blaft the fick'ning moon! Yet thefe, ere Time had roll ́d their years away, Ere Death's fell arm had mark'd its aim, Rul'd yon proud tow'rs with ample sway, Beheld the trembling fwains obey,
And wrought the glorious deed that fwell'd the trump of Fame.
But why o'er thefe indulge the bursting figh? Feels not each fhrub the tempeft's pow'r? Rocks not the dome when whirlwinds fly? Nor fhakes the hill when thunders roar? Lo! mould'ring, wild, unknown, What fanes, what tow'rs o'erthrown, What tumbling chaos marks the wafte of Time! I fee Palmyra's temples fall;
Old Ruin shakes the hanging wall! Yon waste where roaming lions howl, Yon aifle where moans the grey-eyed owl, Shows the proud Pertian's great abode*; Where fceptred once, an earthly god! [clime, His pow'r-clad arm controul'd each happier Where fports the warbling Mufe, and Fancy foars fublime.
Hark! what dire found rolls murm'ring on the Ah! what foul thrilling fcene appears? [gale? I fee the column'd arches fail! And structures hoar, the boaft of years! What mould'ring piles, decay'd, Gleam through the moon-streak'd shade, Where Rome's proud Genius rear'd her awful Sad monument!-Ambition near [brow! Rolls on the duft, and pours a tear;
Bet, ah! what hand the fmiling profpect brings: Pale Honour drops the flutt'ring plume,
What voice recals th' expiring day?
See, darting fwift on eagle-wings, The glancing moment bursts away! So from fome mountain's head,
In mantling gold array'd,
While bright-eyed Fancy ftandsin fweet surprise:
And Conqueft weeps o'er Cæfar's tomb; Slow Patience fits, with eye depreft, And Courage beats his fobbing breast; [flow, Ev'n War's red cheek the gufhing ftreams o'er- And Fancy's lift'ning ear attends the plaint of Woe.
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