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Not a pine in my grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound: Not a beech's more beautiful green,
But a sweet-brier entwines it around. Not my fields, in the prime of the year,
More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear,
But it glitters with fishes of gold.
With her mien she enamours the brave;
With her wit she engages the free; With her modesty pleases the grave;
She is every way pleasing to me. O you that have been of her train,
Come and join in my amorous lays; I could lay down my life for the swain,
That will sing but a song in her praise. When he sings, may the nymphs of the town
Come trooping, and listen the while; Nay on him let not Phyllida frown;
-But I cannot allow her to smile.
One would think she might like to retire
To the bower I have labor'd to rear; Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there. O how sudden the jessamine strove
With the lilac to render it gay! Already it calls for my love,
To prune the wild branches away. From the plains, from the woodlands and groves,
What strains of wild melody flow! Ho the nightingales warble iheir loves
From thickets of roses that blow! And when her bright form shall appear,
Each bird shall harmoniously join In a concert so soft and so clear,
As—she may not be found to resign. I have found out a gift for my fair;
I have found where the wood-pigeons breed : But let me that plunder forbear,
She will say 'twas a barbarous deed. For he ne'er could be true, she averr'd,
Who would rob a poor bird of its young: And I lov'd her the more when I heard
Such tenderness fall from her tongue.
For when Paridel tries in the dance
Any favor with Phyllis to find, O how, with one trivial glance,
Might she ruin the peace of my mind! In ringlets he dresses his hair,
And his crook is bestudded around; And his pipe-oh my Phyllis, beware
Of a magic there is in the sound. "Tis his with mock passion to glow, .
'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold. How her face is as bright as the snow,
And her bosom, be sure, is as cold. How the nightingales labor the strain,
With the notes of his charmer to vie; How they vary their accents in vain,
Repine at her triumphs, and die.
And pillages every sweet ;
He throws it at Phyllis's feet.
More sweet ihan the jessamine's flower. What are pinks in a morn to compare!
What is eglantine after a shower ?
I have heard her with sweetness unfold
How that pity was due toma dove: That it ever attended the bold;
And she call'd it the sister of love. But her words such a pleasure convey,
So much I her accents adore, Let her speak, and whatever she say,
Methinks I should love her the more.
Can a bosom so gentle remain
Unmov'd when her Corydon sighs ? Will a nymph that is fond of the plain,
These plains and this valley despise ? Dear regions of silence and shade!
Soft scenes of contentment and ease ? Where I could have pleasingly stray'd,
If aught, in her absence, could please.
“Then the lily no longer is white;
The rose is depriv'd of its bloom; Then the violets die with despite,
And the woodbines give up their perfume Thus glide the soft numbers along,
And he fancies no shepherd his peer; -Yet I never should envy the song,
Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear.
But where does my Phyllida stray ?
And where are her grots and her bowers ? Are the groves and the valleys as gay,
And the shepherds as gentle as ours ? The groves may perhaps be as fair,
And the face of the valleys as fine ; The swains may in manners compare,
But their love is not equal to mine.
Let his crook be with hyacinths bound,
So Phyllis the trophy despise : Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd,
So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes. The language that flows from the heart,
Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue ; -Yet may she beware of his art,
Or sure I must envy the song.
III. SOLICITUDE. Why will you my passion reprove ?
Why term it a folly to grieve ? Ere I show you the charms of my love,
She's fairer than you can believe.
IV. DISAPPOINTMENT. YE shepherds, give ear to my lay,
And take no more heed of my sheep; They have nothing to do but to stray;
I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove;
She was fair—and my passion begun; She smild-and I could not but love;
She is faithless—and I am undone.
Erewhile, in sportive circles round
Perhaps I was void of all thought:
Perhaps it was plain to foresee, That a nymph so complete would be sought
By a swain more engaging ihan me.
It banishes wisdom the while ;
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.
Ye that witness the woes I endure, Let reason instruct you to shun
What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain
Amid nymphs of a higher degree: It is not for me to explain
How fair, and how fickle, they be.
Pleas'd on his various freaks to dwell,
She tells with what delight he stood To trace his features in the flood ; Then skipp'd aloof with quaint amaze, And then drew near again to gaze.
She tells me how with eager speed
His every frolic, light as air,
Alas! from the day that we met,
What hope of an end to my woes ? When I cannot endure to forget
The glance that undid my repose. Yet time may diminish the pain :
The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,
In time may have comfort for me. The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,
The sound of a murmuring stream, The peace which from solitude flows,
Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme. High transports are shown to the sight,
But we're not to find them our own;
As I with my Phyllis had known.
