THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 -"i
 
 <,
 
 POETRY,
 
 POETRY, 
 
 jTustttDe ana Orfstnal; 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 THOMAS BEDINGFELD, ESQ. 
 
 AND 
 
 MR. GEORGE PICKERING. 
 
 WITH' NOTES AND SOME ADDITIONAL PIECES, 
 
 BY A FRIEND. U'*^' '^^^ t ^-^ ^'^'^ 
 
 CoUecta revirescent. 
 
 NEWCASTLE: 
 
 PRINTED AND SOLD BY S. HODGSON, UNION-STREET; 
 
 80LP ALSO BY MR. CHARNLEY, MESSRS. AKENHKAD, AND MR. FINLAY, 
 
 NEWCASTLE ; AND MESSRS. CRADOCK AND JOY, 
 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW, LONDON. 
 
 1815.
 
 H 
 
 Si^x'^V'- oziaii-H '^, 
 
 jA>ioiTiaaA '4U'
 
 -40S>9 
 
 TO 
 
 WALTER SCOTT, ESQUIRE, 
 
 THIS 
 
 COLLECTION OF POETRY, 
 
 WHICH 
 
 IN A GREAT MEASURE OWES ITS EXISTENCE TO A 
 WISH EXPRESSED BY HIM, 
 
 IS INSCRIBED, 
 
 WITH 
 
 SENTIMENTS OF HIGH ADMIRATION, 
 
 AND 
 
 SINCERE REGARD, 
 
 xr 
 
 THE EDITOR. 
 
 824071
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 FAB. 
 
 Introductory Memoir , . . 
 
 ix 
 
 Invocation to Harmony 
 
 3 
 
 Instructions to a Porter . . 
 
 5 
 
 On four beautiful Sisters 
 
 9 
 
 Epigram on Miss B. H.'s Marriage 
 
 11 
 
 On the Death of Miss F. H.'s Lover 
 
 13 
 
 Old Age the Season of Friendship not of Love 
 
 16 
 
 To Mrs. C. . . . . , 
 
 19 
 
 The Relapse . . . . , 
 
 22 
 
 The Triumph of Beauty ... 
 
 26 
 
 Anniversary of Mr. Pitt*s Premiership 
 
 41 
 
 Address to a Lady of Ireland . . . 
 
 44 
 
 Elegy, addressed to Mr. Pickering 
 
 49 
 
 Donocht-head ..... 
 
 55 
 
 Epitaph , , . . . , 
 
 59 
 
 To Sleep 
 
 61 
 
 Epistle to T. D. Esq. . . . 
 
 63 
 
 Chester Well . . 
 
 70 
 
 Hunting Song .... 
 
 15 
 
 To Hope ..... 
 
 78 
 
 The Moaning Clock and Hollow Wind 
 
 84
 
 Vlll 
 
 Sonnet . . 
 
 Sweet Anna . . . 
 
 The Inn ... 
 
 Ode on the 31st of December 
 
 T Hope 
 
 On the Slave Trade 
 
 On Gold 
 
 Winter 
 
 Epistle from Thomas Paine 
 
 The Crow Nest 
 
 Epistle to Mr. R. B., in Prose 
 
 Lapponian Poetry 
 
 Ode to Morpheus 
 
 London 
 
 To a Lady recovering from Sickness 
 
 Letter to T. D. Esq. with a Key 
 
 Epigramma 
 
 A Recantation 
 
 The Inn . . . . 
 
 To a Miniature Portrait 
 
 The Dream 
 
 Epitaph 
 
 The Rights of Woman 
 
 The Origin of Britain . . , 
 
 rAGX. 
 
 87 
 
 88 
 
 91 
 
 93 
 
 96 
 
 98 
 
 102 
 
 106 
 
 109 
 
 116 
 
 120 
 
 125 
 
 147 
 
 151 
 
 154 
 
 156 
 
 158 
 
 160 
 
 163 
 
 166 
 
 169 
 
 174 
 
 176 
 
 181 
 
 'rtaht7n.~-Page 49, line the last, for attend read eartend.
 
 INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR. 
 
 In compliance with custom, more than from a con- 
 viction of its universal propriety, the following col- 
 lection of the literary remains of two deceased men 
 of genius is prefaced, with some very brief biogra- 
 phical observations. 
 
 Thomas Bedingfeld* was descended, by both his 
 parents, from very ancient and honourable families, 
 being the second son of the late Edward Bedingfeld, 
 Esq. of York, who was a younger son of Sir Henry 
 Arundell Bedingfeld, Baronet, of Oxborough, in the 
 county of Norfolk, by Lady Elizabeth Boyle, eldest 
 daughter of Charles, Earl of Burlington. His 
 
 * Feld is the ancient orthography, and signifies the same 
 as Field. See Verstegan, who, however, writes this name 
 " Bedingfeld:*
 
 mother was Mary, daughter of Sir John Swinburne, 
 Baronet, of Capheaton, in the county of Northum- 
 berland. He was born at York on the 18th of Feb. 
 1760, and, when of sufficient age, was sent for edu- 
 cation to the university of Liege, in Germany, where 
 he continued to study the languages, with success, 
 about six years; and whatever observations may 
 have been made, in some instances, on the torpid in- 
 fluence of the system of education pursued in the 
 English seminaries on the confinent, it is certain 
 that the mind of Mr. Bedingfeld experienced no 
 such effect; for, after his return to England, he 
 exhibited not only a clear and sound judgment in 
 the study of the law, but an admirable talent for 
 poetry, and great liveliness in conversation. As an 
 introduction to the study of the law, more particu- 
 larly in that branch of it which is technically called 
 Conveyancing, he was in December, 1780, placed as 
 a clerk in the highly-respectable office of the late 
 Mr. Davidson, of Newcastle upon Tyne, where he 
 met with 
 
 George Pickering, the eldest son of a gentleman 
 of the same name, who was successively land-steward 
 to Sir Lancelot Allgood, of Nunwick, and Sir William
 
 XI 
 
 Middleton, of Belsay Castle, in Noriliumberland, in 
 which latter employment he died, greatly respected 
 for his integrity and private worth, Mr. Pickering 
 was born at Simonburn, in Northumberland, in or 
 about the month of January, 1758,* and received the 
 rudiments of education, at that place, under Mr. 
 Joseph Atkinson, a schoolmaster of great reputation 
 and success in those branches of learning not con- 
 nected with the classicks. In the year 1770, or 
 1771, he was placed, for education in the languages, 
 under the tuition of the Reverend Joseph Harrison, 
 master of the grammar school of Haydon Bridge, in 
 Northumberland, a teacher of considerable eminence, 
 who, to the requisite strictness and attention of a 
 master, united the kindness of a parent, and to whose 
 memory the writer of this short memoir, who after- 
 wards also became his pupil, gladly seizes the oppor- 
 tunity of paying a small tribute of respect. In De- 
 cember, 1776, Mr. Pickering became a clerk in Mr. 
 Davidson's office before-mentioned, and to him, after 
 some little time, was chiefly committed the arduous 
 management of the stamp-office for Northumber- 
 
 * The register of his baptism is dated the 11th of Janu- 
 ary, 1758. 
 
 b2
 
 Xll 
 
 land, Newcastle, and Berwick: an employment of 
 very considerable trust. 
 
 In the beginning of the year, 1733, the editor of 
 the present publicg,tion, upon the death of a gentle- 
 man to whom he was first articled, became the asso- 
 ciate of Mr. Bedingfeid and Mr. Pickering, in the 
 office of Messrs. Davidson, the successors of their 
 deceased father. A similarity of literary inclination, 
 with whatever inequality of genius, almost unavoid- 
 ably produced a considerable degree of friendship, 
 particularly between the latter, whose acquaintance 
 had been of longer duration; and the dilecti magistri 
 of these young men being themselves young, and 
 much attached to elegant literature, sometimes dis- 
 played, by one of them at least, in poetical composi- 
 tions of great beauty and point,* there thus existed, 
 if not " a constellation of genius," a sort of literary 
 
 * The editor is indebted to Mr. Thomas Davidson for 
 most essential assistance in recovering several of J.Ir. Pick- 
 ering's pieces, and also for many of the facts mentioned in 
 tliis memoir, short and imperfect as it still is. To the same 
 gentleman, and to Mr. John Murray, the editor is also un- 
 der great obligations for their attention to the progress and 
 correction of the press : a duty which his own distant re- 
 sidence would not permit him to perform.
 
 xm 
 
 association not very common in a law-office: a soil 
 generally supposed to be as unfavourable to poetry 
 as to anotber plant that shall be nameless, but which 
 has nevertheless been found indigenous in the office 
 in question, at least so far as concerns the principals. 
 A partial separation took place in 1784, by the 
 removal of Mr. Bedingfeld to Lincoln's Inn, where 
 he continued the study of the law, under the direc- 
 tion of that eminent conveyancer, Matthew Duane, 
 Esquire, and, after his decease, of his nephew, the 
 late Mr. Bray. Towards the latter end of 1787, Mr. 
 Bedingfeld commenced practice on his own account, 
 in the Inner Temple, as a conveyancer and chamber 
 counsel (being a Roman Catholick, and as such in- 
 capable, by the existing laws, of the priviledges of 
 the English bar), and was rising rapidly to consider- 
 ation in that profession, when his own hopes and the 
 well-grounded expectations of his friends were ter- 
 minated by his death, which took place in Novem- 
 ber, 1789-* Some time after that period, it is 
 
 * His death was announced in the Gentleinan*s Maga- 
 zine for November, 1789, to have taken place on the 18th 
 of that month, and he was stiled ** Thq. Bedingficld, Esq. 
 " son. of Sir Rich. B., Bart, of Oxborough, co. Norfolk,"
 
 XIV 
 
 believed, Mr. Pickering went abroad, and it is so 
 long since his friends have had any information re- 
 specting him, there is too much reason to apprehend 
 that he also has taken his last departure from that 
 great inn, the world.* 
 
 After Mr. Bedingfeld's death some of his poems 
 were published in London, under the title of " Poems, 
 
 " by T. B g d, Esquire, of the Inner Temple;" 
 
 but the editor had, notwithstanding, thought it a 
 subject of regret, that the literary compositions of 
 these, his early friends, should remain either unpub- 
 lished, or scattered in magazines and newspapers, 
 
 whicl), in tlie following montli, was thus corrected " G. 
 
 " W. O. tells us, Mr. Bedingfeld (not Bedingfield), was 
 * the son of Mr. B. of York, who is related to the Norfolk 
 " Baronet. He was a young man of fine parts, served a 
 " icw years with Messrs. Davidsons, attornies, at Newcas- 
 " tie ; came to London about six years ago, was clerk to 
 " the late eminent conveyancer, Matthew Duane, Esq., 
 " since whose death Mr. B. practised as a chamber counsel 
 " (being a Roman Catholic) on his own account." But 
 the Newcastle Chi-onicle of the 14th of November states 
 Mr. B.'s death to have taken place on the Jifth, which 
 thei'e is reason to believe js the true date of that melan- 
 choly event. 
 
 * See p. 91.
 
 XV 
 
 with the exception of the pamphlet above-mention* 
 ed,* and he was at length induced to attempt the 
 collection of them by an expression of similar regret 
 
 * That publication was mentioned as surreptitious by a 
 correspondent of the Monthly Magazine, under the signa- 
 ture of Alboin, and date August 10, 1800 ; and as the let- 
 ter seems to have been written by some person acquainted 
 with both our authors, the following extract is given : 
 " * The fragment, of which Robert Burns said DonochU 
 " * Head is not mine. I would give ten pounds it were,' 
 " was written by Mr. George Pickering, then of Newcas- 
 ** tie upon Tyne. * * * Mr. Bedingfeld (whose 
 ** poems, surreptitiously printed, are known to few, but 
 * by those few admired) was at the time his coadjutor 
 " and friend. There are, Mr. Editor, several gentlemen, 
 " and among those a worthy Baronet, whose knowledge and 
 ** taste might enrich your publication with authentic and 
 ** interesting memoirs of Pickering and Bedingfeld." 
 The present editor sincerely regrets that the imperfect 
 sketch, now offered, has not been anticipated by the au- 
 thentic and interesting memoirs thus suggested; and he 
 peculiarly laments that the suggestion failed of its effect 
 on the highly-respected Baronet alluded to, whose acknow- 
 ledged taste and abilities would have rendered a pub- 
 lication, like this, more interesting and more complete. 
 He begs leave, however, to offer that gentleman his grate- 
 ful acknowledgements, for the trouble he politely took to 
 examine his papers, in the hope of finding more of Mr. 
 Bedingfeld's poems, and for information respecting him of 
 which the editor has availed himself in this memoir.
 
 XVI 
 
 which fell from the best, and most celebrated, 
 poet of the present age. That gentleman has kindly 
 patronized the work, by permitting it to be inscribed 
 to him; but, whilst the editor gratefu% avails him- 
 self of such permission, he owes it, as a necessary 
 justice to Mr. Scott, to state, that his regret was 
 confined to the productions of Mr. Bedingfeld and 
 Mr. Pickering, having at that time no cause to sus- 
 pect that the editor had ever, to use the whimsical 
 expression of Bums, " committed the sin of rhyme/' 
 The publication now offered contains the whole of 
 these productions, that the editor has been able to 
 collect, and he hopes it will be acceptable to the ad- 
 mirers of genius, and more particularly to those, who 
 had the pleasure of being acquainted with the re- 
 spective authors when living. 
 
 For having presumed to annex some almost-for- 
 gotten Trifles of his own, the editor acknowledges he 
 has no' strictly legitimate excuse : but being unable 
 to recover more of the superior compositions of his 
 friends he has been induced, somewhat unwillingly, 
 to make a small addition to the size, if not to the in- 
 trinsick value, of a volume still far from bulky.
 
 POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 MR. BEDINGFELD.
 
 AN 
 
 INVOCATION 
 
 HARMONY. 
 
 Celestial Harmony ! descend, 
 
 The wrinkled brow of care unbend ; 
 
 Thy cheerful voice let sorrow hear, 
 
 And cease to drop the pensive tear : 
 
 Bid joy, extatick joy, impart 
 
 Its pleasing influence to the heart. 
 
 Descend, celestial Harmony, 
 
 Joy owes its sweetest charm to thee ! 
 B 2
 
 4 
 
 When love the bosom fills, 'tis thine 
 His power to heighten and refine. 
 Thy thrilling warblings, soft and slow, 
 Attuned to melting passion flow. 
 And bid the soul, enraptured, prove 
 That musick is the voice of love. 
 Descend, celestial Harmon}^, 
 Love owes its sweetest charm to thee ! 
 
 Enchanting power ! 'tis thine to still 
 
 The storms that life's sad circle fill. 
 
 The burthen of our woes to ease. 
 
 And make our pleasures doubly please : 
 
 Each tender feeling to refine 
 
 Through life, enchanting power ! is thine. 
 
 Descend, celestial Harmony, 
 
 Life owes its sweetest charm to thee!
 
 a 
 
 INSTRUCTIONS 
 
 TO 
 
 A PORTER. 
 
 You ! to whose care I've now consigned 
 My house's entrance caution use 
 
 While you discharge your trust, and mind 
 Whom you admit and whom refuse. 
 
 Let no fierce passions enter here, 
 
 Passions the raging hreast that storm, 
 
 Nor scornful Pride, nor servile Fear, 
 Nor Hate, nor Envi/*s pallid form.
 
 6 
 
 Should Atarice call ^you'll let her know 
 Of heaped-up riches I've no store, 
 
 And that she has no right to go 
 Where Plutus has not been before. 
 
 Lo ! on a visit hither bent, 
 
 High-plumed Ambition stalks about ! 
 But should he enter sweet Content 
 
 Will give me warning shut him out. 
 
 Perhaps the Muse may pass this way 
 And though, full oft, I've bent the knee. 
 
 And long invoked her magic sway, 
 Smit with the love of harmony. 
 
 Alone though she might please yet still 
 I know she'll with Ambition come. 
 
 With lust of fame my heart she'll fill. 
 She'll break my rest, Fm not at home.
 
 There is a rascal, old and hideous, ^*' ^'''"' ^> 
 Who oft (and sometimes not in vain) 
 
 Close at my gate has watched, assiduous, 
 In hopes he might admission gain. 
 
 His name is Care if he should call. 
 
 Quick out of doors with vigour throw him, 
 
 And tell the miscreant, once for all, 
 
 I know him not, and ne'er will know him. 
 
 Perhaps then Bacchus, foe to care. 
 May think he'll sure my favour win 
 
 His promises of joy are fair, 
 
 But false you must not let him in. 
 
 But welcome that Sweet Power, on whom 
 The young desires attendant move : 
 
 Still flushed with beauty's vernal bloom, 
 Parent of bliss ! the Queen of Love!
 
 O, you will know her ! she has stole 
 The lustre of my Delia's eye 
 
 Admit her hail her for my soul 
 Breathes double life when she is nigh ! 
 
 If then stern Wisdom at my gate 
 
 Should knock, with all her formal train- 
 Tell her I'm busy she may wait 
 Or if she chuses call again.
 
 ON 
 
 FOUR BEAUTIFUL SISTERS 
 
 At 
 
 NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE. 
 
