C\J 
 
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IMITATIONS AND TRANSLATIONS, 
 
 TOGETHER WITH 
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 T. Davison, Whitefriara, 
 London. 
 
IMITATIONS AND TRANSLATIONS 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN CLASSICS, 
 
 TOGETHER WITH 
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS 
 
 NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED. 
 
 COLLLECTED BY 
 
 J. C. HOBHOUSE, B. A. t* axmt 
 
 OF 
 TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 Nos hsec novimus esse nihil.' 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 './1 309. 
 

 
PREFACE. 
 
 IT should seem that the world at present suffers from a 
 glut of books; but notwithstanding every person ap- 
 pears impressed with this notion, I know scarcely any 
 one amongst my acquaintance who has not occasionally 
 felt a desire, and that a very strong one, to venture at 
 publication. It is not, however, very difficult to ac- 
 count for the prevalence of this propensity, for the 
 multitude of writings on every subject, which cha- 
 racterises the times, and which might be supposed 
 to deter an author from increasing a number already 
 too large, is doubtless one of the causes which operate 
 to make so many candidates for literary reputation ; for 
 each man considers, that if he fail in his pursuit, he will 
 have many partners in his disgrace ; and if he attain his 
 object, he must become the more conspicuous by his 
 
VI 
 
 triumph over a multitude of unsuccessful rirals. It 
 must, however, be acknowledged, that if writers are un- 
 reasonably numerous, they are all sufficiently ready to 
 confess their incapacity ; for it is curious to observe 
 the various excuses, deprecations, and confessions 
 contained in modern prefaces. And here I do not 
 allude only to the works of the present day; for if we 
 may believe the professions of the wits who distin- 
 guished the English Augustan age at the beginning of 
 the last century, we must consider even these, for the 
 most part, equally aware of the blame which they might 
 incur by commencing authors, equally willing to 
 plead for their presumption, and to offer some cause 
 and reason for appearing before the public at such 
 a time and under such circumstances. 
 
 One " can no longer withstand the repeated solicita- 
 tions of his friends." Another " has incautiously suffered 
 too many copies of his compositions to get about, and 
 must therefore print in his own vindication to prevent 
 a surreptitious and incorrect edition." A third " has 
 written most of his pieces when very young ; and 
 being unwilling to deceive the public into a false 
 opinion of his early prowess by the corrections 
 of his mature judgment, has e'en sent them into the 
 
Vll 
 
 world just as they were originally produced, and 
 therefore trusts he shall meet with every indulgence." 
 We find many " who have given much time and 
 consideration to the subject before them, but who 
 are as likely as any in the world to be mistaken; 
 yet hope that what was performed with care will 
 not be criticised in haste." This gentleman has 
 been maliciously reported to be the author of some 
 scurrilous lampoons and indecent poems; and there- 
 fore to shew how incapable he is of such an im- 
 propriety, and how little his mind has ever taken 
 such a turn, boldly gives to the world FIVE SATIRES 
 and A TALE FROM BoccACE. We generally see that 
 Poems " were written for the amusement of a leisure 
 hour, and are therefore unfit subjects for ill-natured 
 censure." Political and religious works are mostly un- 
 dertaken " for the benefit of society and the bettering 
 of mankind ; the good intention of the author, there- 
 fore, should atone for his faults." Novels and works 
 of humour are, usually, " written under every dis- 
 advantage of poverty, disease, and domestic cala- 
 mity." These, and a variety of similar apologies, are 
 to be met with in the prefatory addresses of most 
 modern writers. And if an author were now to set 
 
vi it 
 
 out with assuring his readers, like Thucydides, that he 
 intended his work to be a treasure for all future ages, 
 he would be scouted as a vain and insolent fellow, and 
 one totally unworthy the favour of the public. 
 
 A despair of hitting upon any novelty in this 
 branch of writing had, at one time, made me resolve 
 upon omitting the usual preface altogether; but as the 
 property of this volume is not entirely my own, I did 
 not think myself justified in trying any literary ex- 
 periment in the present instance ; and this consider- 
 ation has induced me to conform to a custom so 
 generally adopted, and to usher the following poems 
 into the world with some few prefixed remarks. That 
 v -^these verses were all composed at that age when most 
 persons think it as necessary to fall in love with the 
 Muses to show their wit, as they do to commence their 
 suitorship to the earthly fair ones to prove their man- 
 hood, will be discovered at a slight inspection. I am, 
 however, not willing that they should stand absolved on 
 this ground, being aware, that although youth may very 
 well be considered as a fair plea for the writing, it can 
 by no means be brought forward to excuse the pub- 
 \lishing of bad poetry. To defend this publication, 
 I will only confess, that I humbly apprehend the sin of 
 
appearing in print to be a trespass much more venial 
 than the world in general are willing to allow. It 
 is certainly the intention of every writer, however 
 he may please himself, to please his readers ; an 
 . object surely very warrantable, and which he has a 
 right to pursue by any means that are not disgraceful 
 or wicked. If he fail of his end, it is entirely at his 
 own peril ; or at farthest the disappointment of his 
 bookseller; the general class of readers can suffer little 
 or nothing by his want of success ; and, to say the truth, 
 are but very seldom cheated into any considerable loss 
 of time or money by the continued encouragement of 
 a dull book. We hear much of writers obtruding 
 themselves upon the public ; and a critic has a kind of 
 poetical licence to make use of this phrase, when he 
 mentions any silly fellow who has been incautious 
 enough to put his crudities into print; but every one 
 must confess, that he was never forced to buy either 
 prose or verse in his life; and that he ought not to 
 consider the authors of those works which he may have 
 been tempted to procure from motives of charity, 
 whim, and curiosity, as accountable for the bad bar- 
 gains made in his literary purchases. 
 
 This defence is applied to dull, not to immoral 
 
authors, who have, without doubt, no right to hazard 
 the dissemination of profaneness, obscenity, or ma- 
 licious falsehood. Such writers, as they apply them- 
 selves to the strongest and most prevalent passions of 
 mankind, have but too good a chance of doing at least 
 a temporary mischief to society ; and as I am aware 
 of the disgrace justly attached to such a conduct, I 
 should, indeed, be ashamed if there were any thing 
 in these verses that could scandalize virtue, or do vio- 
 lence to the feelings of innocence and youth. 
 
 If the delicacy of any sentimental critic should 
 be offended with an occasional use of some plain 
 words in part of the poems, I must hint to him that 
 this freedom, or what he might call a coarseness of 
 phrase, not only cannot have a pernicious effect 
 upon any mind, but is, as it appears, perfectly neces- 
 sary in some kinds of poetry, and as such has been oc- 
 casionally so much introduced by the best writers in 
 all languages, as to render any defence of its propriety 
 altogether superfluous in this place. 1 will just, how- 
 ever, venture to assert, that no man or woman was 
 ever made worse by reading the " Dressing Room" 
 of Dr. Swift, which is full of terms, certainly not in- 
 troduced into polite conversation ; but I would not say 
 
XI 
 
 as much of that poem of Mr. Prior's, called <e Cupid 
 Hunting," where the indelicate meaning is artfully set 
 off, and which does not contain one ill-sounding word. 
 I would not by this alarm the reader into a fear of 
 meeting with any gross or disgusting images, but 
 merely take an opportunity of praying him not to be 
 squeamishly angry at a few broad and open terms 
 which will occur in the course of his perusal of this 
 volume, and which may appear not altogether to suit 
 the refined taste of modern readers of poetry. But as 
 I have no intention of making this preface a vehicle for 
 my own critical opinions, I will content myself with 
 advertising the reader, that the poems signed L. B. 
 are by Lord Byron ; that the collector of this mis- 
 cellany is answerable for such as are dated from Tri- 
 nity College, Cambridge; and that the authors of the 
 remainder of the collection have affixed distinct sig- 
 natures to their respective contributions. 
 
 Trin.Coll.Camb. 180g. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Imitation of Sat. XI. of Juvenal 1 
 
 Imitation of Sat. III. Book I. of Horace . .41 
 
 Imitation of Epistle XIX. Book I. of Horace ... 67 
 Translations from Voltaire, 
 
 To a royal Beauty 80 
 
 The Character of Love 81 
 
 Impromptu to a Lady 82 
 
 Translation of the second Elegy of Tibullus . . . 83 
 
 School Exercise on Love, with a Translation of the same 88, 89 
 From the first Elegy of Ovid ....... 92 
 
 The Manciple's Tale, from Chaucer 94 
 
 The Miracle, a Tale, from Boccace Ill 
 
 To a Lady splendidly dressed 129 
 
 The loving Lady's Complaint 130 
 
 Epistle to a young Nobleman in love . . . .136 
 
 On being presented with the Needle-work of two Ladies . 142 
 Beauty and Wine, a Song . . . . . . " 145 
 
211V CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lament for Robert Burns 147 
 
 On the Death of a young Lady - 15Q 
 
 Verses sent with a Copy of Lord Strangford's Camoens . 104 
 
 Imitation of Ode VI. Book II. of Horace . 168 
 
 Z^cXtvj $t\w juayjyai ........ 170 
 
 Song 172 
 
 Another . 173 
 
 The Confession 175 
 
 The Rival 1?6 
 
 Woman 178 
 
 To-day is our's, to-morrow is the gods' ! . . .180 
 
 The Ungrateful 182 
 
 To a youthful Friend 185 
 
 Inscription on the Tomb of a favourite Dog . . . 1 90 
 
 To **** 192 
 
 The Farewell, to a Lady 105 
 
 Love Song 197 
 
 Stanzas to the same 200 
 
 To the same 202 
 
 Song 204 
 
 Hymn to Venus, from Metastasio 207 
 
 Sonnet, from the same 2 Id 
 
 The Farewell, a Canzonet, from the same . . . .211 
 Address to an infant Child, from the Italian . , ,215 
 
 The broken Bowl, from Gesner 217 
 
 The Morning Song, from the same 223 
 
 To Love, the Complaint, from the same .... 22> r 
 
CONTENTS. XV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Sonnet, from Francesco Redi . . 2 ... 226 
 
 Stanzas to **** on leaving England 227 
 
 Translation of Ode XIII. Book III. of Horace . . 231 
 
 FromBoileau . . ... 233 
 
 Dum serta, unguenta, puellas 
 
 Poscimus, obrepit non intellecta Senectus .... 234 
 
 Lines written under the Picture of Lady **** . . . 236 
 
 Vita brevis, Ars longa - ibid 
 
 Horace to Neaera . 237 
 
 Translation from Cowley 239 
 
 Ode for the Birth-day, 180Q, from Ode XXVIII. Book III. 
 
 of Horace 240 
 
 Lines on the late C. J. Fox 242 
 
 Additional Lines at the End of Howe's Lucan . . . 243 
 
 Female Levity 244 
 
 Simile from Plautus ibid 
 
 Inscription for the Bust of Voltaire 246 
 
 On Lady**** $47 
 
 Love despised ......... 248 
 
 To Calvus on the Death of his Wife, from Catullus . . 249 
 
 Sonnet, from Metastasio ....,. 250 
 
 Disappointment 251 
 
 To the Memory of a British Officer, lost in the Athenienne 252 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 3. line 6. for ardens read ardent, and/, festur r. 
 1.9. /. Who ere r. Whoe'er. 
 
 fertur. 
 
 p. 4. 1. 9. After difficile, insert est. 
 
 p. 6. 1.6. /. Libia r. Libya. 
 
 p. 8. 1. 6. After vehemens, insert an. 
 
 p. 14. 1. 12. /. modere r. mordere. 
 
 p. 15. 1. 14. /. a humbler r. an humbler . 
 
 p. 17. 1.3. f. salad r. sallad. 
 
 p. 18. 1. 8. /. Castronum r. Castrorum. 
 
 p. 20. 1. 9. /. reperta r. reperta. 
 
 p. 21. 1. last but one. /. launce r. lance. 
 
 p. 22. 1. 2. /. hastea r. hasta. 
 
 p. 28. after I. 3. insert C*ditur, et totasonat ulmea coena Suburra. 
 
 1. 6./. exiquae r. exiguae. 1. 7. /. calicos r. calices. 1. 10. /. Latin r. Latin*. 
 p. 30. 1. 5. After diffasa, insert in. 
 p. 34. 1. 2. /. lure r. luce. 
 p. 38. 1. 2. /. Tarn r. Jam. 
 p. 39. 1. 5. /. of day r. to-day. 
 
 p. 40. 1. 1. f. ritium r. vitium. 1. 2. /. animi r. animum. 1. last. /. fervet r. ferret. 
 p. 42. 1. last but one. f. et r. haud. 
 p. 44. 1. 4. /. male r. mala. 1. 7. /. it r. et. 
 p. 46. 1. 5. After ipsa, insert haec. 1. 10. /. vituim r. vitium. 1. last, talis and pravis 
 
 to change places. 
 
 p. 48. 1. 1. /. Parcuis r. Parcids. 1. 2./. paulum r. paulo. 
 p. 49. 1. last but three, f. ere r. e'er. 
 p. 52. 1. 2. After lege, insert in. 
 
 p. 54. 1. last but two. /. mensi r. mensave. 1. last. /. cateni r. catini. 
 p. 56. 1. last. /. Nomina que ivenere r. Nominaque invenere. 
 p. 62. 1. 5. /. Alsenus r. Alfenus. 1. 7. After sapiens, insert operis. 1. last. /. Lasciri 
 
 r. Lascivi. 
 p. 64. 1. 3. /. lungum r. longum. 1. 5. /. sectabitor r. sectabitur. 1. last but one. 
 
 /. niom r. vicem. 
 
 p. 71. 1.1. /. poet Moore r. poet Moore, 
 p. 79. note. /. playrights r. playwrights. 
 p. 91. 1.8. /. falters r. faulters. 
 p. 115. 1. last but two. /. nomme r. nom. 
 p. 128. 1. 13. /. rogue r. rogue ! 
 p. 153. /. Burns' r. Burns's. 
 p. 154- 1. last. /. Thames' r. Thames's. 
 p. 156. note, and p. 157. 11. 7 and 8. /. Burns' r. Burns's. 
 p. 166. 1. 2. /. Camoen's r. Camoens*. 
 p. 170. dele A RONDEAU. 
 
 There are other mistakes and omissions, as to stops and accents, too many to set down, 
 for which it is necessary, once for all, to crave the indulgence of the courteous reader ; who, 
 if he be conversant with the language, scarcely need be -warned to put less faith in the 
 latin excerpts, as here given, than in hit own taste, memory, sagacity, or copy of the 
 author imitated, 
 
AN 
 
 IMITATION 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ELEVENTH SATIRE OF JUVENAL. 
 
 As the following Poem was written in the year 1806, it must have, 
 besides its own peculiar faults, the disadvantages attached to 
 all temporary and local satires j and several of the characters 
 therein alluded to, must, ere this, have sunk into their merited 
 oblivion. The author, however, of this imitation trusts that, 
 although some of the persons themselves are past away, yet as 
 the vices which they supported are still prominent, so this at- 
 tempt at exposing " costly gluttony," one of the most distin- 
 guished extravagances of the age, may not be altogether without 
 its use. The candid critics of our times have attached no small 
 degree of reprobation to what they call trampling upon the 
 ashes of the dead; but the imitator of this satire freely con- 
 fesses, that if he had a notice of any defunct or forgotten rogue 
 or fool, he would with as little hesitation hitch him into a 
 couplet, as he would attempt to shew his love of wisdom and 
 virtue by praising the good and wise of past ages. A great 
 painter (see Sir J. Reynolds' notes to Fresnoy's Art of Painting) 
 has recommended the study of faulty pictures to those who 
 would wish to excel in that art, wisely conceiving it no small 
 advancement towards the acquisition of a good taste, to obtain 
 a quick discernment of and proper aversion for the real de- 
 fects of imperfect artists. In like manner it must appear 
 equally useful to those who would learn to lire well, to place 
 before themselves, not only some elegant model worthy of their 
 imitation, but some hideous original from which they must 
 jesolve to depart. 
 
 B 
 
JUVENALIS SATIRA XL 
 
 AD PERSICUM. 
 
 1 ATTICUS eximie si coenat, lautus habetur: 
 
 2 Si Rutilus, demens: quid enim majore cachinno 
 Excipitur vulgi, quam pauper Apicius? 3 Omnis 
 Convictus, thermae, stationes, omne theatrum 
 
 De Rutilo. Nam dum valida, ac juvenilia membra 
 SufEciunt galeae, dumque ardens sanguine festur 
 Non cogente quidem, sed nee prohibente Tribuno 
 Scripturus leges, et regia verba lanistae. 
 
TU 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 LORD 
 
 1 WHEN you, my lord! the splendid feast prepare 
 For all the nobles of St. James's air, 
 
 Who but admires the liberal, just expense, 
 By wealth supported, and allow' d by sense ? 
 
 2 When purse-proud Powell, in a generous vein, 
 Will treat the bloods and drabs of Drury Lane ; 
 The hungry guests themselves the fool deride, 
 And eat his padding, and despise his pride. 
 
 3 Who ere frequents, or Opera, Park, or Play, 
 Must hear how Mara drinks her crowns away. 
 Proceed, fair syren! you may sip as long 
 
 As crowds admire, and courts endure your song: 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 4 Multos porro vides, quos saepe elusus ad ipsum 
 Creditor intro'itum solet expectare macelli, 
 
 Et quibus in solo vivendi causa palato est. 
 Egregius coenat meliusque miserrimus horum, 
 
 5 Et cito casurus jam perlucente ruina. 
 Interea gustus elementa per omnia quserunt, 
 Nunquam animo pretiis obstantibus: interius si 
 Attendas, magis ilia juvant quae pluris emuntur. 
 
 6 Ergo baud difficile perituram arcessere summam 
 Lancibus oppositis, vel matris imagine fracta, 
 
 Et quadringentis nummis condire gulosum 
 
5 
 
 Proceed and riot, you may sing and swill 
 If Bath and Wells admit and listen still*. 
 
 4 Watch' d at each corner, by the race unpaid 
 Of every artizan, of every trade, 
 
 Dennis still thinks the world's sole good a treat, 
 Nor eats to live, but lives alone to eatf; 
 Without a meal his creditors may pine, 
 He still must nobly drink and nobly dine: 
 
 5 And as the meteor glares more broad and bright, 
 Just as it bursts and melts away in night. 
 
 Thus, in the jaws of famine and a jail, 
 Hesse sends him still her hog, and France her quail ; 
 Still must he seek what swells his debts the most, 
 Despise the value and esteem the cost. 
 
 6 The Jews are soon his friends, and soon they fly ; 
 But Christie's arts one dinner more supply: 
 Coins, plate, and pictures, some tit-bit procure, 
 And e'en his grandsire goes to buy liqueur. 
 
 * " Bath and Wells." Two cities in the west of England j also 
 the title of one bishop. 
 
 t tf Nor eats to live, but lives alone to eat." A sentence from 
 L'Avare of Moliere. 
 
6 
 
 Fictile : 7 Sic veniunt ad miscellanea ludi 
 8 Refert ergo quis hsec eadem paret : in Rutilo nam 
 Luxuria est, in Ventidio laudabile nomen 
 Sumit, et a censu famam trahit. 9 Ilium ego jure 
 Despiciam, qui scit quanto sublimior Atlas 
 Omnibus in Libia sit montibus, hie tamen idem 
 Ignoret quantum ferrata distet ab area 
 Sacculus. I0 E ccelo descendit yvu&; <rau7ov 
 Figendum et memori tractandum pectore, sive 
 
7 
 
 7 What then must he, if scap'd the Bench and Fleet, 
 Who cannot treat himself, whom none will treat ? 
 Ah! whither then from fate and famine fly, 
 Denied his borough and his Bellamy*? 
 
 By what new art his hunger then assuage? 
 Or beg or follow Caulfield to the stage. 
 
 8 Expense in some is just, in some a shame. 
 In Hope we praise it, but in Bur hs blame. 
 
 9 And you, dear Byron ! if with all your taste, 
 And many hours of school, not idly past ; 
 
 If you, who dare to taste the sacred springs, 
 
 And boast some knowledge both of men and things ; 
 
 If you, who give to every dunce his due, 
 
 And measure merit with a line so true ; 
 
 If you will live the bubble of the town, 
 
 How must I smile ! ah ! how I ought to frown ! 
 
 10 Or great or mean the purpose of thy life, 
 To rule a senate, or to rule a wife ; 
 
 * Surely, if I pity any man in England, it is Mr. Bellamy, 
 who is obliged to furnish steaks and claret to a congregation of 
 customers, none of whom need, half of whom cannot, pay him for 
 his timely cheer. V. 
 
8 
 
 Conjugium quaeras, vel sacri in parte Senatus 
 Esse veils. " Nee enim loricam poscit Achillis 
 Thersites, in qua se traducebat Ulysses 
 Ancipitem. " Seu tu magno discrimine causam 
 Protegere affectas, te consule, die tibi quis sis : 
 Orator vehemens, Curtius, an Matho. I3 Buccae 
 Noscenda est mensura tuse ; spectandaque rebus 
 In summis, minimisque ; etiam cum piscis emetm 
 
9 
 
 To rise a lord of peers, or lord of pelf ; 
 
 O mortal, hear this counsel " know thyself!" 
 
 This came from heaven ; to this mankind must owe 
 
 More than to all thy maxims, Rochfoucault! 
 
 11 These words are weighty, these a dunce will hear, 
 
 Jones plays the fool in his peculiar sphere * ; 
 
 Nor grasps with eager hand the mace and seals, 
 
 A load that Scot resigns, and Erskine feels. 
 
 " And you, my Lord! to this advice attend, 
 
 This from a firm, but no obtrusive friend ; 
 
 Lest young ambition, eager of a name, 
 
 Should blast your talents with an early fame. 
 
 \h ! leave to longer toil and time the work, 
 
 And gradual rise, a Lansdowne or a Burke. 
 
 13 Your aim once fix'd, regard the means at first, 
 
 Nor swell at all, if when you swell you burst. 
 
 Another maxim, and that well may teach 
 
 Each striving mortal, for it suits with each; 
 
 * " Jones plays the fool in his peculiar sphere." i. e. The H se 
 of Com ns, a sphere which seems to have been chosen by many 
 for the same purpose. V. 
 
10 
 
 14 Nee mullum capias, cum sit tibi gobio tantum 
 In loculis : IS quis enim te, deficiente Crumena, 
 Et crescente gula, manet exitus? I6 aere paterno, 
 Ac rebus mersis in ventrem, foeuoris, atque 
 Argenti gravis, & pecorum, agrorumque capacem ? 
 Talibus a dominis post cuncta novissimus exit 
 Annulus, et digito mendicat Pollio nudo. 
 
 17 Non prematuri cineres, nee funus acerbum 
 Luxuriae, sed morte magis metuenda senectus. 
 
 18 Hi plerumque gradus; conducta pecunia Romse, 
 
11 
 
 14 Which H should learn, nor dare again afford 
 With poet's purse the palate of a lord : 
 
 15 A wretched plight is his, whate'er he thinks, 
 Whose maw still widens as his pocket shrinks : 
 
 16 Lost in the gulf of one unfathom'd throat, 
 His houses, lands, and money to a groat: 
 See for a dinner Pollio suppliant stand, 
 
 A noble beggar, but without his wand*. 
 " 17 In prime of manhood may I nobly die, 
 " O'erpower'd by surfeits of my fav'rite pye ; 
 " Nor live and linger in old age, and curse 
 " A tasteless palate or an empty purse." 
 This on a full club night is Curties prayer, 
 Whilst waiters wonder, and the chaplains stare. 
 18 If you who saw the course which B y ran, 
 Would see what other rogues and spendthrifts can, 
 Attend. When empty stewards aid refuse, 
 They run to Britton, or some brother Jews ; 
 
 * " Wand." Not a harlequin's, but a chamberlain's, or any 
 other wand of office. 
 

 12 
 
 Et coram dominis consumitur. I9 Inde ubi paulum 
 Nescio quid superest, et pallet fcenoris auctor, 
 Qui vertere solum, Baias, et ad Ostia currant. 
 Cedere namque foro jam non tibi deterius, quam 
 Esquilias a fervent! migrare Suburra. 
 
