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Black ants in teams come darkening all the road, But beauty gone, 'tis easier to be wise;
And view the shade and substance, as you pass,
To meet her counterpart, and grow by praise: Your Cupid's quiver, and his mother's dove; Yet still sedate yourself, and gravely plain, Let bards to business bend their vigorous wing, You peither fret, nor envy at the vain. And sing but seldom, if they love so sing:
'Twas thus, if man with woman we compare, Else, when the flowerets of the season fail, The wise Athenian crost a glittering fair, And this your ferny sbade forsakes the vale, Unmov'd by tongue and sights, he walk'd the place, Though onewould save you, not one grain of wheat, Through tape, toys, tinsel, gimp, perfume, and lace; Should pay such songsters idling at my gate.”
Then bends from Mars's hill his awful eyes, He ceas'd: the fies, incorrigibly vain,
And“ What a world I never want?” he cries: Heard the mayor's speech, and fell to sing again. But cries unheard: for Folly will be free.
So parts the buzzing gawdy crowd and he:
He wrapt in wisdom, and they whirld by whim.
Come hither, boy, we'll hunt to-day,
Once you were young; or one, whose life's so Produc'd by parent Earth, at odds, She might have borne my mother, tells me wrong. As Fame reports it, with the gods. And once, since Envy's dead before you die, Him frantic hunger wildly drives The women own, you play'd a sparkling eye, Against a thousand authors lives : Taught the light foot a modish little trip,
Through all the fields of wit he flies; And pouted with the prettiest purple lip.
Dreadful his head with clustering eyes, To some new charmer are the roses fed,
With horns without, and tusks within, Which blew, to damask all thy cheek with red; And scales to serve bim for a skin. Youth calls the Graces there to fix their reign, Observe him nearly, lest he climb And airs by thousands fill their easy train.
To wound the bards of ancient time, So parting Summer bids her flowery prime
Or down the vale of fancy go Attend the Sun to dress some foreign clime,
To tear some modern wretch below. While withering seasons in succession, here, On every corner fix thine eye, Strip the gay gardens, and deform the year. Or ten to one he slips thee by.
But thou, since Nature bids, the world resign, See where bis teeth a passage eat: 'Tis now thy daughter's daughter's time to shine. We'll rouse him from the deep retreat. With more address, or such as pleases more,
But who the shelter's forc'd to give? She runs her female exercises o'er,
'Tis sacred Virgil, as I live! Unfurls or closes, raps or turns the fan,
From leaf to leaf, from song to song, And smiles, or blushes at the creature man.
He draws the tadpole formn along, With quicker life, as gilded coaches pass,
He mounts the gilded edge before, In sideling courtesy she drops the glass.
He's up, he scuds the cover o'er,
And here we have him, caught at last.
(Nay never offer to deny, We call it only pretty Fanny's way.
I took thee in the fact to fly.)
'Tis true, when beauty dawns with early fire, By thee my Ovid wounded lies; And hears the flattering tongues of soft desire, By thee my Lesbia's sparrow dies; If not from virtue, from its gravest ways
Thy rabid teeth have half destroy'd The soul with pleasing avocation strays.
The work of love in Biddy Floyd,
They rent Belinda's locks away,
(Were Homer living, well he knew And spoil'd the Blouzelind of Gay.
What name the gods have call'd him too) For alī, for every single deed,
With fine mechanic genius wrought, Relentless Justice bids thee bleed.
And lov'd to work, though no one bought. Then fall a victim to the Nine,
This being, by a model bred Myself the priest, my desk the shrine.
In Jove's eternal sable head, Bring Homer, Virgil, Tasso near,
Contriv'd a shape impowerd to breathe, To pile a sacred altar here;
And be the worldling bere beneath. Hold, boy, thy hand out-runs thy wit,
The man rose staring, like a stake; You reach'd the plays that Dennis writ;
Woudering to see biinself awake! You reach'd me Philips' rustic strain;
Then look'd so wise, before he knew Pray take your mortal bards again.
The business he was made to do; Come, biud the victim,-there he lies,
That, pleas'd to see with what a grace And here between his numerous eyes
He gravely show'd his forward face, This venerable dust I lay,
Jove talk'd of breeding him on bigh, From manuscripts just swept away.
An under-something of the sky. The goblet in my hand I take,
But ere he gave the mighty nod, (For the libation's yet to make)
Which ever binds a poet's god, A health to poets! all their days
(For which his curls ambrosial shake, May they have bread, as well as praise;
And mother Earth's oblig'd to quake) Sense may they seek, and less engage
He saw old mother Earth arise, In papers fill'd with party-rage.