 IE daughters of ! each mortal may see 
 
 Such symptoms of sweetness, of beauty such traces, 
 
 In every dear feature, that were ye but threCj 
 
 Each mortal would whisper " Behold the three Graces.'^ 
 
 But since, heavenly charmers ! your number is four, 
 A fourth heavenly name must be thought on between 
 us; 
 
 Each mortal, whose eyes the fair group shall explore, 
 Must whisper " Behold the three Graces and Venus."
 
 10 
 
 Yet whom to distinguish with Venus's name 
 
 Is a point, that must puzzle a poor rhyming elf: 
 
 For the handmaids of Beauty to rank cannot claim 
 With the sweet-smiling Goddess of Beauty herself. 
 
 'Tis not in your charms the distinction I'll seek, 
 With equal attraction beholders they feast, 
 
 So sparkling each eye, and so blooming each cheek. 
 Each nymph is a Goddess, in Beauty at least. 
 
 But Venus, by bards young and old 'tis confest. 
 Was gifted with Kindness united to Beauty, 
 
 And still was her heart with this maxim imprest, 
 " To wound is my Fate but to heal is my Duty" 
 
 Since then the contention of charms is in vain. 
 The claim. Beauty cannot, let Kindness discover, 
 
 Let this be the praise, that ye strive to obtain. 
 
 Who soonest shall grant the fond suit of her lover.
 
 11 
 
 Thus who will be Venus will be a plain case, 
 
 The point to decide with success I've been trying : 
 
 Each nymph that is prudish shall be but a Grace, 
 And the nymph shall be Venus that's kind and com- 
 plying. > .^;.i. ,;;.-- '-;. 
 
 Miss Betsi/ , one of the sisters, having afterwards 
 
 married a gentleman concerned in Iron-works, the 
 following epigrammatical verses were written on the 
 occasion. 
 
 Upon my soul, when I advised 
 
 One o^ you four to copy Venus, 
 Sweet Betsy ! I had ne'er surmised 
 
 You'd form this misconstruction heinous. 
 
 Was there, alas ! no other way 
 
 You could the goddess imitate, 
 c 2
 
 12 
 
 Than in what most her folly lay, 
 Her choice preposterous of a mate. 
 
 But since 'tis past, I'll still rejoice. 
 
 If you the copy still pursue, 
 Resembling Venus in her choice. 
 
 And treatment of her chosen too. 
 
 In decking heads* much time you've spent 
 'Tis well that business follow now. 
 
 And don't forget what ornament 
 Your Venus placed on Vulcan's brow. 
 
 * The lady was a milliner.
 
 13 
 
 ON 
 
 THE DEATH 
 
 MISS F. 's LOVER. 
 
 The youth of Pelaw's verdant plain 
 To fate resigns his struggling breath ; 
 
 Each friend, in pity's bitter strain, 
 Laments the untimely stroke of death. 
 
 But, oh ! his Fanny's tender heart 
 
 Feels the keen pang that's felt by few ; 
 
 For, wounded by a double dart. 
 
 She weeps her friend and lover too.
 
 u 
 
 Sorrowing she mourns his early doom, 
 His truth, his wonderous worth recalls. 
 
 And o'er fair Merit's hallowed tomb 
 The lovely tear of Beauty falls. 
 
 The tear of beauty falls yet still 
 Not even that tear shall aught avail ; 
 
 It cannot thaw death's icy chill : 
 It cannot wake the slumberer pale. 
 
 Still, pensive mourner ! let it flow, 
 Spread sorrow's langour o'er ihy face : 
 
 Thy charms, thus softened, sweeter grow. 
 And from Affliction borrow Grace. 
 
 Lamented shade! though pleasure's hour, 
 To thee, yet scarce begun, is o'er: 
 
 Though oii thy cheek youth's vernal flower 
 Just bloomecl, and closed, to bloom no more,
 
 15 
 
 Still does thy fate my envy move, 
 Thou fortune's favourite still appear, 
 
 Blest, vs^hen alive, with Fanny's love. 
 And, dead, lamented with her tear. 
 
 e'/oJ 
 
 .-. f. 
 
 jit^fiiiv^ ^ 1 '
 
 16 
 
 OLD AGE, 
 
 THE SEASON OF FRIENDSHIP, AND NOT OF LOVE. 
 
 AN IMITATION OF VOLTAIRE. 
 
 " Si vous voulez que j* aime encore,*' &c. &c. 
 
 If in this bosom Love you'd raise, 
 Love's long lost season back invite, 
 
 And to the twilight of my days 
 The rosy dawn of youth unite. 
 
 From scenes where Bacchus takes his stand> 
 And Venus fires the youthful heart, 
 
 Time, seizing on my withered hand, 
 And frowning, warns me to depart.
 
 17 
 
 Against the terrors of his rage 
 
 My drooping soul let reason steel ; 
 
 Who wants the spirit of his age 
 
 Must all his age's evils feel. ' ' ".^ 
 
 Let youth enjoy the smiles of fate, 
 The yielding fair, the sparkling glasis ; 
 
 Two moments form our mortal date : 
 Let one to wisdom sacred pass. 
 
 But fly ye to return no more? 
 
 Illusions ! Follies ! Love ! and Joy ! 
 Celestial gifts ! of genial power 
 
 Life's sharpest sorrows to destroy. 
 
 Twice do we die, so fate decrees : 
 To cease to love, and to be loved, 
 
 Is death and worse than death ; to cease 
 To live is what I'll bear unmoved.
 
 18 
 
 Thus, trembling with awakened fire, 
 The loss of youthful joys I mourned, 
 
 And to the paths of fond desire 
 
 My wandering soul again returned ; 
 
 When, lo ! to soothe my troubled mind, 
 Frietidship descended from above. 
 
 As sweet, as tefider, and as kind. 
 
 But charmed but ravished, less than Love. 
 
 Pleased with her beauties as she stept. 
 Struck with her splendour as she shone, 
 
 Friendship I followed but I wept, 
 Now forced to follow her alone. 
 
 ij-
 
 19 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. C , 
 
 .ON HER 
 
 , lifc OJ Ihv 
 
 PESIRIN6 T6 SBESOME OF THE 
 
 AUTHOR'S VERSES. 
 
 Urge, urge no more the vain request, 
 Resolved to shun the alarming test, 
 I'll, wisely, to thy sight refuse 
 The weak productions of my muse. 
 Soon would thy penetrating eye 
 Defects unnumbered there descry. 
 No beauties note ; my feeble lays 
 
 Would claim thy pity, not thy praise. 
 J)2
 
 20 
 
 For shouldest thou see, that there I aim 
 To catch imagination's flame. 
 Triumphantly to move along 
 With all the pomp of lofty song, 
 Alas ! with such superior sway 
 Thy happier genius wings its way, 
 So bright thy fancy's given to shine, 
 Thou'lt pity sure a nmse like mine* 
 
 Or, humbler, should I strive to gain 
 Applause from humour's sportive strain : 
 In playful stile attempt to please, 
 And aim at elegance and ease, 
 Alas ! what can I thus submit ? 
 Such vigour points thy livelier wit, 
 Such native graces still refine, 
 Thou'lt pity sure a zoit like mine. 
 
 But should my pensive lays disclose 
 Some mournful lover's hidden woes,
 
 21 
 
 The troubled mind, the bleeding heart 
 Transfixed with passion's keenest dart, 
 While, cursed, he views his fair one's charms 
 With rapture crown another's arms, 
 Alas ! with hopeless grief, he'd pine : 
 Thou wouldest not pity z&oes like mine.
 
 22 
 
 THE 
 
 RELAPSE. 
 
 A SLAVE to Celia's charms, I saw 
 My fond affection fruitless prove. 
 
 No more shall Venus give me law : 
 No more, O Cupid! will I love. 
 
 Yet I was born to feel thy dart, 
 But now the dear delusion's o'er : 
 
 Thy reign is gone, my foolish heart 
 Would love too much Fll love no more.
 
 23 
 
 The godhead cried, " What servile fear ! 
 
 " Weak mortal see, thy soul to move, 
 " Three graces joined in one appear." 
 
 " Child, 'tis in vain / zdll not love." 
 
 When, lo ! my Sylvia^s radiant form 
 Sudden my dazzled eyes explore; 
 
 She comes with beauty's every charm, 
 But comes too late Fll love no more. 
 
 Yes, there resides each power to please, 
 There graces o'er each feature rove. 
 
 There wit and temper, sense and ease. 
 But all are vain I will not love. 
 
 What, shall my rivals own their fire, 
 And prostrate at her feet adore ? 
 
 Whilst I, why still I'll but admire^ 
 I'll surely, surely, love no more.
 
 24 
 
 When Cupid thus his purpose pressed : 
 "Thy sense and reasoning I approve! 
 
 " Admire then, and in safety rest, 
 " For Admiration is not Love. 
 
 " What though ten thousand graces glow, 
 " Such as ne'er met thy eyes before, 
 
 " Though beauty, sense, all these, you know, 
 " Are nothing when one loves no more. 
 
 " Then see the nymph, devoid of fear : 
 
 " Myself all danger will remove, 
 " Each moment whispering in your ear 
 
 " At least remember not to love,*' 
 
 How could I trust such hidden guile? 
 
 Would Cupid lessen Cupid's power ? 
 Malicious imp ! I saw him smile 
 
 Whene'er I said /'// love no more.
 
 25 
 
 Even from that day, to danger blind, 
 Heedless, to meet my fate I move.- 
 
 T see thee, charmer ! but I find 
 To see thee is alas! to love. 
 
 
 B 
 
 .i:f;iJ 
 (f! t.,u.
 
 26 
 
 THE 
 
 TRIUMPH OF BEAUTY. 
 
 J. o the singular exertions of the degant and accomplished 
 Georgiana, late Duchess of Devonshire, in behalf of Mr- 
 Fox, in the memorable contest for the representation of 
 the city of Westminster, in the year ITS^, his success was, 
 in a great degree, attributed, even by his most sanguine 
 admirers. In the fervour of the moment, Mr. Bedingfeld 
 addressed the following Ode to her Grace, and requested 
 her permission to publish it, which she politely declined, with 
 expressions of her sense of the high compliment intended 
 her, but that she had already heard and read so much on 
 the subject, he would oblige her by forbearing the publica- 
 tion. Her Grace's wish was, of course, complied with, 
 and the poem has remained unpublished, till now, when 
 the beauty, the orator, and the poet, are alike beyond the 
 reach of human eulogy and human censure, and the fleeting 
 politicks of that day have ceased to be interesting. Yet 
 whatever may be, or rather may have been, the political
 
 m 
 
 sentiments of the reader, and however transitory the sub- 
 ject of this Ode, it is presumed its genuine strain of poetry 
 well deserves preservation. 
 
 It may not be improper to remark, that, notwithstanding 
 the compliments incidentally paid to Mr. Fox, the opinions 
 of the author on pubhc affairs were far from being in 
 unison with his. Lord North was, in fact, our author's 
 great statesman, though his famous coahtion with Mr. Fox 
 may be supposed to have* imparted some degree of political 
 purity to that gentleman ; and the editor well remembers 
 a discussion respecting lib lordship's merits, which lasted 
 the greatest part of a Christmas night, between our poet 
 and the late Dr. Lawrence, an eminent civilian, and a 
 member of Parliament of the Burkean school. Mr. Be- 
 dingfeld, abandoning the principles on which Lord North 
 had professedly carried on the American war, and which 
 had been uniformly opposed by Mr. Fox, endeavoured, in 
 his usual vehement* manner, to justify his lordship, on the 
 singular ground, that he was too wise to have any expec- 
 tation of subduing the Americans, but foreseeing they 
 were to become an independent nation, he was determined, 
 
 * Though Mr, B. was one of the best tempered of men, he argued 
 upon any subject, in which he felt himself interested, with an 
 earnestness and fervour, almost tumulttious, that occasioned many 
 a smile, and much good-natiured raillery, amongst his friends. 
 
 e2
 
 28 
 
 by carrying on the war, to cripple and impoverish them so 
 much, that they should not soon become commercial 
 rivals to Britain. Of Mr. Bedingfeld's opinion of tlie peo- 
 ple, (the objects of Mr. Fox's veneration) and of popular 
 govenunents, some notion may be formed, by the name he 
 gave to his wardrobe, which, being generally in a state of 
 complete confusion, he facetiously called his Republick ; 
 and if he had lived to witness the French revolution, and 
 its consequent atrocities, and thsft ephemeral constitution, 
 stiled by Mr. Fox, *' a stupendous monument of human 
 wisdom," perhaps there was no man who would have 
 viewed them with more sincere detestation. Editor. 
 
 .jj.a'iia^i ,.
 
 29 
 
 THE 
 
 TRIUMPH OF BEAUTY. 
 
 AN ODE, 
 
 WaiTTEN DURING THE WESTMINSTER ELECTION IN 1784. 
 AMD ADDRESSED TO 
 
 HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE, 
 
 OS HER SUCCESSFUL CANVASS FOR 
 
 MR. FOX. 
 " Gratior et pulchro veniens in corpore Virtus." Virg. 
 
 IHINE is the victory, lovely fair! 
 
 The triumph thine ! to thee belong 
 Such meeds as best reward the patriot's care, 
 
 Thy country's loudest thanks, thy poet's choicest song 
 For, lo ! when freedom's darling son 
 The doubtful contest had begun,
 
 30 
 
 And claimed again, with bolder voice, 
 The people's fair unbiassed choice, 
 But felt, at length, the blasting gale 
 Of courtly rage and fraud prevail. 
 And faint, o'erpowered, was forced to yield 
 The glories of the wejl-fought field 
 When on his rival's treacherous mien 
 The smile of confidence was seen 
 When every foe to freedom hailed the hour, 
 And fondly deemed him crushed beneath the hand of 
 power, 
 
 'Twas then, in all the charms arrayed 
 Of youth and beauty, did'st thou come; 
 
 And, hastening to the weary warrior's aid, 
 
 Did'st from his failing cause avert the impending 
 doom. 
 
 Thou earnest wert seen and conquest soon 
 
 Propitious on thy ban ner^^pa^.^,^_ ,.,,,, ,, ,,
 
 91 
 
 Swift, as thy influence beamed around, 
 
 The chief sprung ardent from the ground, 
 
 Reviving, felt thy powerful sway, 
 
 The strife renewed, and won the day. 
 
 Thus when the Trojan hero stood 
 
 Encompassed in the field of blood. 
 
 And saw destruction aim the dart, i u 
 
 From every quarter, at his heart, 
 
 The Queen of Beauty, trembling, left her sphere, 
 
 And from the stroke of fate preserved her darling care. 
 
 Oft has the flame of liberty 
 
 In thy soft sex's bosom glowed. 
 And, whilst their country struggled to be free. 
 
 Oft have they foremost trod exalted glory's road;T' 
 Her daughter* erst Judea ?aw 
 The sword of death, undaunted, draw, 
 And bid the proud Assyrian feel 
 A female's patriotic zeal.. 
 
 * Judith.
 
 32 
 
 A female's * arm 'gainst mighty Rome 
 
 Rose, and delayed Palmyra's doom. 
 
 Britannia too shall long proclaim 
 
 Her Boadicea's matchless fame; 
 
 And often with a sigh recall 
 
 The triumphs of exulting Gaul, 
 
 When Orleans' walls beheld the martial maid,-|- 
 
 And Britain's legions felt each well-earned laurel fade. 
 
 Yet now were that soft sex to move 
 Beneath thy banners, mighty Mars ! 
 Thus for their country's cause their ardour prove, 
 . Her injured rights assert, and head her vengeful 
 
 warsj ' 
 
 'T would charm no more no more command 
 The applauses of a wondering land. lalriguAh laH 
 
 Far other manners now confine , jsab lo hrofm a^'V 
 Each sex within the allotted lineV f<'oTt 
 
 * Zenobia. 
 t The Maid of Orleans.
 
 S3 
 
 Far other times would folly deem 
 What once was rapture's favourite theme. 
 For now 'tis man's alone to wield 
 Death's dreadful arms in glory's field; 
 Tis his to meet the warring foe, 
 And feel his swelling bosom glow 
 With rage, revenge, fierce passion's turbid train ! 
 Strangers to that mild breast where love and softnessy 
 reisrn. 
 
 o 
 
 Must then thy sex ne'er soar beyond 
 
 The limits of domestic life? 
 And torpid, patient of oppression's bond. 
 
 Let man unaided urge the patriotic strife r 
 Does the sweet shrub that bears the rose, 
 And round a gale of fragrance throws, 
 Feel a less interest in the soil. 
 Which feeds its growth, which bids it smile, 
 Than the proud oak, that with more dread. 
 But less attraction, rears its head ? 
 
 F
 
 34 
 
 And say must one, in whom combine 
 
 The splendour of a noble line, 
 
 Each charm that nature can impart 
 
 Refined with every grace of art. 
 
 Behold, unmoved, unconscious, freedom's fall. 
 
 Deaf to her duty's voice, her interests pressing call ? 
 
 Ah no ! for still there is an arm. 
 
 Which female softness yet may wield 
 
 There is a spell, whose fascinating charm 
 
 Still bids the strong to bow, the stubborn still to 
 yield ! 
 
 *Tis that persuasive, fond controul 
 
 That empire o'er the willing soul 
 
 That influence given by fate's decree. 
 
 Enchanting loveliness ! to thee : 
 
 Given to direct, with happiest art, 
 
 Each rising passion of the heart. 
 
 In virtue's cause, in freedom's aid, 
 
 Be this blest influence e'er displayed!
 