To your deepest recesses I fly;
I would vanish from every eye. Yet my reed shall resound through the grove
With the same sad complaint it begun; How she smil'd—and I could not but love;
Was faithless—and I am undone !
But knows my Delia, timely wise, How soon this blameless era flies? While violence and craft succeed ; Unfair design, and ruthless deed!
Soon would the vine his wounds deplore,
No more those bowers might Strephon see,
THE DYING KID.
Each wayward passion soon would tear
Optima quæque dies miseris mortalibus ævi
Prima fugit A TEAR bedews my Delia's eye, To think yon playful kid must die; From crystal spring, and flowery mead, Must, in his prime of life, recede!
Then mourn not the decrees of Fate, That gave his life so short a date ; And I will join thy tenderest sighs, To think that youth so swiftly flies!
THE Rev. CHARLES CHURCHILL
THE Rev. Charles CHURCHILL, a poet, once of name. Churchill was now at once raised from oh great repute, was the son of a curate of St. John's, scurity to eminence; and the Rosciad, which we Westminster, in which parish he was born in 1731. have selected as his best work, is, in fact, the only He received his early education at the celebrated one of his numerous publications on which he bepublic school in the vicinity, whence he was sent to slowed due labor. The delineations are drawn Oxford ; but to this university he was refused ad- with equal energy and vivacity ; the language and mission on account of deficient classical knowledge. versification, though not without inequalities, are Returning to school, he soon closed his further superior to the ordinary strain of current poetry, and education by an early and imprudent marri many of the observations are stamped with sound Receiving holy orders from the indulgence of Dr. judgment and correct taste. Sherlock, he went down to a curacy in Wales, The remainder of his life, though concurring where he attempted to remedy the scantiness of his with the period of his principal fame, is little worthy income, by the sale of cider; but this expedient of notice. He became a party writer, joining with only plunged him deeper in debt. Returning to Wilkes and other oppositionists, and employed his London, he was chosen, on his father's death, to pen assiduously in their cause. With this was succeed him as curate and lecturer of St. John's. joined a lamentable defect of moral feeling, erHis finances still falling short, he took various hibited by loose and irregular manners. Throwing methods to improve them; at the same time he dis- off his black suit, he decorated his large and clumsy played an immoderale fondness for theatrical ex- person with gold lace; and dismissing his wife, he hibitions. This latter passion caused him to think debauched from her parents the daughter of a of exercising those talents which he was conscious tradesman in Westminster. His writings at length of possessing ; and in March, 1761, he published, became mere rhapsodies; and taking a journey to though anonymously, a view of the excellencies and France for the purpose of visiting Mr. Wilkes, defects of the actors in both houses, which he en. then an exile in that country, he was seized with a titled “The Rosciad.” It was much admired, fever, which put a period to his life on November 4, and a second edition appeared with the author's | 1764, at the age of 34.
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat. THE ROSCIAD.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of roast beef, they only know the tune: Roscius deceas'd, each high aspiring play'r But what they have they give; could Clive do more. Push'd all his int'rest for the vacant chair. Though for each million he had brought home four! The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair, No longer whine in love, and rant in rage; And hopes the friends of humor will be there; The monarch quits his throne, and condescends In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat Humbly to court the favor of his friends ; For those who laughter love, instead of meat; For pity's sake tells undeserv'd mishaps,
Foote, at Old House, for even Foote will be, And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps. In self-conceit, an actor, bribes with tea; Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome, Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives, To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume, And at the New, pours water on the leaves. In pompous strain fight o'er th' extinguish'd war, The town divided, each runs sev'ral ways, And show where honor bled in ev'ry scar. As passion, humor, int'rest, party sways.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear Things of no moment, color of the hair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplac'd,
Embar'd, the ladies must have something smart, Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage ; Palmer! Oh! Palmer tops the janty part. Monarchs themselves, to grief of ev'ry play's, Seated in pit, the dwarf, with aching eyes, Appear as often as their image there :
Looks up, and vows that Barry's out of sizo;
Whilst to six feet the vig'rous stripling grown. Who can—But Wood ward came,-Hill slipp'd Declares that Garrick is another Coan.*
