But he’ll admit no rival in his love:
My image still remains within his breast,
True to that hour I first my love confest.
This pleasing hope will soothe my anxious soul,
Nor let stern care its peaceful sway controul,
Diffuse into my heart its soft relief,
Dispel my fears and dissipate my grief.
I’ll say the youth, for me by heaven design’d,
Is good, as lovely, constant, as he’s kind;
So smoothly shall the seasons glide along,
Till Strephon’s presence animate my song,
Then shall my pleasure as my love abound,
’Till Hymen’s rites with purest joys be crown’d.
FLAVIA.
So may you sing, and sigh your years away,
With flatt’ring hope, perch’d on the feeble spray
Of Strephon’s faith, the efforts rend’ring vain
Of such as would essay your love to gain,
Till his own choice, or some disaster show,
Your promis’d pleasures vanish’d like the snow.
Your charms are fled, no lover then in view,
The paths of discontent you will pursue.
That you despis’d Philander then you’ll mourn,
Nor gave Lothario’s suit a just return;
Or for Alonzo sigh when ’tis too late,
And with reluctance meet your destin’d fate.
This will your slighted lovers laugh to see
Almeda then a maiden old will be.
ALMEDA.
The paths you paint I will not tread alone,
While Flavia lives I shall be sure of one.
Then hand in hand we’ll smooth the rugged way,
And sigh for sigh shall bear our griefs away.
FLAVIA.
Why should we sigh? In smiles we will contend,
And laugh at what we have no power to mend.
Should fate deprive me of my darling swain,
Some braver youth perhaps may grace the plain,
And make me happy by the nuptial band,
When cheerfully he gives his heart and hand.
Or if despis’d and unadmir’d I rest,
I’ll call my own sad destiny the best.
I’ll bliss the fate I oft have sought to shun,
And scorn the fool who would to wedlock run.
See Nature now in contrast with thy grief;
The warbling songsters seem to chant relief;
Their notes are cheerful, nor with sighs depress’d;
In concert join and soothe your cares to rest.
ALMEDA.
No warblers can give me delight,
How mournful and pensive their strain;
Nought sweet can appear to my sight,
Since Strephon’s forsaken the plain.
With joy I these banks did survey,
With pleasure I’ve por’d on the stream:
Young Strephon then with me did stray,
And of nought but delight I could dream.
While he by my side did recline,
The flowers seem’d to brighten their bloom;
The sun with more lustre did shine,
And fragrance the fields did perfume.
Still pleas’d with his whispers of love,
Still charm’d with his amorous tale;
Now beauty’s forsaken the grove,
And his absence I’ll ever bewail.
How gloomy and dismal the shade,
Where Strephon was wont to appear,
Where oft his addresses he made,
And his accents delighted my ear.
Those paths I revisit in pain;
Yet love them without knowing why,
When fortune no favour will deign,
I deem it a pleasure to sigh.
In vain have my visitants strove
My woes to divert by a smile;
Though I seem’d of their jest to approve,
My heart was with Strephon the while.
Society, spoil’d of each charm,
Without him no pleasure can give;
In solitude cares will alarm,
In his absence ’tis painful to live.
When Sol, from the watery main,
Ascends to illumine the sky,
My thoughts to the loveliest swain,
More swift than the lightning can fly.
I muse on his charms all the day;
The theme seems enchantingly sweet,
Nor ends with bright Phœbus’s ray;
In dreams I my wishes repeat.
Ye angels that succour the brave,
Prove guardians to the sweet youth;
Still may he with honour behave,
Integrity, wisdom and truth.
While through distant climes he may rove,
His image is fix’d in my view;
Let Strephon be constant in love,
And Almeda will ever be true.
ON
_THE SPRING_.
Now winter, reluctant, the sway
Resigns to the genial spring;
Sol sheds an enlivening ray,
And warblers delightfully sing.
Fresh verdure adorns the gay plains,
So lately o’er-mantl’d with snow;
The rivers, releas’d from their chains,
Do now with soft murmuring flow.
The lark and the linnet unite,
The Cuckow too joins in the lay;
All nature’s profuse of delight,
And soft fanning zephyrs now play.
How charming the garden appears?
Sweet primroses paint the gay vale:
Its head now the daffodil rears,
The sweetest of seasons to hail,
His team now the hind drives along;
Quite cheerful he ploughs the rude plain.
He hums his love’s praise in a song,
Or whistling forgets her disdain.
The seed in the furrow he throws,
Indulg’d by bright Phœbus’s rays;
Rich Ceres vast increase bestows,
When Autumn her bounty displays.
The lambkins now sport on the mead;
They skip round the heath-cover’d hill;
Their dams how securely they feed
By the side of yon murm’ring rill?
Near Damon appears with his lute,
And wakes the melodious lay;
The songsters, attentive and mute,
Are perch’d on the wav’ring spray.
As Phillis traverses the grove,
All nature more charming appears:
Leander’s soft stories of love,
Still touchingly sound in her ears.
They hand in hand trip o’er the plain;
No couple more cheerful and gay:
She counts him the loveliest swain;
He calls her the Queen of the May.
Of each others hearts they are sure;
The arts of no rival they dread.
From minds so unsulli’d and pure,
No treachery e’er can proceed.
Few princes partake of such joys,
Remov’d from all faction and strife:
Sure riches and honours are toys,
But their’s the endearments of life.
_WILLIAM AND MARY._
Young William once the blithest of the swains,
That grac’d the flow’ry bank, or trode the plains;
Not rustic, but from affectation free,
Still courteous, kind, and affable was he.
Of gentlest manners, ever form’d to please;
His mind unruffl’d, ever blest with ease;
His mien engaging, sweet beyond compare;
His breath delicious as the fragrant air;
His nature prone, attractive sweets t’ impart,
Good without shew, and lovely without art.
Each nymph him priz’d, and oft they sought, in vain,
The noble conquest of his heart to gain.
Their gentlest arts unable were to move,
His soul serene, yet undisturb’d by love.
Ah! transient happiness! how short thy sway!
How swift thy flight! how sudden thy decay!
Thy absence now the youth, dejected, mourns,
While in his heart love’s kindling passion burns.
A lovely nymph, adorn’d with ev’ry grace,
Fairer than fam’d, of old, Arcadia’s race:
An easy shape, and graceful in her air,
The virgins’ envy, and the swains’ despair.
Her name was Mary, from the banks of Clyde,
She came to taste the summer in its pride.
One fatal eve, this charming youth pass’d by,
And on this blooming damsel cast his eye:
Her charms, resistless, smote his gen’rous heart,
Surpris’d, confounded, then he felt the smart.
Sometime with wonder on the maid he gaz’d,
Then silence broke, and thus, like one amaz’d:
“What do I feel! from whence this magic spell!
Is this that love of which the poets tell?
It must be so; else why this pleasing pain,
These sweet enchanting hopes the nymph to gain?
This fear, this dread, which does my soul molest?
Such things till now were strangers to my breast.”
He own’d ’twas love, and wish’d to find relief;
But warbling songsters can’t assuage his grief.
The sweets of Spring no pleasure now can yield,
Nor all the verdure which adorns the field.
To this soft passion all his powers gave way,
And in his heart young Mary bore the sway.
Go then, fond youth, and tell the maid thy care,
Who knows, perhaps she may be kind as fair.
Yes, Mary sure will hear thy plaintive strain;
’Twas her who caus’d, she too must cure thy pain.
_Thy_ passion urg’d, _her_ tender love confest,
What maid so happy, or what swain so blest?
_LOTHARIO._
Join now Apollo the harmonious strain,
O Muses, Graces, all ye gentle train;
Once more conspire to aid my humble lays,
And wake my harp to fam’d Lothario’s praise.
A comely youth, young Cupid’s favourite care,
Handsome in shape, and graceful in his air:
In all respects he’s form’d the fair to please,
Can sigh, and talk, and laugh, and love with ease.
But O what words, what numbers can express,
What muse can paint Lothario’s late distress?
This I’ll essay, although the talk’s severe,
While Delia drops a sympathetic tear.
And thus it happen’d, on a fatal morn,
Rous’d with the sound of hound and echoing horn,
This charming youth, on rural sports intent,
With some companions to the field he went:
Each hound he summons, they attend him there,
With eager steps pursue the timid hare.
Pleas’d with their toil, o’er various heights they went,
Nor did the craggy cliffs their speed prevent.
Too soon Lothario gain’d the wish’d for prize,
While horns and hounds re-echo to the skies.
The chase now past, their late inspiring toil,
Our jovial sportsman led to rest a while.
To the next inn with hasty steps they pass,
And quaff with social hearts the cheerful glass.
In foaming goblets pleasing draughts went round;
In sparkling liquors ev’ry care was drown’d.
But ah! the fumes affect Lothario’s brain;
Once more he tries for pleasure on the plain.
The scene is chang’d, his pleasure now is gone,
Lost and forlorn he wanders all alone.
With weari’d steps, o’er barren heaths he past,
And in Bane’s moss, alas! he lands at last.
His trembling hand, which held the lifeless hare,
Now casts it from him as not worth his care.
Three times he drops, three times he lifts his plaid,
Hope and despair by turns his breast invade:
He look’d for help, alas! no help was nigh,
And in the dreary moss he’s forc’d to lie.
“Am I to Death become an easy prey,”
With quiv’ring lips methought he thus did say,
“Now farewell hope, my much lov’d friends, adieu;
“My dear companions, charming Delia too.
“O wert thou near to heave a tender sigh,
“Upon thy breast I would contented die:
“With ravish’d eyes I’ll view thy charms no more;
“My race is run, life’s fleeting vision o’er.”
Thus did the sad Lothario vent his grief,
Till balmy sleep bestow’d a short relief.
On mossy pillows rests his drooping head,
While azure curtains hang around his bed.
All night extended on the turf he lay,
Nor op’d his eyes till dawning of the day:
The chilling frost his tender form had seiz’d,
But Phœbus’ beams the captive swain releas’d,
Abash’d, confounded, being thus confin’d,
To free himself part of his coat resign’d;
With tardy pace the plains he wander’d o’er,
Some cot or village wish’d to see once more.
Kind fortune now did her assistance lend,
And led him safely to a gen’rous friend.
Lothario view’d the mansion with delight,
And at the door he knock’d with all his might.
Impatience, by repeated strokes, confest,
Till they with joy receiv’d the welcome guest,
Who seem’d as one from mortals long estrang’d,
His soft address and comely visage chang’d:
His clothes by nauseous mud bespatter’d o’er;
His hair dishevell’d, and his ruffles tore.
Struck with amaze, they view’d his dismal case,
Nor were they slow in rend’ring him solace.
Unto the parlour fire he first is led,
From thence into Matilda’s downy bed;
Then with assiduous care they kindly soothe
And cheer the lonely, wand’ring, helpless youth.
Each friendly aid conspir’d to ease his pain,
And bring Lothario to himself again.
Ye lovely nymphs, now sing in softest strains
Lothario’s praise, the pride of Scotia’s plains;
Ye charming youths, blest with his company,
Pray that Bane Moss he never more may see.
_AMANDA_:
AN ELEGY
ON THE
DEATH OF Mrs. ----,
_PERSONATING HER HUSBAND_.
Where can the wretched find relief from wo,
Or sue for comfort in life’s dreary vale?
Here can philosophy no aid bestow,
And reason must in all her efforts fail.
What bosom feels not, while with deepest sighs,
In fault’ring accents, I of Fate complain?
A pale and mangl’d corps Amanda lies;
O that by savage hands she had been slain!
It was her own, on fatal purpose bent,
To dark oblivion be the deed consign’d;
Nor let officious mem’ry thus torment,
With wild reflection my disorder’d mind.
Ah! what is happiness? an airy dream:
While stupid mortals fondly hope its stay,
Supinely basking in the transient gleam,
A sudden blast dispels the glimm’ring ray.
Amanda, late the fairest of the throng,
Of all our rural nymphs she was the pride:
I saw, I lov’d, nor did I languish long,
With modest blushes she became my bride.
We then the sweets of social life did prove,
Blest in our lot, nor did we sigh for fame.
A comely boy, the pledge of mutual love,
Enhanc’d our pleasure, and our care did claim.
What words can paint the horrors of my breast,
While briefly I the tragic scene disclose?
Pale death our darling infant did arrest,
One direful night when sunk in soft repose.
No tender guardian mark’d his latest sigh;
No cordial did his quiv’ring lips receive;
So have I seen a flow’r of fairest die,
Bud in the morn, and fade before ’twas eve.
Amanda view’d the change with wild surprise;
Tumult’ous passions did her bosom swell;
Nor could she long the fervid flame disguise;
An awful victim to despair she fell!
She’s gone, and Nature seems a blank to me;
No charm appears in all its large domain.
The songsters silent sit upon the tree,
Or pour their notes in melancholy strain.
The banks of Irvine yield me no delight,
Nor can bright Phœbus cheer me by his ray:
In restless tossing still I spend the night,
Nor comfort find at the return of day.
The briny tears in copious torrents flow,
Nor can my trembling hand the theme pursue:
The pangs I feel may Damon never know;
Amanda’s gone, my dearest friend adieu.
_CELIA_
AND
HER LOOKING GLASS.
As Celia, who a coquette was,
O’er fading charms lamented,
She frown’d upon her looking-glass,
And thus her spleen she vented.
“Thou silly, stupid, worthless thing,
Of all discretion empty,
I o’er the window will thee fling,
If any more you tempt me.
Thou’rt incorrigible and bold,
Unworthy my attention:
What! must I ever more be told,
The thing I dread to mention?
A maiden old, kind heaven avert;
I hate the appellation.
The blood runs chill about my heart,
I’m choak’d with sore vexation.
Last night when at the ball I danc’d,
My air was counted charming;
My eyes gave pain where’er they glanc’d,
Each gesture prov’d alarming.
Philander saw, their pow’r confest,
And with love tales did tease me!
I sigh’d, I frown’d, he was distress’d,
But with my smiles seem’d easy.
But Chloe mark’d, that new made toast,
By other flirts surrounded,
Poor Celia now her charms had lost,
Which in last cent’ry wounded.
A whisper then and laugh went round,
Such scoffing I endured,
Nor did Philander heed my frown,
But by the jest was cured.
An easy passage through the crowd
I found, none did escort me;
No gallant youth my presence su’d,
Nor flatter’d to support me.
Now Morpheus next I did address,
For slumbers more delightful;
But in my dreams I found distress,
With apes and spectres frightful.
Then unto thee, thou base ingrate,
I su’d for consolation,
Who rudely now foretels my fate
Without alleviation.
Though I’m abandon’d on that score,
Though fools and fops are changed,
Of thy impertinence no more,
Else sure I’ll be revenged.”
Its head the looking-glass did bow,
With reverent low submission,
And to its angry mistress now,
Did utter this petition.
“O madam, deign to hear my tale,
And let my sorrows move ye;
My plain sincerity can’t fail
To shew how much I love you.
Nor lap-dog, bird, or powder’d beau
Was more by you regarded,
Than I full fifteen years ago,
Though basely now discarded.
Each hour you paid me visits ten,
My counsel well you trusted;
Without my approbation then
No curls you e’er adjusted.
An artless smile adorn’d your cheek,
And grac’d each lovely feature,
Which I observe now, once a-week,
Distorted by ill nature.
The pallid cheek and wrinkl’d brow
Announce your charms declining;
And wont you take the vestal vow
Without so much repining?
The truth, though in unwelcome strain,
To you I must discover;
While youth or beauty sways the swain,
You’ll never find a lover.”
Poor Celia now could bear no more,
Her stars malignant cursed;
Her looking-glass cast on the floor,
And into tears she bursted.
She would have died, but Claudius came,
Preventing all her fears;
He wed the pensive, weeping dame,
And wip’d away her tears.
THE
_UNFORTUNATE RAMBLER_.
Late on an evening I chanced to roam,
The night it was dark, and the streets they were dirty;
It was to attend the lov’d Celia home,
Engag’d in a company jovial and hearty.
I instantly hasten’d to put on my shield,
The shield of indiff’rence, perhaps you may know it;
Appriz’d of the danger attending the field,
I judg’d it a piece of high prudence to shew it.
I went to the door of an elegant inn;
I heard who was there, and was fearful to venture:
Hope to embolden me then did begin,
And courage undaunted advis’d me to enter.
I quickly stepp’d forward, but struck with amaze,
By imminent danger I then was surrounded:
Three handsome young damsels upon me did gaze,
And all of a sudden, alas! I was wounded.
Their shafts were set right, and their arrows did fly;
I scarce could distinguish from whom they came thickest.
By Cupid’s assistance at last I did spy
The person best tim’d in her motions, and quickest.
Each gesture was killing, and gave me surprise;
I grop’d for my breast-plate, it from me was taken:
My shield of indiff’rence had left me likewise;
My courage did fail, and my heart it was shaken.
Thus finding myself in a pitiful plight;
A young maid so handsome I needs must admire:
I gave a deep sigh, and I bid them goodnight;
My only expedient was--to retire.
A little of absence effected the cure,
So happily I of my wounds did recover;
But now at a distance to keep I’ll be sure,
And laugh at the fate of a vanquished lover.
_LUCINA_:
AN ELEGY.
Direful indeed are thy effects, O love!
When Reason’s voice deserts thy frantic shrine;
Platonic lessons no asylum prove;
His dictates must obsequious yield to thine.
Religion, in majestic form array’d,
Attempts to soothe the wild, disorder’d breast.
Alas! too often fails the promis’d aid,
Nor can procure one tranquil moment’s rest.
The wife, subdu’d by thy tyrannic sway,
Thy cruel and malignant influence feel;
Compell’d to act by thy delusive ray,
As humble vot’ries at thine altars kneel.
The Prince, the Peasant, drag an equal chain,
Nor high, nor low, thy subtle darts can brave.
Lucina felt the agonizing pain,
Then hopeless sunk amid the rapid wave.
She was of Annon’s lovely nymphs the grace,
Of charms superior to the crowd possess’d:
Her shape was faultless, matchless fair her face,
Her virtues bright, by Envy’s self confest.
Of all the sprightly youths that sought to gain
The envi’d conquest of her virgin heart,
Philander prov’d the dear distinguish’d swain,
Arm’d with the cruel, unrelenting dart.
He in soft accents urg’d his ardent flame,
And when Lucina would his suit deny,
Her beating bosom would assert his claim--
Her modest blush, and more expressive eye.
At last her tongue, the purpose of her heart
Unto the youth convey’d, in tender strain:
Then mutual joy each whisper did impart,
So great the transport, neither dream’d of pain.
But Ah! their joys were soon for ever lost,
Her sire, enrag’d, forbid the nuptial tie,
Because Philander no rich stores could boast:
Charms most attractive to a parent’s eye.
The injur’d youth was by resentment sway’d;
To this his softer passion soon gave way:
Too rash, alas! he sought another maid,
And left Lucina to despair a prey.
From ev’ry hope, from all her wishes torn,
Depriv’d of what alone could give relief,
The lovely fair, dejected and forlorn,
Some time in heavy sighs did vent her grief.
The nymphs assembling us’d their utmost art,
The sad Lucina’s sorrows to beguile:
Vain was th’ attempt to ease her bleeding heart,
Or from her eye extort a cheerful smile.
At latest hour, when each auspicious light
Seem’d hid in chaos--Cynthia’s silver beam
Withdrew its lustre on that fatal night,
Nor bless’d the shade, nor wanton’d in the stream.
Her auburne locks the mournful maiden tore,
Her downy pillow could afford no rest;
She wander’d where the swelling surges roar,
In wild despair she beat her snowy breast!
From Annon’s cliff, she view’d the breaking wave;
Philander was her last, her darling theme;
No hand was near the frantic maid to save,
And, Sappho-like, love’s victim she became!
Ye rigid parents, with attentive ear,
Instruction learn from this sad tale of wo:
Ye heedless maids, in time the danger fear,
That wrought Lucina’s fatal overthrow.
THE
_ENVIED KISS_.
And was it thine to share the bliss,
For which so many sigh in vain?
And did thy lips receive a kiss
From James that honest-hearted swain?
Oft has Belinda tri’d her art,
In this her radiant charms did fail;
Oft Sylvia sought to touch his heart,
But could not in the least prevail.
Oft Chloe sung in tender strain,
Calista danc’d upon the green;
But James in haste tripp’d o’er the plain,
And seem’d as though he had not seen.
Ulysses-like, he did defy
The Syren’s most enchanting voice;
In vain Matilda’s sparkling eye
Did labour hard to fix his choice.
Thou little, happy, smiling fair,
And didst thou then the victor prove?
Is James now caught in Cupid’s snare,
And taught by thee to kiss and love?
If in thy early infant state,
Thou mak’st such stubborn hearts to yield,
What conquests do thy charms await,
When ripen’d beauties grace the field?
Does baleful Envy rear its crest,
For this one favour now obtain’d?
Sure rage will swell each female breast,
When o’er mankind thy empire’s gain’d.
Then gentle charmer pity have,
Nor sigh for conquests ever new:
In haste some fond Amyntor save,
And let us hear no more of you.
THE
_YOUNG MAN’S RESOLUTION_.
By Cupid and Bacchus I’m sadly perplex’d,
Both parties to hear I incline:
The urchin for ever comments on this text,
Beware of the juice of the vine.
Then Bacchus appears, with a cup in his hand,
Says, “Drink, and you’ll drown ev’ry care;
But mind, ere you taste, I’ll a promise demand,
That you fly from the lips of the fair.”
O, sad the dilemma! pray, what must I do?
With Bacchus I never can part:
Ah! dear Little God, if neglected by you,
It will rend ev’ry string of my heart.
O why such a pother? I’ve found out a way,
I’ll bind myself fast by an oath,
While life warms my breast, each his pow’r shall display,
And I’ll henceforth be loyal to both.
TO A
YOUNG MAN
UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH
FOR
_FORGERY_.
FROM HIS MISTRESS.
In awful solitude, in direful chains,
Where deep despair and sad reflection reigns,
If yet thy breast another’s woes can feel,
Woes which no language ever can reveal,
Let the distresses of a hapless maid,
Be to thy silent gloomy cell convey’d.
Life left my heart, I felt my blood run cold,
When the sad tidings of thy fate were told:
Then keenest anguish wrung my tortur’d frame,
Distraction seem’d to seize my madd’ning brain.
Depriv’d of thee, who could all pain remove,
My heav’n on earth, my happiness, my love;
Depriv’d of hope, whose dear, delusive ray
Did softest scenes of happiness, portray:
Scenes now for ever fled! the poignant dart,
Deep wounds my soul, and tears my bleeding heart.
For thee, no more, I’ll wait th’ appointed hour,
No more I’ll meet thee in the peaceful bower;
No more, enraptur’d, hang upon thy smile,
No more thy presence ev’ry care beguile.
Was it for me? grant support gracious heav’n!
Was it for me the fatal bond was giv’n?
Is it for me stern Justice must arise?
Is it for me he now a victim lies?
Distracting thoughts still crowd upon my mind!
O were my restless soul to heav’n resign’d!
O could I now my piercing griefs conceal,
Nor add fresh anguish to the wounds you feel!
’Tis vain, alas! my bursting heart o’erflows,
And death I feel will terminate my woes!
It was for thee alone I wish’d to live;
The world without thee can no pleasure give.
Now law for one rash act thy life demands
Tho’ pure till then thy thoughts, unstain’d thy hands:
While villains hourly practis’d in deceit,
At freedom range, nor dread impending fate.
Ah! now I see thee to the scaffold walk,
I hear the gazing crowd unthinking talk.
Farewell, my love! O still on heaven rely,
I can no more, I tremble, faint and die!
ON
AN UNLOOKED-FOR
_SEPARATION FROM A FRIEND_.
Transient proves our sweetest pleasure,
Short our moments of delight;
While we grasp the darling treasure,
O how rapid is its flight?
Oft at morn ourselves we flatter,
That our comforts wont decay:
Fortune lavish seems to scatter
Fairest flowers along our way.
But the change by night is galling;
We lament our doom severe:
Joys, like snows on Ailsa falling,
In a moment disappear.
Such the plague of human nature,
Fond to trifle with our smart,
While we do escape the greater,
Little evils rend our heart.