She stood confess'd before his eyes; But if their riches spoil their vein,
But not with wbat we read she wore, Ye Muses, make them poor again.
A castle for a crown before, Now bring the weapon, yonder blade,
Nor with long streets and longer roads With which my tuneful pens are maile.
Danging behind her, like commodes : I strike the scales that arm thee round,
As yet with wreaths alone she drest, And twice and thrice I print the wound;
And trail'd a landskip-painted vest. The sacred altar floats with red,
Then thrice she rais'd, as Ovid said, And now he dies, and now he's dead.
And thrice she bow'd her weighty head. How like the son of Jove I stand,
Her honours made, “ Great Jove,” she cry'd, This Hydra stretch'd beneath my hand!
“ This thing was fashion'd from my side: Lay bare the monster's entrails here,
His hands, his heart, bis head, are mine; To see what dangers threat the year:
Then what hast thou to call bim thine ?" Ye gods! »bat sonnets on a wench!
“ Nay rather ask,” the monarch said, What lean translations out of Prench!
“ What boots his hand, his heart, bis head, "Tis plain, this lobe is so unsound,
Were what I gave remov'd away? sprints, before the months go round. Thy part's an idle shape of clay.” [Care, But hold, before I close the scene,
“ Halves, more than halves!” cry'd honest The sacred altar should be clean.
“ Your pleas would make your titles fair, Oh had I Shadwell's second bays,
You claim the body, you the soul, Or, Tate! thy pert and humble lays!
But I who join'd them, claim the whole.” (Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow
Thus with the gods debate begang I never miss'd your works till now)
On such a trivial cause, as man. I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine,
And can celestial tempers rage? (That only way you please the Nine)
Quoth Virgil, in a later age? But since I chance to want these two,
As thus they wrangled, Time came by; I'll make the songs of Durfey do.
(There's none that paint him such as 1, Rent from the corps, on yonder pin,
For what the fabling ancients sung I hang the scales that brac'd it in;
Makes Saturu old, when Time was young.) I hang my studious morning-gown,
As yet his winters had not shed And write my own inscription down.
Their silver honours on his head; “ This trophy from the Python won,
He just had got his pinions free, This robe, in which the deed was done,
From his old sire, Eternity. These, Parnell, glorying in the feat,
A serpent girdled round he wore, Hung on these shelves, the Muses' seat.
The tail within the mouth, before; Here Ignorance and Hunger found
By which our almanacs are clear Large realms of Wit to ravage round:
That learned Egypt meant the year, Here Ignorance and Hunger fell?
A staff he carry'd, where on high Two foes in one I sent to Hell.
A glass was fix'd to measure by, Ye poets, who my labours see,
As amber boxes made a show Come share the triumph all with me!
For heads of canes an age ago. Ye critics! born to vex the Muse,
His vest, for day and night, was py'd;
A bending sickle arm’d his side;
Known by the gods, as near he draws,
They make him umpire of the cause.
O’er a low trunk his arm he laid, Our race of mortals call him Care
Where since his honr: a dial made;
Then leaning heard the nice debate,
I pass'd the glories which adorn And thus pronounc'd the words of Fate:
The splendid courts of kings, “ Since body from the parent Earth,
And while the persons mov'd my scorn, And soul froin Jove receiv'd a birth,
I rose to scorn the things.
My manhood felt a vigorous fire
By love increas'd the inore; To Care who join'd them, man is due."
But years with coming years conspire He said, and sprung with swift career
To break the chains I wore. To trace a circle for the year;
In weakness safe, the sex I see Wh re ever since the seasons wheel,
With idle lustre shine; Aud tread on one another's heel.”
For what are all their joys to me, “ 'Tis well,” said Jove, and for consent
Which cannot uow be mine? Thundering he shook the firinament. “ (ur umpire Time shall have his way,
But hold—I feel my gout decrease, With Care I let the creature stay:
My troubles laid to rest, Let business vex him, avarice blind,
And truths which would disturb my peace Let doubt and knowledge rack bis mind,
Are painful truths at best.