away, When place of judgment is by whim supplied, Melting like ghosts, before the rising day. And our opinions have their rise in pride;
+ With that low cunning, which in fools supplies When, in discoursing on each mimic elf,
And amply too, the place of being wise,
With that smooth falsehood, whose appearance At length agreed, all squabbles to decide,
charms, By some one judge the cause was to be tried ; And reason of each wholesome doubt disarms, But this their squabbles did afresh renew, Which to the lowest depths of guile descends, Who should be judge in such a trial ?- Who? By vilest means pursues the vilest ends,
For Johnson some, but Johnson, it was feard, Wears Friendship’s mask for purposes of spite, Would be too grave; and Sterne too gay appear'd : Fawns in the day, and butchers in the night; Others for Francklin voted ; but 'twas known, With that malignant envy, which turns pale, He sicken'd at all triumphs but his own:
And sickens, even if a friend prevail, For Colman many, but the peevish tongue Which merit and success pursues with hate, of prudent Age found out that he was young: And damns the worth it cannot imitate; For Murphy some few pilf'ring wits declard, With the cold caution of a coward's spleen, Whilst Folly clapp'd her hands, and Wisdom star'd. Which fears not guilt, but always seeks a skreen,
To mischief train’d, e'en from his mother's womb, Which keeps this maxim ever in her viewGrown old in fraud, though yet in manhood's bloom, What's lasely done, should be done safely too ; Adopting arts, by which gay villains rise,
With that dull, rooled, callous impudence, And reach the heights which honest men despise ; Which, dead to shame, and ev'ry nicer sense, Mute at the bar, and in the senate loud,
Ne'er blush'd, unless, in spreading Vice's snares, Dull 'mongst the dullest, proudest of the proud ; She blunder'd on some virtue unawares ; A pert, prim prater of the northern race,
With all these blessings, which we seldom find Guilt in his heart, and famine in his face,
Lavish'd by Nature on one happy mind, Stood forth :—and thrice he wav'd his lily hand- | A motley figure, of the Fribble tribe, And thrice he twirld his tye—thrice strok'd his Which heart can scarce conceive, or pen describe, band
Came simp'ring on; to ascertain whose sex “At Friendship's call,”(thus oft with trait'rous aim Twelve sage, impannel'd matrons would perplex. Men, void of faith, usurp Faith's sacred name) Nor male, nor female ; neither, and yet both ;
* At Friendship’s call I come, by Murphy sent, of neuter gender, though of Irish growth;
A six-foot suckling, mincing in its gait;
Lest brutal breezes should 100 roughly shake
“Thanks to my friends.—But lo vile fortunes born, O'er its pale cheeks, the horrid manly red. No robes of fur these shoulders must adorn.
Much did it talk, in its own pretty phrase, Vain your applause, no aid from thence I draw; Of genius and of taste, of play’rs and plays; Vain all my wit, for what is wit in law ?
Much too of writings, which itself had wrote, Twice (curs'd remembrance !) twice I strove to gain Of special merit, though of little note ; Admittance 'mongst the law-instructed train, For Fate, in a strange humor, had decreed Who, in the Temple and Gray's Inn, prepare That what it wrote, none but itself should read; For clients' wretched feet the legal snare ;
Much too it chatter'd of dramatic laws, Dead to those arts, which polish and refine, Misjudging critics, and misplac'd applause ; Deaf to all worth, because that worth was mine, Then, with a self-complacent jutting air, Twice did those blockheads startle at my name, It smild, it smirk’d, it wriggled to the chair ; And, foul rejection, gave me up to shame.
And, with an awkward briskness not its own, To laws and lawyers then I bad adieu,
Looking around, and perking on the throne, And plans of far more lib'ral note pursue. Triumphant seem'd, when that strange savage dame Who will may be a judge—my kindling breast Known but to few, or only known by name, Burns for that chair which Roscius once possess'd. Plain Common-Sense appear’d, by Nature there Here give your votes, your intrest here exert, Appointed, with plain Truth, to guard the chair. And let success for once attend desert.”
The pageant saw, and, blasted with her frown, With sleek appearance, and with ambling pace, To its first state of nothing melted down. And, type of vacant head, with vacant face,
Nor shall the Muse (for even there the pride The Proteus Hill put in his modest plea,- Of this vain nothing shall be mortified) “Let Favor speak for others, Worth for me.”- Nor shall the Muse (should Fate ordain her rhymes For who, like him, his various powers could call Fond, pleasing thought! to live in after-times) Into so many shapes, and shine in all ?
With such a trifler's name her pages blot;
Known by the character, the thing forgot;
† This severe character was intended for Mr. Fitz. At once to play, prescribe, compound, compose ? patrick, a person who had rendered himself remarkable
by his activity in the playhouse riots of 1763, relative to
the taking half prices. He was the hero of Garrick's * John Coan, a dwarf, who died in 1764. C. Fribbleriad. E.