 10 Ille dolor solus patriam fugientibus, ilia 
 Moestitia est, caruisse anno Circensibus uno. 
 
 11 Sanguinis in facie non haeret gutta ; morantur 
 Pauci ridiculum, fugientem ex urbe pudorem. 
 
13 
 
 Then live and eat, till all the thousands lent 
 On handsome premiums of twice ten per cent; 
 In Chalier's wines, or Jaquier's soups decay, 
 Or else in * Simkin's sauces melt away. 
 19 At last, when frighten'd synagogues suspect, 
 And friends in city and at court reject, 
 These bankrupts bold (an honest name) repair 
 On Brighton Steyne to taste the country air. 
 There still too nice to live on boil'd and roast, 
 They crack live crabs and crayfish on the coast. 
 19 Depress' d and vex'd 'tis true : oblig'd to stay 
 One spring from town, from Opera, Park, and Play: 
 al Nor need they blush; for shame from Britain flies 
 To seek the mansion of her native skies : 
 And Paull alone withstands corruption's flood, 
 Content to be ridiculous and good f. 
 
 * " Simkin;" late proprietor of the Crown and Anchor 
 Tavern. 
 
 f " Content to be ridiculous and good." This in Mr. Paull 
 was a virtue so much the more disinterested, as every one must 
 have seen the effect of his attempts ; though the generous few 
 alone might have been able to discern his noble aim. V. 
 
14 
 
 ** Experiere hodie numquid pulcherrima dictu, 
 Persice, non praestem vita, nee moribus et re ; 
 Sed laudem siliquas occultus ganeo, pultes 
 Coram aliis dictem puero, sed in aure placentas. 
 
 23 Nam, cum sis conviva mihi promisstis, habebis 
 
 Evandrum, venies Tirynthius, aut minor illo 
 Hospes, et ipse tamen contingens sanguine coelum ; 
 
 Alter aquis, alter flammis ad sidera missus. 
 
 24 Fercula nunc audi nullis ornata macellis. 
 De Tiburtino veniet pinguissimus agro 
 Hoedulus, et toto grege mollior, inscius herbse, 
 Necdum ausus virgas humilis mode re salicti, 
 Qui plus lactis habet quam sanguinis ; et montani 
 Asparagi, posito quos legit villica fuso. 
 
 25 Grandia praeterea, tortoque calentia fceno 
 Ova adsunt ipsis cum matribus, et servatse 
 
15 
 
 zz To-day, my Lord ! your wond'ring eyes shall see 
 
 How well my precepts and my life agree; 
 
 Not like the priest who calls the glutton sinner, 
 
 Then swills and surfeits at his vestry dinner. 
 
 a3 To-day, since friendship calls to steal an hour 
 
 From all the noisy pomp of place and power ; 
 
 As St. John once or greater Oxford sought 
 
 The bowers of Twickenham and the pensive grot; 
 
 Escap'd from courts to taste the friendly bowl, 
 
 " The feast of reason and the flow of soul ;" . 
 
 Do you, whatever your short retreat reprove, 
 
 A nation's anxious care or monarch's love, 
 
 Retire to ****** well assur'd to meet 
 
 As warm a welcome, tho' a humbler treat. 
 
 34 But first, before you come my feast to share, 
 
 Pray see, without a smile, my bill of fare. 
 
 Here tender veal on early pastures fed, 
 
 Or lamb within my only cottage bred ; 
 
 as Here eggs, but not from Ireland *, fresh and warm, 
 
 And bacon, both the riches of a farm ; 
 
 * " But not from Ireland." Whence most of the eggs con- 
 sumed in London are brought. 
 
16 
 
 Parte anni, quales fuerant in vitibus uvae : 
 Signinum Syriumque pyrum : de corbibus iisdem 
 
 ^Emula Picenis, et odoris mala recentis, 
 / 
 Nee metuenda tibi, siccatum frigore postquam 
 
 Autumnum, et crudi posuere pericula succi. 
 26 Hsec olim nostri jam luxuriosa senatus 
 Coena fuit. Curius parvo quae legerat horto 
 
17 
 
 At top a flounder, or at best a jowl ; 
 
 My second course a rabbit or a fowl. 
 
 The cloth remov'd, the cheese and salad gone, 
 
 A small desert, and all unbought, comes on: 
 
 Such fruit as Vaga's blooming orchards bear, 
 
 The fragrant apple, and the mellow pear ; 
 
 And nuts that well become a winter feast, 
 
 And last year's grapes, preserv'd to treat a guest. 
 
 26 Such fare as this, believe me, once could raise 
 
 An appetite in England's better days. 
 
 Thus Temple * hVd, his splendid labours o'er, 
 
 And found that ease he long had lov'd before 
 
 In Moore Park bowers, the bowers himself had plann'd, 
 
 Not trimm'd and twisted by a Repton's hand. 
 
 * Sir William Temple, the celebrated ambassador from the 
 English court in the days of Charles II. to the Hague a wise 
 statesman, an uncorrupted patriot, and a learned man. He pre- 
 served his integrity intire in times of the most extreme corruption ; 
 and had the happiness of serving the last two monarchs of the 
 Stuart race with fidelity, at the same time that he was the 
 friend of William the Third. As an author he has the merit of 
 being one of the first of English prose writers, who improved the 
 stile of composition, and introduced an ease and purity of language 
 before almost unknown. 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 Ipse focis brevibus ponebat oluscula, quse nunc 
 Squallidus in magna fastidit compede fossor, 
 
 27 Sicci terga suis, rara pendentia crate, 
 Moris erat festis quondam servare diebus, 
 Et natalitium cognatis ponere lardum, 
 Accedente nova, si quam dabat hostia, carne. 
 Cognatorum aliquis titulo ter Consulis, atque 
 Castronum imperiis, et Dictatoris honore 
 Functus, ad has epulas solito maturius ibat, 
 Erectum domito referens a monte ligonem. 
 
 28 Cum tremerent autem Fabios, durumque Catonem. 
 Et Scaur os, et Fabricios, postremo severos 
 Censoris mores etiam collega timeret. 
 
19 
 
 His pastures wealth, his gardens cultur'd pride, 
 
 Each moderate want, each wholesome meal supplied; 
 
 A meal, O Birch! the cits would now despise, 
 
 Who only scent from far thy sav'ry pies. 
 
 27 On festive days, just thrice a year perchance, 
 
 A well-fed buck might furnish out a haunch: 
 
 A simple pomp, and surely far the best, 
 
 That pleas' d a king, for William Avas his guest. 
 
 William, the prop of Europe's falling state, 
 
 And England's king, when England yet was great ; 
 
 Tir'd of his subjects, one true friend to findj 
 
 The monarch left his fops and lords behind. 
 
 a * In good queen Bess' and Harry's earlier time, 
 
 Prudence was just and luxury a crime ; 
 
 Then want of temperance was want of sense, 
 
 And floors of straw too cleanly gave offence *. 
 
 * " And floors of straw too cleanly gave offence." Tt was one 
 article in the charges against Wolsey, that he changed the straw of 
 his apartments too frequently. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 29 Nemo inter curas, et seria duxit habendum, 
 Qualis in Oceanas fluctu testudo nataret, 
 Clarum Trojugenis facturum ac nobile fulcrum 
 3 Sed nudo latere, et parvis frons aerea lectis 
 Vile coronati caput ostendebat aselli, 
 Ad quod lascivi ludebant ruris alumni. 
 Tales ergo cibi, qualis domus, atque supellex ; 
 Tune rudis, et Graias mirari nescius artes; 
 31 Urbibus eversis, praedarum in parte repertfi, 
 Magnorum artificum frangebat pocula miles, 
 Ut phaleris gauderet equus, celataque cassis 
 Romuleae simulacra ferae mansuescere jussae 
 
21 
 
 * 9 A king no lover of a foreign dish * 
 Would hardly fit a fleet in search of fish ; 
 Nor knew the value of the western sphere, 
 Which since has sent such weight of turtles here, 
 Dragg'd from the bosom of the Atlantic main, 
 To glad the peer and glut the alderman. 
 
 30 Hardy and strong (such men our age requires) 
 And half uncover'd, like his painted sires: 
 
 His native cottage rear'd each British son, 
 
 Not yet the sickly tenant of a town. 
 
 His dwelling simple, and his fare the same, 
 
 Supplied a mighty soul ; a mighty frame, 
 
 Ere Paris, p x, and cookery and taste 
 
 Had brought our bodies and our wits to waste. 
 
 31 Was he a soldier ? to reward his toil, 
 His aim was glory, not ignoble spoil : 
 
 The shield emboss'd, perhaps, or silver' d launce, 
 The pride before, the future dread of France, 
 
 * " A king, &c." Henry VII. who refused Columbus's offers 
 when he proposed to him to equip a fleet of discovery. 
 
Imperil fato, et geminos sub rupe Quirinos, 
 Ac nudam effigiem clypeo fulgentis et hastea, 
 Pendentisque Dei perituro ostenderet hosti. 
 Argenti quod erat, solis fulgebat in armis. 
 Ponebant igitur Tusco farrata catino 
 Omriia tune ; quibus invideas, si lividulus sis. 
 31 Templorum quoque majestas prsesentior, et vox 
 Nocte fere media mediamque audita per urbem, 
 Littore ab Oceani Gallis venientibus, et Diis 
 Officium Vatis peragentibus, his monuit nos. 
 33 Hanc rebus Latiis curam praestare solebat 
 
23 
 
 Except the laurels of a well-fought day, 
 
 Was all the generous victor bore away ; 
 
 Or else a golden gorge or plumy crest, 
 
 And all his treasure glitter' d on his breast. 
 
 Without a softer bed or dish the more, 
 
 Content with this, the soldier still was poor : 
 
 A state how blest, and better far for health 
 
 Than Clive's large honours, or than Benfield's wealth, 
 
 32 Their island then was Heaven's peculiar care, 
 By day, by night, the God was present there. 
 And when the hostile fleets of haughty Spain* 
 Hung o'er the shores and coverM all the main, 
 The god of battles crush' d their monarch's pride, 
 And rang'd his waves and storms on Britain's side. 
 
 33 And yet religion was not then an art 
 Where priests and pageants bear the only part. 
 
 * " And when the hostile fleets of haughty Spain," &c. The 
 " Armada" which was much scattered by a tempest both before 
 and after their engagement with the English. V. 
 
24 
 Fictilis, et nullo violatus Jupiter auro. 
 
 34 Ilia domi natas, nostraque ex arbore mensas 
 Tempora viderunt ; hos lignum stabat in usus, 
 Annosam si forte nucem dejecerat Eurus. 
 
 35 At mine divitibus coenandi nulla voluptas, 
 Nil Rhombus, nil dama sapit ; putere videntur 
 Unguenta, atque rosae, latos nisi sustinet orbes 
 Grande ebur, et magno sublimis pardus hiatu, 
 
25 
 
 Not yet, St. Paul's ! thy costly fabric shone *, 
 But God's own temple was the heart alone. 
 
 34 Their household goods as simple as their food, 
 PJates, dishes, spoons, and bowls were all of wood: 
 If then the gay luxurious lords forsook 
 
 Their wonted willow f for too precious oak, 
 
 
 The graver sort cry'd shame on such a boast, 
 
 And thought all ancient British vigour lost. 
 
 35 Our wealthy peers must even eat in state, 
 And scorn the dainty if without the plate. 
 Behold their feast ! no dinner but a show, 
 Where glass and wax-lights glitter in a row ; 
 High in the midst on golden columns rear'd, 
 Where late a plain substantial dish appeared, 
 
 * t( Not yet, St. Paul's," &c. Before the time of the present 
 magnificent structure, there was a St. Paul's, but nothing equal in 
 point of size or beauty to our present metropolitan church. V. 
 
 f* " Willow," &c. " When our houses were builded of 
 " willow, then had we oaken men ; but now that our houses are 
 " come to be made of oak, our men are not only become willow, 
 " but a great many altogether of straw, which is a sore alteration." 
 Holingshed, Description of Britain, chap. xvi. 
 
 If Holingshed complained of these men of willow, what must 
 we in our times say ? V. 
 
26 
 
 Dentibus ex illis, quos mittit porta Syenes, 
 Et Mauri celeres, et Mauro obscurior Indus, 
 Et quos deposuit Nabathaeo bellua saltu, 
 Jam nimios, capitique graves: Hinc surgit orexis 
 Hinc stomacho bills. 36 Nam pes argenteus illis, 
 Annulus in digito quod ferreus. Ergo superb um 
 Convivam caveo, qui me sibi comparat, et res 
 Despicit exiguas, ade6 nulla unica nobis 
 Est Eboris, nee tessellae, nee calculus ex hac 
 Materia: quin ipsa manubria cultellorum 
 Ossea: non tamen his ulla unquam obsonia fiunt 
 Rancidula ; baud ide6 pejor gallina secatur. 
 37 Sed nee structor erit, cui cedere debeat omnis 
 Pergula, discipulus Trypheri doctoris, apud queni 
 
27 
 
 A field of flowers or naked figures rise 
 To please the taste for show, and feed the eyes ; 
 Whilst almost hid within the deep tureene, 
 Some bits from France, or German crout is seen: 
 No wonder, surely, if the dish excite, 
 More than the meat, an eager appetite. 
 36 Our sires prefer r'd a thing beyond belief 
 A dish of pewter for their food was beef. 
 Remember, then, I bid no guest to come 
 That hates less splendour than he finds at home ; 
 Pursy and proud, who cannot help compare 
 His dish of gold with mine of Wedgwood ware. 
 Of plate ten ounces scarce my board adorn, 
 My forks of iron, and their handles horn; 
 And yet my fowls are just as good, I hold, 
 As those with silver truss'd, or serv'd in gold. 
 37 1 want no master of the carving school 
 To slice my radishes and eggs by rule ; 
 
28 
 
 Sumine cum magno lepus, atque aper, et pygargus, 
 Et Scythicae volucres, et Phoenicopterus ingens, 
 Et Goetulus oryx, hebeti lautissima ferro. 
 Nee frustrum capreae subducere, nee latus Afrae 
 Novit avis noster tirunclus, ac rudis omni 
 Tempore, et exiquae frustis imbutus ofellae 
 38 Plebeios calicos, et paucis assibus emptos 
 Porriget incultus puer, atque a frigore tutus ; 
 Non Phryx, aut Lycius, non a mangone petitus 
 Quisquam erit, et magno. Cum posces, posce Latin 
 Idem habitus cunctis, tonsi erectique capilli, 
 Atque hodie tantum propter convivia pexi. 
 Pastoris duri est hie filius, ille bubulci : 
 
29 
 
 By Trusler taught to cut this way or that *, 
 And where to find the lean and where the fat; 
 To choose a pheasant's wing, but pigeon's leg, 
 And how to boil and break a plover's egg ; 
 In turtle's fat to mark at once the best, 
 Or stuff the trail within a woodcock's breast; 
 All these are mysteries to household train, 
 Without the dainties sure the arts are vain. 
 38 A country lad, with clean unpowder'd hair, 
 Will hand your plate and stand behind your chair ; 
 And since the youth is neither Swiss nor French, 
 Won from the service of a peer or wench, 
 And knows no other language but his own, 
 
 In English pray let all your wants be known. 
 
 / 
 Another too, my farmer's youngest boy, 
 
 His mother's darling pride, and father's joy; 
 From whose fond breast nor vice nor folly blot 
 The sweet remembrance of his homely cot ; 
 
 * " By Trusler taught to cut this way or that," &c. The 
 Rev. Dr. Trusler, the Partridge of the age, a man of universal 
 genius and accomplishments : for this testimony of his great abi- 
 lities, consult himself, passim. V. 
 
30 
 
 Suspirat longo non visam tempore matrem, 
 Et casulam, et notos tristis desiderat haedos : 
 
 39 Ingenui vultus puer, ingenuique pudoris, 
 Quales esse decet, quos ardens purpura vestit. 
 Hie tibi vina dabit diffusa montibus illis 
 
 A quibus ipse venit, quorum sub vertice lusit 
 Namque una atque eadem vini patria, atque ministri. 
 
 40 Forsitan expectes, ut Gaditana canoro 
 Incipiat prurire choro, plausuque probari 
 
 41 Non capit has nugas humilis domus: audiat ille 
 Testarum crepitus cum verbis, nudum olido stans 
 Fornice mancipium quibus abstinet. 
 
31 
 
 His happy childhood and his rustic toil, 
 His simple joys, and parents tender smile; 
 Ready, tho' rude, supplies my butler's place 
 
 39 With blushing manners and a modest grace j 
 A grace how great, and more becoming far 
 Than Abercorn's stiff march, or Morton's star: 
 Just skilFd enough to hand with care about 
 My old October, or the foaming stout: 
 
 Or his own orchard's fruit, beneath whose shade 
 In early youth the tender stripling play'd. 
 
 40 Perhaps you think to meet some fiddler here, 
 A modish songstress, or a singing peer, 
 
 Well pleas'd to squall away their shorten'd days, 
 One fed with pudding, and one fed with praise. 
 
 41 Not so; I'm much too proud or much too poor 
 To hire a Billington, or praise a Moore *; 
 
 Let him partake such joys who joins the dance 
 
 At Ca sh' house, with Ca sh nymphs from France : 
 
 Palace impure, where vice and F r reign, 
 
 Whence common girls too modest much, abstain. 
 * Not the poet of that name. 
 
32 
 
 41 Ille fruatur 
 
 Vocibus obscaenis, omnique libidinis arte, 
 Qui Lacedsemonium pytismate lubricat orbem. 
 
 43 Namque ibi fortunae veniam damus. Alea turpis, 
 Turpe et adulterium mediocribus : haec eadem illi 
 Omnia cum faciunt, hilares nitidique vocantur 
 
 44 Nostra dabunt alios hodie convivia ludos. 
 Conditor Iliados cantabitur, atque Maronis 
 Altisoni dubiam facientia carmina palmam. 
 Quid refert tales versus qua voce legantur ? 
 
 45 Sed nunc dilatis averte riegotia curis, 
 
 Et gratam requiem dona tibi, quando licebit 
 
33 
 
 41 Let him such syrens and such songs amuse, 
 And all the wit of Morrice' * filthy Muse ; 
 Whom power or pride, or vice or fashion, draws 
 To buy a mistress as he bought a vase f. 
 
 43 Absurd, indeed, if men of nought but worth 
 Might reach the splendid joys of wealth and birth ; 
 Presume some sins polite with King to share, 
 And rise to all the vice of Blenheim's heir. 
 
 44 Expect no songs with me, but only hope 
 The strains of Dryden, or his pupil Pope : 
 His mighty rival on the lists of fame, 
 Perhaps as great, perhaps a greater name. 
 
 Strains that must please, altho' from Browne they 
 And tho' not set to music, musical. [fall J, 
 
 * I have heard that Capt. Morrice is dead. I am glad of it. I 
 hope that his songs are dead also. 
 
 f This old fellow, wisely placed at the head of the government, 
 has, it is said, changed his chere amie, and Mrs. B .11 no longer 
 wears the family jewels. 
 
 J " Altho' from Browne they fall." J. H. Browne, put for any 
 very drawling orator. 
 
34 
 
 Per totam cessare diem : non fcenoris ulla 
 Mentio, ^ nee prima si lure egressa reverti 
 Nocte solet, tacito bilem tibi contrahat uxor, 
 Humida suspectis referens multitia rugis, 
 Vexatasque comas, et vultum auremque calentem. 
 
 47 Protinus ante meum, quicquid dolet, exue limen. 
 Pone domum, et servos, et quicquid frangitur illis, 
 Aut perit : ingratos ante omnia pone sodales. 
 
 48 Interea Megalesiacae spectacula Mappse 
 Idaeum solemne colunt, sirailisque triumpho 
 Prsedo caballorum praetor sedet: ac mihi pace 
 Immensae nimiaeque licet si dicere plebis, 
 
35 
 
 45 If then, my lord ! my humble fare can please, 
 Oh ! waste with me one hour away at ease; 
 We from the " loop-holes of retreat" will view 
 The world's vain pageants, and deride them too. 
 To-day's your own, so mind before you come 
 To leave the budget with your clerks at home ; 
 
 46 Secure from all the ills of married life, 
 Thieves, cries, caresses, servants, children, wife ! 
 My guest once seated in his elbow chair, 
 
 47 The door is clos'd, and shuts out every care: 
 All, all must wait until our evening ends, 
 Peers, brokers, angry foes, and thankless friends. 
 
 48 This day,. in triumph, London's mighty mayor 
 Rides round his kingdoms and proclaims a fair; 
 His people soon in one unnumber'd throng 
 
 To Drury's splendid fane will sweep along ; 
 Drury, whatever the other house may say, 
 Quite large enough for all that love a play. 
 What thunders there must rend the vaulted spheres 
 From pit and gallery when the boy appears ! 
 
 D2 
 
36 
 
 Totam hodie Romam Circus capit ; et frag or aurem 
 Percutit, eventum viridis quo colligo panni. 
 Quod si deficeret, moestam attonitamque videres 
 Hanc urbem, veluti Cannarum in pulvere victis 
 Consulibus. 49 Spectent juvenes, quos clamor et audax 
 Sponsio, quos cultae decet assedisse puellae. 
 Spectent hoc nuptae, juxta recubarite marito, 
 Quod pudeat narasse aliquem presentibus ipsis. 
 
37 
 
 If cruel cholic, or as cruel cough 
 Should keep for once the youthful Douglas off *, 
 Heavens ! what a sea of tears and world of groans 
 " Would stir to mutiny the very stones!" 
 All would be sad, as when the city gap'd 
 At Wellesley's vict'ry, and the foe escaped. 
 49 But plays, alas ! are now but gaudy games, 
 Trick'd out for city drabs and city dames; 
 And e'en our wits contrive to hit the time 
 When just begins the wond'rous pantomime: 
 When all that suits their noble tastes engage, 
 Whores in the box, Grimaldi on the stage : 
 Devils and ghosts ! a start ! a cry ! a groan ! 
 And then to please the court, a windy clown f. 
 
 * I am to observe, that since the writing of this, something which 
 I hope may be more lasting than either the cough or the cholic, 
 namely, the good sense of the public, has kept master Betty from the 
 London stage. 
 
 f " And then to please the court," &c. A certain pantomime, 
 which always brought crowded houses, and was honoured by his 
 Ma y's and the Prin sses company more than once, introduced this 
 ingenious attempt at practical humour. The active operator was 
 loudly applauded, and the performance of his slight encored. V. 
 
 N.B. " Windy" The clown swallowed gunpowder, and un- 
 derwent all the pangs and consequences of a well dissembled cholic. 
 
38 
 
 * Nostra bibat vernum contracta cuticula Solem 
 Effugiatque togam. Tarn nunC in balnea salva 
 Fronte licet vadas, quamquam solida hora supersit 
 Ad sextam. Facere hoc non possis quinque diebus 
 Continuis; quia sunt talis quoque taedia vitae 
 Magna. Voluptates commendat rarior usus. 
 
39 
 
 50 Stretch'd near my cheerful fire, I hear the clock 
 Just chime the quarters, and expect your knock : 
 Then leave the house to Lawrence, and contrive 
 To take for once an early meal at five ; 
 Nor tremble, lest this taste of ease of day 
 Should steal your soul from public cares away : 
 For all our joys repeated often pall, 
 The joys of ease as soon perhaps as all. 
 Tis after sickness, health looks doubly fair, 
 And pleasure then most pleases, when most rare. 
 
 Triri.Coll. Camb. 1806. 
 
40 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 SAT. III. LIB. I. 
 
 i 
 
 1 OMNIBUS hoc ritium est cantoribus, inter amicos 
 Ut nunquam inducant animi cantare rogati, 
 Injussi nunquam desistant. Sardus habebat 
 Ille Tigellius hoc. Caesar qui cogere posset 
 Si peterct per amicitiam patris atque suam non, 
 Quidquam proficeret. Si collibuisset ab ovo 
 Usque ad mala iteraret : lo Bacche ; modo summit 
 Voce, modo hac, resonat quae chordis quatuor ima, 
 z Nil aequale homini f uit illi : ssepe velut qui 
 Currebat fugiens hostem ; perssepe velut qui 
 Junonis sacra fervet : habebat saepe ducentos, 
 
41 
 
 IMITATED. 
 