 36 
 
 So shall its energy prevail, 
 When other calls and motives fail ; 
 To noblest deeds so shall it oft impel 
 The mind, though freedom there, and virtue cease to 
 dwell. 
 
 Thy sway the astonished throng contest, 
 
 Beheld thy charms resistless reign ; 
 Subdued they gave, to beauty's soft request, 
 
 The vote, which eloquence unaided failed to gain i 
 The baffled powers of faction fled. 
 No more corruption reared its head : 
 And see ! delusion's baneful cloud. 
 That hung deceitful o'er the crowd. 
 And shewed the patriot to their eyes 
 In mad ambition's fell disguise, 
 Now pierced with truth's victorious ray. 
 Darted by thee, dissolves away ! 
 Where'er thou movest, thy looks inspire 
 Each heart with freedom's genuine fire: 
 
 f2
 
 36 
 
 Warmth for thy cause in every bosom springs. 
 
 And beauty's winning smile defeats the frown of kings. 
 
 Yon skies what sudden glory streaks ? 
 
 'Tis Liberty herself descends ! 
 Swift through the fields of air the goddess seeks 
 
 Her favourite isle, on thee the raptured eyfe she bends, 
 And calls thee daughter ; and thy name 
 Stamps on the immortal scroll of fame. 
 Lo ! with the laurel's hallowed leaves 
 Her hand a crown triumphant weaves ; 
 The Loves and Graces there dispose 
 And blend the lily and the rose, 
 Her myrtle Fenus joins, and now 
 They place the chaplet on thy brow : 
 The varied chaplet ! wreath divine! 
 Best, loveliest gift ! yet justly thine, 
 Thine, charmer, in whose heavenly mien we trace, 
 Bold freedom's sacred flame, and beauty's softest grace.
 
 ^7 
 
 O still pursue thy bright career ! 
 
 . Still faithful to the glorious cause ! 
 Nor heed malignant wits insipid sneer, 
 
 Nor heed the portrait false, that envious satire draws. 
 In vain the shafts of scandal fly ; 
 Half, feebly, wander through the sky, 
 And half, which arms more nervous weild ''"-" ''i ' ' 
 
 And nearer come, against the shield, ' "J^^'' 
 
 The shield thy virtues form around, 
 Strike, and drop lifeless on the ground. 
 Let not these efforts weak and vain 
 Importance from thy notice gain. 
 But still let freedom's champion boast ''^ stevi uj . I 
 Thine aid, whilst through the voting host "''"'' '' 
 Burst with resistless energy along on i m./ 
 
 The lightning of thine eye, the thunder of his tongue. 
 
 See! breathing with congenial fire, 
 Britain's chief beauties round resort,* 
 
 * Lady Duncannon, Mrs. Sheridan, &c. *c.
 
 38 
 
 Their looks new life awake, new charms inspire : 
 
 Lovely, they grace the cause, which, zealous, they 
 support. 
 And lo ! where anxious to defend 
 Her own, and freedom's constant friend, 
 Illustrious Portland moves ! her air 
 No pride, no pomp fastidious there; 
 Her manner sweet, engaging, kind. 
 Triumphant rules the stubborn miad. 
 Blest with each winning art she comes ! 
 With her each social virtue blooms, 
 Blooms unambitious still ! display'd 
 In private life's sequestered shade ; 
 There, with the rest, heroic friendship shines. 
 And now, at friendship's call, the public strife she joins. 
 
 O beauty! soul subduing power! 
 
 Whence springs thy universal sway ? 
 In every clime triumphant, every hour 
 
 Bidding mankind behold, enraptured, and obey !
 
 39 
 
 Lo ! where fair nature's liberal hand 
 
 With richest colouring decks the land; 
 
 Her smiling meads extend around, 
 
 With Flora's blooming pleasures crown'd : 
 
 Her waving woods cast o'er the glade 
 
 A pleasing gloom, of solemn shade. 
 
 Soft breathes the gale, soft flows the rill, 
 
 *Tis sweet enchantment all! yet still 
 
 There is the eye that, calm, serene, 
 
 Can wander o'er the glowing scene! 
 
 There is the heart that feels no transport rise, 
 
 No grateful motions tend impassioned to the skies ! 
 
 But ah ! when beauty's charms appear, 
 
 Stampt on the human/ace divine, 
 The smile seducing, the sweet winning air, 
 
 Charms where the accomplished mind's true picture 
 loves to shine ! 
 Where is the ei/e that does not gaze, 
 Entranced in rapture and annxze ?
 
 40 
 
 Where is the heart that does not move 
 With all the ecstacies of love ? 
 Nor love alone : what generous aim 
 But borrows hence increasing flame ? 
 To gain the fair one's blest applause, 
 Warm we support our country's cause; 
 And glory, to sublimer height, 
 Aspiring, wings her arduous flight; 
 Even freedom's blessings lovelier we confess. 
 And virtue charms us more arrayed in beauty's dress.* 
 
 
 
 * Gratior et pulchro veniens in corpore Virtus.
 
 41 
 
 ON THE 
 
 ANNIVERSARY 
 
 OF 
 
 MR. PITTS APPOINTMENT TO THE PREMIERSHIP. 
 
 ^is a year since great George in his wisdom thought fit 
 With the Premier's high post to grace young Mr. Pitt ; 
 Now surely my tongue would deserve to be sHt, 
 Were it dumb on the subject of young Mr. Pitt: 
 Awake then ye muses! all meaner things quit, 
 And sound forth the praises of young Mr. Pitt : 
 But be cautious, or else on a rock you will split, 
 While you strive to do justice to young Mr. Pitt. 
 His conscience is tender, like Corbett's* to wit. 
 And the mob cries " Immaculate young Mr. Pitt." 
 
 * High Bailiff of Westminster.
 
 42 
 
 When Corbett refused his return to the writ,* 
 His scruples were fostered by young Mr. Pitt. 
 He's a staunch friend to virtue, 'tis said, albeit 
 A strange group the friends are of young Mr. Pitt. 
 Wilkes, Robinson, Mulgrave, Sir Wafkynf the cit, 
 RoUe, Dundas, and Mawbey, sway young Mr. Pitt : 
 
 And A , ;j: he, who has not been, as yet. 
 
 Condemned to the pillory guides young Mr. Pitt; 
 While Richmond and Tburlow their squabbles forget, 
 And both join in bellowing for young Mr. Pitt: 
 Nay more, this same Thurlow his brows will unknit, 
 And smile at the sallies of young Mr. Pitt. 
 Of politics, faith ! 'twas a damnable hit 
 Which, knocking down Charley, raised young Mr. 
 Pitt. 
 
 * The writ of election for Westminster when Fox was 
 elected. 
 
 f Sir Watkyn Lewes. 
 
 J R A , Esq. convicted of perjury. 
 
 Honourable Charles James Fox.
 
 A3 
 
 With windows blocked up we now dismally sit. 
 
 And curse the dark lanthorn of 3'oung Mr. Pitt: 
 
 That lanthorn by which it w^s said he was lit, 
 
 When up the dark staircase groped young Mr. Pitt. 
 
 The tea-drinkers say, we are damnably bit 
 
 By your fell commutation-tax, young Mr. Pitt : 
 
 But as for the ladies he cares not a whit. 
 
 Even their petticoats taxed are by young Mr. Pitt. 
 
 Thus at length the gulled public are tempted to twit, 
 And snarl at the measures of young Mr. Pitt. 
 To his follies and blunders I calmly submit, 
 And all that I say is *' i/ou're young Mr. Piit."* 
 
 * Though this pasquinade may be admitted to be below 
 the genius of Mr. Bedingfeld, it is observable with what 
 dexterity he has managed it. In eighteen rhymes to Pitt, 
 there is not one repeated. It is a little remarkable that 
 Mr. B. was sorpetimes mistaken by the London populace 
 for Mr. Pitt, to whom he had a considerable personal re- 
 semblance. Editor. 
 
 g2
 
 44 
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 TO A 
 
 YOUNG LADY, OF IRELAND, 
 
 WHO HAD PRESENTED THE AUTHOR WITH A 
 
 PAIR OF RUFFLES. 
 
 WRITTEN SOON AFTER THE REJECTION OF MR. PITX's COMMERCIAL 
 SYSTEM. 
 
 O YOU, that on a nation's foe 
 A nation's cause avenge ! whose lures 
 
 Deceitful make me undergo 
 The fate my country destined yours ! 
 
 When late commercial boons we sent, 
 
 The unasked-for grant you cautious weigh'd. 
 
 And deemed the insidious measure meant 
 To exchange your liberties for trade.
 
 45 
 
 Yet I, Mtith unsuspecting thought, 
 
 Pleased with the gift I ought to spurn, 
 
 Accept the ruffles you have wrought, 
 But lose my freedom in return. 
 
 Alas, how great are the demands 
 
 You claim for what your bounty gave ! 
 
 Your ruffles grace my happy hands, 
 But, lo ! my bartered heart's your slave. 
 
 Yet patiently my doom I meet, ^le 
 
 Half charmed, half grieved, my chains I see, 
 
 And scarce, while prostrate at your feet, 
 
 A wish is left me to be free. 'f* ^'' ^''^^* 
 
 Not so your country's sons beheld 
 The approach of slavery from afar. 
 
 But quick the fancied blow repell'd. 
 And ardent urged the wrangling war.
 
 46 
 
 Of words amidst a tedious waste, .^i^ij j|i;. 
 
 Each orator our ears was stunning, 
 'With propositions* made in haste. 
 
 With resolutions -f fraught with cunning,-r- 
 
 How, though they trade and riches sent, 
 They still were fraught with dire delusion. 
 
 And, whilst to empire strength tliey lent. 
 Were hostile to the constitution. 
 
 Perish the empire ! J perish too 
 
 The constitution and its Grattan! 
 The patriot band, the tjreasury crew. 
 
 With all my leave may go to Satan : 
 
 * The eleven Iri^h propositions, 
 
 f The twenty English resolutions, 
 
 :(: See the speech of Mi-. Grattan, one of the members of 
 the Irish Parliament, on the Irish propositions, or more 
 prpperly, the Enghsh resolutions. " If," says he, <* any
 
 47 
 
 But live for ever that sweet art 
 
 Hibernia's happy daughters find, 
 With beauty's power to fix the heart, 
 
 With elegance to charm the mind. 
 
 Should Ireland's baffled sons despair, 
 
 Nor liberty nor commerce gain, 
 O! let her still unrivalled fair 
 
 The loveliest of the lovely reign. 
 
 Far other treaties, other schemes. 
 
 Than what dull statesmen here employ. 
 
 Now fill my fancy's airy dreams 
 
 With trembling hope, and doubtful joy. 
 
 " men still think the interest of the British empire is in- 
 " compatible with the Irish constitution doctrine which I 
 " abjure as treason to the constitution, but if any men 
 " are justified in thinking that the interest of the British 
 * empire is incompatible with the Irish constitution, 
 "perish the empire live the constitution!"
 
 48 
 
 With thee my treaty will I sign, 
 
 And, ending here my muse's ramble> 
 
 To thee (nor British fraud is mine) 
 
 I will, sweet nymph ! without preamble, 
 
 One single proposition make, 
 
 Not hostile to the constitution, 
 And hope thou'lt kindly for my sake 
 
 Come to one single resolution.
 
 49 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO 
 
 MR. GEORGE PICKERING. 
 
 To me when life's alluring scenes were new, 
 And hope her magic glass upheld to youth, 
 
 The sweet perspective how it charmed my view ! 
 It promised bliss in love, in friendship truth. 
 
 To each fond scheme it prortiised sure success, 
 Health to pursue, and patience to attain. 
 
 I deemed each hour, beyond the last, would bless. 
 And pleasure still attend het smiling reign. 
 
 H
 
 50 
 
 Experience soon was nigh ; the illusion's o'er, 
 And all my darling aims abortive prove. 
 
 Early ray heart is destined to deplore 
 
 Friendship betrayed, and unrequited love.* 
 
 My weary spirits sink, and pallid care 
 Has fixed his residence upon my cheek. 
 
 Calling on comfort, answered by despair, 
 Through life's drear wilderness my way I seek. 
 
 I've seen a flower, which, at Aurora's call. 
 Burst into bloom, and gaily reared its head ; 
 
 * Sometimes Mr. B. thought himself more susceptible of 
 friendship than of love, in which he was probably mistaken. 
 He wrote thus to the editor : " I am inclined to think that 
 ** my residence in London has strengthened in my heart the 
 " ties of friendship, and weakened the impressions of love ;'* 
 and then instanced the recent death of a friend, and the Jail 
 of a lady whom he had admired.
 
 51 
 
 Its rise all nature seemed to hail, and all 
 The youthful grace of spring around was spread. 
 
 But soon came on the sultry hour of day, 
 
 Blasting whate'er was promised by the morn ; 
 
 The unhappy plant soon felt the parching ray, 
 And lost its early charm, and drooped forlorn ; 
 
 When, lo I their genial succour to im part, 
 I saw the dews of night propitious come. 
 
 Thus fared it with the flower. My drooping heart 
 Pants for the night eternal of the tomb. 
 
 T. B D F D. 
 
 Uncolrts Inn, July 25fA, 1786. 
 
 h2
 
 POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 
 MR. PICKERING.
 
 un ft; I-- 
 
 DONOCHT-HEAD. 
 
 1 HE following beautiful lines appeared in an Edinburgh 
 newspaper, with this introductory letter. 
 " To the Printers. 
 ** The little poem, or rather the remnant of something 
 that must have been looked upon as valuable formerly, and 
 which I now enclose you, lately fell into my hands, in looking 
 through the papers of a deceased friend. If in the hete- 
 rogeneous mass, that I am informed you are possessed of, in 
 the antique line, you can favour the world with the remain- 
 der of the production, it would, perhaps, add to the * harm- 
 less stock of public pleasure.' I do not remember to have 
 seen it, either in Percy's, or any other collection of Scot- 
 tish poetry. The fragment appears to be the hand-writing 
 of a lady, and though the idiom is preserved, the orthogra- 
 phy is certainly erroneous. 
 
 " I am, your's, &c. P. Q."
 
 56 
 
 At one time, this piece had the honour of being attribu- 
 ted to Burns ; but Dr. Currie, in his edition of the works of 
 that admired poet, states, that he wrote to a friend 
 ** Donocht-head is not mine. I would give ten pounds it 
 " were. It appeared first in the Edinburgh Herald, and 
 " came to the editor of that paper with the Newcastle post- 
 ** mark on it." It is now attributed by the literati of Scot- 
 land to Pickering,* as the editor was assured by the cele- 
 brated genius to whom this book is inscribed, and who 
 kindly recited the piece to him. To be preserved in the 
 memory of such a poet, notwithstanding its surprizingly 
 retentive power, is praise of the highest kind. 
 
 Though Donocht-head concludes somewhat abruptly, 
 and the author calls it a fragment, it terminates very feel- 
 ingly, and with suflBcient point. Editor. 
 
 * This is stated as a positive fact by a correspondent of the 
 Monthly Magazine. See the concluding note to the introduction.
 
 51 
 
 DONOCHT-HEAD. 
 
 Keen blaws the wind o*er Donocht-head, 
 
 The snaw drives snelly through the dale; 
 The gaber-lunzie tirls my sneck, 
 
 And, sliivering, tells his waefu' tale* 
 " Cauld is the night O ! let me in, 
 
 " And dinna let your minstrel fa', 
 " And dinna let his winding-sheet 
 
 " Be naithing but a wreath o' snaw. 
 
 " Full ninety winters hae I seen, 
 
 " And piped where gor-cocks whirring flew, 
 " And mony a day yeVe danced, I ween, 
 
 " To lilts which frae my drone I blew.'*
 
 58 
 
 My Eppie waked, and soon she cried, 
 " Get up, gudeman, and let him in, 
 
 " For weel ye ken the winter night 
 " Was short, when he began his din." 
 
 My Eppie's voice, O wow ! its sweet. 
 
 E'en tho' she bans and scaulds a wee, 
 But when its tuned to sorrow's tale, 
 
 O, haith ! its doubly dear to me. 
 " Come in, auld carl, I'se steer my fire, 
 
 " I'll mak it bleeze a bonnie flame ; 
 " Your bluid is thin, ye've tint the gate, 
 
 " Ye should na stray sae far frae hame." 
 
 " Nae hame hae I," the minstrel said, 
 " Sad party-strife o'er turned my ha', 
 
 " And, weeping, at the eve of life, 
 " I wander thro' a wreath o' snaw." 
 
 * * # # 
 
 Catera desunt.
 
 59 
 
 EPITAPH, 
 ON HIS FATHER. yC 
 
 Rest, gentle friend of human kind, 
 Thy weary pilgrimage is o'er : 
 
 All care, all sorrow left behind, 
 
 Thy feeling heart shall ache no more. 
 
 Thine was a soul with virtue crown'd, 
 Thine sympathy's impassioned eye: 
 
 It beamed, when joy was seen around, 
 tt wept, when grief was heard to sigh. 
 
 '^C^C.r^ J^c. 

 
 60 
 
 That eye for ever closed below, 
 Yet shall thy memory sacred be, 
 
 And oft the tear of filial woe 
 
 Shall wet the turf which covers thee. 
 
 i . - '^^
 
 61 
 
 TO SLEEP. 
 
 Within this gloomy cell forlorn, 
 In grief I pass the tedious day, 
 
 And, silent, on my pillow mourn 
 The weary hours of night away. 
 