Let it, to disappoint each future aim,
The morning came, nor find I that the Sun, Live without sex, and die without a name!
As he on other great events hath done, Cold blooded critics, by enervate sires
Put on a brighter robe than what he wore Scarce hammer'd out, when Nature's feeble fires To go his journey in the way before. Glimmer'd their last; whose sluggish blood, half Full in the centre of a spacious plain, froze,
On plan entirely new, where nothing vain, Creeps lab'ring through the veins; whose heart Nothing magnificent appear'd, but Art ne'er glows
With decent modesty perform'd her part, With fancy-kindled heat;-a servile race,
Rose a tribunal: from no other court Who in mere want of fault, all merit place; It borrow'd ornament, or sought support: Who blind obedience pay to ancient schools, No juries here were pack'd to kill or clear, Bigots to Greece, and slaves to musty rules; No bribes were taken, nor oaths broken here ; With solemn consequence declar'd that none No gownmen, partial to a client's cause, Could judge that cause but Sophoclee alone. To their own purpose tun'd the pliant laws, Dupes to their fancied excellence, the crowd, Each judge was true and steady to his trust, Obsequious to the sacred dictate, bow'd.
As Mansfield wise, and as old Foster* just. When, from amidst the throng. a youth stood forth, In the first seat, in robe of various dyes, Unknown his person, not unknown his worth; A noble wildness flashing from his eyes, His look bespoke applause; alone he stood, Sai Shakspeare.-In one hand a wand he bore, Alone he stemm'd the mighty critic flood.
For mighty wonders fam'd in days of yore; He talk'd of ancients, as the man became
The other held a globe, which to his will Who priz'd our own, but envied not their fame; Obedient turn'd, and own'd the master's skill : With noble rev'rence spoke of Greece and Rome, Things of the noblest kind his genius drew, And scorn'd 10 tear the laurel from the tomb. And look'd through Nature at a single view:
“But more than just to other countries grown, A loose he gave to his unbounded soul, Must we turn base a postates to our own!
And taught new lands to rise, new seas to roll ; Where do these words of Greece and Rome excel, Call'd into being scenes unknown before, That England may not please the ear as well ? And, passing Nature's bounds, was something more. What mighty magic's in the place or air,
Next Jonson sat, in ancient learning train'd, That all perfection needs must centre there? His rigid judgment Fancy's flights restrain'd, In states, let strangers blindly be preferr'd ; Correctly prun'd each wild luxuriant thought, In state of letters, merit should be heard.
Mark'd out her course, nor spar'd a glorious fault. Genius is of no country, her pure ray
The book of man he read with nicest art,
And ransack'd all the secrets of the heart;
And trac'd each passion to its proper source;
Then strongly mark'd, in liveliest colors drew, And cheer a patriot heart with patriot hope) And brought each foible forth to public view. May not some great extensive genius raise The coxcomb felt a lash in ev'ry word, The name of Britain 'bove Athenian praise ; And fools, hung out, their brother fools deterr'd. And, whilst brave thirst of fame his bosom warms, His coinic humor kept the world in awe, Make England great in letters as in arms ? And Laughter frighten’d Folly more than Law. There may-there hath-and Shakspeare's Muse But, hark !—The trumpet sounds, the crowd gives aspires
way, Beyond the reach of Greece : with native fires And the procession comes in just array. Mounting aloft, he wings his daring flight,
Now should I, in some sweet poetic line,
Invoke the Muse to quit her calm abode,
Their titles, merits, or their names rehearse ?
He said, and conquer'd-Sense resum'd her sway, In measurd time his feet were taught to go. And disappointed pedants stalk'd away.
Behind, from time to time, he cast his eye, Shakspeare and Jonson, with desery'd applause, Lest this should quit his place, that step awry. Joint-judges were ordain'd to try the cause. Appearances to save his only care; Meantime the stranger ev'ry voice employ'd, So things seem right, no matter what they are. To ask or tell his name Who is it?-Lloyd. In him his parents saw themselves renew'd,
Thus, when the aged friends of Job stood mute, Begotten by sir Critic on saint Prude. And, tamely prudent, gave up the dispute,
Then came drum, trumpel, hautboy, fiddle, flute: Elihu, with the decent warmth of youth,
Next snuffer, sweeper, shifter, soldier, mue: Boldly stood forth the advocate of Truth;
Legions of angels all in white advance ; Confuted Falsehood, and disabled Pride,
Furies, all fire, come forward in a dance;
Fools hand in hand with fools go iwo by two.
* Sir Michael Foster, one of the judges of the King's In courts where forms are few, fees none at all. Bench.