 * ASK modish Sirens for a song, 
 
 You must intreat the whole day long; 
 Make no request, and out they come, 
 And squeak and squall you from the room. 
 This fault had Sardus : oft in vain 
 His patron ask'd him for a strain ^ 
 Yet when he pleas'd, he struck a tune, 
 To last from morning unto noon: 
 And from his top to lowest note 
 Tried all the compass of his throat. 
 
 * To say the truth, above the ground 
 So strange a mortal ne'er was found ; 
 Now quick as those whom bailiffs fright, 
 Now slow as coronation knight : 
 
 Now with two lacquies and a chair, 
 And now no barber for his hair. 
 
42 
 
 Saepe decem servos : modo reges atque tetrarchas 
 Omnia magna loquens ; modo : sit mihi mensa tripes et 
 Concha salis puri, et toga qtiae defendere frigus 
 Quamvis crassa queat. 3 Decies centena dedisses 
 Huic parco paucis contento ; quinque diebus 
 Nil erat in loculis. 4 Noctes vigilabat ad ipsum. 
 Mane, diem totum stertebat. Nil fuit unquam 
 Sic impar sibi. 5 Nunc aliquis dicat mihi: Quid tu? 
 Nullane habes vitia? Imo alia, et fortasse minora. 
 6 Moenius absentem Novium cum carperet' Heustu, 
 
43 
 
 Now all for lords and court and show, 
 And now a friend and box at Kew : 
 With food not high, but just enough, 
 And coat in winter warm, tho' rough. 
 
 3 Yet should some friend, or lucky hit, 
 Enrich this man of sense and wit, 
 Not e'en a thousand pounds would pay 
 Our hermit's bills at quarter day. 
 
 4 He like the fools about the town 
 Would turn the world quite upside down: 
 Leaves daylight to the city drone, 
 
 And lives throughout the night alone: 
 Add that his passion, wish, and aim, 
 Were never for one hour the same. 
 
 5 Some friendly list'ner says " And you 
 " Have you no faults ?" Yes, sir, a few; 
 
 I am not to my failings blind, 
 But think them of another kind. 
 
 6 Sir Francis loves a sly attack 
 
 On *****' s faults behind his back. 
 
44 
 
 Quidam ait, ignoras te? an ut ignotum dare nobis 
 Verba putas ? Egomet mi ignosco, Moenius inquit, 
 
 7 Stultus et improbus hie amor est dignusque notari. 
 Cum tua praetereas oculis male lippus inunctis. 
 Cur in amicorum vitiis tarn cernis acutum, 
 
 Quam aut aquila, aut serpens Epidaurius? At tibi contra 
 Evenit, inquirunt vitia ut tua rursus it illi. 
 
 8 Iracundior est paulb ; minus aptus acutis 
 Naribus horum hominum ; rideri possit, eo quod 
 Rusticius tonso toga defluit, et male laxus 
 
 In pede calceus haeret. 9 At est bonus, ut melior vir 
 Non alius quisquam; at tibi amicus; at ingenium ingens 
 Inculto latet hoc sub corpore. I0 Denique te ipsum 
 
45 
 
 Says honest George, conceal you thus 
 
 Your vices from yourself and us ? 
 
 Phooh! pooh! he cries, my faults are known, 
 
 But let me keep them, they're my own. 
 
 7 A passion this, that sure must call 
 
 For laughter and reproach from all ! 
 
 Blind towards himself should B 1 try 
 
 To search his friends with Lynx's eye ? 
 Tis true, his friends as curious learn 
 To sound and sift him in their turn : 
 * Your friend is testy, and provokes 
 The humours of some waggish folks ; 
 And fops may justly laugh for why? 
 His shoes are loose, his coat awry* 
 
 9 Yet Marcus has a generous soul. 
 No man a better on the whole; 
 
 With wit how bright, and heart how warm, 
 Beneath a rude unpolish'd form : 
 Add, that he loves you well beside; 
 
 10 Then shake off all your selfish pride: 
 
46 
 
 Concute, num qua tibi vitiorum inseverit olim 
 Natura, aut etiarn consuetude mala : " Namque 
 Neglectis urenda filix innascitur agris. 
 
 12 Illuc praevertamur, amatorem quod amicae 
 Turpia decipiunt caecum vitia, aut etiam ipsa 
 Delectant ; veluti Balbinum Polypus Hagnae. 
 Vellem in amicitia sic erraremus, et isti 
 Errori nomen virtus posuisset honestum. 
 
 13 At pater ut iiati, sic nos debemus amici, 
 
 Si quod sit vituim, non fastidire. Strabonem 
 Adpellat Paetum pater, et Pullum, male parvus 
 Si cui filius est ; ut abortivus fuit olim 
 Sisyphus; 14 hunc Varum distortis crusibus: ilium 
 Balbutit Scaurum, talis fultum male pravis. 
 
47 
 
 And search if any vice remain 
 That nature mingled with your grain; 
 Or such as evil habit yields: 
 11 Tares flourish in neglected fields. 
 IZ Observe how dull the lover's sight, 
 The fair he thinks all over right; 
 No faults he sees in face or limb, 
 Or if he sees, they're none to him; 
 And wise Sir Job will love till death 
 His amorous Chloe's stinking breath. 
 Thus friends might err without a vice, 
 Nor be too scrupulous and nice. 
 
 13 Let us by love paternal taught, 
 Not force a frown on every fault ; 
 This father has a squinting boy, 
 The lad's arch eyes are all his joy : 
 That gets a dwarf, misshap'd and thick, 
 And doats upon the pretty chick. 
 
 14 For crook-legs there are softer words, 
 And little hump-backs are my lord's. 
 
48 
 
 15 Parcuis hie vivit ; frugi dicatur. Ineptus 
 
 Et jactantior hie paulum est, concinnus amicis 
 
 Postulat ut videatur. At est truculentior, atque 
 
 Plus aequo liber ; simplex fortis que habeatur. 
 
 Caldior est ; acres inter numeretur. 16 Opinor 
 
 Haec res et jungit junctos et servat amicos 
 
 At nos virtutes ipsas invertimus, atque 
 
 Sincerum cupimus vas incrustare. I7 Probus quis 
 
 Nobiscum vivit multum demissus homo ; illi 
 
 Tardo ac cognomen pingui damus. Hie fugit omnes 
 
 Insidias, nullique malo latus obdit opertum 
 
 (Cum genus hoc inter vitae versemur ; ubi acris 
 
 Invidia, atque vigent ubi crimina ;) 
 
49 
 
 15 Does one adopt a niggard plan ? 
 Let him be calPd a prudent man. 
 This boasts and talks, and never ends ; 
 A lively fellow with his friends. 
 Is this morose and over rude ? 
 Esteem him brave and roughly good. 
 Another loves a cunning hit ; 
 Then take him for a man of wit. 
 
 16 This happy knack at wise mistakes, 
 Preserves all friendships as it makes : 
 But we, alas ! with barbarous skill, 
 Pervert the very good to ill ; 
 
 The tainted breath of slander draws 
 A cloud upon the clearest vase. 
 
 17 Lives there a modest man of worth ? 
 What's he ? the dullest wretch on earth ! 
 Should ere your cautious sense refuse 
 T' insure a swindler with his Jews : 
 
 (A measure just, when death or dice 
 May mar the captain in a trice:) 
 
50 
 
 18 Pro bene sano 
 
 Ac non incauto, fictum astutumque vocamus. 
 19 Simplicior quis et est (qualem me saepe libenter 
 Obtulerim libi, Maecenas,) ut forte legentem 
 Aut taciturn adpellat quovis sermone molestus ; 
 Communi sensu plane caret inquimus. 20 Eheu 
 Quam temere in nosmet legem sancimus iniquam : 
 Nam vitiis nemo sine nascitur, optimus ille est 
 Qui minimis urgetur. Amicus dulcis, ut aequum est, 
 Cum mea compensat vitiis bona, pluribus hisce 
 
18 No former kindness then will save, 
 And you're a worldly-minded knave ; 
 He's quite surpris'd his friend to find 
 So like the rest of all mankind. 
 
 19 If e'er a simple youth appear, 
 Tho' with a friend too thick and near; 
 (As I sometimes may seem to be, 
 Perchance, my B n, e'en to thee; 
 Disturbing with too early knock 
 Your daily rest, ere two o'clock :) 
 Him kindly we pronounce at once 
 
 A forward fellow and a dunce. 
 
 20 Against our very selves, alas 1 
 These penal laws we rashly pass : 
 For if 'tis true that since the fall, 
 Some sin must be the lot of all, 
 
 The best good man, it must be thought, 
 Is only he the least in fault. 
 My generous friend will fairly weigh 
 Each vicious and each virtuous trait ; 
 
 E2 
 
*r*t 
 
 (Si modo plura mihi bona sunt) inclinet, amari 
 Si volet "hac lege trutina ponetur eadem. 
 11 Qui ne tuberibus propriis offendat amicum 
 Postulat ; ignoscat verrucis illius. ./Equum est 
 Peccatis veniam poscentem reddere rursus. 
 * 3 Denique, quatenus excidi penitus vitium irae, 
 Caetera item nequeunt stultis haerentia; cur non 
 Ponderibus modulis que suis ratio utitur? ac, res 
 Ut quaeque est, ita suppliciis delicta coercet ? 
 14 Si quis eum servum patinam qui tollere jussus 
 Semesos pisces, tepidumque ligurierit jus, 
 In cruce suffigat. Labeone insanior inter 
 
53 
 
 And if the good at all prevail, 
 Throw in his love to sink the scale : 
 21 In this same equal balance tried, 
 He then may all my heart divide. 
 21 Kn t thinks his legs are no disgrace, 
 
 Then let him pardon F 's face ; 
 
 'Tis only justice to restore 
 That favour we receiv'd before. 
 
 23 Since perseverance can, no doubt, 
 Root many mighty vices out; 
 
 But often is employ'd in vain, 
 'Gainst lighter follies of the brain: 
 In her own scales let common sense 
 Decide the weight of each offence; 
 And, as the case requires it, teach 
 The punishment that's due to each. 
 
 24 Your servant tastes a dish that's left, 
 Should you imprison him for theft ? 
 The world, with justice, might suppose, 
 Some madman had escap'd Monroe's. 
 
54 
 
 Sanos dicatur. Quanto hoc furiosius, atque 
 Majus peccatum est? as paulum deliquit amicus, 
 (Quod nisi concedas habeare insuavis acerbus) 
 Odisti et fugis, ut Rufonem debitor seris ; 
 Qui nisi, cum tristes misero venere Calendae, 
 Mercedem aut nummos unde unde extricat, amaras, 
 Porrecto jugulo historias captivus ut audit. 
 * 6 Comminxit lectum potus ; mensa catellum 
 Evandri manibus tritum dejecit ; ob hanc rem, 
 Aut positum ante mea quia pullum in parte cateni 
 
Yet there are follies worse than these, 
 And madder too by ten degrees. 
 
 25 The friend for whom you seem'd to live, 
 Has err'd at last. Why, then, forgive? 
 Forgive ! exclaim the good and wise, 
 
 But you avoid him and despise; 
 
 And fly with eager haste away, 
 
 Like debtors on a quarter day. 
 
 Who know their fate, if they should meet, 
 
 Their landlord Lewis in the street : 
 
 Condemn'd to rot in Dorset jails, 
 
 Or hear his verse and bitter tales ; 
 
 And wait for similes and tropes, 
 
 With outstretch'd necks, like rogues for ropes. 
 
 26 Should W r once like Fuller roar, 
 
 Or wipe his boots upon your floor ; 
 Or with a rude, untimely paw, 
 
 Seize on your fav'rite lobster claw ; 
 Must you, my lord ! your commerce end. 
 And for a fish forsake a friend ? 
 
Sustulit esuriens, minus hoc jucundus amicus 
 Sit mihi ? Quid faciam furtum si fecerit aut, si 
 Prodiderit commissa fide, sponsum ve negarit ? 
 a? Queis paria esse fere placuit peccata, laborant 
 Cum ventum ad verum est: sensus moresque repugnant, 
 Atque ipsa utilitas, justi prope mater et aequi. 
 * 8 Cum prorepserunt primis animalia terris, 
 Mutum et turpe pecus, glandem atque cubilia propter, 
 Unguibus et pugnis, dein fustibus, atque ita porro 
 ' Pugnabant armis quse post fabricaverat usus: 
 Donee verba, quibus voces sensusque notarent, 
 Nomina que ivenere ; dehinc absistere bello. 
 
57 
 
 Should he commit a real crime, 
 And steal your similies or rhyme ; 
 Or else pretend that he forgets 
 Some guineas of his lawful debts : 
 Your friendship's lost but that's no more 
 Than trifles forfeited before. 
 27 Who say that crimes are sins alike, 
 At common sense and manners strike: 
 And e'en utility depise, 
 Whence equity and law arise. 
 a * When creatures first at nature's birth, 
 Dumb, and unseemly crawl'd on earth ; 
 For acorns and for beds of leaves, 
 They strove with fists, and then with staves: 
 Next use, with iron arms supplied, 
 And wars were fought, and warriors died: 
 Then speech was found, then language rose, 
 And peaceful words succeeded blows. 
 Now towns were built, and laws were fram'd, 
 That punish'd villainy, or sham'd; 
 
58 
 
 Oppida cceperunt munire, et ponere leges, 
 Ne qnis fur esset, neu latro, neu quis adulter. 
 
 29 Nam fuit ante Helenam cunnus teterrima belli 
 Causa: sed ignotis perierunt mortibus illi, 
 Quos Veneram incertam rapientes more ferarum 
 Viribus editior csedebat, uf in grege taurus. 
 
 30 Jura inventa metu injusti fateare necesse est, 
 Tempora si fastosque velis evolvere mundi. 
 Nee Natura potest justo secernere iniquum, 
 Dividit ut bona diversis fugienda petendis. 
 
 31 Nee vincet ratio hoc, tantumdem ut peccet idemque, 
 Qui teneros caules alieni fregerit hosti, 
 
 Et qui nocturnus Divum sacra legerit. Adsit 
 
59 
 
 Preserving all the goods of life, 
 The person, property, and wife. 
 
 29 For women oft had been the cause 
 Of direful war, ere Helen was : 
 And men had ravish' d many a dame, 
 And died without the meed of fame. 
 Daring for lust the fell dispute, 
 
 And slaughter'd by some stronger brute. 
 
 30 Enquire of ages past the cause, 
 The fear of crimes invented laws: 
 Not simple nature taught the skill, 
 To draw the line 'twixt good and ill ; 
 'Twixt certain virtues, certain sins, 
 Whence merit ends, and crime begins. 
 
 31 Nor reason, sure, can say that he 
 Must just as great a villain be, 
 
 Who idly breaks his neighbour's bounds, 
 As Melville with his thousand pounds. 
 Let punishments in these our times, 
 Variously vicious, suit our crimes : 
 
60 
 
 Regula peccatis quae poenas irroget aequas : 
 Nee scutica dignum horribili sectere flagello. 
 11 Nam, ut ferula caedas meritum majore subire 
 Verbera non vereor ; cum dicas esse pares res 
 Furta latrociniis ; et magnis parva mineris 
 Falce recisurum simili te, si tibi regnum 
 Permittant homines. 33 Si dives, qui sapiens est 
 Et sutor bonus, et solus formosus, et est rex ; 
 34 Cur optas quod habes ? 
 
61 
 
 Nor British judges from their hall, 
 Send ropes for every rogue, and all. 
 
 32 Who reads our code can never fear 
 
 A statute not enough severe. 
 
 Two rogues ascend our Newgate drop, 
 
 One robb'd th' Exchequer, one a shop ; 
 
 Our modern stoic, judge in chief, 
 
 Would hang us every petty thief. 
 
 And right, quoth pious Wilberforce, 
 
 The law should always take its course. 
 
 All are, or are not free from taint, 
 
 And each is sinner if not saint : 
 In this the whole distinction lies, 
 And not in great, or good, or wise. 
 
 33 The saint is rich ; is every thing 
 Quite fair, good cobbler, and great king. 
 
 34 Why then ingraft your minds a wish on, 
 Or try to better your condition ? 
 
 If grace be all, and saints have grace, 
 Why seek for wealth, or power, or place ? 
 
35 Non nosti quid pater, inquit 
 Chrysippus dicat : sapiens crepidas sibi nunquam 
 Nee soleas fecit ; sutor tamen est sapiens. Qui? 
 " 36 Ut quamvis tacet Hermogenes, cantor tamen, atque 
 Optimus est modulator ; ut Alsenus vafer, omni 
 Abjecto instrumento artis, clausaque taberna * 
 Tonsor erat : sapiens sic optimus omni? 
 Est opifex solus, sic rex. 37 Vellunt tibi barbam 
 Lasciri pueri, quos tu nisi fuste coerces, 
 
63 
 
 Why such a crowd of preachers sent 
 
 To India house and Parliament ? 
 
 Why teize by all that's dull and odd, 
 
 The house with your damn'd neutral squad ? 
 
 Why then a wish ? 3S " Sir, you neglect 
 
 One certain maxim of our sect ; 
 
 Altho' the saint may never choose 
 
 To mend or make a pair of shoes ; 
 
 Yet he has universal skill, 
 
 And kingdoms mends, or shoes at will; 
 
 Yet all philosophers allow 
 
 That faith can work this wonder." How ? 
 
 " 36 As Naldi tho' without a part, 
 
 May know an opera by heart ; 
 
 As Douglas grown a statesman still, 
 
 Remembers how to gild a pill ; 
 
 A saint can fill the best of all, 
 
 A monarch's throne, or cobbler's stall." 
 
 37 Walk not abroad, it must be fear'd 
 
 The boys will pull your worship's beard; 
 
64 
 
 Urgeris turba circum te stante, miserque 
 Rumperis et latras, magnorum maxime regum. 
 38 Ne lungum faciam ; dum tu quadrante lavatum 
 Rex ibis, neque te quisquam stipator, ineptum 
 Prater Crispinum, sectabitor; et mihi dulces 
 Ignoscent, si quid peccaro stultus, amici 
 Inque niem illorum patiar delecta libenter, 
 Privatusque magis vivam te rege beatus. 
 
65 
 
 Trust not your wisdom nor your crown, 
 But take a stick to keep them down. 
 33 In short, go, holy monarch, rub 
 Your knuckles on a gospel tub ; 
 Or mount a stool upon a common, 
 And frighten half-a-score old women. 
 No monster of perfection, I 
 With all my faults for pardon fly 
 To gentle friends, for whose dear sake 
 I grant th' indulgence that I take ; 
 And find with them an happier fate 
 Than thou, a saint, so good and great. 
 
 From the awkwardness of the imitation, it may, perhaps, 
 be thought that no great resemblance can be found between 
 the ancient sage and the modern saint. Indeed, the cases are not 
 quite parallel 5 but certainly, the wisdom of the Stoic, and the holi- 
 ness of the Methodist, are alike in this : that it is impossible to 
 say whence either one or the other are derived, nor to what earthly 
 purpose they tend. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 
 
66 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 EPIST. XIX. BOOK I. 
 
 1 FRISCO si credis, Maecenas docte, Cratino, 
 
 2 Nulla placere diu, nee vivere, carmina possunt, 
 Quae scribuntur aquae potoribus : 3 ut male sanos 
 Adscripsit Liber Satyris Faunisque poetas. 
 
 4 Vina fere dulces oluerunt mane Camcenae. 
 
67 
 
 IMITATED. 
 
 TO ********** A WATER DRINKER. 
 
 1 IF still, my friend ! no charms in wine you see, 
 But find that water can with wit agree ; 
 Hear then what Bentley often would advise ; 
 Bentley * the grave, the critic, and the wise. 
 " 2 He that would gain a name by tuneful rhymes, 
 " The present charm, and live thro' future times, 
 " Must leave the fools to sip at Maudlin's bowl, 
 " And raise, by wine, the raptures of his soul ; 
 " 3 Miscall'd the sons of Phoebus and the Nine, 
 ** The bards must own their sole inspirer, wine. 
 * Wine gives the poet all his sprightly hues, 
 " When morning draughts assist the maudlin Muse. 
 
 * The great critic, Dr. Bentley, a wonderful genius, and re- 
 markable for his attachment to wine. Even the amiable Mr. Cum- 
 berland, whose zeal for the character of his celebrated ancestor is 
 surely to be admired, will not be angry at this mention of iris 
 grandfather. 
 
 F 2 
 
68 
 
 5 Laudibus arguitur vini vinosus Homerus: 
 
 6 Ennius ipse pater nunquam, nisi potus, ad arma 
 Prosiluit dicenda. 7 Forum putealque Libonis 
 Mandabo siccis, adimam cantare severis. 
 
 8 Hoc simul edixi, non cessavere poetae 
 
69 
 
 " 5 Lo ! all the wits of Charles and Anna's days, 
 
 " The god that fires them justly has their praise. 
 
 " 6 Our Addison, before he sweeps the strings * 
 
 " To Blenheim's heroes, and the wars of kings ; 
 
 " Must taste th' ambrosia that the grape distils, 
 
 " And take his dose at Button's or at Will's. 
 
 " 7 The wreaths of Bacchus should no more entwine 
 
 " The sober lawyer than the dull divine: 
 
 " No noisy Muse, no Bacchanalian din 
 
 " Should burst the grave repose of Lincoln's Inn: 
 
 (( No wits for nectar to the fount resort, 
 
 " Nor woo th' inspiring god in Figtree Court." 
 
 8 Since this mature advice, the sons of song 
 
 Follow the drunken train and reel along : 
 
 Since this advice, the rhymster of the stews 
 
 Just throws up fifty verses ere he spews ; 
 
 * Many of the most elegant and important lucubrations in the 
 Spectator were written under the influence of wine. Mr. Addison 
 was, perhaps, of the same nature as Lamprias, the father of Plu- 
 tarch, who never philosophised so clearly, nor discoursed so ele- 
 gantly, as when well heated with the juice of the grape. This 
 Plutarch mentions of his father. 
 
70 
 
 Nocturne certare mero, putere diurno. 
 9 Quid ? 10 Si quis vultu torvo ferus, et pede mido, 
 Exiguseque togae simulet textore Catonem; 
 Virtu tern ne reprsesentet moresque Catonis? 
 
 11 Rupit larbitam Timagenis aemula lingua, 
 Dum studet urbanus, tenditque disertus haberi, 
 
 12 Decipit exemplar vitiis imitabile : quod si 
 Pallerem casu, biberent exsangue cuminum. 
 
71 
 
 Thus every Julia * finds some poet Moore 
 And greasy ballads greet each graceless whore. 
 
 9 But what's the wisdom and distinction nice, 
 That leaves the virtue, but extracts the vice ? 
 
 10 The fool uncomb'd and wash'd but once a week, 
 Thinks Porson's f lice can give him Person's Greek. 
 If Robson f be downright, and Hanger | plain, 
 
 Is this a Shippen then, or that Montaigne ? 
 
 11 The reeling senator, so pert and young, 
 
 Who sees the commons hang on Brinsley's tongue; 
 
 Full of the rosy god, will archly cry, 
 
 " Friend Sherry's always drunk, and so am I." 
 
 12 My Bowles, no doubt, has read how Savage far'd, 
 And thinks that dirt and drink bespeak a bard. 
 
 * Julia is the chief lady concerned in Mr. Little's poetical 
 amours. 
 
 f Person, the first Greek scholar which this or any other 
 country has ever produced. 
 
 J Robson, celebrated for his speeches at the Cock and Breeches 
 and the House of Commons. 
 
 Hanger, Colonel, who has been sincere enough to prophesy 
 his future destiny in the frontispiece of his Life. 
 