Vainly the time I have to roll
In sad reflection ties; And joy distract, and sorrow kill,
Ye fondling passions of my soul! Till, arm'd by Care, and taught to mow,
Ye sweet deceits! arise. Time draws the long destructive blow;
I wisely change the scene within, And wasted man, whose quick decay
To things that us'd to please; Comes burrving on before his day,
In pain, philosophy is spleen, Shall only find by this decree,
In health, 'tis only ease. The soul flies sooner back to me.”
IMITATION OF SOME FRENCH VERSES.
Whom stone and brass obey,
To work some new decay;
Thy secret saps prevail,
By Nature form'd to fail.
Before I thought it nigh.
And all their beauties die.
A poor unfruitful gain,
Oppress'd with loads of pain.
And fancy'd joys inspire;
On newly-born desire.
For which I fondly sought,
And ardour of the thought.
In all her pomp she shone,
To make her gifts my own:
On some unworthy mind,
Was justly painted blind,
A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH.
How deep yon azure dies the sky!
Those with bending osier bound,
The flat smooth stones that bear a name,
The marble tombs that rise on high,
The bold adventurer ploughs his way, Whose dead in vaulted arches lie,
Through rocks amidst the foaming sea, Whose pillars swell with sculptur'd stones, To gain thy love; and then perceives Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones,
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves. These, all the poor remains of state,
The silent heart, wbich grief assails, Adorn the rich, or praise the great;
Treads soft and lonesome o'er tbe vales, Who, while on Earth in fame they live,
Sees daisies open, rivers run, Are senseless of the fame they give.
And seeks (as I have vainly done) Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,
Amusing thought; but learns to know The bursting earth unveils the shades!
That solitude's the nurse of woe.
In trailing purple o'er the ground;
Or in a soul exalted high, “ Think, mortal, what it is to die.”
To range the circuit of the sky, Now from yon black and funeral yew,
Converse with stars above, and know That bathes the charnel-house with dew,
All nature in its forms below: Methinks, I hear a voice begin;
The rest it seeks, in seeking dies, (Ye ravens, cease your croaking din,
And doubts at last, for knowledge, rise, Ye tolling clocks, no time resound
Lovely, lasting peace, appear! O'er the long lake and midnight ground!)
This world itself, if thou art here, It sends a peal of hollow groans,
Is once again with Eden blest, Thus speaking froin among the bones.
And man contains it in his breast. When men my scythe and darts supply, 'T'was thus, as under shade I stood, How great a king of fears am 1!
I sung my wishes to the wood, They view me like the last of things;
And, lost in thought, no more perceiv'd They make, and then they draw, my strings. The branches whisper as they wav'd: Fools! if you less provok'd your fears,
It seem'd as all the quiet place No more my spectre-form appears.
Confessid the presence of his grace. Death's but a path that must be trod,
When thus she spoke" Go rule thy will, If man would ever pass to God:
Bid thy wild passions all be still, A port of calms, a state to ease
Know God-and bring thy heart to know From the rough rage of swelling seas."
The joys which from religion flow: Why then thy flowing sable stoles,
Then every grace shall prove its guest, Deep pendant cypress, mourning poles,
And I'll be there to crown the rest." Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds,
Oh! by yonder mossy seat, Long pails, drawn hearses, cover'd steeds,
In my hours of sweet retreat, And plumes of black, that, as they tread,
Might I thus my soul employ, Nod o'er the escutcheons of the dead?
With sense of gratitude and joy: Nor can the parted body know,
Rais'd as ancient prophets were, Nor wants the soul these forms of woe;
In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer; As men who long in prison dwell,
Pleasing all men, hurting none, With lamps that gimmer round the cell,
Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone : Whene'er their suffering years are run,
Then while the gardens take my sight, Sprinæ forth to greet the glittering Sun:
With all the colours of delight; Such joy, though far transcending sense,
While silver waters glide along, Have pious souls at parting hence.
To please my ear, and court my song: On Earth, and in the body plaed,
I'll litt my voice, and tune my string, A few, and evil years, they waste:
And thee, great source of nature, sing. But when their chains are cast aside,
The Sun that walks his airy way, See the glad scene unfolding wide,
To light the world, and give the day; Clap the glad wing, and tower away,
The Moon that shines with borrow'd light; And mingle with the baze of day.
The stars that gild the gloomy night;
The wood that spreads its shady leaves;
The field whose ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain; Lovely, lasting peace of mind!
All of these, and all I see, Sweet delight of human kind!
Should be sung, and sung by me: Heavenly born, and bred on high,
They speak their maker as they can, To crown the favourites of the sky
But want and ask the tongue of man. With more of happiness below,
Go search among your idle dreains, Than victors in a triumph know!