 Come, Sleep ! and o'er my temples shed 
 Thy dew oblivious, balm of care; 
 
 Far distant from my lonely bed 
 
 Oh ! drive that haggard fiend, Despair. 
 
 And, oh ! should fancy spread her wing, 
 When silent on my couch I'm laid. 
 
 My lovely M ^y let her bring. 
 
 In all her blooming charms array 'd.
 
 62 
 
 So shall my hours in transport roll 
 And memory sooth my aching heart : 
 
 Night will be pleasing to my soul. 
 And day without a sigh depart.* 
 
 * This Address to Sleep, particularly the second and 
 third stanzas, and the third and fourth stanzas of the Ode 
 to Morpheus, in a subsequent part of the book, afford ano- 
 ther instance how unjustly writers may be charged with 
 plagiarism: For notwithstanding the similarity of the 
 thoughts, and almost of the words, it is certain that the 
 author of the ode never saw these verses, and it is more 
 than probable Mr. Pickering never saw the other. 
 
 Editor,
 
 63 
 
 EPISTLE, 
 
 TO T D , Esq. 
 
 CONFINED TO HIS CHAMBER BY THE RHEUMATISM IN HIS 
 
 KNEE. 
 
 Eheu ! fugaces, Postume, Postume, 
 Labuntur anni.* 
 
 I AM sometimes inclined to believe that Mr. Horace 
 was a very ignorant fellow, or the lives of him, and 
 his friend Posty, must have been a continued scene 
 of health and pleasure; for, surely, to a person in 
 pain, the moments do not glide swiftly away, but, on 
 the contrary, very heavily. Was the wit alive now, 
 
 * Oh ! Postumus, Posturaus, 
 
 " How swiftly glide our flying years.'* Francis.
 
 64 
 
 I believe I would rebuke* him, though, on that ac- 
 count, I would, in all probability, get the appellation 
 of Zoilus. 
 
 I am, Sir, 
 Your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 G. P. 
 
 But to proceed. 
 Dear Sir ! 
 To ease your pain, and sooth your grief. 
 To give you some, though small, relief, 
 To cheat the sluggard sage, old Time, 
 Accept not poetry but rhyme : 
 To ease your painful, swelling knee. 
 Accept a tear of sympathy. 
 
 * The word ' rebuke' appears here to be rather un- 
 couth, and requires a little explanation. The testy father 
 of orfe of Mr. P.'s intimate acquaintances, when speaking 
 of them, made use of the expression, " A couple oiiniqui- 
 ** tious scoundrels, I'll rebuke them ;" which these gracious 
 youtlis for a long time after made their common bye-word. 
 
 Editor.
 
 65 
 
 O ! could those tears assuage your pain, 
 I'd weep, and write, and weep again, 
 Or, could my wish remove the evil, 
 I'd wish it fairly at the devil. 
 
 Yestre'en I spent in harmless chat, 
 And merry talk on this and that; 
 A maid divinely sweet was there. 
 Beyond expression soft and fair : 
 Sweetly smooth the moments flew, 
 And nothing damped my joy but you ; 
 Gaily talked the smirking lass. 
 And gaily smiled the sparkling glass. 
 Thus serenely blithe and gay. 
 Gently glided time away. 
 The clock struck ten I thought it right. 
 To rise, with " Ladies all, good night!" 
 But, mark one circumstance 'tis this : 
 I stole a sweet ambrosial kiss : 
 
 K
 
 66 
 
 The vales, where sweetest incense grows. 
 Are not so sweet when zephyr blows. 
 My beating heart in transport play'd, 
 While thus I pressed the charming maid. 
 " Happy, fair one ! may'st thou be, 
 " Long from pain and sorrow free, 
 " May'st thou never, never, know 
 " * The sad variety of woe/ 
 " Smoothly may thy moments roll, 
 " Till thy passing-bell shall toll, 
 " Then that happy coast explore, 
 " Where pain and sorrow are no more." 
 This, in my opinion, is a very pretty ejaculation, 
 Upon this strange, and very wonderful occasion. 
 
 Afore the wind I set my sail. 
 And passion blew a boisterous gale. 
 On Scylla^ and Charyhdis too, 
 Illfated dog, my vessel blew.
 
 67 
 
 , The bare recital makes me shudder, 
 But pilot reason lieH the rudder. 
 Of these terrific dangers clear, 
 Another course I chose to steer. 
 Cape Oratorio * then I vievv'd, 
 Where musiok charmed the listening croud. 
 There Hawdon f boldly struck the lyre, 
 And set each panting soul on fire ; 
 He sung of Acis,| dying swain, 
 And charmed their rage to peace again ; 
 Could Polyphemus rise and hear, 
 E'en Polypheme would drop a tear. 
 
 The Assembly Rooms, in Newcastle upon Tyne, where 
 Acis and Galatea was then performing under the direction of 
 
 f Mr. Mathias Hawdon, organist of St. Nicholas' church, 
 in that town. 
 
 ^ This Master Acis was a pretty, dapper, little fellow, 
 and, by dangling after Galatea, had gained the poor little 
 girl's heart. 
 
 Master Polypheme seems to have been of Patagoniau 
 extraction, if we may believe Ovid. He too, poor brute, 
 K 2
 
 68 
 
 Could Galatea, weeping fair! 
 
 But hear the softening magick air, 
 
 The melting tones would calm her breast, 
 
 And sooth her sorrows into rest. 
 
 The rising sigh would gently stay, 
 
 And dry the bitter tear away. 
 Near this musical seat a few moments I tarried. 
 Then went home, where I dreamt that your worship was 
 married. 
 
 Now, dear Sir, as you are an excellent critick, in 
 the above jingle there is room sufficient to exercise 
 your talent. Pray do it and if, by that means, you 
 
 fell in love with the girl, who always avoided him. He was 
 wont to bellow out his plaints to the rocks ; and they, more 
 compassionate than the object of his wishes, gave him groan 
 for groan, and bellow for bellow. At length, finding out 
 the reason for madam's cruelty, he went in search of the 
 aforesaid little fellow, and, not caring to expose his hercu- 
 lean body, in single combat, very politely took his rival by 
 the heels, and dashed out his brains.
 
 69 
 
 should cheat indisposition of an hour or two, I shall 
 think myself happy in having been the occasion of 
 
 it. I am, dear Sir, with my most fervent wishes for 
 your knee's better health, and your speedy appear- 
 ance, in statu quo. 
 
 Your most obedient humble servant, 
 
 G. P. 
 Friday afternoon.
 
 70 
 
 CHESTER WELL.* 
 
 Turks, Infidels, Pagans, Jews, Christians, and Tartars, 
 
 Kings, princes, queens, nobles, and bishops, I pray, 
 Ye Hottentots too, who to neatness are martyrs, 
 Attend for a while to my wonderful lay. 
 
 At Chester, they tell. 
 
 Is discovered a well. 
 Which eases in man, as in beast, ev'ry torture ; 
 
 Hyp, glanders, and evil. 
 
 It sends to the devil. 
 And silence has sealed up the pestle and mortar. 
 
 * At a time when it was endeavoured to bring into popu- 
 larity, a Spaw, near Chester-le-Street, in the county of 
 Durham, to which the most wonderful cures were attribu- 
 ted, Mr. Pickering's lively genius seized the opportunity 
 for the good-humoured satire, exhibited in the following 
 production, which probably hastened Chester Spaw, and its 
 preposterous virtues, into deserved oblivion Editor.
 
 71 
 
 Oh Chester ! oh Chester ! 
 
 When maladies pester, 
 Thy liquid Catholicon, eases our pain ! 
 
 Mad Turks, Jews, Philistines, 
 
 Mad Quakers, and Christians, 
 Are dipped into peace and good order again. 
 
 No more of old Bath, oh, ye medical asses ! 
 
 ' With nose-kissing cane, and your full-bottomed 
 
 wigs J 
 The Chester well water in virtue surpasses, 
 Though Bath cured the scab, in Prince Lud and his 
 pigs. 
 Since the days of old Adam, 
 Or Eve, lovely madam ! 
 No well was e'er found fit for drinking till now : 
 As the liquid ye glut, 
 'Tis as sweet as a nut. 
 While Bath's an emetick for boar, pig, or sow. ( 
 Oh Chester ! &c.
 
 72 
 
 The maiden, who flies to her pillow in sorrow, 
 
 And wakes, with a sigh, to the musick of day. 
 By tasting to-night may be happy to-morrow. 
 And warble as blithe as the bird on the spray. 
 The tear shall cease flowing. 
 Her heart cease its glowing, 
 For plighted troth broken no longer complain; 
 The bow and the dart. 
 That occasioned her smart, 
 *Squire Cupid may twang, but shall twang them in 
 vain. 
 
 Oh Chester ! &c. 
 
 And, oh ! let the damsel, whose ringlets appear 
 
 To be mournfully silvering over with grey, 
 Who sees, in her glass, with dejection and fear. 
 
 That time's withering hand makes her beauties decay. 
 Let her never be fearful. 
 But drink and be chearful: 
 The stream both her grief and her thirst shall assuage ;
 
 73 
 
 No more let her mourn, 
 For her bloom shall return, 
 She shall cast off the sad, sober livery of age* 
 Oh Chester ! &c. 
 
 The gouty old blades, who have drank the clear liquid, 
 
 Have snapped the fir crutches, at seventy-seven ; 
 And into the skulls, long incurably stupid, 
 
 A portion of good common sense has been driven. 
 E'en the nose of the sot, 
 As a heater red hot, 
 Or a flaming balloon which philosophy rears. 
 When dipt in the water, 
 The luminous matter 
 Goes out with a hiss, and the blaze disappears. 
 Oh Chester ! &c. 
 
 Then, haste to the well, both exotick and native, 
 A dip and a drink all your sorrows will root out;
 
 74 
 
 Ye too, who have groaned 'neath the knife amputative, 
 Go plunge, and your heads, legs, et catera, shall sprout 
 out. 
 The tribe of empiricks 
 Shall howl in hystericks, 
 And man shall, untortured, fall into decay : 
 The pill, and the potion, 
 The unguent, and lotion. 
 In box, and in bottle, shall moulder away. 
 Oh Chester ! &c.
 
 75 
 
 HUNTING SONG. 
 
 SUNG BY A 
 
 ME^IBER OF THE FOREST HUNT, NEWCASTLE, 
 
 CONCLUSION OF THE HUNTING SEASON, IN 1786, AND / 
 
 SEVERAL SUCCEEDING YEARS; 
 
 M&il^-^-u 
 
 AKD ALSO SUNG AT THE IHEATRE-BOYAI. THEKK, 
 BV -MR. MAKSHAI.L. 
 
 Since Winter's keen blast must to Zephyr give place, 
 
 We resign, for a season, the joys of the chase; 
 
 The cry of the hounds, and of hunters, must cease. 
 
 And puss through the woodlands may ramble in peace; 
 
 In peace let her ramble, regardless and free. 
 
 Till the horn's cheerful note shall awake us with glee : 
 
 l2
 
 76 
 
 Till October returns let her frolick and play, 
 
 And then we'll pursue her with " Hark, hark away." 
 
 With hark, hark away, 
 
 With hark, hark away, 
 And then we'll pursue her with hark, hark away ! 
 
 When tinged were the hills with the crimson of morn, 
 We jocundly rose to the sound of the horn ; 
 Triumphant its melody swelled o'er the plain. 
 While the heath-covered mountains re-echoed the strain ; 
 Hark,^hark! was the mandate; we flew like the wind, 
 And care's haggard visage was distanced behind : 
 What joys can be equ^l to those we display, 
 When we follow the harriers with hark, hark away ! 
 With hark, hark away, &c. 
 
 Like the soldier, returned from a far hostile shore. 
 Recounting his toils, and his victories o'er. 
 Of the battle's loud din, where his courage so true 
 Obtained the green laurel, entwining his brow,
 
 77 
 
 Of chases now past let our narrative be, 
 Till Winter's pale hand shall dismantle the tree; 
 Then, then, to the^bres^ exultingly stray, 
 And cbear the fleet harriers with hark, hark away ! 
 With hark, hark away, &c. 
 
 Then fill up 3'our glasses yet fill as you chuse. 
 Here's a health, brother sportsmen, which none can 
 
 refuse ; 
 A health that with pleasure each heart shall inspire, 
 AVhile hunting delights or while hounds we admire: 
 See, see, how I fill it 'tis Colpitts* I toast. 
 Of our hunt may he long be the pride and the boast; 
 And oft may we meet him, with joys like to-day, 
 And long may he lead us with hark, hark away ! 
 
 With hark, hark away. 
 
 With hark, hark away. 
 And long may he lead us with hark, hark away ! 
 
 * George Colpitts, Esq. of Killingworth-house, the wor- 
 thy and hospitable master of the Forest Hunt. He died on 
 the 30th of October, 1795.
 
 78 
 
 TO HOPE.* 
 
 Ah ! cease, deluding syren, cease! 
 Nor flatter, still, my heart with peace. 
 No longer can that flattery please. 
 With prospects fair, of joy and ease: 
 Thine influence lost, thy reign is o'er, 
 And I thine easy dupe no more. 
 
 * The following unpublished verses, in reply, by a lady, 
 supposed to be Mrs. Calmady, a young widow, some time 
 resident in Newcastle, are well deserving of preservation. 
 
 TO ORLANDO, 
 
 Author of the Lines to Hope. 
 
 All ! shall a muse, so sweet as thine. 
 Have cause to languish and repine :
 
 79 
 
 To-morrow comes, to-morrow goes, 
 Nor lighter feels my load of woes. 
 Time flies, alas ! on silent wings 
 Yet added griefs to-morrow brings. 
 Then, power delusive ! disappear, 
 Nor whisper poison in mine ear : 
 Each promised boon I now resign ; 
 To mourn in silence then be mine. 
 
 Shall numbers which so smoothly flow 
 Be deluged o'er with tears of woe : 
 Or shall Orlando quit the plain ? 
 Then every shepherd must complain. 
 
 What though delusive Hope betrays. 
 Nor yields a sign of happier days, 
 Though peace seems banished from thy breast, 
 Nor day succeeding day, gives rest ; 
 The promised joys are yet to come. 
 Which may secure a peaceful home. 
 Which yet may ease thy bosom's pain 
 Nor thou, Orlando ! sigh again. 
 
 Oft has sweet Hope thy bosom cheered. 
 And soothed those pangs, which most you feared.
 
 80 
 
 Yet still 'twas thine to gild the day, 
 And sooth the midnight hour away. 
 When faithful memory's busy train 
 Recalled each long-lost joy again, 
 *Twas thine to promise fairer still, 
 And all my soul with rapture fill : 
 A visionary scene was spread 
 By thee, and Fancy, round my bed. 
 
 Or if the day the boon denied, 
 Still night the wished-for bliss supplied. 
 Then why Orlando's mournful muse 
 Thus Hope, all-cheering Hope, abuse ? 
 
 'Tis pity, thy poetic fire 
 Should languish, or unstring the lyre. 
 Thy swelling verse, which might reclaim 
 This vicious age, might monsters tame. 
 Shall it in silent sorrow mourn. 
 Or doubt from love the sweet return ? 
 Be Hope thy friend, as heretofore. 
 Then shall Orlando sigh no more. 
 
 Were I the happy maid belovied. 
 Had I thy faith and virtue proved ;
 
 81 
 
 But now, far other scenes appear, 
 A barren prospect, wild and drear: 
 For, ah ! my wretched doom to seal^ 
 Love's agonizing pang I feel. 
 Each joy thus, hopeless, I resign -, 
 To mourn in silence now be minCi 
 
 Fail must the verse, however wariil 
 With love, to paint each varied charm. 
 
 Had I those dimples, sparkling eyes, 
 And every charm that can surprize ; 
 Had I the winning powers to please 
 Thy verse displays with matchless ease. 
 No richer youth should share a part. 
 But thou, Orlando ! rule my heart. 
 No merit could with thine compare : 
 No greater bliss I'd wish to share. 
 But, long as nature warmed my breast, 
 Would strive to give thee peace and rest. 
 Then blame not Hope that ray divine 
 Which still illumes thy breast and mine;
 
 Yet, not the sparkling of her eyes, 
 Where many a love in ambush lies. 
 Nor yet, her dimpled cheek could move. 
 Or ruby lips, my heart to love. 
 Ah ! no with other charms than these. 
 She boasts the matchless power to please ; 
 Her mind, (when time, with silent pace. 
 Has worn away each outward grace. 
 Has furrowed deep her lovely brow, 
 And stolen her lip's vermillion hue^ 
 Will bloom, and every charm retain 
 To rivet more affection's chain. 
 
 But press her closely to thy heart. 
 And let her cheer that noble part. 
 When dangers threaten, foes assail, 
 Hope will assist, and oft prevail. 
 She lends her aid, in mercy given. 
 The greatest bliss, and points to heaven. 
 Banish her charms and fell despair 
 Will in thy breast her standard rear.
 
 83 
 
 And yet, alas ! some richer youtli 
 May own his love, and boast his truth. 
 Employ each soft, each winning, art. 
 And clasp her beauties to his heart; 
 Whilst 1,'each jealous pan^ to prove. 
 May hopeless live, and hopeless love. 
 Joy, bliss, and hope, I now resign ; 
 To mourn in silence, then, be mine. 
 
 Orlando. 
 
 Shut out eacji glimpse of happiness, 
 And leave but horror and distress. 
 Then, take again the lovely maid : 
 Fear not by her to be betray'd : 
 She'll lead thee through the wildered way, 
 And shew at length the happy day, 
 When peace shall in thy bosom reign, 
 J^or shall Orlando sigh again. 
 
 M 'Z
 
 84 
 
 THE 
 
 MOANING CLOCK AND HOLLOW 
 WIND.* 
 
 Prolong for me that pleasing strain, 
 Which sweetly pensive dies away 
 That moaning tick repeat again ; 
 Pale melancholy's favourite lay. 
 For sweet the charms in you I find, 
 O, moaning clock and hollow wind ! 
 
 * The editor has heard Mr. P. repeat with great earnest- 
 ness the following beautiful lines of Mason : 
 " Can musick's voice, can beauty's eye, 
 " Can painting's glowing hand supply 
 ** A charm so suited to my mind, 
 " As blows that holloxv gust oftvind;" 
 but the present little poem is too pathetick to have been 
 suggested by any thing but native feeling.
 
 85 
 
 Placed by the midnight blaze alone, 
 
 I hear the passing hour depart, 
 And, thoughtful, listen every moan 
 Congenial to mine aching heart. 
 Sweet are the charms in you I find, 
 O, moaning clock and hollow wind ! 
 
 To heighten still the solemn hour, 
 
 Tlie village-bell I hear around. 
 Whilst echo from her airy bower 
 Returns the slow and solemn sound ; 
 A charm she adds to those I find 
 In you, O, moaning clock and wind ! 
 
 O, memory, memory come not here } 
 
 Thy faithful record but recalls 
 That which more briny makes the tear : 
 The tear which agonizing falls. 
 I only ask, to sooth my mind. 
 The moaning clock and hollow wind.
 
 86 
 
 But thou, oblivion, ebon maid ! 
 
 O'er every long-lost pleasure cast 
 Thy most impenetrable shade, 
 And let that shade for ever last; 
 And then a charm in you I'll find, 
 O, moaning clock and hollow wind ! 
 
 And when, at last, oblivion's veil 
 
 No longer claims my ardent prayer, 
 When life, at last, shall be a tale. 
 
 When dead to joy, and grief, and care. 
 In you no more a charm I'll find, 
 O, moaning clock and hollow wind !
 
 87 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Chill o'er the heath the blast tempestuous roars, 
 
 And liquid storms descend with ceaseless flow : 
 On me descend; on me the torrent pours; 
 
 A weary wanderer in this vale of woe. 
 Yet the stern blast, so chilly, I defy, 
 
 Nor can its rage relentless force one tear ; 
 The ruthless storm creates no bursting sigh. 
 
 Nor can appall me in ray sad career. 
 Alas ! these outward horrors I can bear, 
 
 " For I have that within which passeth show." 
 And blasts and storms are " trifles light as air" 
 
 To him whose breast is torn by inward woe. 
 Roar on ye blasts ! storms rage ! without controulr 
 What are ye to the dreadful tempest in my soul ? 
 
 Orlando.
 
 88 
 
 SWEET ANNA. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 " Sweet Anna to the sea-beach came," 
 And softly sigh'd her Edwin's name, 
 And as the labouring surges rose, 
 The pensive maiden sung her woes. 
 
 " Why, ocean, heaves thy troubled breast,. 
 Where lately all was peace and rest ? 
 Ye drooping Nereids, tell me why 
 Those angry billows lash the sky ?
 
 89 
 
 Ye jarring winds, that blow so loud, 
 And whistle through the wave-worn shroud, 
 For pity cease that dreadful roar, 
 And waft my Edwin safe to shore ! 
 
 And thou, resplendent orb of night ! 
 So gay with delegated light ! 
 Steal from the sun his brightest ray, 
 And turn this gloomy night to day. 
 
 And you, ye ebon clouds ! retire. 
 And shine, ye stars ! with double fire, 
 Assist the trembling pilot's skill. 
 And bid my throbbing heart be still." 
 
 The thunder rolled the tempest blew, 
 And wilder still the billows grew : 
 Wide o'er the deep the lightning glared, 
 And Edwin's floating corse appeared. 
 
 N
 
 90 
 
 Ah ! then the tear no longer flows, 
 Then faded from her cheek the rose, 
 On yon green turf she laid her head, 
 And Anna's gentle spirit fled.
 
 91 
 
 THE INN. 
 
 Mo WL on ye winds, and beat ye rains, 
 
 Ye torrents roar o'er yonder linn. 
 And, Allen,* swell thy rapid stream : 
 
 I careless view ye from an inn. 
 
 The trees, that late appeared so green, 
 
 To drop their foliage now begin : 
 They waft a moral to mine ear, 
 
 While pensive sitting at an inn. 
 
 The Allen is a small river in the south west part of 
 Northumberland, giving name to the district called Allen- 
 dale. 
 
 N 2
 
 92 
 
 See, winter comes, with all his train, 
 I hear his loud, his aretick din ; 
 
 Why, let him come, I fear him not ; 
 I sit in comfort at an inn. 
 
 " When age, life's winter, shall appear,'' 
 Then reason whispers from within 
 
 Eternity's our wished-for home ! 
 The world, at best, is but an inn I
 
 9a 
 
 ODE, 
 
 ON THE 
 
 THIKTY-FIRST OF DECEMBER. 
 
 Last of December*s gloomy train! 
 To thee the elegiack lyre I string : 
 A few short hours of thee remain 
 
 On fleeting Time's expanded wing; 
 For 'midst the mass of moments past 
 Tis thine to mingle, now at last, 
 
 And close the annual scene : 
 For thee oblivion spreads her veil, 
 For thee remains no other tale, 
 But this, that thou hast been.
 
 94 
 
 To hail to-morrow's joyous birth 
 
 The laureate's lay will boldly swell ; 
 But, though it gives the strain of mirth, 
 To me 'tis thy funereal knell 
 A knell, which brings to me again 
 Each agonizing hour of pain, 
 That oft has forced a tear, 
 In smiling spring, in summer gay, 
 And yellow autumn's busy day, 
 Till thou hast closed the year. 
 
 How many pining sons of woe. 
 
 Who pull the oar, or dig the mine. 
 Whose briny tears unpitied flow. 
 
 Now wish their date as short as thine : 
 With thee to close each scene of strife. 
 To drop the weary load of life. 
 And hail that halcyon shore, 
 Where, robbed of all her tyraht train, 
 Oppression lifts her hand in vain. 
 And grief is known no more.
 
 95 
 
 A murky cloud thy morn array *d, 
 
 And dim was seen thy noonday light, 
 And gloomy passed thy evening shade 
 To dull oblivion's endless night. 
 Just so with hirriy whose plaintive lay 
 Now mourns thy passing hour away, 
 
 By every eye unseen : 
 That plaintive lay at length must fail, 
 And memory tell no other tale. 
 But this, that he has been. 
 
 These stanzas were written after supper on the 31st of 
 December, 1791, and made their appearance in the Nor- 
 wich Mercury the week following.
 
 96 
 
 TO HOPE. 
 
 Friend of the wretch whose bosom bleeds. 
 
 The prey of anguish and despair 
 When torturing thought to thought succeeds, 
 When life is scarcely worth our care ! 
 O! hither come, and smile on me, 
 The helpless child of misery. 
 
 To me how sweet life's early dawn ! 
 
 And, oh ! how sweet youth's rosy hours ? 
 I gaily sported on the lawn, 
 
 And roved among my native bow'rs ; 
 But manhood changed the scene of glee. 
 And brought me woe and misery.
 
 97 
 
 Then, ere to wan despair a prey, 
 
 Ere sorrow's bitter cup runs o'er, 
 Ere hateful wastes the passing day. 
 Ere " Life itself can charm no more," 
 In pity come, and smile on me, 
 The helpless child of misery. 
 
 But if I court thine aid in vain. 
 
 If slow reluctance guide thine eye. 
 Death then, alone, can ease my pain. 
 And hush to peace the rising sigh : 
 He sets the pining* captive free. 
 And gives the balm for misery.
 
 98 
 
 ON THE SLAVE TRADE. 
 
 WEITTEN IN CONSEQUENCE OF 
 
 THE MAJORITY IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS 
 
 IN FAVOUR OF MR. WILBERFORCe's MOTION FOR THE ABOLITION 
 OF THE SLAVE TRADE. 
 
 " Quid non mortalia pectora cogis ? 
 " Auri sacra fames ! " 
 
 " Cupidity of gold ! what wilt not thou compel 
 * Mankind to be guilty of? *' 
 
 'Tis past pale avarice smiles no more, 
 
 And tyranny's uplifted hand 
 Drops the fell lash, besmeared with gore, 
 
 At cherub mercy's sweet command. 
 
 The unfeeling wretch, whose trade was blood. 
 
 No more shall stain the western flood, 
 Nor load the zephyr's wing 
 
 With misery's last convulsive sigh.
 
 99 
 
 Nor hear the groan of agony 
 From Afric's children spring. 
 
 Pale monster of the frozen north ! 
 
 The powerful voice, that bade thee rise, 
 Called, too, his sable creatures forth, 
 Erect, like thee, to view the skies ; 
 
 Their hearts with pleasure taught to glow, 
 Like thine, the stream of life to flow 
 
 Through many a swelling vein: 
 He bade them raise the strain of joy. 
 Bade love their tenderest hours employ, 
 On Whida's flowery plain. 
 
 Not Afric's gold or diamonds gay, 
 
 Her chrystals bright, her emeralds green, 
 
 Poor injured maid I* can wipe away 
 From memory's page thy horrid scene. 
 
 * Alluding to the death of the Negro girl, occasioned by 
 the tortures she endured on board of Capt. Kimber's ship. 
 
 o -2 
 I
 
 100 
 
 Why slept the thunder in the cloud, 
 Nor sent its solemn voice aloud 
 
 To awe the wretch below ? 
 Where were the lightnings of the sky. 
 When the dread lash was lifted high, 
 
 To strike the cruel blow i 
 
 Perchance thy heart was kind and true, 
 
 And formed in Nature's tenderest mould; 
 Thine eye might drop soft pity's dew, 
 When sorrow's plaintive tale was told : 
 Still now that heart, and dim that eye, 
 To beam no more, no more to sigh, 
 
 At joy or sorrow's tale; 
 Tossed by the wild Atlantic wave. 
 Peace shrouds thee in a watery grave, 
 Though loudly blows the gale. 
 
 ^' May horror seize his midnight hour," 
 Whose unrelenting eye could see
 
 101 
 
 The hand of delegated power, 
 Ill-fated maiden, torture thee. 
 
 Ne'er may his heart those transports know^ 
 Which only from thy sex can flow, 
 
 Man's hour of gloom to cheer; 
 But far from social life be driven, 
 The sport of every blast from heaven, 
 Amidst the desart drear. 
 
 Perchance, on Whida's blooming plain, 
 
 Neglected sons of sable hue ! 
 Once more, you'll raise the jocund strain, 
 And bid your sorrows all adieu. 
 Man's inhumanity, no more. 
 To man, shall vex the western shore ; 
 
 Your tale of woe is heard : 
 Time's lenient hand shall bathe the smart, 
 And sooth " that sickness of the heart, 
 " Which springs from hope deferr'd."* 
 Proverbs of Solomon, eh. xiii. ver. 12y
 
 102 
 
 ON GOLD. 
 
 O Gold! thou source of every ill 
 Which busy mortals feel below, 
 Tis thine the troubled world to fill 
 With scenes of horror, death and woe. 
 AVhere'er thv influence is known. 
 Where'er thy glittering ore is shewn, 
 
 There avarice bends her way ; 
 Whilst murder, with his reeking blade, 
 Stalks scowling through the midnight shade. 
 To seize thee as his prey. 
 
 That luckless hour which gave thee birth, 
 
 Of every social joy the bane, 
 Each milder virtue left the earth, 
 
 And sought their native skies again.
 
 103 
 
 Pride then her gaudy streamers reared, 
 And luxury's bloated form appeared, 
 
 And yellow envy's sting: 
 Stern rapine's hanners too, unfurled. 
 Spread havock o'er the peaceful world, 
 
 On desolation's wing. 
 
 That universal wish for thee 
 
 Impels us on the deep to roll, 
 To brave the dangers of the sea, 
 And shiver 'neath the icy pole. 
 
 Man quits for thee his native home, 
 Through many a sultry clime to roam, 
 
 Yet, ah ! when once possest, 
 Shrinking beneath thy powerful sway. 
 Truth, justice, mercy, haste away, 
 And leave the human breast. 
 
 With lingering step, as truth retires, 
 She casts one mournful look behind,
 
 104 
 
 And mourns those groveling, low desires, 
 That warp from her the human mind. 
 Suspending high her equal scale, 
 Stern justice sees thy power prevail. 
 
 Though truth and virtue plead ; 
 For on perversion's flippant tongue 
 The specious tale of fraud is hung, 
 To darken and mislead. 
 
 For thee, on India's sultry strand. 
 
 To pity's soft sensations dead. 
 Fell torture rears, with savage hand, 
 Death's fearful, agonizing bed. 
 Where Peru's splendid treasures glow, 
 The captive pours his tale of woe. 
 
 Amidst the dazzling spoil ; 
 And many a gem of glittering hue. 
 That sparkles round fair beauty's brow. 
 Is dug by misery's toil.
 
 105 
 
 To love an unrelenting foe, 
 
 The softest ties to rend, is thine. 
 Thou bid'st the roseate cheek to glow, 
 The sparkling eye, for age, to shine; 
 While, clasped within his palsied arms, 
 The blooming maiden yields her charms; 
 
 Yet soon succeeds the sigh 
 For that, which gilds the opening day, 
 Adds lustre to the evening ray, 
 And gold can never hm/.
 
 106 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 Dread monarch of the waning year! 
 
 All nature feels thy ruthless sway ; 
 In every gale thy voice I hear 
 The withering mandate of decay ; 
 Yet, winter, still I fly not thee, 
 Though bare the branch, and brown the lea. 
 
 To distant climes let others rove. 
 
 Where nature wears perpetual spring, 
 Where verdant every hill and grove. 
 And warbling birds for ever sing ; 
 Yet, winter, still I fly not thee. 
 Though bare the branch, and brown the lea.
 
 107 
 
 For, ah ! when round the evening blaze, 
 
 When beating rains and snows prevail. 
 How sweet to talk of other days. 
 Of other times the pleasing tale: 
 Thus winter has a charm for me. 
 Though bare the branch, and brown the lea. 
 
 When by the taper's glimmering light. 
 While cares oppress my weary mind, 
 While slowly wanes the gloom of night, 
 And hollow blows the moaning wind. 
 That moaning wind has charms for me. 
 Though bare the branch, and brown the lea. 
 
 Cold as thyself, within my breast 
 
 No longer glows love's pleasing fire ; 
 No raptures thrill, by fancy drest 
 But apathy succeeds desire. 
 
 Yet recollection's powers are free, 
 Though bare the branch, and froze the lea. 
 p 3
 
 108 
 
 The balmy kiss, the heaving sigh, 
 
 The virgin blush that once could move, 
 The roseate cheek, the sparkling eye, 
 Each charm of long-departed love ; 
 These memory brings again to me, 
 While wandering, pensive, o'er the lea. 
 
 Sport of each arbitrary gale, 
 
 The rustling leaves around me fly, 
 And point this melancholy tale 
 " To contemplation's sober eye," 
 That I, alas! in time shall be, 
 Like you, bare branch, and frozen lea. 
 
 Come, then, thy desolating storms, 
 
 Thy nipping frosts, thy driving snows, 
 Each blast which nature's face deforms. 
 And widely round destruction throws ; 
 Still, still hast thou a charm for me. 
 Though bare the branch, and brown the lea.
 
 109 
 
 EPISTLE 
 
 THOMAS PAINE. 
 
 The Rights of Man, and other still more mischievous 
 publications of Paine, are fast approaching to that oblivion, 
 to which every true Englishman, and every Christian, will 
 apply Paul Sarpi's benediction, " Esto perpetua." But the 
 editor does not think himself at liberty to consign to the 
 same oblivion, as far as depends on him, the following 
 caustick epistle, which was provoked by the seditious im- 
 pertinence of a man, only qualified by intellect to be a dis- 
 ciple of Paine, but who was a considerable tradesman in a 
 considerable sea-port town in the north of England, where 
 Mr. Pickering happened to be on a visit in the beginning 
 of 1793, and was not suspected to be the author.
 
 110 
 
 PENITENTIARY EPISTLE, 
 
 TOM PAINE'S PORT-FOLIO 
 
 THE MOBNING AFTER HIS EXECUTION AT LINCOLN, AND HANDED TO 
 
 THE WORLD BY HIS EXECUTOR, THE RESPECTABLE 
 
 AND RENOWNED 
 
 MR. JOHN KETCH. 
 
 I, Thomas Paine, with humble contrite spirit, 
 For crimes which hell's black horrors amply merit, 
 Since my career of sin must end at last, 
 And this vile carcass dangle in the blast, 
 
 To thee. Jack , and to many others 
 
 Who in sedition's plots have been my brothers, 
 Tiiese penetential lines I, sorrowing, w^rite. 
 Whilst horror fills me midst the gloom of night,
 
 Ill 
 
 To-morrow's dawn will see me brought to view 
 The rankest rogue in all sedition's crew, 
 Yet, e'er Jack Ketch the fatal noose shall tie. 
 To stop ray factious breath and close mine eye, 
 One truth or two, O ! let me plainly tell. 
 Before I dangle on the verge of hell ; 
 And let me ask a few plain questions too 
 Of thee, before thou'rt hung to public view. 
 For, Jack! the hour awaits thee here below. 
 When thy executor shall be a crow. 
 
 Jack ! thou'rt a brewer, and I will not strain. 
 With questions cramp, thy poor untutored brain. 
 I know thy intellectual box is fraught 
 With plenteous paucity of native thought. 
 'TIS thine no rare idea e'er to boast 
 Beyond the sapience of boil or roast ; 
 Yet bold, intrepid, impudence is thine. 
 In which, I own, unrival'd thou can'st shine : 
 Just as thy barrels vomit yeast amain, 
 Thou vomit'st forth the nausea of thy brain.
 
 112 
 
 While silence presses dose the lip of sense, 
 And hears with scorn thy mental impotence. 
 
 Jack ! thou'rt a brewer, should not malt and hops 
 Fill all thy thoughts, and busy keep thy chops ? 
 Sa}'', cannot barley, since 'tis very dear. 
 Make thee consider how to brew thy beer ? 
 Instead of forming schemes that plan to mend 
 God never gave thee brains to comprehend. 
 
 Jack ! thou reverest me, nay, thou can'st adore 
 My Rights of Man, what mortal can do more ? 
 But wert thou never told, that there's a diiference 
 Sometimes 'tween theory and grave experience ? 
 If thou can'st read, go learn the fate of Greece, 
 And let thy factious spirit rest in peace. 
 
 Jack ! 'twould be pleasant did thy hireling say 
 " Damme ! I'll tun and brew no more to-day. 
 " I'm now thy equal, thou hast got a groat, 
 " So, give me two-pence or I'll cut thy throat." 
 At this demand I think I see thee scowl, 
 Methinks I hear thee, like a monster, growl.
 
 113 
 
 And, like a Caliban, expand thy paws. 
 
 And bann, and curse, and yell aloud for laws. 
 
 For laws which thou and I our thoughts employ 
 
 To weaken first and then at length destroy. 
 
 What wild demoniack phrenzy e'er could seize 
 
 Thy putrid brain to study arts like these? 
 
 In all the maze of folly, could thy pride 
 
 No other hobby find on which to ride ? 
 
 But Cataline fell, then why should I repine ? 
 A whore betrayed him with her jilting whine. 
 He bit the dust before he would be quiet, 
 And, furious, died the darling son of riot; 
 And I, who formed a w ilder plan than he, 
 Like him, am damned by idiots such as thee. 
 
 Slop-selling F v 11, that egregious ass, 
 With lungs Stentorian, and with face of brass. 
 Long time undaunted, roared for revolution. 
 And all the splendid joys of wild confusion ; 
 Till timely shame repressed his poisonous breath, 
 And saved the miscreant from an hempen death. 
 
 2
 
 114 
 
 Forlorn L d S 11 to my baneful list 
 
 Thy simple signature, with simple fist, 
 
 Thou simply gavest but now, with smart cockade, 
 
 No more thou swagg'rest on the gay parade. 
 
 Thy glittering sword must now imprisoned Ke, 
 
 In leathern scabbard, in a garret high. 
 
 Corroding rust, alas ! alone will hack it. 
 
 While moths consume thy regimental jacket. 
 
 Poor L d F g d ! how my publication 
 
 Filled thy weak pate with schemes of reformation ! 
 Thy midnight lamp was trimmed for thee to pore 
 And read my levelling pages o'er and o*er: 
 'Till, lost in Chaos, thou hast found, too late. 
 The king supported, and preserved the state. 
 Retire, and join the gang of Monsieur D'Albert: 
 He may, perhaps, promote thee to an halbert ; 
 There take thy swing, enjoy " the Rights of Man,** 
 Despise all order, and oppose each plan 
 Which wisdom dictates for the public good. 
 To stop wild innovation's thirst for blood.
 
 11.5 
 
 Go light the flambeau plunder, rob, and burn, 
 And bid old Chaos once again return. 
 Then, cast around thy desolating eye. 
 Where poor subordination's reliques lie. 
 And say, exulting, (thou can'st say no less) 
 Broke is the chain of social happiness. 
 
 Then read thy bible, Jack ! as 'tis appointed, 
 Nor longer vilify the lord's anointed ; 
 Lest speedy vengeance calls aloud for blood, 
 And Jack Ketch lock thee to a post of wood. 
 When hung beside me on the fatal tree. 
 Lord I what a pair of spectacles we'll be. 
 Through which mankind may plainly read, and say. 
 Swing there, ye rogues, and rot, despised, away ! 
 
 Q 2
 
 116 
 
 THE CROW-NEST. 
 
 A Very curious incident in natural history, and which . 
 gave occasion to the following satirick verses, is thus rela- 
 ted in Brand's History of Newcastle, Vol. I. p. 30. 
 " March, 1783, a pair of crows built, and reared their 
 ** young, above the weather-cock on the very top of the 
 "steeple (of the Exchange), in a truly singular situation, 
 ** as the nest shifted about with every change of the wind, 
 " They attempted to build it again the year following, but 
 " other crows pulled it to pieces before it was finished. 
 " In the years 1785, 1786, and 1787, the same crows, as it 
 " was thought, built on the same spot, or rather point, 
 ** and succeeded each year in hatching and rearing their 
 ** young." 
 
 Corporate bodies have been almost immemorially, 
 though certainly unfairly, held up as objects of satire, 
 even though the satirist would hesitate to say he dis- 
 esteeraed any particular member, and the individuals who
 
 117 
 
 form the corporation of Newcastle, and the merchants who 
 frequent its Exchange, being equal in respectability to 
 those of any town whatever, will only smile at this piece 
 of satirick wit. As for the attornies, &c. they would scorn 
 any apology or defence, except the shield " their virtues 
 form around." See p. 37. There is, besides, a natural 
 antipathy between attornies and poets who are generally 
 needy, and have too much reason to inquire with Hawser 
 Trunnion, " Have you any attornies aboard ? " The bet- 
 ter to understand the allusions, it may be proper to state, 
 that, besides the usual walk for merchants, the town-house 
 of Newcastle contains the halls, where the mayor and al- 
 dermen transact police business, and the sheriff holds courts 
 for the recovery of small debts, which are generally at- 
 tended by attornies as advocates for the parties. Editor. 
 
 Of all the birds that, high and low. 
 Yon liquid fields of ether range, 
 
 I much am puzzled why a crow 
 
 Should chuse to build on our Exchange.
 
 118 
 
 'Tis here, you know, the wonted place is 
 Where aldermen convene in state, 
 
 With much importance in their faces, 
 And one idea ia their pate. 
 
 Since here then dulness holds her sway. 
 And rules each soporifick fool, 
 
 A crow no emhlem can convey ; 
 By Jove it should have been an owl. 
 
 'Tis here, you know, that bailiffs, Serjeants, 
 And damned attornies, business find. 
 
 While, underneath, a set of merchants 
 Plan schemes for cheating all mankind. 
 
 Since here then rapine holds her sway. 
 And knavery thrives by special culture, 
 
 A crow no emblem can convey ; 
 
 By Jove it should have been a vulture.
 
 119 
 
 On one solution I can light : 
 
 In colour crows are like the devil ; 
 
 And no one will dispute his right 
 To nestle on this House of Evil.* 
 
 * It would appear that the author intended * House of 
 Evil' to be a sarcastick substitute for the original name of 
 Maison de Dieu. 
 
 *,^* Since these lines were sent to the press, a doubt 
 has been suggested whether they are the composition of our 
 author or of his brother, the late Mr. Ralph Pickering. If 
 of the latter, the editor is ready to exclaim, * Par nobile 
 Fratrum ! ' The manuscript, in his hand-writing, was found 
 amongst his papers, and obligingly communicated by Mrs. 
 Pickering, his very respectable relict, under the impression 
 that they are the production of Mr, Geo. Pickering. 
 
 Written underneath an engraving of Apollo rewarding 
 Merit with riches. 
 
 O Merit, as thou'rt blest with riches, 
 For God's sake buy a pair of breeches, 
 And give them to thy naked brother, 
 For one good turn deserves another.
 
 120 
 
 A fastidious critic may, perhaps, object, that because the 
 following epistle is not in verse, it ought not to be admitted 
 into a collection of poetry, yet as it is a happy instance of 
 imaginative power, the very essence of poetry, it is thought 
 well deserving of a place. It was addressed by Mr. Pick- 
 ering, to his friend, Mr. Richard Brown, then an ensign in 
 the Northumberland militia, whom he used, jocularly, to 
 call ' his Captain,' in consequence of Mr. B.'s having sent 
 him a card, when he had left his office, to go to dinner. 
 
 Editor. 
 
 May it please your honour! , 
 
 Jj(j Jiill 0'. 
 
 When your honour's billet reached my station, 
 I was off duty, for which I humbly beg your pardon : 
 and as I well know a court-martial will be the conse- 
 quence, I take the liberty of laying before your 
 honour the reasons why / quitted my post zcithout 
 orders, which I humbly desire you will take into your 
 serious consideration.
 
 121 
 
 Your honour must know, that about one o'clock 
 this day, I received advice by Dnimmer Jppetite, 
 (who was dispatched to me by Adjutant Hunger,) 
 that he was apprehensive the inhabitants of Stomach - 
 Square would in a few minutes be in a state oi open 
 rebellion, if a sufficient force was not sent immediately 
 to keep them in awe. On this alarming intelligence 
 1 resigned the command of my post to Corporal 
 Chance, with orders to defend it to the last, and 
 marched away. In my passage, I fortunately fell in 
 with a beef battalion, a green-pea regiment, a volun- 
 teer corps of calfs head hash, and the tozcns militia 
 of brown bread and new milk. Long did I remon- 
 strate with the insurgents, and much pains was taken 
 to get them dispersed, but I am sorry to say my 
 arguments proved ineffectual. The riot act was read 
 by Justice I'ongue, who received several insults from 
 the populace. At last he gave the zeord of command, 
 being " For what zee are going to receive," 8cc. when 
 the towns militia made a regular and zc ell-directed
 
 122 
 
 fire. The mob for a few minutes retired, which gave 
 the militia time to file about, and the beef battalion 
 to enter the ground they quitted. They had scarce 
 effected this, when the mob grew more daring than 
 ever, and came to the very points of their bayonets. 
 The insurgents were received with the most deter- 
 mined resolution, and the word of command being 
 given, the successive ^res of this battalion and the 
 pea regiment effected that which was in vain attempt- 
 ed by remonstrating. Two field-pieces, under the 
 direction of Messrs. Mustard and Vinegar, privates in 
 the artillery, did great execution. The slaughter is 
 great, and we are now employed in performing the 
 last office due to mortality. I am sorry to inform your 
 honour that Justice Tongue received a wound when 
 he was giving the word of command to the beef batta- 
 lion, but Surgeon Saliva assures me there is not the 
 least hazard. As for the troops they sustained n9 
 damage at all. 
 It grieves me much when necessity compels me to
 
 123 
 
 say any thing disrespectful of troops, of whose con- 
 duct I had once formed a favourable opinion ; but 
 the umoldier-like behaviour of the calj^s head volun- 
 teers deserves the severest reprehension. During the 
 firing they h?iA filed offmio Dish-fields, but, on hear- 
 ing that every thing was quiet, they rushed impetu- 
 ously dow^n Clean-plate-alley and inhumanly fired 
 upon the trembling fugitives. I have ordered their 
 officers into custody, where they shall remain till I 
 receive your honour's commands. 
 
 Your camp equipage, buckles, &c. I hope you will 
 receive under an escort of the pea regiment. 
 I have the honour to be, 
 Your honour's most obedient and very 
 humble servant, 
 
 G. P. Serjeant Major, &c. 
 
 r2
 
 LAPPONIAN POETRY, 
 
 BY 
 
 MR. PICKERING 
 
 AND 
 
 MR. BEDINGFELD.
 
 M} 
 
 4 \ 
 
 iiA'i
 
 LAPPONIAN POETRY * 
 
 In the summer of 1786, Sir Henry George Liddell and 
 some other gentlemen having made a voyage to Lapland, 
 and brought with them on their return two female natives 
 of that country, the following introductory letter, and the 
 combination of letters and syllables, called a Lapland Song, 
 with its translation, appeared in the Newcastle Courant of 
 the 2d of September of that year, and the criticism there- 
 on, with a new translation in the same newspaper of the 
 2l8t of October following. The song was afterwards set 
 to music, and, together with the first translation, published 
 
 * As an apology for prefixing the epithet *' Lapponian," whilst 
 both the authors speak of " Scandinavian" poetry, it may be ob- 
 served, that the ancient Scandinavia comprized, not only Lapland, 
 but Sweden, Denmark, and Norway; wherefore it is submitted 
 that, as a title, Lapponian (i. e. Laplandish) is more strictly appro- 
 priate. Editor.
 
 128 
 
 as having been sung by the female Laplanders, at Ravens- 
 worth Castle, the seat of Sir Henry George Liddell ; and 
 the translation was afterwards inserted, as genuine, in a 
 quarto account of the tour published by Matthew Consett, 
 Esq. one of the travellers, and copied from thence into 
 several of the London magazines. To those who know 
 that these compositions sprung merely from the lively 
 imaginations of Mr. Pickering, the author of the first, and 
 of Mr. Bedingfeld, the author of the second, publication, 
 they exhibit, with a surprizing play of mind, what, in the 
 untranslatable, but well understood, language of the present 
 day, may be called a complete literary hoax, but perfectly 
 harmless and good-natured ; whilst, at the same time, the 
 mock criticism of Mr. Bedingfeld is an admirable satire on 
 the pomposity and keenness with which criticks, at least in 
 times a little removed, used to contend on very trivial sub- 
 jects. By those who were so happy as to be of the more 
 particular acquaintance of the original author, and his 
 critick, there are perceptible many nicer strokes, which, 
 yet more fully, establish the reputation of those gentlemen^ 
 for wit, genuine humour, and elegant expression. Editor.
 
 129 
 
 TO THE 
 
 PRINTER OF THE COURANT. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 The public curiosity having been excited by the 
 appearance of the musical Lapland females in this 
 country, a specimen of Scandinavian poetry may, 
 probably, aiford some little amusement to the many. 
 In my youth, a propensity to travel led me through 
 many a rude, uncivilized region ; and in the August 
 of 1761, I sat me down in Lapland at a place called 
 Trouan, about 150 miles to the north-west of Torne: 
 there I lived through the winter. I was kindly 
 treated by the hospitable owner of the cottage, and 
 however inclined the polished nations of Europe may 
 be to treat the inhabitants of the arctick region with
 
 130 
 
 derision, let it be remembered that happiness is to be 
 found on the cliffs of Torne, and that hospitality 
 spreads its unadorned table to the wanderers on the 
 cold shores of Lulhea. I have joined in the song, 
 and capered in the dance, and oft, when the storm 
 pattered loudly without, the face of chearfulness and 
 content was to be seen round the fire in the hut of 
 the Laplander. 
 
 Curiosity led me to see the Lapland wanderers, at 
 present in this country, and, to my great satisfaction, 
 they sung me a song, to which I had often listened, 
 with pleasure, at Trouan, and which I now offer to 
 you, in an English dress, confident that it will afford 
 some amusement to the readers of your excellent 
 paper. 
 
 I am. 
 
 Sir, 
 Your very obedient servant, 
 T. S. 
 Newcastle, August 28^A, 1786.
 
 131 
 
 LAPLAND SONG. 
 
 OuK fruezen tharanno el Torne vau zien; 
 Zo fruezen Lulhea thwe zarro a rien : 
 Thwe zarro a rien pa Lulhea teway, 
 Zo fleuris erzacken par ette octa. 
 
 Spitsbruggen rockfruzeetSpitsbruggen artoan; 
 
 Zo norous graph igne otharra bruzone ; 
 
 Ek se ul thauwa a ig brassin a rie; 
 
 Zo Enna pinskrich tholla swarichtch a ere. < ;/ 
 
 Uncreus nar a vincle sna tallaek a ren, 
 
 Zo screuk elpi Odon creud monte deleu ; 
 
 Ek leup a brontarra kien ocna a de; 
 
 Zo moul ouk ta lieu ouk lieu ecbe. 
 s 2
 
 132 
 
 En zart tiie ma Luah en zart en bracteur, 
 Zo trae vance este a treuk min amzeur; 
 Crebill da na vete pallar aschrai tepra, 
 A norous tac vete ella aschrai ogda, 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 Ihe snows are dissolving on Torne's rude side, 
 And the ice of Lulhea flows down the dark tide; 
 Thy dark stream, O Lulhe ! flows freely away, 
 And the snow-drop unfolds her pale beauties to-day. 
 
 Far off the keen terrors of winter retire. 
 And the north's dancing streamers relinquish their fire ; 
 The sun's genial beams swell the bud on the tree; 
 And Enna chaunts forth her wild warblings with glee.
 
 133 
 
 The rein-deer unharnessed in freedom shall play, 
 And safely o'er Odoii's steep precipice stray : 
 The wolf to the forest's recesses shall fly, 
 And howl to the moon as she glides through the sky. 
 
 Then haste, my fair Luah, oh haste to the grove, 
 And pass the sweet season in rapture and love ; 
 In youth let our bosoms with extacy glow, 
 For the winter of life ne'er a transport can know.
 
 134 
 
 TO THE 
 
 PRINTER OF THE COURANT. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I AM a constant reader of your entertaining paper; 
 and, as I have for many years past made the poetry 
 of Scandinavia the particular ohject of my study and 
 researches, I was agreeably surprized to see a Lap- 
 land song, lately inserted by T. S., in the Newcastle 
 Courant. But while I acknowledge my obligations 
 to T. S. for the pleasure I received from the perusal 
 of the original, I cannot say his other readers are 
 much indebted to him for the accuracy of his trans- 
 lation. 
 
 It will not, indeed, appear wonderful that he should 
 fail in an attempt to convey the meaning of a song,
 
 135 
 
 which he confesses to have heard atTrouan so Ions aero 
 as the year I76I ; and which has been since recalled 
 to his memory by the repetition, probably unfaithful, 
 of some musical wanderers. I allow that he has ren- 
 dered some of the particular passages with tolerable 
 success; but must maintain, that with respect to the 
 general import and meaning of the composition, he 
 is entirely mistaken. According to him, it is an 
 address from a lover to his mistress, telling her 
 " that the snow is dissolved, and the ice melted away 
 " that winter retires, and the sun swells the bud, 
 " and Enna chaunts her warblings that the rein- 
 " deer is free, and the moon glides through the sky 
 " and that therefore his Luah must haste to the 
 " grove, and with him pass the season in rapture 
 " for it is now youth, and nothing of the kind can be 
 " had in the winter of life." But what will my rea- 
 ders think of T. S. when I assure them, that what 
 appears, in his translation, to be a gay and airy love 
 song, is, in the original, as deep and melancholy an 
 elegy as ever was penned ! The true sense it conveys, 
 is " that the snows of Torno shall dissolve, and the 
 " stream break through its fetters of ice that winter
 
 136 
 
 " shall retire, and the sun wake the bloom of the 
 " blossom and the warbling of the grove that the 
 "rein-deer shall quit his car, and the moon burst 
 " through the mist but, for him, since his Luah is 
 " no more, no change can take place in his situation 
 " that the summer is o'er, and the winter that now 
 " dwells in his heart must be eternal/' 
 
 It is difficult at first to conceive how it is possible 
 that T. S. and myself should differ so widely in our 
 construction of the same passages. But the surprize 
 of my readers will abate, when I give them some ac- 
 count of the Scandinavian idiom. In this idiom, as 
 in that of other rude and uncultivated nations, there 
 is much strength but no copiousness; much sublimi- 
 ty, but great poverty. The same sentence, and 
 sometimes the same word, will bear a different, and 
 even a contrary, meaning; and the true one must be 
 determined by other collateral circumstances. I will 
 content myself with a single proof out of a thousand 
 I could give of this assertion. The word Aschrai, in 
 the last line but one of the poem in question, signi- 
 fies an affection of the heart produced by the qualities 
 of external objects. Now whether this Aschrai or
 
 137 
 
 Affection be, in this place, Love or Hatred, must be 
 ascertained from what precedes or follows. 
 
 But luckily for me, a circumstance occurs in the 
 present instance, which decides, beyond the possi- 
 bility of a doubt, concerning the intention of our 
 bard ; and proves that his performance is not lively, 
 but grave: not amorous, but elegiack. The circum- 
 stance I allude to, is the Poem's beginning with the 
 word Ouk. Ouk has no particular signification, but 
 is prefixed to all the specimens, I have ever seen, of 
 Scandinavian poetry, where the subject is solemn or 
 mournful. And, on the other hand, the word Yak* 
 equally devoid of any meaning, is, in like manner, at 
 the head of every composition which is intended to 
 be gay, fanciful, and sprightly. The Lapland bards 
 seem to have hit upon this device, in order to pre- 
 vent any mistakes, which might otherwise arise, from 
 the ambiguity and poverty of their language. These 
 interjections denote the tone of sensibility, whether 
 melancholy or chearful, that is to reign through the 
 
 * Another associate in Messrs. Davidson's office, made 
 a noise, in the act of laughing, resembling Yak, Yak, Yak, 
 wliich is here playfully alluded to. Editor. 
 
 T
 
 138 
 
 poem; and answer the same purpose with Allegro, 
 Andante, Moderato, &c. which we generally see in 
 the outset of musical compositions. I have now 
 before me an elegy, written by Brakdol, one of the 
 most ancient Scandinavian minstrels, on the fate of 
 his three children, vsrho were frozen to death on the 
 banks of the Ustreg. He introduces the elegy with 
 three Ouks. 
 
 I have said enough to induce the reader to make 
 every proper allowance for the errors T. S. has fallen 
 into.* He seems moreover to be a jolly hearted 
 man, who would seize every opportunity, that lay in 
 his way, of converting, by means of a translation, 
 into merriment and gaiety, what he finds in the ori- 
 ginal to be sad and sober. From the manner in 
 which, by his own account, he passed his time at 
 Trouan, it appears he had something else to do, than 
 to investigate the discriminating peculiarities of the 
 
 * The remainder of this paragraph is not only humour- 
 ous but descriptive, for Mr. Pickering was of a particularly 
 gay and chearful disposition, notM-ithstanding the plaintive 
 and even melancholy stile of some of his later compositions. 
 
 Editor.
 
 139 
 
 Scandinavian idiom. On the subject, he says not a 
 syllable : but to make amends, he tells us of the 
 " hospitality," and of " the table;" of " the song" in 
 which he joined, and " the dance" in which he caper- 
 ed ; of " the face of chearfulness," and " the fire in 
 the hut." 
 
 In addition to the great fundamental mistake, 
 which I have shewn prevailed in the mind of T. S. in 
 the course of his translation, I shall now proceed to 
 point out some few of the many other inaccuracies 
 he has been guilty of, and then lay before the public 
 my own version of this elegy, for an elegy it most 
 undoubtedly is. 
 
 1st Stanza, 1st line. T. S. interprets tharanno, in 
 the present tense, are dissolving, but it is in the fu- 
 ture, shall dissolve. This mistake extends through 
 the whole of his two first stanzas, and is the more 
 remarkable, as in the third he gets right again ; al- 
 though there is no variation in the tenses of the 
 original. 
 
 Same stanza, 2d line. T. S. conceives Lulhea to 
 be a particular name; but, ih fact, it is a general ap- 
 pellation of any stream or river. There may, indeed, 
 T 2
 
 140 
 
 in Lapland be some river that has no particular name, 
 and may, therefore, be known by the general appella- 
 tion. But this cannot be the case with the sluggish 
 stream at the bottom of Torno, which the poet seems 
 to have in his eye, and which is called Matapathy* 
 
 2d Stanza, 3d line. Brassm signifies a blossom, not 
 a bud. 
 
 3d Stanza, lines 3d and 4th. Ek leup a brontarra, 
 &c. The literal translation of this is, " The wolf 
 "shall not howl at the moon, but she shall glide 
 " clearly through the sky." There is no making any 
 sense of this passage, of which T. S. seems to be 
 convinced, as he has endeavoured to remedy it at the 
 expense of fidelity; but I think with httle success. 
 Now if for leup (a wolf), we substitute leuchlin (a 
 mist), and for a brontarra (shall not howl), a brontegg 
 (shall not veil), the metre will not be altered, and the 
 meaning will be, " The mist shall not veil the moon, 
 " but she shall glide clearly through the sky." This 
 is both intelligible and consistent, and I make no 
 
 * The gentleman above alluded to in the note upon Yak 
 was sometimes called by his companions Matt Apathy. 
 
 Editor.
 
 141 
 
 doubt but that the bard wrote so originally, and that 
 the variation was occasioned by the treacherous me- 
 mory of T. S.'s musical wanderers. Besides, as Pon- 
 toppidan in his history of Norway informs us, that a 
 wolf is little known in Lapland, it seems scarcely 
 probable, that the bard would introduce him in the 
 midst of other usual and common appearances of 
 nature. 
 
 I am afraid I begin to grow tiresome, and must 
 therefore omit a great number of remarks, and pro- 
 ceed to 
 
 Stanza 4th, line 1st. Ma Luah en zart en hrac- 
 teiir, &c. Amidst many unfortunate circumstances 
 which have led T. S. into a total misconception of the 
 sense of this stanza, the principal, I take it, was this 
 passage. En zart en bracteur. In the original it is 
 ambiguous, and signifies either " Haste my fair 
 " Luah to the grove," or, " My fair Luah is gone to 
 " the grove." T. S. adopts the former sense, and 
 looks upon it as an invitation to pass the season in 
 love and rapture. But I am clearly of opinion, that 
 the latter construction ought to take place, and then 
 it will be " My fair Luah is gone to the grove,"
 
 H2 
 
 which is a figurative expression, implying that " My 
 " fair Luah has departed this life." For, according 
 to the Scandinavian mythology, the hall of Oden was 
 appropriated for the shades of departed men, and the 
 grove of Oden for those of women. Hence, when the 
 Laplanders speak of the death of any person, they 
 generally say he is gone to the hall, or she is gone to 
 the grove. Indeed this allusion is so common in 
 Lapland, that I wonder T. S. never heard of it ; but 
 perhaps the reason was, the natives imagined that, 
 to a person of T. S.'s turn of disposition, it would 
 not be pleasant to talk of deaths, ghosts,'and funerals. 
 Here follows my translation, which I assure the 
 reader is as literal as the idioms of the two languages 
 will admit. 
 
 O Torno! the snows on thy summit we see 
 
 Shall dissolve : and the stream that sleeps frozen 
 below 
 Again from its fetters of ice shall be free, 
 
 And the snow-drop, now withered, with beauty shall 
 glow.
 
 143 
 
 The terrors of winter shall fly far away, 
 
 And the sun o'er the north shed his influence again, 
 And warm into bloom the sweet blossom of May, 
 
 And wake through fair Euna the wild warbling strain. 
 
 The rein-deer, now harnessed, shall quit with delight 
 His car, and o'er Oden in freedom shall fly ; 
 
 And the mist, that now veils the pale planet of night 
 Shall pass, while unclouded she glides through the 
 sky^ 
 
 But for me, wretched me ! since my Luah's no more. 
 Through my season of sorrow no changes can roll ; 
 
 My summer of joys and of raptures is o'er. 
 And winter for ever must chill my sad soul. 
 
 W. V.
 
 The remaining Pages consist of those 
 
 TRIFLES, 
 
 BY 
 
 THE EDITOR, 
 
 Mentioned at the close of the Introduction, and 
 which were not intended for publication, nor ever pub- 
 lished, except the first, zchich appeared in the Gentle- 
 mans Magazine for August, 1 792. The motive for 
 their present appearance has been already assigned in 
 the Introduction. 
 
 M
 
 ODE, 
 TO MORPHEUS. 
 
 1 ELL me, thou god of slumbers ! why 
 Thus from my pillow dost thou fly ? 
 And wherefore, stranger to thy balmy power. 
 Whilst death-like silence reigns around, 
 And wraps the world in peace profound. 
 Must I alone count every passing hour : 
 And, whilst each happier mind is hushed in sleep, 
 Must I alone a painful vigil keep. 
 And to the midnight shades my lonely sorrows pour? 
 
 u2
 
 148 
 
 Be thou again the friend of woe, 
 And let my weary eye-lids know 
 The welcome pressure of thy healing hand ; 
 So shall the gnawing tooth of care 
 Its rude attacks awhile forbear 
 Stilled by the touch of thy benumbing wand, 
 And every wakeful inmate of my breast. 
 Vanquished, shall yield me to the arms of rest; 
 Rest, which or comes or flies at thy supreme command ! 
 
 And if, whilst sleep the body chains 
 In sweet oblivion of its pains, 
 Fancy shall still be active and awake, 
 O Morpheus! banish from my bed 
 Each form of grief, each form of dread, 
 And all that can the soul with horror shake. 
 Let not the ghastly fiends admission find. 
 Which conscience gives to haunt the guilty mind. 
 O, let not forms like these my peaceful slumbers break !
 
 149 
 
 But bring before my raptured sight 
 Each pleasing image of delight, 
 Of love, of friendship, and of social joy ; 
 And chiefly on thy magic wing 
 The sweetly-blooming virgin bring. 
 Whose beauties all my waking thoughts employ. 
 Glowing with rosy health, and all the charms 
 That spread through every breast love's soft alarms, 
 O, bring the loved Sophia to my fancy's eye ! 
 
 Not such as oft my jealous fear 
 Doth bid the lovely maid appear. 
 Deaf to my vows, by my complaint unmoved. 
 Whilst to my happier rival's prayer 
 She yields the balm of all his care. 
 The matchless bliss to be by her beloved. 
 
 O sleep-dispensing power! such thoughts restrain, 
 Nor, even in dreams, inflict the bitter pain, 
 To know my heart is scorned, my rival's is approved.* 
 
 * Johnson, in his life of Cowley, ridicules the folly of
 
 150 
 
 Ah no ! let fancy then supply 
 The bhishing cheek, the melting eye, 
 The bosom glowing with congenial fires : 
 Then, gently yielding to my arms 
 The loveliest of all lovelv forms, 
 Let me be blest with all my soul desires. 
 If, Morpheus, thus thou'lt cheer the gloomy nigfit, 
 For thy embrace I'll fly day's garish light. 
 Nor ever wish to wake whilst dreams like these inspire. 
 
 ** him who praises beauty which he never saw, complains 
 " of jealousy which he never felt," ^but thus shews more 
 of the moralist than the critick, and forgets that the first 
 qualification of a poet is tojeign. Yet this common prac- 
 tice of poets of the minor class seems to be countenanced 
 by his own example : for it is probable that the odes, and 
 other pieces, addressed to Stella, were not written till 
 twelve years after his marriage with u woman twice his 
 own age, and probably, at that time at least, not an object 
 of much passion ; and, as the acknowledged purity of his 
 principles forbids the suspicion of an illicit attachment, we 
 must in charity conclude that the Stella of Dr. Johnson 
 was an imagmari/ mistress.
 
 151 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 WR TTEN AT AN INxV NEAR THE CONCLUSION 
 OF A JOURNEY. 
 
 The journey past, what traits remain 
 Of London and its motley train 
 Shall yield a subject for my song, 
 And help a lonely hour along. 
 
 London! within thy walls we find 
 Each varied feature of mankind. 
 Here every vice its reign extends, 
 And here each virtue finds its friends ;
 
 152 
 
 But virtue's friends, alas ! are few, 
 And tiiose retired from publick view, 
 Whilst, crouding everj busy street, 
 The blushless sons of vice we meet. 
 
 AmhitinrHs slaves here meanly toil 
 To catch the king's, or people's, smile. 
 And choak, by every guilty art. 
 Each moral feeling of the heart. 
 
 And here the meaner slaves of gain 
 By any crime would wealth obtain : 
 For here is. Avarice ! thy abode. 
 And gold the universal god. 
 
 Here Fraud her cunning meshes weaves, 
 And in a thousand shapes deceives. 
 The rulhan sons of Rapine here 
 Even in the face of day appear. 
 And fill the midaiglu hours with fear.
 
 1S3 
 
 Nay more, even Beauit/, which by heaven 
 To be the bliss of man was given, 
 Each painful feeling to controul. 
 And chase all sorrow from the soul, 
 Possest of power to bless in vain, 
 Becomes the minister of pain, 
 Deserts the cause of genial joy, 
 And clasps you only to destroy. 
 
 Then fare thee well, thou motley town ! 
 With thee all commerce I disown; 
 From false delights, I ne'er could love, 
 To scenes less guilty I remove, 
 And thus to all thy venal crew 
 With all my soul I bid adieu !
 
 .154 
 
 TO 
 
 A LADY, 
 
 RECOVERING FROM SICKNESS. 
 
 Say, why the paleness that o'erspreads 
 Each feature of that lovely face, 
 
 And why the rose's lustre fades. 
 And robs the cheek of all its grace i* 
 
 Alas! 'twas, sickness! thy command. 
 That bade the bloom of youth decay, 
 
 And thy severe unfeeling hand 
 
 Hath swept each roseate tint away !
 
 iS5 
 
 Could nought prevail, thou slave of death ! 
 
 To turn aside the venomed dart, 
 Nor save from thy malignant breath 
 
 The fairest form, the gentlest heart r 
 
 Yet cease thy dire attacks, nor dare 
 
 Thy baleful efforts to repeat ; 
 From every pain that bosom spare 
 
 For which a thousand bosoms beat, 
 
 And if, thy deadly hate to please:. 
 Thou wilt some other victim claim, 
 
 Give to the fair perpetual ease, 
 And turn on me thy fiercest flanic : 
 
 So shall Sophia still remain, 
 
 Through future years, to charm mankind, 
 And I, from love's severest pain, 
 
 In death a welcome refnsre find. 
 
 X 2
 
 156 
 
 LErrER, 
 
 TO T. D. ESQ., WITH A KEY. 
 
 As yester even, with cheart'ul paces, 
 Wc rode, tho' faith, with frozen faces. 
 Your broth^jr, with an awful stare, 
 And with an oath that shocked my ear, 
 Exclaimed, " I've brought away the key, 
 " And brother Tom can get no tea; 
 " Nay, what is infinitely worse, 
 " And will attract his greatest curse, 
 " Without this key the cellar-door, 
 " Will close confine the viny store." 
 " Alas ! ** I cried, " 'tis sad indeed : 
 " For woe like this my heart could bleed.
 
 ]57 
 
 " I truly feel, but can't express, 
 
 " Your brother's anguish and distress, 
 
 " When 'midst the dulness of to-morrow* 
 
 " He finds no wine to sooth his sorrow." 
 
 Fraternal feelings now awoke, 
 
 And thus your loving brother spoke : 
 
 " I fear his sorrow will undo him 
 
 " Here, take the key, and send it to him.** 
 
 I took the charge, with all the zeal 
 That friendship's glowing breast can feel. 
 For sure my friend shall know no grief, 
 If I can forward his relief; 
 And, mindful of the sacred trust, 
 The key T send j^ou by the post. 
 
 Hexham, 3d December, 1783. 
 * Sunday.
 
 158 
 
 EPIGRAM MA. 
 
 Qui te videt bcatus est, 
 Beatior qui tc audit, 
 Qui te basiat semi-deus est, 
 Qui te potitur est Deus. 
 
 Buck. Epig. Lib. I. Epig. 30. 
 
 'Uf 
 
 i.r. 
 
 Dr}dcn observes' of translation iir general, that ' where 
 " the original is close ho version can reach it in the same 
 *' compass," * and it may be salely averred tliat the close- 
 ness of expression in this epigri^ni of Buchanan cimnot be 
 imitated in Englbh verse. In the following lines, tlie 
 liberty is taken of varying or rather expanding the expres- 
 sion, without pretending to add to the thought, or claiming 
 the merit of an epigram, of which an essential quality is 
 brevity. 
 
 Prefece to " First Part of Miscellany Poems," P. XI.
 
 159 
 
 Blest is the youth, that with impassioned gaze 
 The beauties of thy heavenly form surveys, 
 Who fondly views thee with a lover's eye. 
 And hails thee fairest daughter of the sky. 
 
 Yet happier he, to whose delighted ear 
 *Tis given the musick of thy voice to hear, 
 To hear thy tongue with softest accents move. 
 And all the thrilling eloquence of love. 
 
 And he, who dares, unblamed, aspire to sip 
 The juice neotareous of thy rosy lip, 
 Feels a new being animate his breast, 
 And far beyond all human bliss is blest. 
 
 But fancy fails the extatick joy to trace 
 Of him who revels in thy fond embrace. 
 And on thy bosom fixes his abode : 
 No longer mortal, he becomes a god.
 
 160 
 
 A RECANTATION. 
 
 What though my fasciDated mind, 
 To love's delirium long resigned, 
 
 Has sighed witii fancied woe, 
 And though through all my trembling veins 
 Despair hath shot his icy pains, 
 Or my light spirits felt hope's genial glow, 
 
 Shall I to reason wake no more, 
 But still a slave to folly's power 
 
 Ideal anguish mourn f 
 No, from the dream I now awake. 
 And from my wearied soul I shake 
 The galling fetters she so long has worn.
 
 161 
 
 No more, Sophia, to my heart 
 The wonted throb shall 3'ou impart, 
 
 However well you feign. 
 That power, my fancy only gave, 
 Has ceased my senses to enslave : 
 No more your smiles give joy, or frowns give pain. 
 
 Reason at length resumes her throne, 
 And bids the trifler, love, begone 
 
 For ever from my breast: 
 And, warned by her, pale melancholy, 
 And all the brood of amorous folly. 
 Resign my bosom to its long-lost rest. 
 
 Then " come, thou goddess fair and free, 
 " In heaven ycleped Euphrosyne,"* 
 
 And beam on me thy smile ! 
 For that can brighten every care, 
 And even the soul of wan despair, 
 From woes long cherished, into peace beguile ! 
 
 * Milton's L'Allegro. y
 
 162 
 
 O ! banish far the tender sigh, 
 
 The tear which oft bedewed mine eye 
 
 Whilst the vain fair I loved ; 
 ' And in their stead, dear goddess ! give 
 The mind serene, that whilst I live 
 By thee alone my bosom shall be moved.
 
 163 
 
 THE INN. 
 
 WRITTEN AT WELDON MILL, 
 
 ON THE 
 
 BANKS OF THE COQUET, IN NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 " Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, 
 " Where'er his stages may have been, 
 
 " May sigh to think he still has found 
 " The warmest welcome at an inn." * 
 
 * This is the concluding stanza of some verses, written 
 by Shenstone, at an inn in Henley, and is often to be met 
 with on the windows and walls of inns. The turn of 
 thought here is different from Shenstone's, and the pleasing 
 lines of Mr. Pickering in page 91, have still a different, and, 
 indeed, a very solemn, variation. 
 y <2
 
 164 
 
 So, once, did Shenstone's muse portray, 
 Iq sombre tints, the human scene, 
 
 And turn from social joys away. 
 To seek for comfort at an inn. 
 
 Too oft, *tis true, the niggard, mind, 
 Immured its meagre self within. 
 
 Compels the slighted guest to find 
 A warmer welcome at an inn. 
 
 And oft, 'tis true, in wintry night. 
 When cold and rain assail the skin, 
 
 The traveller hails, with keen delight. 
 The warmth and shelter of an inn. 
 
 And here, even now, by Coquet's stream, 
 Save the mill's clack, remote from din, 
 
 I find, to muse on Shenstone's theme. 
 An hour of quiet at an inn.
 
 165 
 
 But, O, how hapless he ! who ne'er 
 
 True hospitality could win, 
 Nor find a welcome so sincere 
 
 As the bought welcome of an inn 
 
 He never felt that kindly glow 
 I feel my grateful heart within, 
 
 While oft it is my lot to know 
 A welcome found not at an inn.
 
 166 
 
 TO A 
 
 MINIATURE PORTRAIT. 
 
 Gro thou, by whom a lover's face 
 In flattering semblance is exprest, 
 
 Go, and enjoy the matchless grace 
 To dwell in Fanny's lovely breast. 
 
 There, nourished by etherial sweets, 
 Thou shalt a living soul acquire, 
 
 Nor need Prometheus' fabled heats 
 Life and sensation to inspire.
 
 167 
 
 O ! then, my passion be thy care, 
 Nor to the charge unfaithful prove, 
 
 But to the dear, indulgent fair. 
 For ever plead the cause of love. 
 
 When pensive softness rules the hour, 
 Do thou her throbbing heart assail, 
 
 And then exert thy utmost power 
 To speak affection's tenderest tale. 
 
 O ! paint the soft yet fervent sigh, 
 
 The faultering tongue, the starting tear, 
 
 The trembling nerve, the downcast eye. 
 Cheeks tinged by hope, or pale with fear 
 
 Nor yet forget the glowing mind, 
 Where reign supreme the soft desires, 
 
 And where esteem, the most refined. 
 Serves but to heighten passion's fires.
 
 168 
 
 If thus, to paint my heartfelt care. 
 Thou wilt each precious moment use. 
 
 And through the bosom of my fair 
 The melting thoughts of love infuse, 
 
 Sure, whilst the soft idea charms. 
 The lovely Fanny will resign 
 
 Her dearest beauties to my arms. 
 And all her yielding soul be mine.
 
 169 
 
 THE DREAM. 
 
 Ere WHILE, with frequent-heaving sighs, 
 With pensive heart, and sleepless eyes, 
 
 I passed the midnight hour. 
 And Morpheus wooed, hut wooed in vain. 
 To give a respite to my pain, 
 
 By his resistless power. 
 
 At length, he sheds Lethean dew. 
 And Thought^ with all her busy crew. 
 
 In wished oblivion steeps: 
 Fancy alone is unconfined. 
 And reigns o'er all my vacant liiind, 
 
 Whilst wearied Reason sleeps.
 
 170 
 
 Then, quickly, by her magic power, 
 
 She chased the glooms that round me lour 
 
 And fill my soul with care; 
 Whilst Hymen decked the marriage-bed. 
 His thornless roses round it spread, 
 
 And placed my Fanny there. 
 
 And Venus too, with wanton eye 
 And smiling countenance, was nigh. 
 
 To lend her genial aid : 
 Won* by my song, she deigned to guide 
 Me, her fond votary, to my bride, 
 
 The now consenting maid. 
 
 My Fanny's eye, with chastened fires, 
 Silently told the soft desires 
 
 Which purest bosoms know, 
 
 * Exorata meis ilium Cytherea Camoenis 
 Attulit, in nostrum deposuitque Sinum. 
 
 TibuUta.
 
 171 
 
 While o'er her cheek, of lovely red, 
 The blush of maidenhood had spread 
 Almost a crimson glow. 
 
 Her melting lips, of roseate hue, 
 And laden with nectareous dew, 
 
 With fervent kiss I press'd, 
 And, trembling with excess of love. 
 The extasy of bliss I prove. 
 
 And sink upon her breast. 
 
 That breast, the seat of pure delight, 
 Where innocence and truth unite. 
 
 And love has fixed his throne, 
 Now feels soft passion's gentle glow. 
 And gives its kindest thoughts to flow 
 
 Congenial with my own. 
 
 But soon the blissful trance is o'er: 
 
 For busy Thought resumes her power, 
 z 2
 
 17i 
 
 And bursts the bands of sleep ; 
 The beauteous visions quickly fly, 
 And, fading fast from Fancy\ eye, 
 
 Leave me to wake and weep. 
 
 Thus, whilst I pass long hours of pain, 
 My niggard fate will scarcely deign 
 
 Of joy a transient gleam ; 
 And thus, whilst still I am doomed to knoW^' 
 The real pang of waking woe. 
 
 My bliss is but a Dream . 
 
 Dr. Johnson's censure of Cowley is mentioned in a 
 former note. The following extract from a defence of his 
 " Mistress, or several Copies of Love- Verses," made by 
 Cowley himself, in the preface to his works, may serve 
 also for an apology for the preceding piece, and some 
 others in this collection. Speaking of poets and of love- 
 verses, he says, " we must not always make a judgment of 
 ** their manners from their writings of this kind * 
 " *. It is not in this sense that 
 " poesie is said to be a kind of painting : it is not the
 
 173 
 
 " picture of the poet, but of things and persons imagined hy 
 " him. He may be in his practice and disposition a philo- 
 ** sopher, and yet sometimes speak with the softness of an 
 " amorous Sappho."
 
 174 
 
 EPITAPH, 
 
 ON A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 Awhile she bloomed the gentlest of her kind, 
 Lovely in form, yet lovelier in mind ; 
 That form, death's early prey, this grave receives. 
 The mind angelick soars to heaven, and lives.* 
 
 * The reflections immediately consequent upon death, 
 make their way to all, and may therefore appear in a thou- 
 sand epitaphs. This was the effusion of a moment, after 
 attending the interment of a very amiable girl, and its 
 author was unconscious of imitation, but has since met 
 with the same thought beautifully expressed thus, 
 " Quem mors sethercam citius transcripsit in Urbem 
 " Esset ut Angelicus."
 
 175 
 
 in an epitaph written by Dr. Grant, on his son of five years 
 old, and less elegantly in that of Bishop Cox, 
 
 " Corpora terra tegit, spiritus alta petit." 
 
 These instances, occurring in the Biographia Britannica, 
 are more than two hundred years old, and evidence that 
 natural feelings are always the same. 
 
 A little to relieve the gloom of an epitaph, it may not be 
 amiss to observe, that whatever of nature there may be in 
 the line last quoted, it is more than balanced by an execra- 
 ble pun in the next line in the same epitaph, where the 
 deceased bishop is made to call himself Christi Gallus (the 
 Cock of Christ), because, forsooth, his name was Cox, 
 otherwise Cocks.
 
 176 
 
 THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM GODWIN. 
 A Fragment. 
 
 Long had the sex, unconscious of their right, 
 Lived but the object of man's fond delight, 
 Through social life contented to dispense 
 Each milder virtue joined with polished sense; 
 The human scene to brighten and improve, 
 And heal its evils with the balm of love. 
 Yet skilled, by every gentle charm combined, 
 To rule the mightiest rulers of mankind.* 
 
 * The certaiu, but indefinable, supremacy of the sex is 
 urly avowed by Helen Maria Williams, who, in her 
 Sketches of Manners in the French Republic, tlius speaks
 
 177 
 
 Iq vain had lived the dames of ancient days. 
 Whose freer souls aspired to nobler praise, 
 Who scorned the drudges of donlestick life, 
 The tender mother, and the faithful wife, 
 And by no sexual weaknesses confined 
 Sought to emancipate the female mind. 
 In vain Serairamis, with fearless hand. 
 Had grasped the sceptre of supreme command. 
 Chased the fond fool, her husband, from the throne, 
 And ruled the land with glories all her own.. 
 
 of woman. " She who exerts over man an empire, which 
 * being founded in nature is as immutable as her laws, and 
 " beyond the reach of his imperious institutions." Such 
 having been invariably the case from Eve to the wife of 
 Ahab, and from her down to Miss Williams, what more 
 would the dear creatures desire ? Might they not rest sa- 
 tisfied with an empire, as Rousseau describes it, of Soft- 
 ness, of Address, of Complacency, whose commands are 
 caresses, whose menaces are tears? 
 
 A a
 
 178 
 
 To her in vaia did sacred temples rise, 
 And adoration place her in the skies.* 
 Strange too, the Amazonian fair in vain 
 Had shewn the triumphs of the female reign, 
 And raised an empire whose illumined plan 
 Scorned even the presence of the creature man, 
 Save when, politically lewd, they saw 
 Twas nature's first and peremptory law, 
 
 * SemiramiSf first the mistress, though then a married 
 woman, and afterwards the wife of Ninus, king of Assyria, 
 possessed his confidence so entirely, that he invested her 
 with regal power for five days, and she exercised it pro- 
 perly, by putting him to death and placing herself on the 
 throne. She performed many wonderful things, and, after 
 her death, temples were erected to her, and she was wor- 
 shipped as a goddess. It is supposed there is a good deal 
 of fable in her history, but in the 18th century " the Se- 
 " miramis of the North" afforded an example similar in 
 many respects, and equally edifying As to the deifica- 
 tion it is a common incident to tlie sex. So late as 1551, 
 the good people of Venice worshipped Joan of Arr agony 
 and her sister, the Marchioness de Guasty in temples
 
 179 
 
 That from his loathed embrace should rise alone, 
 New subjects to support the female throne.* 
 
 But lo ! at length on Britain's favoured shore, 
 The sex's native lustre to restore, 
 To shake the doting systems of mankind. 
 And shew to all there is no sex in mind, 
 Thy Wollstonecraft, endowed with mental light 
 Enough to brighten a Cimmerian night. 
 To chace the mists of prejudice away, 
 And pour the beams of intellectual day, 
 
 erected to them as divinities, even whilst living : and it is 
 well known there are thousands of goddesses, subject, per- 
 haps, to some trifling mortal infirmities, in every age and 
 country. 
 
 * Though it has been disputed whether a nation of 
 Amazons was ever any thing more than fabulous, their 
 existence seems to be established by sufficient historical 
 evidence, as well as their periodical visits to the frontiers to 
 meet their male neighbours, and the avowed purpose of 
 such meetings.
 
 180 
 
 In all the pride of new-fledged science rose 
 And freely on the wondering world bestows 
 Knowledge that puzzles friends, and baflies foe*. 
 Then list each maiden, and O ! list each wife, 
 Nor scorn the precept, though it lead to strife. 
 That bids the aspiring fair, content no more 
 To reign sole mistress of the tender hour, 
 By arts, unknown to learning, to controui 
 The strongest feelings of the manly soul, 
 Demand the rights impartial nature gave. 
 
 Co:tera desunt.* 
 
 * The author of this fragment had sketched the outline 
 of a poem of some length, which his necessary avocations 
 prevented him from completing, till, having attained a pe- 
 riod of sufficient leisure, he observed, with much satisfac- 
 tion, that the objects of his satire, the phantasies of Mary 
 WoUstonecraft, and her husband Godwin, had ceased to be 
 popular or interesting. He, therefore, willingly desisted 
 from his task, which, probably, tlie reader will not regret. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Newcastle : printed by 
 S. HodgtoD, Union-street.
 
 181 
 
 The following lines were discovered only when the last 
 sheet was in the press, and though they are truly a frag- 
 ment, and appear rather aukwardly in this place, the editor 
 is unwilling to refuse them admission into a book which 
 professes to contain the poetical compositions of their 
 author. 
 
 THE ORIGIN OF BRITAIN. 
 
 A Fragment. 
 BY MR. PICKERING. 
 
 When first from rude confusion 
 
 This rolling orb was made, 
 And heaven's eternal mandates 
 
 The elements obey'd, 
 O'er Indian hills the sun arose, 
 
 Inimitably bright, 
 The moon, with delegated beams. 
 
 Illumed the shades of night. 
 Bb
 
 182 
 
 Creation's task accomplished, 
 
 Great Jove surveyed the whole, 
 And o'er the spangled canopy 
 
 He bade the planets roll ; 
 While in the variegated scene 
 
 No place he found would prove 
 In ages thence a safe retreat 
 
 For liberty and love. 
 
 At this each face celestial 
 
 Was shaded o'er with woe, 
 And down the sportive Cupid's cheeks 
 
 The tears began to flow : 
 When in the heavenly senate 
 
 With god-like pomp arrayed, 
 Great Neptune rose majestic 
 
 And thus divinely said. 
 
 Catera desuut.
 
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