72 
 
 13 O imitatores, servum pecus, ut mihi saepe 
 Bilem, saepe jocum, vestri movere tumultus! 
 
 14 Libera per vacuum posui vestigia princeps; 
 Non aliena meo pressi pede. IS Qui sibi fidit, 
 Dux regit examen : l6 Parios ego primus iambos 
 Ostendi Latio, I? numeros animosque secutus 
 Archilochi, non res, et agentia verba Lycamben. 
 
73 
 
 13 O servile herd of imitators ! hence 
 
 With all your borrow'd art and dull pretence ; 
 This, this the end of all your toil, at best 
 To raise our anger and provoke a jest. 
 
 14 This be my praise, " Oh, Strangford*, were it thine!" 
 That, not content with borrow'd plumes to shine ; 
 Too wise to copy where I can't commend ; 
 
 Too proud to call each scribbling dunce my friend ; 
 I've left the favour'd Phoebus of the town, 
 And ventur'd e'en at follies all my own. 
 
 15 (A love of glory gives to manly sense 
 An useful pride, a modest confidence.) 
 
 16 This single merit may, perhaps, be mine ; 
 To dare at last a simple, honest line 
 
 17 'Gainst dunces arm'd, without the power to kill, 
 My honest rage but wants a Gifford's f skill. 
 
 * Lord Strangford has written elegant verses, not translations of 
 Camoens, but imitations of Mr. Little. 
 
 f* The author of the Baviad and Moeviad, in the opinion of the 
 author of this imitation, the first (almost the only) poet of the 
 day. 
 
74 
 
 18 Ac, ne me foliis ideo brevioribus ornes, 
 Quod timui mutare modos et carminis artem ; 
 
 19 Temperat Archilochi musam pede mascula Sappho, 
 10 Temperat Alcseus ; sed rebus et ordine dispar ; 
 Nee socerum quaerit, quern versibus oblinat atris, 
 Nee sponsse laqueum famoso carmine nectit. 
 
 41 Hunc ego, non alio dictum prius ore, Latinus 
 Vulgavi fidicen : 2 * juvat, immemorata ferentem, 
 
75 
 
 18 Bold is the taskj but not without reward, 
 To wield the sword of Satire's mighty bard. 
 
 Wit still has wag'd eternal war with fools : [schools. 
 
 19 First Dryden* touch'd the state, then Pope the 
 10 Next Young, with all his pointed censure rose, 
 
 But vice and folly only seem'd his foes: 
 
 The times, and not the men, his page supplied, 
 
 No Ralpho hunger'd, and no Hogarth died f. 
 
 21 Since prose alone, and that beyond the Tweed J, 
 
 To names like these, and Gifford dare succeed ; 
 
 (Thro' all the clouds of nonsense beaming forth, 
 
 A bright Aurora glitt'ring in the north;) 
 
 How great the courage, and perhaps how vain, 
 
 To venture satire in our George's reign! 
 
 M To please the judging few be all my bent, 
 
 Their blame will punish, and their praise content : 
 
 * Dryden's Satires were chiefly political. Pope's pointed against 
 the commentators and lumber of the schools. Dr. Young's Uni- 
 versal Passion was only a general Satire. 
 
 f* One of whom was starved by two lines of the Dunciad, the 
 other killed by the epistle of Churchill. 
 
 I The imitator here alludes to a certain Review, the best written 
 critique on all the dull productions of the day. 
 
76 
 
 Ingenuis oculisque legi, manibusque teneri. 
 * 3 Scire veils mea cur ingratus opuscula lector 
 Laudet ametque domi, premat extra limen iniquus ? 
 ** Non ego ventosae plebis suffragia venor 
 Impensis ccenarum, et tritae munere vestis : 
 a5 Non ego, nobilium scriptorum auditor et ultor, 
 Grammaticas ambire tribus et pulpita dignor: 
 * Hinc illae lacrimae. Spissis indigna theatris 
 
77 
 
 This be my first, my last, my only aim, 
 And this the road I follow on to fame. 
 
 23 'Tis true, a verse like this can ne'er succeed, 
 Not ten will praise it, if ten thousand read. 
 
 24 Mine be this fate, my case however hard, 
 Not ranked with Hafiz *, and no fav'rite bard ; 
 Still to creep on, and still indulge my lays, 
 Without the vulgar itch of vulgar praise : 
 
 Too proud to buy with verse my bed and board > 
 
 And wear, like Pratt, the livery of a lord. 
 
 85 Flow smoothly, Strangford; hobble on, Carlisle, 
 
 While courts applaud, a wretch f like me may smile* 
 
 26 Pity ! that shame prevents me once to try, 
 
 A tragic farce, or loyal comedy J^ 
 
 * Hafiz, put for any admired writer in the Newspapers. 
 
 f My lord Carlisle is used, when speaking of plebeians, to de- 
 nominate them poor wretches, unfortunate wretches, miserable 
 wretchtSy &e. See his eighteen penny pamphlet, in which he 
 draws a most pathetic picture of the crowd coming out of the play- 
 house, and tumbling one over the other down stone stair-cases^ 
 which he proposes should be made spiral to prevent this catastrophe. 
 
 J; Tragic farce. Such as the " Clock has Struck," " Rugan- 
 tina," &c. &c. 
 
 Loyal comedy. Such as " The Soldier's Daughter," and fifty 
 others full of patriotic sentiments. 
 
78 
 
 Scripta pudet recitare, et nugis addere pondus, 
 Si dixi : * 7 Rides, ait ; et Jovis auribus ista 
 Servas : * 8 fidis enim manare poetica mella 
 Te solum, tibi pulcher. * 9 Ad haec ego naribus uti 
 Formido ; et, luctantis acuto ne secer ungui, 
 Displicet iste locus, clamo ; et diludia posco. 
 30 Ludus enim genuit trepidum certamen, et iram ; 
 Ira truces inimicitias, et funebre beilum. 
 
79 
 
 Pity that I, in this well-natur'd age, 
 
 To Cherry, Hooke, and Diamond, leave the stage*. 
 
 * 7 But you, my friend ! with all your kindness, laugh, 
 
 And think my stile too haughty just by half : 
 
 Fit for Jove's ears, the tone *s so mighty high, 
 
 And Jove alone, for none on earth will buy. 
 
 ic 28 Hail ! by your own applause supremely blest, 
 
 A poet you, but scribblers all the rest." 
 
 29 Why this, my friend ? and what's the crime, to fear 
 The pit's dire hisses and the boxes sneer ? 
 
 Tho' all my friends, like L m b's, be true and fast, 
 The gods may thunder, and I'm damn'd at last. 
 Then angry actors, critics, all abuse, 
 In pamphlets, papers, journals, and reviews. 
 
 30 Then Kemble rises, with his play-house hoards > 
 And Grub Street echoes with the war of words.^ 
 
 * These are favoured playrights. 
 
 Trin^Coll. Carnb. 
 
80 
 
 TRANSLATIONS FROM VOLTAIRE. 
 
 A CHARACTER. 
 
 A WOMAN, with no jealous fit, 
 
 A beauty too, but not coquette ; 
 
 Of judgment sound, but learning small, 
 
 Fluent, with no pretence at all ; 
 
 Nor proud nor yet familiar, 
 
 And always with an equal air. 
 
 This is my fair, the likeness right, 
 
 Not flatter' d much, nor finish' d quite. 
 
 TO A ROYAL BEAUTY. 
 
 We often find, however strange it seems, 
 Some facts in fiction, and some truth in dreams 
 Last night my slumbers rais'd me to a throne, 
 And you, fair princess ! were my love I own. 
 
81 
 
 The gods restor'd my senses with the day, 
 But kindly only took my crown away. 
 
 THE CHARACTER OF 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 PROJECTS to flatter and engage the fair, 
 Assiduous court, and more assiduous care: 
 Sonnets how tender, oaths how very true! 
 Impressive airs ! Love does not dwell with you. 
 But constant passion, with no certain aim, 
 And soft confusion that declares the flame ; 
 Respect most timid, with the fiercest fires, 
 And perseverance e'en when hope expires : 
 This, this is love by this the God is known, 
 That holds his empire in my breast alone. 
 
IMPROMPTU TO A 
 
 LADY. 
 
 WITH such a form divine and heavenly face, 
 Say, why should talents give another grace? 
 When from her lips such tones transporting flow, 
 What need that beauty should enchant us too ? 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1806. 
 
83 
 
 FREE TRANSLATION OF SOME PART OF 
 THE 
 
 SECOND ELEGY OF TIBULLUS. 
 
 OH ! give me wine, to heal my wounded breast, 
 And close my aching eyes in pleasant rest; 
 Let not a sound disturb the blissful bed, 
 Where love itself lies tranquil as the dead : 
 For cruel guards my weeping girl immure, 
 And heavy bolts her iron gate secure. 
 Gate of my rival ! enemy to love ! 
 May lightning blast thee, darted from above! 
 No, gentle gate ! thou'lt listen to my pray'r, 
 Turn on thy noiseless hinge, and guide me to my fair, 
 Then, if a lover's madness wish'd thee ill, 
 Heav'n on himself avenge his guilty will. 
 Rather, kind gate, recal my suppliant hours, 
 And thy bright pillars hung with living flowers. 
 
 G 2 
 
84 
 
 Thou too, my Delia, boldly brave thy guards 
 Venus herself the dauntless pair rewards: 
 She helps the boy who jealous walls explores, 
 She helps the girl who opes forbidden doors, 
 To glide in silence from the downy bed, 
 To mount the staircase with a noiseless tread, 
 Hold the warm language of the varying eye, 
 And kiss by tokens when the fool is by: 
 Pow'rs to the favoured few by Venus giv'n, 
 Betray the cuckold-making aid of heav'n. 
 Such arts are their's who fly from sluggard ease, 
 Cross the dark moor, and in the tempest freeze,. 
 Till, safely nestling in their fair one's arms, 
 They feel the glowing change exalt her charms. 
 
 No lawless robber in my path shall rove r 
 For sacred is the messenger of love : 
 Nor storm nor howling rain shall cloud my road,. 
 If Delia beckon to the lov'd abode; 
 Draw the soft bolt, and silently advise 
 My sounding footsteps with her fearful eyes, 
 
85 
 
 With eager finger on her lip imprest, 
 
 Impatient brow, and quickly-beating breast. 
 
 Veil, veil your lamps, whoever travel nigh, 
 
 The thefts of Venus shun the curious eye. 
 
 Nor tread too loudly, nor inquire my name, 
 
 Nor to my face advance your taper's flame. 
 
 And ye who chance to see, the sight forswear, 
 
 And vow by all the gods ye were not there. 
 
 The prating babbler shall confess with pain 
 
 That Venus issued from the savage main. 
 
 Nay, e'en thy lord the tell-tale shall distrust, 
 
 And scorn the lying rumour of thy lust. 
 
 So sang the witch, whose prophecy divine 
 
 Assur'd my hopes, and made thee wholly mine. 
 
 She draws the stars from heaven with influence strong, 
 
 And turns the course of rapid streams by song ; 
 
 Cleaves the firm ground, the dead with life inspires, 
 
 Bids rattling bones start forth from burial fires, 
 
 With magic yell the gathering ghosts commands, 
 
 Or purifies with milk their parting bands. 
 
86 
 
 Wills she the clouds of thunder disappear! 
 Wills she dark whirlwinds overcast the sphere! 
 Sole mistress she of dire Medea's charms, 
 Her pow'r alone the dogs of hell disarms. 
 A rhyme she fram'd, which if thou thrice rehearse, 
 Thy lord shall yield such homage to the verse, 
 That not a tale his spies relate of me, 
 No, nor the hot embrace his eyes may see, 
 Shall win his faith: but should my rivals dare 
 To snatch the slightest favour from my fair, 
 Her jealous spouse shall ev'ry theft perceive, 
 Know all he suffers, all he hears believe. 
 
 Shall I too trust the sorceress' potent art, 
 By herb, or song, to free my captive heart ? 
 The lustral torches blaz'd at midnight hour, 
 Fell the black victim to each magic pow'r; 
 And thus I pray'd " Oh! cure me not of love! 
 " But Delia's breast with mutual fondness move; 
 " I would not wish for freedom from my pains, 
 " Oh! what were life unless I wore her chains?" 
 
Iron were he, who when he could possess 
 Thy charms, preferr'd renown to happiness. 
 Though deck'd with spoils, the guerdon of the brave, 
 O'er conquer' d lands he bids his banners wave ; 
 While captive monarchs throng his sounding car, 
 And bow beneath that thunderbolt of war. 
 I envy not the soldier's crimson pride, 
 Content to feed my flocks at Delia's side. 
 If thou art with me, Oh! how sweet my toil, 
 Though doom'd to turn for bread a thankless soil ! 
 On the lone turf to rest my weary head, 
 If thou art with me, Oh ! how soft my bed ! 
 What joy remains, when gentle love has flown? 
 On downy pillows wretched and alone, 
 Still thro* the night the sons of fortune weep, 
 Nor gold, nor blushing purple brings them sleep; 
 Celestial music breathes a fruitless strain, 
 Murmur soft airs, and fountains flow in vain. 
 
 H.F. 
 
88 
 
 IN AMOREM. 
 
 CARMINA poscit Amor. Si non succendor amore, 
 
 Qui mihi sollioitus rite canatur amor ? 
 Sin ego crudeles teneo sub corde sagittas, 
 
 Qui possim ah ! gratos scribere versiculos ? 
 Ergo aut propositam male rem tractare necesse est, 
 
 Aut male composites cogar inire modos. 
 Ssepe ego faemineas ausus sum temnere for mas 
 
 Demens ! nee scivi quid, rudis, esset amor. 
 Verum ubi te pulchre ridentem et dulce loquentem, 
 
 Aspexique oculos, O Galatea, tuos ; 
 Cum vocis risusque tui modulamina sensi 
 
 Dulcia, sensi equidem non mihi sensa prius. 
 Cur mea te semper vaga mens sectatur euntem, 
 
 Curque tua ante oculos saltat imago meos ? 
 Cur semper patulas volitat Galatea per aures ? 
 
 Quam vox grata meis auribus ista sonat ! 
 
89 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 LOVE claims the song. The bard attempts in vain 
 
 To paint the passion, till he feels the pain ; 
 
 But if the cruel wound transfix his heart, 
 
 The lover's anguish checks the poet's art. 
 
 Hard then my fate, oblig'd, alas! to prove, 
 
 UnskilPd, at least, in poetry or love! 
 
 Oft have I dar'd to laugh at beauty's charms, 
 
 Her painful transports, and her sweet alarms. 
 
 But when at first I saw my smiling maid, 
 
 And all the lustre of her eyes survey'd ; 
 
 When first the music of my Lydia's voice 
 
 Caught my pleas'd ear, and bade my heart rejoice; 
 
 A pleasing anguish every sense possess'd, 
 
 And unknown transports ravish'd all my breast. 
 
 Why do my thoughts still follow as she flies ? 
 
 Why plays her image still before my eyes ? 
 
 Why is each sound that glads my ears the same, 
 
 And softly whispers Lydia's much-lov'd name? 
 
90 
 Quid vires animi eripuit? Cur denique somnus, 
 
 Et ratio, atque animi pax ea grata fugit? 
 Heu! quid agam? qua me soler ratione? Perirem 
 
 Si foret in gremio fas periisse tuo. 
 Pectore quidnam invita meo suspiria ducit? 
 
 Hocce quid est animo, die, age; Num sit amor ? 
 Quid linguam infringit? numquid caligat ocellos? 
 
 Quid mea suspense membra tremore quatit ? 
 Quid pallere facit ? Quid sensus eripit omnes ? 
 
 Hocce quid est animo, die, age ; Num sit amor ? 
 Si sit amor, (nee grande precor sit crimen amare,) 
 
 (Sique amor his recte significetur, amo.) 
 Oh amor, oh nullis hominumve Deumve magister 
 
 Spernende, oh miseri lente tyranne sinus, 
 Aut fugiens me solve ; manensve, hue lenior affer 
 
 Delicias animae dimidiumque mese. 
 
 Etonse, Dec. 1801. 
 
91 
 
 What power is this that cruel steals away 
 
 By night my slumbers, and my peace by day ? 
 
 Ah ! what is left me, how restore my rest! 
 
 Ah ! might I die, but die on Lydia's breast ! 
 
 What thus with frequent sighs my breast can move ? 
 
 What thus invade my bosom is it love ? 
 
 Say why before my eyes this vision swims, 
 
 My tongue why falters, and why shake my limbs ? 
 
 Why thus my cheeks look pale, my senses rove ? 
 
 What thus invades my bosom is it love ? 
 
 If this be love (and 'tis no crime to own 
 
 The power of love), if love by this is known, 
 
 I love, 'tis true ; but, ah ! thou mighty lord ! 
 
 By men below and gods above ador'd ; 
 
 Thou gentle tyrant of the captive soul, 
 
 Or fly and free me from thy strong controul ; 
 
 Or melt my charmer, that thy bard may find 
 
 Less fierce his passion, or his fair more kind. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1806. 
 
FROM 
 
 OVID. 
 
 THE FIRST ELEGY. 
 
 ARMS were my theme, arms late inspired my song, 
 The numbers louder, and the verse more long : 
 But Cupid smiling, balk'd my grave design, 
 Arid stole a foot from off my second line. 
 Who, cruel boy, such mighty influence gave 
 O'er me, the Muses bard, not Cupid's slave? 
 What ! e'er did Venus seize Minerva's arms? 
 Or e'er Minerva smile in Venus charms ? 
 Could Ceres e'er in mountain forests reign, 
 Or buskin'd Dian till the level plain ? 
 Can Phoebus' hands the pointed spear require, 
 Or Mars's tremble on th' Aonian lyre ? 
 Alas ! e'en now too great thy large domain, 
 Why then ambitious ask a wider reign ? 
 
9S 
 
 What is all thine ? nor Helicon alone, 
 Free from thy power, nor Phoebus' lyre his own ? 
 One nervous line my vigorous fancy brought, 
 He claim'd the next, and weakened half the thought. 
 Where shall I find a theme for such a song, 
 Or youth, or maid, with tresses flowing long? 
 At this complaint, Love fix'd the cruel dart, 
 A weapon since too fatal for my heart; 
 Then on his knee, the bow half-circling ply'd, 
 " Take for your verse, O bard, this theme!" he cried. 
 Ah, me ! how sharp his darts is now confest, 
 I burn, and love alone usurps my breast! 
 Six feet at first, then five my flames shall tell, 
 Ye iron wars, ye harsher strains farewell. 
 Come, gentle Muse ! heroic now no more, 
 And bind my brows with myrtles from the shore. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. March, 1807. 
 
94 
 
 THE 
 
 M AN C I P LE'S TALE, 
 
 IMITATED FROM 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 Xij ifatlfevo'is Iv dvOpwrtOKri <rwitvj. 
 
 Vet. epig. 
 
 THOSE who are conversant with the Classics will immediately 
 discover this tale to be founded upon the seventh fable of the 
 second book of the Metamorphoses. Coronis is the name of 
 the false nymph, and the story is told in a few verses beginning 
 with a description of the tell-tale bird's former state. 
 
 It must be confessed that Chaucer has made the tale rather homely, 
 by depriving Phoebus of his rays, and converting a mistress 
 into a wife 5 a change with which the Pagan deities, any more 
 than the modern fine gentlemen, could be not much con- 
 tented. But as the Manciple's tale seems to be a vehicle for 
 the conveyance of sentiments and maxims, rather than a story 
 intended to please by its incidents j the ancient bard might 
 choose to show the parties concerned as mere mortals, in order 
 to give his wisdom an air of familiarity, and to inculcate his 
 maxims in such a manner as might be suitable to the character 
 from whose mouth the history proceeds. Now a Manciple, in 
 the common acceptation of the word, was a baker, or, when most 
 respectable, only a purveyor, to furnish bread for the tables of 
 the nobility. Some, indeed, may conceive that his language is 
 a little too poetical, and his learning rather more extensive. 
 
95 
 
 than such a condition of men is apt to acquire ; and this ob- 
 jection will appear the better founded when that language is 
 modernized, and that learning refined. Let not, however, 
 any one accuse Chaucer of having ill observed the necessary 
 conformity between sentiments and manners, between man- 
 ners and characters : he has paid all the attention to this con- 
 formity which poetry will permit, as his Manciple, though not 
 vulgar, is always plain, and displays no more wisdom but what 
 may be collected from occasional good company and the Bible ; 
 he has but a smattering of learning, and his stock of prudence 
 is such as the Proverbs can supply. But for this defence of 
 the father of English verse there can be no occasion ; and I 
 should rather prepare for the glossing over of my own errors, 
 which I will not point out, but leave to the discovery and 
 censure of the well-natured critic. 
 
96 
 
 THE 
 
 MANCIPLE'S TALE. 
 
 ERE yet (as ancient bards the tale supply) 
 Apollo rollM his chariot thro' the sky, 
 Of goodly mortal frame, and noble mind, 
 He shone superior e'en amongst mankind: 
 But chief in every warlike sport excell'd, 
 And all the glorious labours of the field: 
 First of the youthful train the dart to throw, 
 Or launch the bounding arrow from the bow. 
 
 Thus, whilst the heavenly hero yet was young, 
 And play'd the groves and flowery meads among, 
 Swift from his arm the shaft unerring flew, 
 Pierc'd thro* his knotty scales, and Typhon slew : 
 As all unroll'd the sleeping serpent lay, 
 And bask'd and glitter'd in the noon-tide ray. 
 
97 
 
 This he achieved, and many a glorious deed 
 As poets write and you, my friends, may read. 
 
 He too was vers'd in all the tuneful skill, 
 Or of the trembling harp or vocal quill : 
 Not e'en the royal bard, whose magic lyre 
 Bade Thebes with all her walls to heav'n aspire, 
 Tho' deft with more than mortal minstrelsy, 
 Was half so skill'd, or half so sweet as he. 
 Such was the boy ; nor need the Muse declare 
 His form how noble, or his front how fair: 
 Nor outward charms alone this youth possess'd, 
 But generous virtues in a manly breast. 
 Virtues that gods themselves and heroes have, 
 As brave as just, and merciful as brave ; 
 True to his trust, and to his honour true, 
 The flower of chivalry, and beauty too. 
 
 In wanton triumph he was wont to show, 
 Slung round his graceful neck the deadly bow ; 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 And scarce of fav'rite else possessed, beside 
 One only crow that did his care divide: 
 This in a cage he foster'd many a day, 
 And taught to speak as others teach a jay. 
 In troth this bird, like other ancient crows, 
 Fair as Cai'ster's swans, or winter snows, 
 Could sing a plaintive tale, as well as tell, 
 Clear as a lark, and sweet as Philomel. 
 
 As gods have seldom lov'd a single life, 
 Our Phrebus too must take a loving wife. 
 With him the lady liv'd completely bless'd, 
 By day protected, and by night caress'd : 
 Save that a jealous fit would sometimes rise, 
 To damp their joys and cloud her husband's eyes. 
 And yet 'tis true, of all the jealous train, 
 Their task is hateful, and their labour vain ; 
 The virtuous dame, p'rhaps one in twenty score, 
 Is self-confin'd, and needs nor bolt nor door. 
 The gay coquette, whom any fool can please, 
 Who longs to kiss with every man she sees ; 
 
99 
 
 Whate'er her passion, and where'er her bent, 
 In spite of all, will break thro' all restraint: 
 Bars, bolts, and barricades before her fly, 
 And spouse becomes a cuckold ere he die. 
 Then, husbands, let your wives be unconfin'd, 
 And clap your padlock only on the mind. 
 
 But now to finish as I first began, 
 Our Phoebus did whate'er a husband can: 
 And still by day and night 'twas all his aim 
 To lead a quiet life, and please his dame. 
 But all in vain for powerful nature still, 
 That forms the passions, and directs the will, 
 Works to her end, in spite of thousand foes, 
 Swells by restraint, and by opposing grows ; 
 Whatever mould her plastic hands supply, 
 Nor art nor effort e'er can change the die. 
 Caught by the limed twig, or treacherous hair, 
 Some lively songster of the grove ensnare ; 
 With tender care, the flutt'ring prisoner guard, 
 With plenty feed him, and with sweets reward. 
 