Your busy or your vain extremes ; Whither, ( whither art thou fied,
And find a life of equal bliss,
Or own the next begun in this.
pomp and state, to meet thee there. Encreasing Avarice would find
Far in a wild, unknown to public view, Thy presence in its gold ensiuin'd.
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;
The moss bis bed, the cave his humble cell,
As one who spies a serpent in his way, His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well: Glistening and basking in the summer ray, Remote from men, with God he pass'd the days, Disorder'd stops to shun the danger pear, Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; A life so sacred, suco serene repose,
So seem'd the sire; when far upon the road, Seem'd Heaven itself, till one suggestion rose; The sbining spoil his wiley partner show'd. That Vice should triumph, Virtue, Vice obey, He stop'd with silence, walk'd with trembling beart, This sprang some doubt of Providence's sway: And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part: His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, Murmuring he lifts bis eyes, and thinks it bani, Aud all the tenour of his soul is lost:
That generous actions meet a base reward. So when a smooth expanse receives imprest While thus they pass, the Sun his glory shrouds, Calm Nature's image on its watery breast, The changing skies hang out their sable clouds ; Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, A sound in air premag'd approaching rain, And skies beneath with answering colours glow: And beasts to covert scud across the plain. But if a stone the gentle sea divide,
Warn’d by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, Swift ruffling circles curl on every side,
To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat And glimmering fragments of a broken Sun, 'Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. And strong, and large, and unimpror'd around;
To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, Its owner's temper, timorous and severe, To find if books, or swains, report it right, Unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there. (For yet by swains alone the world he knew, As near the miser's heavy doors they drew, Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew) Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew; He quits bis cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore, The nimble lightning mix'd with showers began, And fix'd the scallop in his hat before ;
And o'er their beads loud rolling thunders ran. Then with the Sun a rising journey went,
Here long they knock, but knock or call in rain, Sedate to think, and watching each event. Driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain.
The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, At length some pity warm'd the master's breast And long and lonesome was the wild to pass; ('Twas then his threshold first receiv'd a guest); But when the southern Sun bad warm'd the day, Slow creeking turns the door with jealous care, A youth came posting o'er a crossing way; And half he welcomes in the shivering pair; His raiment decent, his complexion fair,
One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, And soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair. And Nature's fervour through their limbs recalls: Then near approaching, “ Father, bail!” he cry'd, Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine, “ And hail, my son,” the reverend sire reply'd; (Each hardly granted) serv'd them both to dine; Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road; A ready warning bid them part in peace. Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part, With still remark the pondering hermit view'd, While in their age they differ, join in heart. In one so rich, a life so poor and rude; Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound,
“And why should such" witbin himself he cry'd, Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.
“ Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside ?" Now sunk the Sun; the closing hour of day But what new marks of wonder soon take place, Came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey; In every settling feature of his face; Nature in silence bid the world repose;
When from his vest the young companion bore When near the road a stately palace rose: That cup, the generoas landlord own'd before, There by the Moon through ranks of trees they And paid profusely with the precious bowl pass,
The stinted kindness of this churlish soul. Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass. But now the clouds in airy tumult fly; It chanc'd the noble master of the dome
The Sun emerging opes an azure sky; Still made his house the wandering strangers' home: A fresher green the smelling leaves display, Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day! Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease. The weather courts them from the poor retreat, The pair arrive: the livery'd servants wait; And the glad master bolts the wary gate. Their lord receives them at the pompous gate. While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom The table groans with costiy piles of food,
Wrought And all is more than hospitably good.
With all the travel of uncertain thought; Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, His partner's acts without their cause appear, Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. 'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here:
At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day, Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, Along the wide canals the zephyrs play:
Lost and confounded with the various shows. Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, Now Night's dim shades again involve the sky, And shake the neighbouring wood to banisla sieep. Again the wanderers want a place to lie, Up rise the guests, obedient to the call:
Again they search, and find a lodging nigh, An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall; The soil improv'd around, the mansion neat, Rich luscious wine a golden goblet grac'd, And neither poorly low, uor idly great: Which the kind master forc'd the guests to taste. It seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind, Then, pleas'd and thankful, from the porch they | Content, and not to praise, but virtue kind. go;
Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe : Then bless the mansion, and the master greet: His cup was vanish'd; for in secret guise
Their greeting fair, bestow'd with modest guise, The younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize, The courteous master hears, and thus replies: