Tell me, my fellows all, am I not fair?

Has fell enchantress blasted all her charms?

Whilom mine head was sleek with tressed hayre,

My laughing eyne did shoot out love's alarms:

E'en KATE did deemen me the fairest swain,

When erst I won this girdle on the plain.

IV.

My lip with vermil was embellished,

My bagpipes notes loud and delicious were,

The milk-white lilly, and the rose so red,

Did on my face depeinten lively cheere,

My voice as soote as mounting larke did shrill,

My look was blythe as MARGARET'S at the mill.

V.

But she forsooth, more fair than MADGE or KATE,

A dainty maid, did deign not shepherd's love;

Nor wist what THENOT told us swains of late;

That VENUS sought a shepherd in a grove;

Nor that a heav'nly god who PHOEBUS hight,

To tend his flock with shepherds did delight.----

VI.

Ah! 'tis that VENUS with accurst despight,

That all my dolour, and my shame has made!

Nor does remembrance of her own delight,

For me one drop of pity sweet persuade?

Aye hence the glowing rapture may she miss,

Like me be scorn'd, nor ever taste a kiss.

INSCRIBED

ON A BEAUTIFUL

GROTTO NEAR THE WATER.

I.

The Graces sought in yonder stream,

To cool the fervid day,

When love's malicious godhead came,

And stole their robes away.

II.

Proud of the theft, the little god

Their robes bade DELIA wear;

While they, asham'd to stir abroad,

Remain all naked here.

LOVE ELEGY.

BY MR. SMOLLET.

I.

Where now are all my flatt'ring dreams of joy!

MONIMIA, give my soul her wonted rest;--

Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,

Heart-gnawing cares corrode my pensive breast.

II.

Let happy lovers fly where pleasures call,

With festive songs beguile the fleeting hour;

Lead Beauty thro' the mazes of the ball,

Or press her wanton in love's roseate bow'r.

III.

For me, no more I'll range th' empurpled mead,

Where shepherds pipe, and virgins dance around;

Nor wander thro' the woodbine's fragrant shade,

To hear the music of the grove resound.

IV.

I'll seek some lonely church, or dreary hall,

Where fancy paints the glimm'ring taper blue,

Where damps hang mould'ring on the ivy'd wall,

And sheeted ghosts drink up the midnight dew:

V.

There leagu'd with hopeless anguish and despair,

Awhile in silence o'er my fate repine;

Then, with a long farewell to love and care,

To kindred dust my weary limbs consign.

VI.

Wilt thou, MONIMIA, shed a gracious tear

On the cold grave where all my sorrows rest?

Wilt thou strew flow'rs, applaud my love sincere,

And bid the turf lie light upon my breast!

A

PANEGYRIC

ON

OXFORD ALE.

BY A GENTLEMAN OF TRINITY COLL.

------------_Mea nec Falernæ

Temperant vites, neque Formiani

Pocula colles._ HORAT.

Balm of my cares, sweet solace of my toils,

Hail JUICE benignant! O'er the costly cups

Of riot-stirring wine, unwholsome draught,

Let Pride's loose sons prolong the wasteful night;

My sober ev'ning let the tankard bless,

With toast embrown'd, and fragrant nutmeg fraught,

While the rich draught with oft-repeated whiffs

Tobacco mild improves. Divine repast!

Where no crude surfeit, or intemperate joys

Of lawless Bacchus reign; but o'er my soul

A Calm Lethean creeps; in drowsy trance

Each thought subsides, and sweet oblivion wraps

My peaceful brain, as if the leaden rod

Of magic Morpheus o'er mine eyes had shed

Its opiate influence. What tho' sore ills

Oppress, dire want of chill-dispelling coals

Or chearful candle, (save the make-weight's gleam

Haply remaining) heart-rejoicing ALE

Chears the sad scene, and every want supplies.

Meantime, not mindless of the daily task

Of Tutor sage, upon the learned leaves

Of deep SMIGLECIUS much I meditate;

While ALE inspires, and lends its kindred aid,

The thought-perplexing labour to pursue,

Sweet Helicon of Logic! But if friends

Congenial call me from the toilsome page,

To pot-house I repair, the sacred haunt,

Where ALE, thy votaries in full resort,

Hold rites nocturnal. In capacious chair

Of monumental oak and antique mould,

That long has stood the rage of conquering years

Inviolate, (nor in more ample chair

Smoaks rosy Justice, when th' important cause,

Whether of hen-roost, or of mirthful rape,

In all the majesty of paunch he tries)

Studious of ease, and provident, I place

My gladsome limbs; while in repeated round

Returns replenish'd, the successive cup,

And the brisk fire conspires to genial joy:

While haply, to relieve the ling'ring hours

In innocent delight, amusive Putt

On smooth joint-stool in emblematic play

The vain vicissitudes of fortune shews.

Nor reck'ning, name tremendous, me disturbs,

Nor, call'd for, chills my breast with sudden fear;

While on the wonted door, expressive mark,

The frequent penny stands describ'd to view,

In snowy characters and graceful row.----

Hail, TICKING! surest guardian of distress!

Beneath thy shelter pennyless I quaff

The chearful cup, nor hear with hopeless heart

New oysters cry'd:--tho' much the poet's friend,

Ne'er yet attempted in poetic strain,

Accept this tribute of poetic praise!----

Nor Proctor thrice with vocal heel alarms

Our joys secure, nor deigns the lowly roof

Of pot-house snug to visit: wiser he

The splendid tavern haunts, or coffee-house

Of JAMES or JUGGINS, where the grateful breath

Of loath'd tobacco ne'er diffus'd its balm;

But the lewd spendthrift, falsely deem'd polite,

While steams around the fragrant Indian bowl,

Oft damns the vulgar sons of humbler ALE:

In vain----the Proctor's voice arrests their joys;

Just fate of wanton pride and loose excess!

Nor less by day delightful is thy draught,

All-pow'rful ALE! whose sorrow-soothing sweets

Oft I repeat in vacant afternoon,

When tatter'd stockings ask my mending hand

Not unexperienc'd; while the tedious toil

Slides unregarded. Let the tender swain

Each morn regale on nerve-relaxing tea,

Companion meet of languor-loving nymph:

Be mine each morn with eager appetite

And hunger undissembled, to repair

To friendly buttery; there on smoaking crust

And foaming ALE to banquet unrestrain'd,

Material breakfast! Thus in ancient days

Our ancestors robust with liberal cups

Usher'd the morn, unlike the squeamish sons

Of modern times: Nor ever had the might

Of Britons brave decay'd, had thus they fed

With British ALE improving British worth.

With ALE irriguous, undismay'd I hear

The frequent dun ascend my lofty dome

Importunate: whether the plaintive voice

Of laundress shrill awake my startled ear;

Or barber spruce with supple look intrude;

Or taylor with obsequious bow advance;

Or groom invade me with defying front

And stern demeanour, whose emaciate steeds

(Whene'er or Phoebus shone with kindlier beams,

Or luckier chance the borrow'd boots supply'd)

Had panted oft beneath my goring steal.

In vain they plead or threat: All-powerful ALE

Excuses new supplies, and each descends

With joyless pace, and debt-despairing looks:

E'en SPACEY with indignant brow retires,

Fiercest of duns! and conquer'd quits the field.

Why did the gods such various blessings pour

On hapless mortals, from their grateful hands

So soon the short-liv'd bounty to recall?----

Thus, while improvident of future ill,

I quaff the luscious tankard unrestrain'd,

And thoughtless riot in unlicens'd bliss;

Sudden (dire fate of all things excellent!)

Th' unpitying Bursar's cross-affixing hand

Blasts all my joys, and stops my glad career.

Nor now the friendly pot-house longer yields

A sure retreat, when night o'ershades the skies;

Nor SHEPPARD barbarous matron, longer gives

The wonted trust, and WINTER ticks no more.

Thus ADAM, exil'd from the beauteous scenes

Of Eden griev'd, no more in fragrant bow'r

On fruits divine to feast, fresh shade or vale,

No more to visit, or vine-mantled grot;

But, all forlorn, the dreary wilderness,

And unrejoicing solitudes to trace:

Thus too the matchless bard, whole lay resounds

The SPLENDID SHILLING'S praise, in nightly gloom

Of lonesome garret pin'd for chearful ALE;

Whose steps in verse Miltonic I pursue,

Mean follower, like him with honest love

Of ALE divine inspir'd, and love of song.

But long may bounteous heav'n with watchful care

Avert his hapless lot! Enough for me

That burning with congenial flame I dar'd

His guiding steps at distance to pursue,

And sing his favorite theme in kindred strains.

THE

PROGRESS OF DISCONTENT.

BY THE SAME.

When now, mature in classic knowledge,

The joyful youth is sent to college,

His father comes, an humble suitor,

With bows and speeches to his tutor,

"Sir, give me leave to recommend him,

"I'm sure you cannot but befriend him;

"I'll warrant that his good behav'our

"Shall justify your future favour;

"And for his parts, to tell the truth,

"My son's a very forward youth;

"He's young indeed, but has a spirit,

"And wants but means, to shew his merit;

"Has _Horace_ all by heart,--you'd wonder,

"And mouths out _Homer_'s greek like thunder.

"If you'd but venture to admit him,

"A scholarship would nicely fit him;

"That he succeeds 'tis ten to one,

"Your vote and interest, Sir,--'tis done."

Our candidate at length gets in,

A hopeful scholar of Coll. Trin.

A scholarship not half maintains,

And college-rules are heavy chains;

So scorning the late wish'd-for prize,

For a fat fellowship he sighs.

When, nine full tedious winters past,

His utmost wish is crown'd at last;

That utmost wish no sooner got,

Again he quarrels with his lot.--

"These fellowships are pretty things,

"We live indeed like petty kings;

"But who can bear to spend his whole age

"Amid the dullness of a college;

"Debarr'd the common joys of life,

"And what is worse than all--a wife!

"Would some snug benefice but fall,

"Ye feasts, and gaudies, farewell all!

"To offices I'd bid adieu

"Of Dean, Vice-Præs,--nay Bursar too;

"Come tithes, come glebe, come fields so pleasant,

"Come sports, come partridge, hare and pheasant."

Well--after waiting many a year,

A living falls,--two hundred clear.

With breast elite beyond expression,

He hurries down to take possession;

With rapture views the sweet retreat,--

"What a convenient house! how neat!

"The garden how compleatly plann'd!

"And is all this at my command!

"For fuel here's good store of wood,--

"Pray god, the cellars be but good!

Continuing this fantastic farce on,

He now commences country parson;

To make his character entire,

He weds a----cousin of the 'squire;

Not over-weighty in the purse;

But many doctors have done worse.

Content at first,--he taps his barrel,

Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel;

Finds his church-wardens have discerning

Both in good liquor and good learning;

With tythes his barns replete he sees,

And chuckles o'er his surplice-fees;

Studies to find out latent dues,

Smokes with the 'squire,--and clips his yews;

Of Oxford pranks, facetious tells,

And, but on sundays, hears no bells.

But ah! too soon his thoughtless breast

By cares domestic is opprest;

Each day some scene of woe commences

By new and unforeseen expences;

And soon the butcher's bill, and brewing,

Threaten inevitable ruin;

For children more expences yet,

And Dickey now for school is fit.

"Why did I sell my college life

(He cries) "for benefice and wife!

"Oh could the days once more but come,

"When calm I smoak'd in common room,

"And din'd with breast untroubled, under

"The picture of our pious founder;

"When, for amusement, my tyrannic

"Sway could put freshmen in a pannic;

"When impositions were supplied

"To light my pipe--or sooth my pride!

"No cares of family oppress'd me,

"Nor wife by day--nor night distress'd me.

"Each day receiv'd successive pleasure,

"Or spent in reading, or in leisure;

"And every night I went to bed

"Without a christ'ning in my head."

O trifling head, and fickle heart!--

Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art!

A dupe to follies yet untry'd,

And sick of pleasure's scarce enjoy'd;

Each prize obtain'd, thy rapture ceases,

And in the search alone it pleases.

ODE[14]

TO

ARTHUR ONSLOW, ESQ.

I.

This goodly frame what virtue so approves,

And testifies the pure etherial spirit

As mild Benevolence?

She with her sister Mercy still awaits

Beside th' eternal throne of Jove,

And measures forth with unwithdrawing hand

The blessings of the various year,

Sunshine or show'r, and chides the madding tempest.

II.

With her the heaven-bred nymph meek Charity,

Shall fashion ONSLOW forth in fairest portrait;

And with recording care

Weave the fresh wreath that flow'ring virtue claims.

But oh, what muse shall join the band?

He long has sojourn'd in the sacred haunts,

And knows each whisp'ring grot and glade

Trod by Apollo, and the light-foot Graces.

III.

How then shall awkward gratitude

And the presumption of untutor'd duty

Attune my numbers all too rude?

Little he recks the meed of such a song;

Yet will I stretch aloof,

And when I tell of Courtesy,

Of well-attemper'd Zeal,

Of awful Prudence soothing fell Contention,

Where shall the lineaments agree

But in thee, ONSLOW? You, your wonted leave

Indulge me, nor misdeem a Soldier's bold emprize;

IV.

Who in the dissonance of barb'rous war,

Long train'd, revisits oft the sacred treasures

Of antique memory;

Or where sage Pindar reins his fiery car,

Through the vast vault of heaven secure,

Or what the Attic muse that Homer fill'd,

Her other son, thy Milton taught,

Or range the flow'ry fields of gentle Spenser.

V.

And ever as I go, allurements vain

Cherish a feeble fire, and feed my idle

Fancy: O cou'd I once

Charm to their melody my shrilling reeds!

To HENRYS and to EDWARDS old,

Dread names! I'd meditate the faithful song;

Or tell what time BRITANNIA,

Whilom the fairest daughter of old Ocean,

VI.

In loathly disarray, dull eyes,

And faded cheek, wept o'er her abject sons:

Till WILLIAM, great deliverer,

Led on the comely train, gay Liberty,

Religion, matron staid,

With all her kindred goddesses;

Justice with steady brow,

Trim Plenty, laureat Peace, and green-hair'd Commerce,

In flowing vest of thousand hues.

Fain would I shadow out old Bourbon's pile

Tott'ring with doubtful weight, and threat'ning cumbrous fall;

VII.

Or trace our navy, where in tow'ring pride

O'er the wide-swelling waste it rolls avengeful.

As when collected clouds

Forth from the gloomy south in deep array,

Athwart the dark'ning landscape throng,

Fraught with loud storms, and thunder's dreadful peal,

At which the murd'rer stands aghast,

And wasting Riot ill dissembles terror.

VIII.

How headlong Rhone and Ebro erst distain'd

With moorish carnage, quakes thro' all her branches!

Soon shall I greet the morn,

When, Europe sav'd, BRITAIN and GEORGE'S name

Shall sound o'er Flandria's level field,

Familiar in domestic meriment;

Or by the jolly mariner

Be carol'd loud adown the echoing Danube.

IX.

The just memorial of fair deeds

Still flourishes, and like th' untainted soul

Blossoms in freshest age, above

The weary flesh, and envy's rankling wound.

Such after years mature

In full account shall be thy meed.

O! may your rising hope

Well principled in ev'ry virtue bloom!

Till a fresh-springing flock implore

With infant hands a grandsire's pow'rful pray'r,

Or round your honour'd couch their prattling sports persue.

FOOTNOTE:

[14] 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 affirmed.

JOB, CHAPTER XXXIX.

BY A GENTLEMAN OF OXFORD.

Declare, if heav'nly wisdom bless thy tongue,

When teems the MOUNTAIN-GOAT with promis'd young;

The stated seasons tell, the month explain,

When feels the bounding HIND a mother's pain;

While, in th' oppressive agonies of birth,

Silent they bow the sorrowing head to earth?

Why crop their lusty seed the verdant food?

Why leave their dams, to search the gloomy wood?

Say, whence the WILD-ASS wantons o'er the plain,

Sports uncontroul'd, unconscious of the rein?

'Tis his o'er scenes of solitude to roam,

The waste his house, the wilderness his home;

He scorns the crouded city's pomp and noise,

Nor heeds the driver's rod, nor hears his voice;

At will on ev'ry various verdure fed,

His pasture o'er the shaggy cliffs is spread.

Will the fierce UNICORN obey thy call,

Enslav'd to man, and patient of the stall?

Say, will he stubborn stoop thy yoke to bear,

And thro' the furrow drag the tardy share?

Say, canst thou think, O wretch of vain belief,

His lab'ring limbs will draw thy weighty sheaf?

Or canst thou tame the temper of his blood

With faithful feet to trace the destin'd road?

Who paints the PEACOCK'S train with radiant eyes,

And all the bright diversity of dies?

Whose hand the stately OSTRICH has supply'd

With glorious plumage, and her snowy pride?

Thoughtless she leaves amid the dusty way,

Her eggs, to ripen in the genial ray;

Nor heeds, that some fell beast, who thirsts for blood,

Or the rude foot may crush the future brood.

In her no love the tender offspring share,

No soft remembrance, no maternal care:

For God has steel'd her unrelenting breast,

Nor feeling sense, nor instinct mild imprest,

Bade her the rapid-rushing steed despise,

Outstrip the rider's rage, and tow'r amidst the skies.

Didst thou the HORSE with strength and beauty deck?

Hast thou in thunder cloath'd his nervous neck?

Will he, like groveling grashoppers afraid,

Start at each sound, at ev'ry breeze dismay'd?

A cloud of fire his lifted nostrils raise,

And breathe a glorious terror as they blaze.

He paws indignant, and the valley spurns,

Rejoycing in his might, and for the battle burns.

When quivers rattle, and the frequent spear

Flies flashing, leaps his heart with languid fear?

Swallowing with fierce and greedy rage the ground,

"Is this, he cries, the trumpet's warlike sound?"

Eager he scents the battle from afar,

And all the mingling thunder of the war.

Flies the fierce HAWK by thy supreme command,

To seek soft climates, and a southern land?

Who bade th' aspiring EAGLE mount the sky,

And build her firm aerial nest on high?

On the bare cliff, or mountain's shaggy steep,

Her fortress of defence she dares to keep;

Thence darts her radiant eye's pervading ray,

Inquisitive to ken the distant prey.

Seeks with her thirsty brood th' ensanguin'd plain,

There bathes her beak in blood, companion of the slain.

ODE

ON THE

DEATH OF MR. THOMSON,

BY MR. COLLINS.

THE SCENE OF THE FOLLOWING STANZAS

IS SUPPOSED TO LIE ON THE

THAMES, NEAR RICHMOND.

I.

In yonder grave a Druid lies

Where slowly winds the stealing wave!

The year's best sweets shall duteous rise

To deck its Poet's sylvan grave!

II.

In yon deep bed of whisp'ring reeds

His airy harp[15] shall now be laid,

That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,

May love thro' life the soothing shade.

III.

Then maids and youths shall linger here,

And while its sounds at distance swell,

Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear

To hear the Woodland Pilgrim's knell.

IV.

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore

When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,

And oft suspend the dashing oar

To bid his gentle spirit rest!

V.

And oft as Ease and Health retire

To breezy lawn, or forest deep,

The friend shall view yon whitening [16]spire,

And 'mid the varied landscape weep.

VI.

But Thou, who own'st that earthy bed,

Ah! what will every dirge avail?

Or tears, which Love and Pity shed

That mourn beneath the gliding sail!

VII.

Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye

Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimm'ring near?

With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die;

And Joy desert the blooming year.

VIII.

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide

No sedge-crown'd Sisters now attend,

Now waft me from the green hill's side

Whose cold turf hides the buried friend!

IX.

And see, the fairy valleys fade,

Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view!

Yet once again, dear parted shade,

Meek Nature's Child, again adieu!

X.

The genial meads assign'd to bless

The life, shall mourn thy early doom,

Their hinds, and shepherd-girls shall dress

With simple hands thy rural tomb.

XI.

Long, long, thy stone, and pointed clay

Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes,

O! vales, and wild woods, shall He say

In yonder grave Your Druid lies!

FOOTNOTES:

[15] The harp of ÆOLUS, of which see a description in the CASTLE OF

INDOLENCE.

[16] RICHMOND Church.

THE CHILD BIRTH.

IN THE MANNER OF GAY.

The doleful dumps I sing, and tearful woes,

Of MARIAN teeming with unlawful throes:

The sheenest lass in Berkshire was she known,

Of all that butter sell to Reading town:

Not the seven sisters could o'er her prevail,

The golden farmer's daughters of the vale,

Tho' every Oxford muse their charms has sung

And gravest doctors[17] join'd the tuneful throng.

Ye peers! who careless of ambition, chuse

To court the labours of the past'ral muse;

And all the wond'rous bards who try the lay

Where black Cam rolls, or Isis' eddies play,

Assist the labours of an humble swain,

Rude to the pipe, and novice on the plain.

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