 H2 
 
100 
 
 Let glittering hues his gaudy cage enfold, 
 The roof of cedar, and the wires of gold ; 
 And yet the bird, with all a captive's pain, 
 Still longs to seek his native wilds again ; 
 Rejects the dainties of his varied food, 
 Once more to taste the berries of the wood : 
 And quits his cage, however warm and gay, 
 For houseless liberty, and flies away. 
 
 The matron's favoured tabby, fed with milk 
 And choicest meats, and nurs'd on couch of silk r 
 If but a mouse appear upon the wall, 
 Flies from her milk, her meat, her couch, and all : 
 For cats can live without a silken house, 
 And milk and meat are not so good as mouse. 
 But these are lessons for my hearers male, 
 For surely, sirs, the fair are never frail. 
 But men, perverse by nature, all delight 
 To please with trulls their vulgar appetite : 
 What tho' their wives be noble, true, and fair, 
 Some low-born scrub their lewd embrace must share; 
 
101 
 
 For wicked flesh, by some distinction nice, 
 
 Rejects the pleasure, if without the vice. 
 
 If right we would not, but if wrong we would, 
 
 Tho' bent to virtue, fearing to be good. 
 
 Of all our sex, this stands upon record; 
 
 But will not woman kind one tale afford ? 
 
 Indeed, this Phoebus, to the lady's shame, 
 Had some small reason to suspect his dame ; 
 For lewdly list'ning to old Nick's advice, 
 Besides her lawful lord she kept a Vice: 
 A stupid, awkward, low, untutor'd wight, 
 And little worthy to supplant the knight. 
 Such is the sex, the sinful fair ones fall, 
 Or to the dirtiest depths, or not at all: 
 The bed once void, each dunce can fill the place ; 
 His grace's coachman oft succeeds his grace. 
 
 Thus it befell : abroad as Phoebus went, 
 His lady to the lusty whoreson sent. 
 
102 
 
 You cry me hold I own it for confess'd, 
 
 The plainest word of all words is the best. 
 
 By Plato, sirs, and other wits 'tis shown 
 
 That from the word alone the deed is known ; 
 
 If then to speak the truth be still your aim, 
 
 Pray call each action by its proper name. 
 
 I'm a plain man, and no distinction make 
 
 Between the sins, for nobler sinners sake: 
 
 A high-born rogue is still a rogue to me, 
 
 And every whore, a whore in each degree : 
 
 The wanton dame of royal ichor full, 
 
 Or Fleet-Street drab or Covent-Garden trull. 
 
 The world, indeed, a wond'rous difference see; 
 
 Her grace is call'd his lordship's chere amie. 
 
 The hapless girl for noble sins too poor, 
 
 Is scorn'd by all a beggar and a whore : 
 
 And yet, methinks, by all the same the trade is, 
 
 And maids can lie no lower than their ladies. 
 
 The mighty rogue whose sword a kingdom wins, 
 
 The vulgar villain halter'd for his sins : 
 
103 
 
 If we the purpose of their souls compare, 
 
 E'en Philip's son must own upon a par. 
 
 To fair applause with just an equal claim, 
 
 Their power but different, and their will the same : 
 
 One puts the mighty traveller in fear, 
 
 One half unpeoples half the eastern sphere. 
 
 But lo, by each a different fate is found: 
 
 The world's great robber by the world is crown'd ; 
 
 The petty pilferer by the laws must fall, 
 
 Because his plunder and his sins were small. 
 
 And hence their titles, hero, king, and chief, 
 
 Adorn this rogue but that is still a thief. 
 
 But as my wisdom is not of the school, 
 
 I know not how to prove my case by rule ; 
 
 And since my simple sense can scarce avail, 
 
 Defer reflections, and resume my tale. 
 
 Pleas'd with the message of the longing dame, 
 To Phoebus' house the lusty whoreson came. 
 The longing dame, to all her vows untrue, 
 Of love's disport partook, and largely too. 
 
104 
 
 That no one saw she thought, and no one heard ; 
 Alas ! poor fool, she quite forgot the bird. 
 The watchful songster from his lofty cage 
 Beheld the transports of their am'rous rage ; 
 Attentive view'd the progress of the fun, 
 Nor sung, nor chatter'd, till the work was done. 
 But quite resolv'd to make my lady smart, 
 The foolish tell-tale took his master's part: 
 And when he next embrac'd his faithless bride, 
 " Ah! cuckoo, cuckoo cuckoo, ah!" he cried. 
 Be sure that Phoebus took the words amiss, 
 And said, " Good bird, I pray, what tune is this? 
 " Not these the notes thy tongue is us'd to try, 
 " Not this thy song and wonted melody." 
 But still the silly talker perseveres, 
 And thus salutes the godlike cuckold's ears. 
 " Alas! my lord! whate'er to thee belong, 
 "Of worth, or beauty, or the power of song : 
 " Thy worth, thy beauty, they cannot avail, 
 " Thy songs are useless, for thy wife is fraiJ. 
 
105 
 
 " Trust to thy faithful crow, I saw her down, 
 
 " Stretch'd on that bed, and prostrate to a clown. 
 
 " What will you more?" The foolish crow combines 
 
 His wicked story with undoubted signs ; 
 
 Strong was the witness certain, as, in short, 
 
 He swore he saw my lady at the sport. 
 
 Some easy London husbands would have laugh'd, 
 But Phoebus strung his bow and fix'd his shaft ; 
 Then to his breast the meeting horns he bent, 
 
 i 
 
 And to his fair one's heart the arrow sent. 
 Thus did the cuckold the adulteress slay ; 
 Thus ends my lady ; but I've more to say. 
 Dejected at his wife's untimely fate, 
 The god forgives her, but forgives too late. 
 Now in his grief his bow and quiver breaks, 
 Neglects his song and e'en his lyre forsakes ; 
 Now blames his bird, with unavailing rage, 
 And thus attacks th' informer in his cage. 
 
106 
 
 " Traitor accurs'd! thy lies, thy scorpion tongue 
 " Have done this deed, and work'd this mighty wrong. 
 " Oh ! that thy guilty head, the cause of all, 
 " From Pluto's regions could my wife recal : 
 " The fairest, truest, best of all her kind, 
 " In form as beauteous, as correct in mind : 
 " Faultless in all as far as woman can, 
 " And only hapless in a jealous man. 
 " Fool that I was, with troubled fancies curs'd, 
 " To do this sin, of every sin the worst ; 
 " To doubt my love, and yet a liar trust, 
 " And lay a guiltless fair one in the dust. 
 " Be cautious all, who see what rashness doth, 
 <6 Nor judge, nor punish on a villain's oath ; 
 " Let proof of guilt precede the fatal blow, 
 <( Be slow to rage, nor act before ye know : 
 " The rash are always fools in every age, 
 " And hasten only to repent their rage. 
 " And thou, false thief, the spring of all my woe, 
 " Tho' once so favour'd, now detested crow ; 
 
107 
 
 " Thy tongue, once eloquent, shall speak no more, 
 
 " And all the music of thy notes be o'er : 
 
 " A swarthy hue o'er all thy plumes shall spread, 
 
 " And every future crow be black from tail to head. 
 
 " Henceforth proclaim the ocean's angry swell, 
 
 "Or with hoarse screams the gathering storm foretel; 
 
 " And thro' thy future life be ever dumb, 
 
 " Save when the prophet of an ill to come : 
 
 <e That all may shun thee as the bird of strife, 
 
 " And hate the tongue that slew my guiltless wife." 
 
 Thus said the angry knight, and on the word, 
 
 Stript of his plumes of white the tell-tale bird ; 
 
 And cloth'd the sinner in a mournful hue, 
 
 'Reft of his power of speech and music too: 
 
 Then from his cage the hapless culprit hurl'd, 
 
 And drove away to wander thro' the world. 
 
 Since then, to satisfy one injur'd knight, 
 
 A crow has ne'er been musical nor white. 
 
 Now with th' informer's fate before your eyes, 
 My friend, I pray learn silence, and be wise ; 
 
108 
 
 And if you know a dame, for love or pelf 
 
 Who plays the whore, just keep it to yourself: 
 
 For once inform him of his lady's stains, 
 
 And straight the cuckold hates you for your pains. 
 
 The wisest of mankind has said or sung, 
 
 That 'tis the wisest thing to hold your tongue. 
 
 This I can prove, altho' unus'd to quote 
 
 The ancient maxims of the sage by rote ; 
 
 For I remember what my tutor told 
 
 A man in years, and e'en in wisdom old. 
 
 " Think on the crow, and on his hapless end; 
 " Keep well thy tongue, if thou would'st keep thy 
 " A wicked tongue controul'd by no restraint [friend: 
 " Infects the man with one overclouding taint. 
 " Indulgent heav'n, its wanton use to bound, [round ; 
 " With lips and teeth the tongue hath compassed 
 " Thus all should look before that fence they leap, 
 " And learri to think whene'er they strive to speak. 
 " The use of speech is sure a godlike thing, 
 " And 'tis th' abuse alone that makes the sin ; 
 
109 
 
 " Yet fear thy tongue as thou would' st fear the rod, 
 " And ne'er be loud except in praise of God : 
 " The wisest lesson this for all the young, 
 " Perhaps the hardest, to restrain the tongue. 
 " Attend, my son, attend this plain advice, 
 " And silence keep where silence will suffice. 
 " Oh ! learn to hate and shun a hasty word, 
 " That severs friendships as the flesh a sword. 
 " Observe the maxims of the sage that say 
 " (The same or Solomon, or Seneca,) 
 " ' Think 'tis no joy to hear the foolish rail, 
 " Nor listen to an angry blockhead's tale.' 
 " The Fleming saith, and read him all who please, 
 " Disturb not others, if you love your ease: 
 " The man is safe himself who shuns attack, 
 " Nor fears reproach altho' he turn his back. 
 <c Know this of foolish truths and noxious lies 
 " Once said, the word irrevocable flies; 
 " Once past the lips, the fatal ill must come, 
 " And no repentance calls the mischief home* 
 
110 
 
 " Love not a tale because the tale be true, 
 
 " And fly from slander whether false or true. 
 
 " Where'er thou art, amongst or high, or low, 
 
 " Keep well thy tongue, and think upon the crow." 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1804. 
 
Ill 
 
 THE 
 
 MIRACLE. 
 
 A TALE FROM BOCCACE. 
 
 THO' wicked Protestants would show 
 That miracles ceas'd long ago, 
 And laugh at all the pious tricks 
 Of Pagans and of Catholics ; 
 Deriding equally the fancies 
 Of Apollonius and St. Francis ; 
 A simple tale shall set their pride 
 And incredulity aside. 
 
 In Genoa, where 'twas once the fashion 
 To guard against the gentle passion, 
 By hiding half their blooming maids 
 For ever in a convent's shades ; 
 
112 
 
 A pious dame, to aid the cause 
 Of chastity 'gainst nature's laws, 
 
 Kept one of these religious houses, 
 
 For marrying maids tQ heavenly spouses : 
 
 Renown'd for prayers, and fasts, and scourging, 
 
 And dedicated to the Virgin. 
 
 And here she hid fromsin and men 
 
 Of bright and holy vestals ten : 
 
 Instructing all the virgin fair 
 
 That heav'n is won alone by prayer, 
 
 By purity, and continence, 
 
 And flying all the sins of sense. 
 
 That youth should soon the world despise, 
 
 Its miseries, and guilty joys ; 
 From all temptation early run, 
 Nor nobly dare, but wisely shun ; 
 And think it safest still and right 
 To gain the victory by flight. 
 Sermons like this, tho' mighty good, 
 Have little power o'er youthful blood ; 
 
113 
 
 And often saints, in head and heart, 
 
 Are sinners in the carnal part : 
 
 The vice is great, the truth is plain, 
 
 The dame's convinced, and sins again. 
 
 The abbess knew her words might fail 
 
 To purify from head to tail, 
 
 And lodg'd the sisters every one, ' 
 
 With lock and key, in cells of stone : 
 
 And making soul and body chaste, 
 
 To keep them virtuous kept them fast. 
 
 Just once a day she just allowed 
 
 A little air to cool the blood, 
 
 In her own garden, somewhat small, 
 
 And well encompass'd with a wall, 
 
 But prudently took care to find 
 
 A sorry sample of mankind, 
 
 A gard'ner old, and dumb, and lame, 
 
 With nought of man except the name; 
 
 To whom she safely dar'd confide 
 
 Her garden, and her nuns beside: 
 
 i 
 
114 
 
 In short, the walls denied escape, 
 
 The gard'ner's age all hope of rape. 
 
 And thus the abbess fear'd no sin 
 
 From world without, or devil within. 
 
 Thus stood the case, when death that waits 
 
 At palace, and at cottage gates, 
 
 KnockM rudely now at dumbee's door, 
 
 And kill'd him scarce alive before. 
 
 The lady abbess saw the sight, 
 
 And decently interred the wight. 
 
 Then searched about for one as good, 
 
 With every right defect endow 'd ; 
 
 Perplex' d with anxious care to find 
 
 Another gard'ner to her mind. 
 
 For one was dumb, but young and tall, 
 
 Accomplishments less fit than all 
 
 For what gallants can do as well 
 
 As those that kiss and cannot tell ? 
 
 Another ugly, and not young, 
 
 Had too much use of ears and tongue: 
 
115 
 
 For well my lady abbess knew 
 What harm a fluent tongue can do. 
 How lovely wicked wit appears! 
 How sin can enter by the ears ! 
 How virtue by soft words is crost ! 
 And she that listens once is lost ! 
 
 It chanc'd there dwelt within the town 
 A rascal, somewhat crooked grown ; 
 Who'd seen of merry years two score, 
 But look'd as old as one of four. 
 For drink by night, and work by day, 
 Had worn all manly bloom away ; 
 And sad mishaps in love and war 
 Deform'd his face with many a scar. 
 This rogue (with every thief and whore, 
 Massetto was his nomme de guerre) 
 When once the news was public known 
 That gard'ner James at last was gone ; 
 
 i 2 
 
116 
 
 Resolv*d attempting to supply 
 His office at the nunnery : 
 And prompted by some devil within, 
 To meditate the charming sin ; 
 Hop'd soon to find the sisterhood 
 Were form'd of earthly flesh and blood. 
 Massetto saw the job was hard- 
 But then, he thought on the reward : 
 Of young and lovely virgins ten, 
 In ignorance and want of men. 
 His wanton fancy form'd the prize ; 
 Ten pair of rolling roguish eyes ! 
 Ten pair of lips unskill'd to kiss, 
 But ripe and pouting for the bliss ! 
 Ten bosoms fit for Venus' throne, 
 And all reserv'd for him alone ! 
 
 The rogue, tho* ugly, still was vain, 
 Nor doubted all his ends to gain, 
 
117 
 
 If once amongst the virgin band 
 
 He took his spade and tools in hand. 
 
 Say, Frederick, for you know what's common 
 
 To all the best and worst of woman ; 
 
 Say, can your skilful highness guess, 
 
 If fortune gave the rogue success ? 
 
 Chaucer, to female frailties blind, 
 And much a friend to all the kind, 
 A certain strange opinion hath, 
 (You read it in the wife of Bath ;) 
 " In every station, every hour, 
 " Woman is fondest still of power." 
 But Pope *, a mighty master too, 
 Opines their ruling passions two ; 
 And says, that all the sex obey 
 The love of pleasure or of sway : 
 
 * The collector of these poems trusts that it will not appear an 
 improper anachronism to quote the opinion of Pope in a tale taken 
 from Boccace, as only the outlines of the story in the original Italian 
 are here imitated and preserved. V 
 
118 
 
 That is, the sex (to say no more) 
 Must play the tyrant or the whore. 
 What moralist shall dare decide 
 Between the powers of lust and pride ? 
 The men whose wanton wives elope, 
 Agree, no doubt, with Mr. Pope. 
 Whose mates are chaster much and crosser, 
 Will give the preference to Dan Chaucer. 
 Sir Harry, and such wealthy hunks, 
 Who deal with peeresses or punks, 
 W r hen madam scolds and thunders, own 
 The sex are fond of power alone. 
 The cautious swain who wisely roves 
 Thro* country towns Tor rural loves ; 
 Whose mouth discreetly only waters 
 For milliners and farmers' daughters ; 
 And finds Maria, Bet, and Jenny, 
 His own for love, or else a guinea ; 
 From much experience thinks, no doubt, .. 
 The female world are whores throughout. 
 Massetto then (to say the truth, 
 Deep read in woman from his youth) 
 
119 
 
 Confess' d this latter sage opinion, 
 
 That all are under love's dominion : 
 
 And this impelled him much to try 
 
 His fortune at the nunnery. 
 
 He thought his figure and his face 
 
 Just suited for the gard'ner's place ; 
 
 And then, 'twas only to become 
 
 For half a year both deaf and dumb. 
 
 Gods ! it must be a weighty matter 
 
 That makes a blockhead cease to chatter ! 
 
 And rather than his purpose balk, 
 
 Resign his right to tease and talk : 
 
 A miracle in most 'tis true, 
 
 And more than good Sir Bob could do. 
 
 With beard unshav'd, and habit poor, 
 To look more dirty and demure ; 
 Massetto seeks the convent gate, 
 And rings the abbess to the grate ; 
 Then bowing low, with shrugs and shakes, 
 And well pretended age and aches ; 
 
120 
 
 By signs and nods declares his aim, 
 And shows his fitness for the same. 
 The abbess could no trick suspect, 
 And gaz'd with joy on each defect. 
 " Deaf, dumb, and old, and ugly too, 
 " Indeed ! indeed! this man will do ! 
 " For neither wickedness nor whim 
 " Will meddle with a wretch like him !" 
 The keys are brought, the gate unbarr'd, 
 Massetto gains the convent yard ; 
 And thus, thought he, old Mahomet, 
 To all of his believing set, 
 But most the rogue that fighting dies, 
 Unlocks the gates of paradise ; 
 And as he opes the starry doors, 
 Presents a brace of heavenly whores*. 
 The abbess with her man content, 
 Massetto to the garden sent, 
 To pass his solitary hours 
 In pruning trees and wat'ring flowers. 
 
 * Houris. 
 
For seven long days he labour'd on, 
 And scarcely spied a single nun ; 
 Yet hope against despair could strive, 
 And longing kept his flame alive ; 
 But fortune, that can change the dies, 
 And loves to favour by surprise, 
 Conspir'd to make Massetto blest, 
 Like brave Timotheus when at rest : 
 (Timotheus, who could cities get, 
 When fortune caught them in a net.) 
 
 Thus on a sultry summer's day, 
 Asleep our roguish gard'ner lay, 
 Beneath a beach with shady boughs, 
 To lengthen or invite repose : 
 Just then the godhead, who contrives 
 The fall of maids, and slips of wives ; 
 The same who found the time and place 
 When John the coachman met her grace; 
 Resolv'd two wand' ring nymphs to bring, 
 (The fairest pearls of all the string,) 
 
To where Massetto still repos'd, 
 With many natural charms expos'd. 
 With half a blush, and half a smile, 
 The nymphs surveyed the man awhile ; 
 His tatter'd shirt, in various parts 
 Discover'd charms for female hearts : 
 A spacious chest, a brawny back, 
 And skin, indeed, not very black : 
 Besides, a thousand nameless graces 
 Which girls prefer to handsome faces. 
 Recovered from their first surprise, 
 The nuns still gaz'd with eager eyes: 
 When thus the younger of the twain 
 Her friend address'd in merry strain. 
 
 " Sure some such silly thoughts as mine 
 " Invade that youthful breast of thine ; 
 " A wish, that cannot be withstood, 
 S That springs in every woman's blood: 
 " When part is known, and part is guest, 
 " To seek acquaintance with the rest 
 
123 
 
 " Inflames my curious soul, to know 
 " A thing concerning all below. 
 " What says my sister Clara now?" 
 " Ah ! dear Floretta, mind your vow ! 
 " Suppose 'tis known our vows we break 
 " Pray, Clara, can a dumb man speak ? 
 " Besides, not one of all the race 
 " Can sure be found with heart so base, 
 " Who dares, of honour quite devoid, 
 " Expose the charms he once enjoy'd." 
 Clara, grown wiser now and bolder, 
 Just taps Massetto on the shoulder, 
 And makes him soon to understand 
 The business that they had in hand. 
 The happy rogue, with joy overcome, 
 But still pretending deaf and dumb, 
 Permits the wanton girls to lead 
 Within an arbour's useful shade. 
 What there was done, let all suppose, 
 The maid can guess, the matron knows. 
 
124 
 
 But curiosity, that dwells 
 With women both in courts and cells, 
 Inspires a nun to know the cause 
 That both the happy sisters draws, 
 By day, by night, whate'er the weather, 
 To take the air so oft together. 
 Be sure, the truth was soon disclos'd, 
 And dumbee's labours all expos'd. 
 The nun, for girls must speak or burst, 
 The secret told to all afc first. 
 The vestals then assembled straight, 
 A council on the culprits'" fate : 
 Some hours in high debate were pass'd , 
 But this opinion rul'd at last. 
 " One party to the crime forgive, 
 " And let the guilty gard'ner live ; 
 <f But punish both the sinful fair, 
 " By giving every nun her share." 
 The twain were griev'd, but thought it wise 
 To yield this man a common prize ; 
 
125 
 
 And thus the sisters every one 
 Partook the treasure, nun by nun. 
 
 Before the dame the truth suspected, 
 She saw her garden lay neglected ; 
 The shrubs and flowers with drooping stalks, 
 And weeds in all the gravel walks; 
 Her wonder ceas'd, when once she knew, 
 The jobs her gard'ner had to do. 
 In such a case, the laws of Rome 
 Pronounc'd at once the sinner's doom : 
 And chastity was made to thrive, 
 By burying all the whores alive. 
 More merciful than this, the dame 
 Resolv'd to hide the convent's shame : 
 But yet condemn' d each guilty daughter 
 To fast a month on bread and water ; 
 Well lectur'd every wanton elf, 
 And took the gard'ner to herself. 
 
126 
 
 Oblig'd to toil like any Turk, 
 Massetto sicken'd of his work ; 
 For madam and her nuns besides, 
 Were quite enough for dumbee's sides. 
 (The sisters when the month was past, 
 Were eager all to break their fast.) 
 Till once upon a sabbath day, 
 (The dame had kept him long in play) 
 He found his jobs increase so fast, 
 That out the dumbee spoke at last. 
 " A cock fowl of the bantam breed 
 
 v 
 
 " Will serve ten hens at least in need ; 
 " But not ten men of stoutest stuff 
 " Can make one woman cry c Enough !' 
 " How hard must be my labour then, 
 " Who strive alone with more than ten ?'* 
 
 Down on her knees my abbess fell, 
 And cried aloud, " A miracle ! 
 
127 
 
 " A miracle ! the gard'ner speaks ! 
 " The dumb Massetto silence breaks !" 
 The sisters heard the joyful sound, 
 And quickly all assembled round. 
 " Children," continued she, " prepare 
 " To own the power of fast and prayer. 
 " A mighty miracle behold, 
 " As great as those perform'd of old ; 
 " By Mary's hairs, or Peter's toe, 
 " St. Bridget or Barromeo, 
 " To us the heavenly mercies reach, 
 " And give the dumb the power of speech. 
 
 " And you, Massetto, now proclaim 
 " The holy Virgin's mighty name; 
 " And use the speech she gave, to tell 
 " The wond'ring world the miracle." 
 Thus spoke the dame: Massetto bow'd, 
 And sung the Virgin's praise aloud : 
 Whilst all the nuns her grace implor'd, 
 Rejoic'd to see their man restor'd. 
 
128 
 
 Observing Fame directing there 
 Two eyes from all her thousand pair, 
 Chanc'd in one instant to behold 
 The wond'rous deed, as here 'tis told ; 
 And blew her trump, and soon made known 
 The miracle thro' all the town. 
 And thus since then the deaf and dumb 
 In crowds before the convent come; 
 
 v 
 
 In pious hopes to gain their shares 
 Of comfort by the vestals prayers : 
 And like the blest Massetto prove 
 The mighty power of heavenly love. 
 
 He, happy rogue a convert grown, 
 With tongue and every limb his own ; 
 Resolv'd, since she had sent his pardon, 
 To labour in the Virgin's garden : 
 And not unmindful of her favour, 
 Perform'd the convent's jobs for ever. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1805. 
 
129 
 
 AN 
 
 IMPROMPTU TO 
 
 A LADY SPLENDIDLY DRESSED. 
 
 WHENCE all this labour, Ah ! too lovely maid ! 
 
 To seek the tinsel ornaments of art? 
 In nature's simple dignity array *d, 
 
 'Tis yours to win, 'tis yours to keep the heart. 
 
 Let other damsels search for every toy, 
 
 Than you more studious, since than you less fair ; 
 Let them, to gild their weaker charms, employ 
 
 The pearl's pale lustre, or the diamond's glare. 
 
 But you, Louisa, trust those killing eyes, 
 
 That blooming cheek and, Ah ! those lips divine ! 
 
 Then make of every heart a willing prize, 
 But use your conquest only over mine. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1806. 
 K 
 
130 
 
 THE 
 
 LOVING LADY'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 A PASTORAL. 
 
 As late thro* Granta's winding vales I stray'd, 
 Where Camus lingers thro 7 his classic shade; 
 Borne on the breeze a plaintive murmur came, 
 And, mix'd with sighs, I heard Alexis' name. 
 'Twas Amoret beneath a beech reclin'd, 
 Her tresses loose, and floating in the wind, 
 Her hapless fate, and hopeless love she sung, 
 And these the notes that trembled on her tongue. 
 
 " Too lovely boy ! the cause of all my pains, 
 Pride of the nymphs, and envy of the swains ; 
 Here in this bower and this sequester'd grove, 
 To bowers and groves, ah, let me tell my love ! 
 
131 
 
 More kind than you, the willing Zephyrs bear 
 
 Those sighs and sorrows you disdain to hear: 
 
 Here gentle Echoes whisper back my woes, 
 
 The stream attends, and murmurs as it flows ; 
 
 The turtles answer from their secret shades, 
 
 And fill with mournful music all the glades. 
 
 How weep the dewy shrubs, and droop the flowers, 
 
 How fades the green from the deserted bowers; 
 
 The leafy honours die on every tree, 
 
 And all the spring appears to mourn with me. 
 
 Too cruel boy ! must you alone disdain 
 
 To hear my passion, tho' you cause my pain ? 
 
 " How oft, Alexis ! did my eyes reveal 
 The love I cannot speak, but still must feel. 
 How oft, dear youth ! my ardent eyes confest 
 The living flame that burns within my breast. 
 Alas! when first that heavenly face I view'd, 
 With every charm and every grace indued; 
 That form where youth with blooming health com- 
 And beauty traces all her waving lines ; [bines, 
 
 K 2 
 
132 
 
 I saw, I lov'd, and tried to fly too late, 
 One powerful glance for ever fix'd my fate. 
 Thy form was all too fair, my hopes too vain, 
 I sigh'd and look'd, and look'd and sigh'd again. 
 You graceful pass'd along : entraric'd I stood, 
 Afraid to follow, but my eyes pursued. 
 They, as the lovely image slow retir'd, 
 AdmirM and gaz'd, and still the more admir'd. 
 No longer then they view'd, but seem'd to view, 
 Fix'd to the spot where last your steps withdrew; 
 As visions bright, and, Ah! as fleeting, past 
 The youth away, but left a love to last. 
 
 " Ye bowers and streamlets listen to my sighs, 
 For you may hear me tho' the youth denies : 
 Ah ! let your rural charms invite my boy, 
 And he those beauties I admire enjoy ! 
 Then, as perhaps my lov'd Alexis leads 
 His lonely footsteps to your flow'ry meads, 
 Some happy chance your Amoret may bring 
 To where he wantons in your cooling spring ; 
 
Or, where on rosy beds luxuriant laid, 
 And lulPd to slumbers by your whispering shade ; 
 Some golden dream his glowing fancy warms, 
 Flushes his cheek, and heightens all his charms. 
 How near him then I'll gaze! and, Ah! how near 
 Murmur my vows and wishes in his ear ! 
 
 " Oh! that for me a happy rustic grown, 
 My lov'd Alexis would forsake the town; 
 With him, the world and all its charms I'd fly, 
 Not fame is sweet as such obscurity. 
 Content with him alone my lot to join, 
 And all the country's simple pleasures mine. 
 There, where no toils fatigue, no vices lure, 
 And ev'ry joy, tho' humble, still is pure; 
 There may we live, nor seek for wealth nor power, 
 And love be all the care of ev'ry hour. 
 (Why should I blush ? Ah ! blame the powers above 
 That made thee lovely, and that made me love.) 
 There, too, when youth's enraptur'd dreams are past, 
 The sweet remembrance of our joys may last; 
 
134 
 
 Nor age, that ev'ry keener sense controuls, 
 Forbid the sympathy of tender souls. 
 And there, when fate his timely dart shall send, 
 (Ah! let me die, kind gods! before my friend:) 
 There in some grot, some cool sequester'd shade, 
 By former pleasures dear and sacred made ; 
 Where all around the plaintive Zephyrs sigh, 
 And willows wave, and rivulets murmur by ; 
 Your much lov'd hands a simple tomb may rear, 
 That only tells, * my Amoret rests here.' 
 There may you oft indulge the pleasing pain, 
 And ' weep the more because you weep in vain.' 
 There on some silent morn, or pensive eve, 
 My watchful spirit shall your soul receive: 
 And, whilst the swains a common grave prepare 
 For one contented, ever constant pair, 
 Bear high away where happy angels dwell, 
 And find the vast reward of loving well." 
 
 Thus, thro' the evening hour the mournful maid 
 To calm her grief and soothe her soul essay'd ; 
 
135 
 
 Till in the west declining Phoebus shed 
 His parting beams upon the mountain's head ; 
 The varied warblings ceased in every vale, 
 And nightingales took up the plaintive tale ; 
 Homeward with footsteps slow I bent my way, 
 And silent darkness stole upon the day. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1808, 
 
136 
 
 EPISTLE 
 
 TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN IN LOVE. 
 
 HAIL! generous youth, whom glory's sacred flame 
 Inspires, and animates to deeds of fame ; 
 Who feel the noble wish before you die 
 To raise the ringer of each passer-by : 
 Hail ! may a future age admiring view 
 A Falkland, or a Clarendon in you. 
 
 But as your blood with dangerous passion boils, 
 Beware! and fly from Venus' silken toils: 
 Ah ! let the head protect the weaker heart, 
 And Wisdom's jEgis turn on Beauty's dart. 
 
 How weak the wit, that not content to find 
 Unhappy man the sport of woman kind. 
 Decks the fair murd'ress with imprudent skill, 
 And points a dart ' too apt before to kill !' 
 
137 
 
 Lo ! all the silly sons of Phoebus' train ; 
 How the rapt poet turns a love-sick swain; 
 How shines the charmer in his flow'ry scene, 
 Good, fair, and powerful, Goddess, Grace, and Queen! 
 What wonder then that weaker mortals fail, 
 When genius shows her stronger armour frail ? 
 Fools sure must err if wicked wits applaud, 
 And Phoebus turns a pimp, the Muse a bawd. 
 
 From you, my ***, let your friend demand 
 Your opening virtues for this sinking land ; 
 Whilst " M 1 as" fond of bondage still remains, 
 Escaped his nurse, in younger tyrant's chains, 
 And gaily flutters in a female ring, 
 As broad as twice my lady's apron-string. 
 Whilst high-born C sh hopes in time to grow, 
 How vast th' ambitious aim ! perhaps a beau : 
 Ah, friend ! do you such paltry joys despise, 
 And leave the fair and fops their mutual prize, 
 And aim, as youth shall ripen into man, 
 At nobler objects than to flirt a fan. 
 
138 
 
 If you must yield to ill examples too, 
 And smiles and simpers have their force with you, 
 Let no usurping queen your bosom vex, 
 And if you must admire, admire the sex. 
 'Tis true, 'tis sad to gaze at ev'ry toast, 
 But 'tis a folly lasts a year at most : 
 The wise, if such there be, will sigh for none ; 
 The fop for many, but the fool for one ; 
 He, as the child would pluck one only peach, 
 And scorn'd the rest because within his reach, 
 In spite of sense, in all experience spite, 
 Prefers but one, where all are equal quite. 
 For see, in what the different charmers vary, 
 The same my Tearsheet, as your lady Mary : 
 For each would try, and just with equal skill, 
 And each, perhaps, may have at last her will; 
 Each, if a mistress now, would be a wife, 
 And both, believe me, will be queens for life. 
 
 But if 'tis fix'd that ev'ry lord must pair, 
 And you and N d must not want an heir, 
 
139 
 
 Lose not your pains, and scour the country round, 
 To find a treasure that can ne'er be found ! 
 No! take the first the town or court affords, 
 Trick'd out to stock a market for the lords ; 
 By chance perhaps your luckier choice may fall 
 On one, tho' wicked, not the worst of all: 
 A fair that will not seek your groom's embrace, 
 And just too chaste to kiss before your face; 
 Who, if she loves the vice, avoids the stain, 
 And if a #**, yet not quite a*****; 
 One, not a prodigal with all her sins, 
 And fairly spending all her pounds in pins 
 One, tho' perhaps as any Maxwell free, 
 Yet scarce a copy, Claribel, of thee: 
 Not very ugly, and not very old, 
 A little pert indeed, but not a scold ; 
 One that, in short, may help to lead a life 
 Not farther much from comfort than from strife; 
 And when she dies, and disappoints your fears, 
 Shall leave some joys for your declining years. 
 
140 
 
 But, as your early youth some time allows, 
 Nor custom yet demands you for a spouse, 
 Some hours of freedom may remain as yet 
 For one who laughs alike at love and debt: 
 Then, why in haste ? put off the evil day, 
 And snatch at youthful comforts whilst you may ! 
 Pause ! nor so soon the various bliss forego 
 That single souls, and such alone, can know : 
 Ah! why too early careless life resign, 
 Your morning slumber, and your evening wine j 
 Your lov'd companion, and his easy talk ; 
 Your Muse, invok'd in every peaceful walk. 
 What ! can no more your scenes paternal please, 
 Scenes sacred long to wise, unmated ease ? 
 The prospect lengthened o'er the distant down, 
 Lakes, meadows, rising woods, and all your own? 
 What! shall your N d, shall your cloister'd bowers, 
 The high o'er-hanging arch and trembling towers! 
 Shall these, profan'd with folly or with strife, 
 An ever fond, or ever angry wife ! 
 
141 
 
 Shall these no more confess a manly sway, 
 But changeful woman's changing whims obey? 
 Who may, perhaps, as varying humour calls, 
 Contract your cloisters and overthrow your walls : 
 Let Repton loose o'er all the ancient ground, 
 Change round to square, and square convert to round ; 
 Root up the elms and yews too solemn gloom, 
 And fill with shrubberies gay and green their room ; 
 Roll down the terrace to a gay parterre, 
 Where gravel'd walks and flowers alternate glare; 
 And quite transform, in ev'ry point complete, 
 Your gothic abbey to a country seat. 
 
 Forget the fair one, and your fate delay , 
 If not avert, at least defer the day 
 When you beneath the female yoke shall bend, 
 And lose your wit, your temper, and your friend, 
 
 Trin. Coll, Camb. 1808. 
 
LINES 
 
 ON 
 BEING PRESENTED WITH THE NEEDLE WORK OF 
 
 TWO LADIES. 
 
 WHEN the first pair, ere sin and dress were known, 
 Roam'd thro' their native Paradise alone, 
 Majestic man and his celestial bride, 
 In nature's rich array, and blooming pride; 
 No blush they knew, of no reproach afraid, 
 But all the graces of their forms display'd : 
 The female, form'd upon the first great plan, 
 Th' immortal consort of immortal man, 
 Knew not the toils that household cares afford, 
 But shar'd the happy labours of her lord : 
 His fair companion, whensoever he shed 
 The grateful streams around some flow'ry bed, 
 Or twined their bowers, or spread their secret cell 
 With banks of amarinth and asphodel. 
 
143 
 
 Oh! had our mother never learnt to stray, 
 But always lov'd and kept the virtuous way, 
 And never known the cares thro' all her life 
 That vex the dear domestic drudge a wife! 
 But since the tempter warp'd her weaker mind, 
 And one small apple damn'd all human kind, 
 On all the sex immortal plagues were hurFd, 
 And sin and dress then first disgrac'd the world : 
 For then the harder toils of life begun ; 
 Man plough'd the ground, whilst weaker woman spun : 
 And thus the gentle sex, thro' ev'ry age, 
 The soft solicitudes of dress engage ; 
 How just the punishment, and right the aim! 
 That those who caus'd the sin, should hide the shame* 
 With diff'rent wishes form'd, and diff'rent powers, 
 In active this, and that in peaceful hours. 
 The fiercer passions mighty man controul, 
 The finer feelings soothe the woman's soul : 
 The eagle's flame is his, but hers the dove's ; 
 And man adores, but gentle woman loves ! 
 
144 
 
 Thro' all the world they bear their sep'rate parts ; 
 These form the graceful, those the noble arts. 
 
 Nor you, ye lovely pair ! those arts disdain, 
 Nor envy man's superior powers and pain. 
 God never gave those bright, those tender forms, 
 To till the stubborn earth, or brave the storms; 
 But stamp* d your frames with all the signs of grace, 
 With each perfection or of form or face ; 
 To grace our pleasures, and to ease our care, 
 
 And soothe our splendid toils, but not to share. 
 
 i 
 
 Of Greek afraid, and not too proud to shew 
 That all the sex have not forgot to sew, 
 You choose the better part, and still despise 
 A woman very bold, or very wise, 
 Who toils and talks, and frets and fumes, poor elf ! 
 To rise to man, but sinks below herself; 
 Content, whate'er such Amazons perplex, 
 To shine the fairest, best of all your sex. 
 
 Trin.Coll. Camb. Aug. 1806. 
 
145 
 
 SONG. 
 
 BEAUTY AND WINE. 
 
 LET every true man of the Muses 
 
 No more ask a subject from one of the Nine, 
 But own he's a dunce who refuses 
 
 To sing to the praises of beauty and wine. 
 
 What joys in this earth with the blisses, 
 
 That woman, sweet woman bestows, can compare? 
 E'en heaven is a heaven of kisses, 
 
 At least if old Mahomet's Houris are there. 
 
 What misery that sorrow produces, 
 
 But Bacchus can heal with his heavenly bowl; 
 The grape of all medical juices, 
 
 Is the physic best suited to gladden the soul. 
 
146 
 
 I'll not give the preference to either, 
 
 They both are so charming, and both so divine, 
 But toast both their merits together; 
 
 So fill up a bumper to beauty and wine. 
 
 I.Z, 
 
147 
 
 LAMENT 
 
 FOR 
 
 ROBERT BURNS, 
 
 IMITATED FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHtJS, 
 
 OH ! injur'd bardl forgive the grateful strain 
 That I, the humblest of the tuneful train, 
 With glowing heart, yet trembling hand, repay, 
 For many a pensive, many a sprightly lay. 
 
 Gifford's Baviad. 
 
 BURNS is no more ! lament with me, ye woods, 
 Lament with me ye fountains and ye floods ; 
 Let every grove in browner hues be clad, 
 The flowers thro' all their splendid nations sad. 
 
 It will be perhaps necessary to advertise the reader, that the 
 imitation concludes with the 1 l6th line of the original, as the 
 
 L2 
 
148 
 
 The blushing rose a deeper blush assume, 
 And fair anemones resign their bloom ; 
 Whilst hyacinthus added sorrow shows, 
 Still lower droops, and still more purple grows. 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain," 
 Let Philomela in her shades complain ; 
 And on the banks of Ayr the tidings tell *, 
 The bard is dead that lov'd thy stream so well. 
 In his cold grave the rustic poet lies, 
 And at his death the voice of Coila dies f. 
 
 remaining verses cannot bear such a paraphrase as would 
 suit with the rest of the poem. These words, therefore, 
 
 are spread out into some surface, and with them is the ter- 
 mination made. 
 
 * The river Ayr gives the name to Burns' native county. 
 
 f Bums calls himself the voice of Coila. Xyle being a district 
 in Ayrshire, so called, saith tradition, from Coil, or Coilus, a 
 Pictish monarch. 
 
149 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain," 
 Ye swans of Alsa cross the narrow main * : 
 In dying notes the poet's death declare, 
 To Nithsdale's nymphs and all the maids of Ayrf. 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain,'* 
 He ne'er shall touch the tuneful reed again ; 
 Nor e'er again beneath the lonely pine 
 Play to his flocks, and charm the list'ning kine : 
 Thro' shadowy vales he wanders now alone, 
 And death's dark regions echo back his moan. 
 Mute are the hills, the meads rejoice no more, 
 And all the gambols of the herds are o'er. 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain" 
 For Burns, each bard on Albion's happy plain ; 
 
 * Alsa, a high rock opposite the coast of Ayr. The resort and 
 habitation of sea fowl of every kind. 
 
 f The valley so called through which the " winding Nith" 
 pursues its way. 
 
150 
 
 For Burns, each liberal bosom heaves a sigh, 
 And gen'rous satire lifts a weeping eye *. 
 But Coila's nymphs his fair immortal themes 
 With constant tears augment the swelling streams. 
 The silent echos in their rocky seats, 
 Mourn for the song thy voice no more repeats. 
 The trees their fruit, the shrubs resign their flowers, 
 And all the verdure fades from all the bowers. 
 Thy fleecy flock no more their nectar yields, 
 Thy bees for honey cease to range the fields. 
 What nectar flows so sweetly as he sung ? 
 What honey like the honey of his tongue ? 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain.' 1 
 Not all the dolphins shells in Triton's train ; 
 Not all the Philomelas of the grove, 
 Nor swallows shrilly murmuring as they rove; 
 Not hapless Mary when she fondly prest 
 The royal infant to her aching breast ; 
 
 * See the Baviad. 
 
151 
 
 Not with such fierce and undissembled woes, 
 
 The mountain warriors mourn'd the brave Montrose*; 
 
 Nor with such fond regret and sorrows free, 
 
 Spread with fresh flowers thy simple tomb, Dundee f ; 
 
 As Scotia now thro' all her mountains mourns 
 
 The rustic poet's death, the death of Burns. 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain ;" 
 Nor you, ye warbling tribes, from grief refrain. 
 For oft he made your feather J d choirs rejoice, 
 Caught by his music, and improved your voice : 
 Now in your shades the grateful dirge begin, 
 And you, ye plaintive doves, his requiem sing. 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain:" 
 Ah ! who can hope thy tuneful pipe to gain ? 
 
 * The gallant Montrose, as he is denominated ; or James 
 Graham, marquis of Montrose, 
 
 f Lord Dundee, killed at the battle of Killicranckie pass, 
 where there is erected to him a simple stone. 
 
1,52 
 
 Ah ! who shall wear the wreath thy temples wore ? 
 Or press those reeds thy lips have press'd before ? 
 For still thy breath bedews the murmuring oats, 
 And echo tries to catch the lingering notes. 
 
 B es ! be the treasure thine, tho' needless fear 
 
 Should keep thy music from the public ear. 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain," 
 What woes oppress thy own, thy faithful Jean* ! 
 She whose bright form thy youthful breast could move, 
 Awake to melody, alive to love. 
 She who could fly from wealth and all i s charms, 
 For love and poverty in Burns' arms. 
 Perhaps e'en now on Ayr's deserted shores 
 The widow'd fair one still thy fate deplorer : 
 Or grief indulges (sorrow's sweetest boon' 
 In Denhoim's f meads, or on the banks Boon . 
 
 * Miss Jean Armour, whom he married. 
 ^ Denholm, the name of Burns' farm. 
 
 J Doon, a lake and river in Ayrshire, which Burns frequently 
 names. 
 
153 
 
 * 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain," 
 For every Muse must now confess her pain. 
 With thee, O Burns ! the power of song expires, 
 And all the joys the tuneful art inspires; 
 The lover's hopes and fears, the lover's bliss, 
 The youth's embraces, and the virgin's kiss. 
 Then round thy grave let drooping Cupids mourn, 
 And Venus shed her sorrows o'er thy urn. 
 And thou, fair stream! must share the common woe, 
 Whose waves for ever in his numbers flow. 
 Eden and Tweed could weep for Thomson's song, 
 And sigh'd anr 1 murmur' d as they roll'd along. 
 Nor shall thy current, favour'd Ayr, refuse 
 To sigh and murmur for thy Burns' Muse. 
 For each of springs, and fields, and forests sings, 
 Each lov'd t'le fields, the forests, and the springs. 
 But Ednam's bard aspir'd to loftier strains, 
 Nor always sported in the flowery plains : 
 
 * Thomson, born at Ednam in Roxburgshire. 
 
154 
 
 But sung the isle amidst the waters free *, 
 
 And dar'd be loud in praise of liberty f; 
 
 And shew'd the rage which love alone controulsj, 
 
 And all the passions stirr'd in princely souls . 
 
 Whilst Coila's gentle poet tunes the reeds 
 
 For ever in his groves and native meads; 
 
 Nor sings of tears, and wars destructive fires, 
 
 But amorous swains, and nymphs, and gay desires : 
 
 The look, the blush, the sigh, the kiss, th' embrace, 
 
 And all the wonders of a beauty's face. 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain,'* 
 E'en cities lov'd the poet, tho' a swain. 
 Less frequent sighs, the signs of sad despair, 
 Heav'd the white bosoms of the British fair 
 When Dryden, mighty Dry den, breath'd his last, 
 Or when the song of Thames' swan was past ; 
 
 * Britannia. f Liberty. J Coriolanus. 
 
 Sophonisba. 
 
155 
 
 Than from the cottage to the palace spread, 
 And told the world the bard of Ayr was dead : 
 The soft infection thro' Edina ran, 
 And mourn' d alike the poet and the man. 
 Nor empty sighs alone attend thy hearse, 
 But nobler griefs from many a plaintive verse ; 
 E'en I must pour these numbers from my heart, 
 Whilst grief unfeign'd supplies the place of art. 
 Oh ! that my simple song could half repay 
 The tuneful lessons that thy lines convey. 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain, 5 
 And weep for ever, tho' you weep in vain. 
 The verdant herbs, the flowers, the tender shoots, 
 The opening buds, the blossoms, and the fruits, 
 In every year renew their painted pride, 
 By winter wither'd, but by spring supplied. 
 But we, the wise, the great, the lords of all, 
 One season flourish, then for ever fall : 
 
156 
 
 Nor spring's mild breeze, nor summer's genial ray, 
 Can burst the tomb to animate our clay. 
 And thou, sweet bard, tho' ail the world shall weep, 
 Till angels wake thee, must for ever sleep. 
 Nor all the songs the pensive village maid 
 Chaunts o'er thy grave to soothe her poet's shade, 
 Shall break the silence of thy peaceful shrine, 
 No music reach thee tho' the strain were thine. 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain;" 
 Can sorrow enter where the Muses reign ? 
 Alas ! unhappy bard ! thy timeless fate * 
 Would half confess it, did I dare relate 
 
 * The editor of Burns' works draws a veil over his misfortunes, 
 which it would be an unhallowed labour to remove. Thus much, 
 however, must be said, that the difficulties with which the poet had 
 to struggle did not altogether arise from his own imprudence, but 
 rather from that suspicion which the activity of a man of genius 
 always creates in the bosom of dunces. Of the patronage which 
 they conferred upon the poet the Scotch have not much reason to 
 boast, nor can praise be bestowed upon their acknowledgment of 
 his merits when dead, whom they would not support whilst living. 
 
157 
 
 Thy many struggles ere thy worth was known, 
 The envy, and the want that weigh'd thee down ; 
 The slow relief that came too late to save 
 The broken spirit from an early grave. 
 
 Oh! that the world, tho' wide and bad, should hold 
 One head so wicked, and one heart so cold; 
 Whom Burns' simple numbers fail'd to charm, 
 Whom Burns' artless virtues could not warm. 
 
 " Sing, Muse of Scotia, sing the mournful strain ;" 
 Nor want, nor envy, could that virtue stain : 
 But they, if such there were, whom envy fir'd, 
 T* oppress the man, by every Muse inspir'd, 
 Shall all un pitied to the grave descend, 
 Live without love, and die without a friend. 
 Whilst Burns endures an ever-glorious name, 
 Grav'd on the column of eternal fame; 
 
 Burns died in his 38th year, at a time when his taste must have been 
 improved, his judgment strengthened, and all his faculties matured 
 at a time when many others have scarcely entered upon their 
 course. 
 
158 
 
 Of all his honours, this the least reward, 
 That I must rev'rence and lament the bard : 
 And to his much-lov'd memory grateful raise 
 This simple altar of unpolish'd lays. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1804. 
 
159 
 
 ON 
 
 THE DEATH OF 
 
 A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 Cecidit, velut prati 
 Ultimi flos, praetereunte postquam 
 Fractus aratro est 
 
 CATULLUS, 
 
 FROM learned solitudes where science reigns 
 With undivided sway o'er Granta's plains ; 
 From cloisters echoing with no vulgar noise, 
 But vocal only to the Muses voice; 
 Say, should the murmur of a sigh arise ? 
 Should tears e'er glisten in a student's eyes ? 
 Can study ease the soul to grief a prey, 
 Books soothe the mind, and charm our woes away ? 
 
160 
 
 Can they recal the peace for ever fled, 
 
 Or calm my sorrows for a sister dead ? 
 
 Ah! no; in vain I read, in vain peruse 
 
 What Plato taught, or woo the Mantuan Muse: 
 
 At every pause my Mary's form appears, 
 
 Awakes my mem'ry, and renews my tears. 
 
 My books I quit, and seek the lonely shades 
 Where elms majestic rear their leafy heads ; 
 Where Gothic domes, and halls, old Camus laves, 
 And shows the classic temples in his waves. 
 E'en there that voice which wont to charm my ear, 
 Borne in soft murmurs thro' the ev'ning air, 
 Seems sweetest music 'midst the waving trees, 
 Then, lost in sighs, expires upon the breeze: 
 In each lone walk my Mary's form appears, 
 Awakes my mem'ry, and renews my tears. 
 
 Now to my couch in vain for rest I fly, 
 No rest awaits, tho' slumbers close my eye. 
 
161 
 
 Maria comes, the same in form and face, 
 Those eyes of jet, those dimples rich with grace; 
 I fondly gaze o'er all the well known charms, 
 And snatch my lost Maria to my arms: 
 My eager transports burst the happy sleep, 
 I wake, to find 'twas but a dream, and weep. 
 
 Oh ! ye who round a parent's marble mourn 
 " That virtuous age has reach'd the mortal bourn ;" 
 Vain are your tears, those griefs unjust assuage, 
 Age follows youth, and death succeeds to age. 
 When spring's gay hours, when summer joys are past, 
 The grave's chill winter then must come at last. 
 But when the budding rose of youth displays 
 The golden promise of a length of days, 
 Who but must weep to view the faded flower 
 Cropt ere its prime, and in its springtide hour? 
 Who but must weep that youth and early bloom 
 Should fail to save a beauty from the tomb ? 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 Where is that kindred soul by heaven decreed * 
 With her alone to live, with her to bleed, 
 Who, if our prayers could Mary's fate prolong, 
 With her had pass'd the maze of life along ? 
 Perhaps, unconscious of those tender ties, 
 And her who calls him early to the skies, 
 Perhaps e'en now his spirit flits away 
 To join his Mary in the realms of day : 
 Or far away on angel pinions borne, 
 In regions fairer than the poet's morn, [flight, 
 
 Thro' heav'n's bright worlds they wing their happy 
 And wand'ring sail on floods of purest light. 
 
 Blest maid! tho' now, where seraphs sweep the string, 
 Where heavenly choirs to heavenly harpings sing, 
 Tho' hymns divine salute thy ravish'd ears, 
 Awake to all the music of the spheres, 
 Yet, ah! attend, a voice of tuneful woe 
 Ascends in murmurs from the world below; 
 
 * In allusion to Dr. Watts' beautiful theory of United Sotrfs. 
 
163 
 
 Like Abel's incense, now it dares to rise, 
 Pass thro* the clouds, and steal into the skies. 
 If sighs may there be heard, if tears may flow, 
 If angels e'er can taste a moment's woe, 
 My sorrows hear, and with a sigh approve 
 This last sad tribute of a brother's love. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1804. 
 
 M 2 
 
164 
 
 VERSES 
 
 WRITTEN IN LORD STRANGFORD'S TRANSLATION 
 OF CAMOENS, 
 
 AND PRESENTED TO A YOUNG LADY WHO WAS GOING TO 
 LISBON FOR HER HEALTH. 
 
 Timida modo voce precamur 
 Ut tibi det faciles utilis aura vias. 
 
 OVID. 
 
 THIS for the fair, who every danger braves, 
 
 Nor fears to trust her beauties to the waves : 
 
 This for the fair, who quits our wintry isle, 
 
 Where one continu'd summer dares not smile; 
 
 And fearless o'er the waste of waters runs, 
 
 To happier climates warm'd by milder suns. 
 
 Where, winding from his source, thro' myrtle bowers, 
 
 To Lisbon's walls th' expanding Tagus pours : 
 
165 
 
 Still blest, still rich, as when in times of old, 
 His streams of amber flow'd o'er sands of gold. 
 
 Accept what youth to matchless beauty gives; 
 Here Camoen's soul in Strangford's numbers lives. 
 A soul hoAv vigorous, and how skilPd to move 
 All other breasts, a slave alone to love ! 
 (Love, which all powers and passions still subdues, 
 And reigns triumphant even o'er the Muse.) 
 
 Such is the gift, how small for worth like thine ! 
 How poor an off'ring at so fair a shrine ! 
 Yet such as one whose youthful passions burn 
 To court the Muse, perhaps without return, 
 The last fond follower of the Nine may give, 
 And you, a Muse yourself, may well receive. 
 
 Blest shall I be who humbly view the rays 
 Thy brightness beams, and at a distance gaze, 
 If this memorial from a youth can please, 
 And be your fit companion thro' the seas. 
 
166 
 
 Estremadura's plains may then rejoice 
 
 At Camoen's- numbers and a Syren's voice : 
 
 Lisbon once more admire her poet's strain, 
 
 And Tagus waft along the well known sounds again, 
 
 Blest lands ! which never frozen winters know, 
 Where summer's softest gales eternal blow : 
 Blest lands! to seek whose ever smiling plains, 
 The fairest of our British beauties deigns; 
 For her your sweets display, your joys prepare, 
 Whose meanest grace is, that she's passing fair. 
 For tho' around her all perfections strive 
 To give more charms than e'er had Xeuxis' five, 
 Hers is the beaming lustre of a soul, 
 Willing to yield, yet able to controul; 
 Hers are the beauties of th' excelling mind, 
 The bright idea, and the taste refin'd : 
 The judgment that instructs, the wit that charms, 
 The feeling that inspires the heart it warms: 
 A heart where virtue's loveliest splendours shine, 
 Virtue that asks a happier Muse than mine. 
 
167 
 
 Ah ! madam, when another nation woos 
 Those charms of thine that we, alas ! must lose ; 
 When at your feet the youth of Lisbon lie, 
 Caught by the softness of an English eye ; 
 Whatever land you bless, where'er you go, 
 One thought on Albion's distant isle bestow : 
 One thought on those whose hearts still fondly view 
 Your wand'ring steps, and as you fly pursue; 
 Pass vales and mountains, follow o'er the sea, 
 And quit their native breasts to dwell with thee. 
 Nor wander long, but when you've cull'd each grace 
 The region yields to bloom upon your face, 
 Return to bless us once again, and bring 
 Th' unfading roses of a southern spring ; 
 Return with youthful health, and charms improv'd, 
 Content at home to live admir'd and lov'd. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1804 
 
168 
 
 IMITATION 
 OF THE 
 
 SIXTH ODE, SECOND BOOK OF HORACE. 
 TO SEPTIMIUS. 
 
 THO' we, my friend! prepare to roam 
 From happy Britain's native shore, 
 
 And leave the dear delights of home 
 To hear the loud Atlantic roar: 
 
 Tho' to the distant lands we fly, 
 
 Where desolation widely reigns, 
 Where Tadmor's lonely ruins lie 
 
 On Syria's wild unpeopled plains: 
 
 This is my secret wish, to close 
 
 My days in some secure retreat, 
 And from the toils of life repose, 
 
 Content with my maternal seat. 
 
169 
 Or if my follies or my fate 
 
 Should that my own resort deny, 
 Then let me rent a small estate, 
 
 Fast by the banks of lovely Wye. 
 
 Retir'd near Clongher's secret bowers, 
 Oh ! may that nook for life be mine 
 
 Where honey drops from all the flowers, 
 And orchard trees excel the vine ! 
 
 Where lasting frosts and tempests wild 
 Nor bind the earth, nor cloud the sky, 
 
 But summers long and winters mild 
 The genial tepid airs supply. 
 
 Thou too, my B n, shalt be near 
 
 To sooth my life, my death attend ; 
 
 And weep, for thou canst weep, one tear, 
 To mourn the poet and the friend. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1800. 
 
170 
 
 A RONDEAU 
 
 LET prudence point her thorny way, 
 Let knaves invent and fools obey, 
 Let cowards bow to reason's shrine, 
 I'll be mad with love and wine. 
 
 Let the pedant proud disdain 
 Wit and humour's sparkling vein, 
 His sluggish feeling never caught 
 By one eccentric glowing thought; 
 Be the wreath of fancy mine, 
 I'll be mad with love and wine. 
 
 Let the envious hypocrite 
 False and musty saws indite; 
 Let the idle moralist 
 Mirth's entrancing sway resist; 
 
171 
 
 Be the course of pleasure mine, 
 I'll be mad with love and wine. 
 
 Love to peace ambition charms, 
 Wine the care-chill'd bosom warms ; 
 And when its powers no more inspire 
 Vivid wit's responsive fire ; 
 When the jovial hours are run, 
 And the laugh of spirit done ; 
 And silence with his blinking eye 
 Mocks the parted revelry ; 
 Her witching dreams delight shall shed, 
 And yielding beauty crown my bed. 
 
 L.T. 
 
172 
 
 SONG. 
 
 'Tis hard when summer clothes the year 
 
 In nature's gayest dress, 
 The vigorous morn of life to wear 
 
 In study's dull recess. 
 
 'Tis hard with an indignant breast, 
 
 Betray'd by secret wiles, 
 To meet the spoiler of its rest, 
 
 And deck the brow in smiles. 
 
 But oh! 'tis harder to conceal 
 
 A lover's pregnant sigh, 
 And what the secret heart doth feel, 
 
 To bid the cheek deny. 
 
 L.T. 
 
173 
 
 SONG. 
 
 LET the lovesick boy, who dies 
 If anger beam from Cloe's eyes, 
 Bow before the iron rod 
 Of the tyrant archer god ; 
 Who feeds with dreams of poison'd bowls 
 The gloomy, dull, distemper'd souls 
 Of wretched lovers, who despair, 
 Because a peevish woman's fair 1 
 
 Be mine the little rosy boy 
 Whose only chains are chains of joy ; 
 Who dances on to Lydian measures, 
 Surrounded by a troop of pleasures; 
 Mutual wishes, soft desires, 
 Such as merry May inspires, 
 When in the twins the sun is glowing, 
 And a fragrant zephyr blowing j 
 
174 
 
 And sometimes round his temples twine, 
 A fillet steep'd in mighty wine : 
 But ever let the snow-wing'd dove 
 Of sacred faith around him move; 
 Let honour be his constant friend, 
 And secrecy his steps attend. 
 
 L. T, 
 
175 
 
 THE 
 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 THE settled gaze of mute despair 
 Had fix'd all night the lover's eye, 
 
 A scornful beauty caus'd his care, 
 And hopeless passion bade him die. 
 
 The fair a happier pillow press'd, 
 
 Her cheek was flush' d with haughty joy, 
 -The pride of conquest swell'd her breast, 
 And triumph lightened in her eye. 
 
 This youth of love, this fair of stone, 
 Well may I guess, but dare not shew ; 
 
 Oh! had I ne'er that lady known, 
 I ne'er had felt that lover's woe. 
 
 L.T 
 
176 
 
 THE 
 
 RIVAL. 
 
 OH! Celia, when thine eyes of light 
 First broke on my enraptur'd sight, 
 I swore the starry train of night 
 
 Grew dim before their brilliancy : 
 
 But when I found those orbs of day 
 Did but thy fairer soul display, 
 My heart became a willing prey, 
 
 And sought a joyous slavery. 
 
 The high renown that war doth give, 
 With all ambition's sons receive, 
 Are worthless to the smiles which live 
 In circles of such witchery. 
 
177 
 
 Not all Napoleon's fortunes prove, 
 Nor all Potosi's wealth should move 
 To tempt me from the chains of love, 
 From thee, my soul's idolatry. 
 
 But tho' a death I'd gladly die, 
 
 To chase the tear which fills thine eye, 
 
 And bid the troop of sorrows fly 
 
 Which dim its wonted brilliancy ; 
 
 I'd rather see its magic light 
 ObscurM in fate's eternal night, 
 Than see its potent influence bright 
 Shine on another's rivalry. 
 
 L. T. 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 WHEN by invading cares oppressed 
 The drooping spirits tamely fly, 
 
 And all the hopes which youth has dress'd 
 In fancy's brightest colours die ; 
 
 When melancholy's surly power 
 
 Weighs to despair the sinking heart, 
 
 And the dull lazy-pacing hour 
 Seems resting never to depart ; 
 
 Say, what can bid the moments roll, 
 
 Swift as the wandering comet's glance, 
 
 Can wake to hope the fainting soul, 
 And bid the rising spirits dance? 
 
 What, but the smile of love and joy 
 
 That woman's dimpled cheek discloses, 
 
 And sparkles in her melting eye, 
 And parts her lips of living roses ! 
 
179 
 
 What, but her voice, whose whisper gives 
 In witching music hopes of bliss ; 
 
 What, but the thrilling fire which lives 
 In matchless woman's yielding kiss ! 
 
 L. T, 
 
180 
 
 TO-DAY IS OURS, TO-MORROW IS THE 
 GODS! 
 
 COME, let the goblet foam with generous wine, 
 Spread the rich banquet, and enjoy to-day; 
 
 Haply to-morrow's sun may ne'er be thine, 
 May see thee mingled with thy native clay ! 
 
 The young rose smiles when fostering skies invite, 
 Her blushing beauties court the kissing gale, 
 
 Her purple bosom drinks the beam of light, 
 
 Her fragrant breath pervades the scented vale: 
 
 Her hours are few, and transient is her bloom, 
 Soon fade her colours, and her graces fly, 
 
 Subject to nature's universal doom, 
 
 She blooms to droop, and only lives to die. 
 
181 
 
 Say, with a needless wisdom shall the soul 
 
 Pine at the grief that distant years may prove ? 
 
 Shall funeral garlands crown the flowing bowl ? 
 Or wreaths of cypress deck the couch of love ? 
 
 Laugh at the clouds which threaten future sorrow ; 
 
 To present pleasures grateful homage pay ; 
 Live while the fates allow, nor let to-morrow 
 
 With dreams of coming anguish blast to-day ! 
 
 L.T. 
 
182 
 
 THE 
 
 UNGRATEFUL. 
 
 WAKE the harp to love no more ! 
 All the flattering dream is o'er; 
 Wake no more the swelling measure 
 To the notes of former pleasure; 
 The powers of music fail to move 
 Ceiia's frigid heart to love ! 
 
 To her magic name alone 
 Pour'd my harp its sweetest tone, 
 And sounded every thrilling wire 
 Celia's charms and my desire. 
 But now disdain usurps her eye, 
 Scorn dispels the rising sigh, 
 All the flattering dream is o'er, 
 Wake the harp to love no more ! 
 
183 
 
 Now no more with fancy's dream 
 Glows my harp's fantastic theme, 
 Grief constrains its alter'd lord, 
 And silence sleeps on every chord; 
 Save, when the winds which murmur by 
 Round the frame neglected sigh, 
 And haply from the trembling string 
 Some wild melodious ditty fling, 
 Which floats in wandering strains along, 
 An altered, strange, and varying song. 
 Strains how different far were they 
 Which love-inspired were wont to stray 
 In wildest measures o'er the lyre, 
 
 When Celia deign'd her smiles impart, 
 And first awoke to young desire 
 
 The thrilling pulse which warms my heart 1 
 
 Then rose the song of love and joy 
 To melting Celia's laughing eye, 
 Her lips which fragrant odours flung, 
 Where sweet persuasion ever hung; 
 
184 
 
 The warm expression of her face, 
 Which spoke the soul's celestial grace ; 
 When at the tale of lover's woes, 
 In sighs her decent bosom rose. 
 
 Such pregnant sighs Eliza's breast, 
 Unconscious of their source, confess'd ; 
 When 'mid his circling chieftains bold 
 His tale the graceful Trojan told. 
 
 L. T. 
 
185 
 
 TO 
 
 A YOUTHFUL FRIEND. 
 
 FEW years have past since thou and I 
 Were firmest friends at least in name, 
 
 And childhood's gay sincerity 
 
 Preserved our feelings long the same. 
 
 But now, like me, too well thou know'st 
 What trifles oft the heart recal; 
 
 And those who once have lov'd the most, 
 Forget they ever lov'd at all. 
 
 And such the change thy heart displays, 
 So frail is early friendship's reign, 
 
 A month's brief lapse, perchance a day's, 
 Will view thy mind estrang'd again. 
 
186 
 If so, it never shall be mine 
 
 To mourn the loss of such a heart; 
 The fault was nature's fault, not thine, 
 
 Which made thee fickle as thou art. 
 
 As rolls the ocean's changing tide, 
 So human feelings ebb and flow; 
 
 And who would in a breast confide 
 Where stormy passions ever glow ? 
 
 It boots not, that together bred, 
 
 Our childish days were days of joy, 
 
 My spring of life has quickly fled ; 
 Thou, too, hast ceas'd to be a boy. 
 
 And when we bid adieu to youth, 
 
 Slaves to the specious world's controul, 
 
 We sigh a long farewel to truth ; 
 
 That world corrupts the noblest soul. 
 
187 
 
 Ah, joyous season ! when the mind 
 Dares all things boldly but to lie, 
 
 When thought ere spoke is unconftn'd, 
 And sparkles in the placid eye. 
 
 Not so in man's maturer years, 
 When man himself is but a tool, 
 
 When interest sways our hopes and fears, 
 And all must love and hate by rule. 
 
 With fools in kindred vice the same 
 
 We learn at length our faults to blend ; 
 
 And those, and those alone, may claim 
 The prostituted name of friend. 
 
 Such is the common lot of man : 
 
 Can we then 'scape from folly free f 
 
 Can we reverse the general plan, 
 Nor be what all in turn must be? 
 
188 
 
 No: for myself so dark my fate 
 
 Through every turn of life hath been ; 
 
 Man and the world so much I hate, 
 I care not when I quit the scene. 
 
 But thou, with spirit frail and light, 
 Wilt shine awhile and pass away, 
 
 As glow-worms sparkle thro' the night, 
 But dare not stand the test of day. 
 
 Alas 1 whenever folly calls 
 
 Where parasites and princes meet, 
 (For cherish'd first in royal halls 
 
 The welcome vices kindly greet) 
 
 E'en now, thou'rt nightly seen to add 
 One insect to the flutt'ring crowd, 
 
 And still thy trifling heart is glad 
 
 To join the vain and court the proud. 
 
189 
 There dost thou glide from fair to fair, 
 
 Still simpering on with eager haste, 
 As flies along the gay parterre 
 
 That taint the flowers they scarcely taste. 
 
 But say, what nymph will prize the flame ? 
 
 Which seems, as marshy vapours move. 
 To flit along from dame to dame, 
 
 An ignis-fatuus gleam of love. 
 
 What friend, for thee, howe'er inclined, 
 Will deign to own a kindred care ? 
 
 Who will debase his manly mind, 
 
 For friendship every fool may share? 
 
 In time forbear ; amidst the throng 
 No more so base a thing be seen; 
 
 No more so idly pass along, 
 
 Be something, any thing, but mean. 
 
 L. B. 
 
190 
 
 INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT 
 
 OF A 
 
 FAVOURITE DOG. 
 
 WHEN some proud son of man returns to earth, 
 Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, 
 The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, 
 And storied urns record who rests below ; 
 When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, 
 Not what he was, but what he should have been : 
 But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, 
 The first to welcome, foremost to defend, 
 Whose honest heart is still his master's own, 
 Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone ; 
 Unhonour'd falls, unnotic'd all his worth, 
 Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth : 
 While man, vain insect ! hopes to be forgiven, 
 And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. 
 
191 
 
 Oh man ! thou feeble tenant of an hour, 
 
 Debas'd by slavery, or corrupt by power, 
 
 Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, 
 
 Degraded mass of animated dust! 
 
 Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, 
 
 Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit! 
 
 By nature vile, ennobled but by name, 
 
 Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. 
 
 Ye ! who perchance behold this simple urn, 
 
 Pass on, it honours none you wish to mourn; 
 
 To mark a friend's remains these stones arise, 
 
 I knew but one unchanged, and here he lies. 
 
 L. B. 
 
192 
 
 TO 
 
 iMMMHt********** 
 
 WELL ! thou art happy, and I feel 
 That I should thus be happy too, 
 
 For still my heart regards thy weal, 
 Warmly, as it was wont to do. 
 
 Thy husband's blest and 'twill impart 
 Some pangs to view his happier lot ; 
 
 But let them pass oh ! how my heart 
 Would hate him if he lov'd thee not ! 
 
 When late I saw thy favourite child, 
 
 I thought my jealous heart would break, 
 
 But when th' unconscious infant smil'd, 
 I kiss'd it for its mother's sake. 
 
. 193 
 
 I kiss'd it and represt my sighs, 
 
 Its father in its face to see ; 
 But then it had its mother's eyes, 
 
 And they were all to love and me. 
 
 Mary adieu ! I must away, 
 
 While thou art blest, I'll not repine ! 
 But near thee I can never stay, 
 
 My heart would soon again be thine. 
 
 I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride 
 
 Had quench'd at length my boyish flame, 
 
 Nor knew till seated by thy side, 
 
 My heart in all, save hope, the same. 
 
 Yet was I calm : I knew the time 
 
 My breast would thrill before thy look, 
 
 But now to tremble were a crime, 
 
 We met and not a nerve was shook. 
 
194 
 
 I saw thee gaze upon my face, 
 
 Yet meet with no confusion there 
 
 One only feeling couldst thou trace, 
 The sullen calmness of despair. 
 
 Away ! away ! my early dream 
 
 Remembrance never must awake: 
 
 Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? 
 My foolish heart be still, or break. 
 
 L. B, 
 
195 
 
 THE 
 
 FAREWELL 
 
 TO A LADY. 
 
 WHEN man expell'd from Eden's bowers, 
 A moment lingered near the gate, 
 
 Each scene recall'd the vanished hours, 
 And bade him curse his future fate. 
 
 But wandering on through distant climes, 
 He learnt to bear his load of grief ; 
 
 Just gave a sigh to other times, 
 And found in busier scenes relief. 
 
 Thus, lady ! will it be with me, 
 
 And I must view thy charms no more ; 
 
 For whilst I linger near to thee 
 I sigh for all I knew before. 
 
 o 2 
 
196 
 
 In flight I shall be surely wise, 
 
 Escaping from temptation's snare ; 
 
 I cannot view my Paradise 
 
 Without a wish to enter there. 
 
 L. B. 
 
197 
 
 LOVE SONG. 
 
 TO *###### 
 
 REMIND me not, remind me not, 
 
 Of those belov'd, those vanished hours, 
 When all my soul was given to thee ; 
 Hours that may never be forgot 
 Till time unnerves our vital powers, 
 And thou and I shall cease to be. 
 
 Can I forget ? canst thou forget ? 
 When playing with thy golden hair 
 
 How quick thy fluttering heart did move ? 
 Oh ! by my soul, I see thee yet, 
 With eyes so languid, breast so fair, 
 And lips, though silent, breathing love. 
 
198 
 When thus reclining on my breast 
 
 Those eyes threw back a glance so sweet, 
 
 As half reproach'd, yet rais'd desire, 
 And still we near, and nearer prest, 
 And still our glowing lips would meet, 
 As if in kisses to expire. 
 
 And then those pensive eyes would close, 
 And bid their lids each other seek, 
 - yeiling the azure orbs below ; 
 
 While their long lashes' darkening gloss 
 Seemed stealing o'er thy brilliant cheek, 
 Like raven's plumage smooth'd on snow. 
 
 1 dreamt last night our love return'd, 
 And sooth to say that very dream 
 
 Was sweeter in its phantasy 
 Than if for other hearts I burn'd, 
 
 For eyes that ne'er like thine could beam 
 In rapture's wild reality. 
 
199 
 
 Then tell me not, remind me not 
 
 Of hours which, though for ever gone, 
 
 Can still a pleasing dream restore, 
 Till thou and I shall be forgot; 
 
 And senseless as the mouldering stone, 
 Which tells that we shall be no more. 
 
 L.B. 
 
200 
 STANZAS 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 THERE was a time, I need not name, 
 Since it will ne'er forgotten be, 
 
 When all our feelings were the same, 
 As still my soul hath been to thee. 
 
 And from that hour when first thy tongue 
 Confess' d a love which equall'd mine, 
 
 Though many; a grief my heart hath wrung, 
 Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine: 
 
 None, none, hath sunk so deep as this, 
 To think how all that love hath flown ; 
 
 Transient as every faithless kiss, 
 But transient in thy breast alone. 
 
201 
 
 And yet my heart some solace knew, 
 When late 1 heard thy lips declare, 
 
 In accents once imaginM true, 
 
 Remembrance of the days that were. 
 
 Yes! my adored, yet most unkind ! 
 
 Though thou wilt never love again, 
 To me 'tis doubly sweet to find 
 
 Remembrance of that love remain. 
 
 Yes ! 'tis a glorious thought to me, 
 Nor longer shall my soul repine, 
 
 Whate'er thou art, or e'er shalt be, 
 Thou hast been dearly, solely mine. 
 
 L. B. 
 
202 
 
 TO THE SAMK 
 
 AND wilt them weep when I am low? 
 
 Sweet lady! speak those words again; 
 Yet if they grieve thee, say not so, 
 
 I would not give that bosom pain. 
 
 My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, 
 My blood runs coldly thro' my breast; 
 
 And when I perish, thou alone 
 
 Wilt sigh above my place of rest. 
 
 And 3*et methinks a gleam of peace 
 
 Doth thro' my cloud of anguish shine, 
 
 And for awhile my sorrows cease 
 
 To know thy heart hath felt for mine. 
 
203 
 Oh, lady! blessed be that tear, 
 
 It falls for one who cannot weep; 
 Such precious drops are doubly dear 
 
 To those whose eyes no tear may steep. 
 
 Sweet lady! once my heart was warm, 
 With every feeling soft as thine, 
 
 But beauty's self hath ceas'd to charm 
 A wretch created to repine. 
 
 Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? 
 
 Sweet lady ! speak those words again ; 
 Yet if they grieve thee, say not so, 
 
 I would not give that bosom pain. 
 
 L.B, 
 
204 
 
 SONG. 
 
 FILL the goblet again! for I never before 
 Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core ; 
 Let us drink! who would not? since thro' life's varied 
 In the goblet alone no deception is found. [round 
 
 I have tried in its turn all that life can supply ; 
 I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye; 
 I have lov'd ! who has not ? but what heart can declare 
 That pleasure existed while passion was there ? 
 
 In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring, 
 And dreams that affection can never take wing, 
 I had friends ! who has not ? but what tongue will avow 
 That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou? 
 
205 
 
 The breast of a mistress some boy may estrange, 
 Friendship shifts with the sunbeam thou never canst 
 change ; [appears 
 
 Thou grow'st old, who does not ? but on earth what 
 Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years ? 
 
 Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, 
 Should a rival bow down to our idol below, 
 We are jealous ! who's not? thou hast no such alloy, 
 For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy. 
 
 Then the season of youth, and its vanities past, 
 For refuge we fly to the goblet at last ; 
 There we find, do we not, in the flow of the soul, 
 That truth, as of yore, is confin'd to the bowl ? 
 
 When the box of Pandora was open'd on earth, 
 And Misery's triumph commenc'd over Mirth ; 
 Hope was left, was she not? but the goblet we kiss, 
 And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss. 
 
206 
 
 Long life to the grape ! for when summer is flown 
 The age of our nectar shall gladden our own ; 
 We must die, who shall not? may our sins be forgiven, 
 And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven. 
 
 L.B, 
 
207 
 
 HYMN TO VENUS, 
 
 FROM METASTASIo's IMITATION OF LUCRETIUS, 
 B. I. V. I. 
 
 V 
 
 OH! lovely Venus! goddess bright! 
 Descend in all thy glories dight ; 
 Thou mother of almighty love, 
 Propitious to our homage prove! 
 For thou alone canst joy bestow 
 On gods above and men, below. 
 Warmed by the lustre of thine eye, 
 
 The teeming earth and azure sea 
 Are animate with life and joy, 
 
 And owe their fruitful ness to thee. 
 Thy warm voluptuous embrace 
 Awakes to life the human race, 
 And oft the sun's warm ray beneath 
 Their ardent vows to thee they breathe; 
 
208 
 
 Th' approach of thy benignant star, 
 Both clouds and tempests drives afar: 
 At thy command the fields appear 
 
 In nature's gayest livery drest, 
 Thy voice the waves obedient hear, 
 
 And ocean calms his heaving breast: 
 The stars resplendent at thy law, 
 The dusky veil of night can draw: 
 And while the frolic winds of spring 
 Fan the rich earth with fragrant wing, 
 Venus ! to thee the woods among, 
 The birds address their votive song; 
 As thro* their quivering nerves they feel 
 Thy melting transports softly steal: 
 The timorous doves, thro' thee alone, 
 A parent's fondness cease to own ; 
 And hastening from their young away, 
 Leave them to ravenous birds a prey. 
 To thy subduing power awake, 
 Their offspring tigers fierce forsake. 
 
209 
 
 'Tis thy creative hand that moulds, 
 And every hidden form unfolds ; 
 From thee creation's blessings flow, 
 To thee continued being owe ; 
 And beauty, loveliness, and grace, 
 Thee, goddess, thee, their source confess. 
 Oh! lovely Venus! goddess bright ! 
 Descend in all thy splendour dight! 
 Thou mother of almighty love, 
 Propitious to our homage prove! 
 For thou alone canst joy bestow 
 On gods above, and men below. 
 
 E. B. 
 
210 
 SONNET FROM METASTASIO, 
 
 ON A LADY OF THE NAME OF ROSA ASSUMING 
 THE RELIGIOUS HABIT. 
 
 OH! lovely Rose! whose opening leaflets gay 
 The early morn unfolds with balmy dews, 
 
 Whose sweetly-modest buds at blink of day 
 The mildest breezes paint with vermeil hues; 
 
 Who from the soil thy tender stem has torn 
 
 To those blest regions would thy beauties doom. 
 
 Where stript of every rough and cruel thorn, 
 The better part of thee alone would bloom. 
 
 There shouldst thou soon become a lovely flower, 
 And wind, and rain, and cold, and heat, defy; 
 
 Nor feel the changeful season's transient power: 
 But placed beneath a watchful guardian's eye, 
 
 Shouldst ever flourish there in peace divine, 
 
 And deathless bloom to deathless fragrance join. 
 
 E. B. 
 
211 
 
 THE 
 
 FAREWELL, A CANZONET, 
 
 FROM LA PARTENZA OF METASTASIO, 
 
 BEHOLD the fatal instant near, 
 
 To Laura I must bid adieu! 
 But how support my weary life 
 
 So distant, dearest girl ! from you ? 
 Unceasing torment I must feel, 
 
 And sigh for bliss for ever past ; 
 But who can tell if e'er my love 
 
 On me a single thought will waste ? 
 
 Yet oft in search of lost repose 
 
 My restless fancy let me bend, 
 To those lov'd scenes where Laura strays, 
 
 And ever on her steps attend : 
 
 p 2 
 
212 
 
 Companion of your daily walk, 
 
 My fancy still shall dwell with thee, 
 
 But you, my love ! alas ! who knows 
 If e'er you waste a thought on me ? 
 
 Whilst I o'er some far distant shore 
 
 In pensive anguish bend my way, 
 And vainly ask the silent rocks 
 
 Where you, my own beloved, stray ; 
 By grief opprest from morn till morn 
 
 My faltering voice shall call on thee, 
 But you, my love ! alas ! who knows 
 
 If e'er you waste a thought on me ? 
 
 And oft to those enchanting scenes 
 
 Shall I by fancy guided rove, 
 Where once in happiness I lived, 
 
 For then I lived with her I love. 
 Ah ! then what images will rise ! 
 
 How painful then will memory be I 
 For who can tell if e'er my love 
 
 Will waste a single thought on me ? 
 
Here, shall I say, the fountain plays 
 
 Where anger once bedimm'd her face, 
 'Twas there she gave her lovely hand, 
 
 The pledge of pardon and of peace : 
 Here oft on pleasing hope we fed, 
 
 There we indulged in silent woes ; 
 But now who knows if e'er my love 
 
 A single thought on me bestows ? 
 
 How many now with joyous haste 
 
 Will to your new abode repair ! 
 How many crowd around your steps, 
 
 Their faith and love to proffer there ! 
 Who knows amid such tender vows, 
 
 And tales of woe, and melting ^hs, 
 Who knows if e'er my Laura feeis 
 
 A single thought of me arise ? 
 
 Think, Laura, of the pleasing shaft 
 
 You leave within your lover's breast ; 
 
 Think how your hapless Henry loved, 
 Though ever hopeless to be blest ; 
 
214 
 
 Think on this last, this sad adieu, 
 Beloved ! now I bid to thee ; 
 
 Think ah ! who knows if e'er my love 
 Will waste a single thought on me 
 
 E. B. 
 
215 
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 OF A POLISH NOBLEMAN TO HIS INFANT CHILD; 
 FROM THE ITALIAN. 
 
 SLEEP on, sleep on, beloved boy ! 
 
 Thy hapless parents' sole delight, 
 May'st thou more fortunate enjoy 
 
 A destiny than theirs more bright ! 
 
 That rosy hue which decks thy cheek, 
 That undisturbed, that placid rest, 
 
 Ah ! how expressively they speak 
 
 The blameless mind, the spotless breast ! 
 
 Does illness e'er excite a tear ? 
 
 Thy sorrows hush, thy tears restrain ; 
 Thy mother soon the cause shall hear, 
 
 And on her bosom lull thy pain. 
 
216 
 
 Thy country's wrongs, thy country's woe, 
 My darling boy, thou can'st not mourn, 
 
 Nor the distressing transports know 
 
 By which thy parents' breasts are torn. 
 
 Thy heart unconscious does not prove, 
 Nor can thy little bosom rend, 
 
 The pangs of unrequited love, 
 
 The horror of a treacherous friend. 
 
 The bitter loss thou dost not feel 
 
 Of friends long lov'd, but now no more ; 
 Nor fancy can the woes reveal 
 
 That fate for thee may have in store. 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on, my darling child! 
 
 By heaven with health and vigour blest, 
 May peace, with all the virtues mild, 
 
 Be ever inmates of thy breast! 
 
 E. B. 
 
217 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF GESSNER. 
 I 
 
 THE BROKEN BOWL. 
 
 AN IDYLL. 
 
 UNDER an oak's wide spreading shade 
 
 A faun o'erpowered with sleep was laid ; 
 
 Rude shepherd boys the wood-god found, 
 
 And quickly to the oak they bound ; 
 
 The merry crew resolv'd to gain 
 
 A song as ransom from the chain. 
 
 They pelt him, when they've bound him fast, 
 
 With acorns till he wakes at last. 
 
 First yawn'd the faun, scarce half awake, 
 
 Then stretch' d his arms and legs, and spake : 
 
 " Where am I ? where's my flute ? my bowl ? 
 
 " Ah ! there the glittering fragments roll ! 
 
218 
 
 " When drunk in sleep I sank last night, 
 " I broke my bowl, my soul's delight. 
 "But who has bound me fast ?" aloud 
 He bawFd, and heard the giggling crowd. 
 " Unbind me, boys !" again he cried; 
 " Bad luck your impudence betide !" 
 " No " quick rejoin'd the festive throng, 
 " Fast you remain, or sing a song." 
 " What shall I sing ?" ye shepherds say: 
 " Upon the bowl Til form my lay." 
 The shepherds silent on the ground, 
 Then circling sate the wood-god round : 
 While echo, woods and dales along, 
 Pour'd far and near the dulcet song, 
 
 " Broken is now the finest bowl, 
 
 " Yonder the glittering fragments roll, 
 
 " My cave appear' d a palace quite, 
 Deckt with my bowl, my soul's delight ; 
 To every faun this bowl divine 
 I offer'd, filPd with rosy wine; 
 
219 
 
 Not Pan himself with all his cost 
 
 A finer bowl could ever boast. 
 
 Broken is now my fav'rite bowl, 
 Yonder the glittering fragments roll. 
 
 " My brother fauns upon the ground 
 
 Sate oft this brilliant bowl around ; 
 
 And on the carving each one sung, 
 
 That drinking pass'd his lips along ; 
 
 But now, oh fauns ! ye drink no more, 
 
 Drinking and singing both are o'er, 
 
 Broken is now my fav'rite bowl, 
 Yonder the glittering fragments roll. 
 
 " Engraven on the bowl 'twas told 
 How Pan with horror struck, and cold, 
 Astonish'd saw the wond'rous deed, 
 The nymph transformed to rustling reed ; 
 And how his well-known flute he made 
 With wax and reeds unequal laid, 
 And doleful music mournful play'd ; 
 
 1 
 
220 
 
 Which echo, at the new-born sound 
 
 Startling, retold the groves around. 
 
 Broken is now the finest bowl, 
 Yonder the glittering fragments roll. 
 
 " There Jove, for love his bosom burn'd, 
 Into a bull's white form had turn'd ; 
 There to the waves his sinews plied, 
 Unmindful how Europa cried ; 
 Safe riding o'er the swelling seas, 
 He lick'd with flattering tongue her knees ; 
 There trembling wrung the nymph her hands, 
 There griev'd her maidens on the strand ; 
 Thro' her fair hair the Zephyrs blew, 
 And little Loves before her flew ; 
 While to the ocean's utmost bound, 
 Laugh'd the attendant dolphins round. 
 
 Broken is now the finest bowl, 
 Yonder the glittering fragments roll. 
 
u There carved was Bacchus, glorious power 1 
 
 Under a cool and fragrant bower ; 
 
 Form'd of a vine's o'erarching shade, 
 
 Beside was Ariadne laid ; 
 
 Smiling she still repuls'd the cup, 
 
 Though yet she wish'd to drink it up ; 
 
 And look'd and languish'd, sighing sweet, 
 
 And seem'd for kisses to entreat : 
 
 While round his tigers sportive play'd, 
 
 Or else with ribbands gay array 'd, 
 
 Eat luscious grapes from Cupid's hand, 
 
 Or bask'd them on the sunny sand. 
 
 Broken is now this bowl divine, 
 
 Far off dispers'd the fragments shine. 
 
 " Echo 1 the woods and groves along 
 
 Repeat again my mournful song ; 
 
 Tell it the nymphs, ye sounding waves! 
 
 Tell it the fauns thro* all their caves ! 
 
 Broken is now my fav'rite bowl, 
 Yonder the glittering fragments roll." 
 
So sung the faun, and then unbound, 
 While the gay fragments on the ground 
 To view, the wond'ring boys remain, 
 Fled swiftly o'er the verdant plain. 
 
 I. H. B. 
 
FROM THE GERMAN OF GESSNER. 
 
 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 WELCOME, joyful morning ray ! 
 Welcome, firstborn son of day ! 
 Now the shady wood-crown d height, 
 
 Blithe thy beams are spreading o'er, 
 From the water glancing bright, 
 
 From the dew on every flower; 
 And pleasure, sprightliness, and glee, 
 Come with thy beams in company. 
 
 Zephyrs that in flow'rbells deep 
 Lay the night immers'd in sleep, 
 Leaving now their soft repose, 
 Swarm around the blushing rose ; 
 And while they pleasing flutt'rings make, 
 
 Whispering low they seem to say, 
 " Sweet rose-bud ! sleep'st thou yet ? Awake ! 
 
 " Unfold thy beauteous leaves to day." 
 
224 
 
 Of ev'ry shape, and shade, and hue, 
 Now fly the Dreams, a motley crew ; 
 The little Loves are wand'ring o'er 
 
 The charms on Chloe's cheek that bloom ; 
 Ye Zephyrs, haste ! from ev'ry flower, 
 
 Oh ! quickly cull the rich perfume ! 
 And ere she leaves her downy bed 
 The liquid fragrance o'er her shed. 
 
 Breathe gently o'er her snow-white breast, 
 Your od'rous sweets around her throw ; 
 
 Her rosy lips with kisses taste, 
 
 And as about her couch ye blow, 
 
 The maid awake ; and murm'ring tell 
 That long before the sun arise, 
 I still repeat her name with sighs, 
 
 Tell her that none e'er loved so well. 
 
 I. H. B. 
 
TO LOVE. 
 
 THE COMPLAINT. 
 
 FROM GESSNER. 
 
 AH, love ! upon the first of May 
 To thee I rais'd an altar gay 
 Within the garden's fairest bound, 
 With myrtles and with roses crown'd ; 
 And there each morn's returning light, 
 A garland hung with dew-drops bright. 
 Alas ! my toil was all in vain, 
 Fruitless my anxious care and pain ; 
 The flow'rs from every tree are torn, 
 The garden's desert and forlorn, 
 By raging of the wintry wind ; 
 And Phillis too is still unkind ; 
 TJnkind as on the first of May, l 
 And all my labour's thrown away. 
 
 I. H. B, 
 
226 
 SONNET 
 
 FROM THE ITALIAN OF FRANCESCO REDI. 
 
 IN wonted majesty and court severe 
 
 Love held his solemn parliament of late, 
 
 While guards, accustom'd to awaken fear, 
 Around the iron gates attentive wait. 
 
 Upon a trophied throne his arrows rear'd, 
 Sublime in proud magnificence he rode ; 
 
 Death at his side with dire Mischance appeared, 
 
 And Sighs, and Tears, and Grief, had there abode. 
 
 I there was dragg'd, a wretched prisoner made, 
 And Love no sooner fix'd on me his eyes, 
 Than loud, and fierce, and pitiless he cries ! 
 Opening his pouting lips he sternly said, 
 " Let him the rigour of our empire prove :" 
 And Fate inscribed the stern decree of Love. 
 
 I. H. B. 
 
STANZAS 
 
 TO ****** ON LEAVING ENGLAND. 
 
 'Tis done and shivering in the gale 
 The bark unfurls her snowy sail ; 
 And whistling o'er the bending mast 
 Loud sings on high the freshening blast ; 
 And I must from this land begone, 
 Because I cannot love but one. 
 
 - ^ 
 
 But could I be what I have been, 
 And could I see what I have seen, 
 Could I repose upon the breast 
 Which once my warmest wishes blest, 
 I should not seek another zone 
 Because I cannot love but one. 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 
 
 'Tis long since I beheld that eye 
 Which gave me bliss or misery ; 
 And I have striven, but in vain, 
 Never to think of it again ; 
 For tho' I fly from Albion 
 I still can only love but one. 
 
 As some lone bird without a mate, 
 My weary heart is desolate ; 
 I look around, and cannot trace < 
 One friendly smile or welcome face ; 
 And e'en in crowds am still alone, 
 Because I cannot love but one. 
 
 And I will cross the whitening foam, 
 And I will seek a foreign home, 
 Till I forget a false fair face, 
 I ne'er shall find a resting place; 
 My own dark thoughts I cannot shun, 
 But ever love, and love but one. 
 
The poorest, veriest wretch on earth 
 Still finds some hospitable hearth, 
 Where friendship's or love's softer glow 
 May smile in joy or soothe in woe; 
 But friend or lover I have none, 
 Because I cannot love but one. 
 
 I go but wheresoe'er I flee 
 There's not an eye will weep for me ; 
 There's not a kind, congenial heart 
 Where I can claim the meanest part : 
 Nor thou, who hast my hopes undone, 
 Wilt sigh although I love but one. 
 
 To think of every early scene, 
 
 Of what we are, and what we've been, 
 
 Would whelm some softer hearts with woe, 
 
 But mine, alas ! has stood the blow ; 
 
 Yet still beats on as it begun, 
 
 And never truly loves but one. 
 
230 
 
 And who that dear lov'd one may be 
 Is not for vulgar eyes to see ; 
 And why that early love was crost, 
 Thou knowst the best, I feel the most ; 
 But few that dwell beneath the sun 
 Have loved so long, and loved but one. 
 
 I've tried another's fetters too, 
 With charms perchance as fair to view ; 
 And I would feign have lov'd as well, 
 But some unconquerable spell 
 Forbade my bleeding breast to own 
 A kinded care for aught but one, 
 
 'Twould soothe to take one lingering view, 
 And bless thee in my last adieu ; 
 Yet wish I not those eyes to weep 
 For him that wanders o'er the deep ; 
 Tho' wheresoe'er my bark may run, 
 I love but thee, I love but one. 
 
 L.B. 
 
231 
 
 O FONS BANDUSI^:, &c. 
 
 O FONT ! with fair unruffled face, 
 
 More clear than crystal and more bright than glass j 
 
 To thee my only bowl shall pour 
 
 The sweet libation crown'd with many a flower. 
 
 To thee a sportive kid shall bleed, 
 
 Proud of the spreading honours of his head; 
 
 Who meditates the angry shock, 
 
 For some first love the fairest of the flock. 
 
 In vain ! for Venus will not save 
 
 His youthful blood shall tinge thy azure wave. 
 
 Not Phoebus, with his summer beams, 
 
 Can penetrate thy shade, and gild thy streams ; 
 
 But ever from the dog-star's heat 
 
 The wearied herds require thy green retreat. 
 
Let other bards their fountains sing, 
 
 A bard shall love and celebrate thy spring; 
 
 The secret shelter of thy wood, 
 
 And bubbling rills that fall into thy flood. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1805. 
 
233 
 
 FROM BOILEAU. 
 
 WITH what delight rhymes on the scribbling dunce, 
 He's ne'er perplex'd to choose, but right at once; 
 With rapture hails each work as soon as done, 
 And wonders so much wit was all his own. 
 The genuine bard nor labour trusts, nor skill, 
 But fears a something left imperfect still ; 
 Nor quite content, would hide behind a shelf 
 The work that pleases all except himself. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1805, 
 
234 
 
 dum serta, unguenta, puellas 
 
 Poscimus, obrepit non intellecta Senectus. 
 
 Jvv, 
 
 SHORT is the breath of life, and short 
 The fleeting joys that life can give ; 
 
 Those fleeting joys let wisdom court 
 While feeling yet and passion live. 
 
 Soon freezing age with sick distaste, 
 The grave of bliss, the nurse of woe, 
 
 Shall steal the wreath which nature placed 
 On joyous youth's exulting brow. 
 
 While yet the swelling goblet flows, 
 And sorrow yields to revel's power, 
 
 While blossoms yet the breathing rose, 
 And laughter speeds the jovial hour ; 
 
235 
 
 While yet in ardent youth we fly, 
 Pregnant of life and hope, to sip 
 
 Nectareous dew, entrancing joy ! 
 From blushing beauty's rosy lip : 
 
 Their sudden shafts the Fates dispense. 
 And wither all the beauteous dream, 
 
 Or tasteless age steeps every sense 
 In apathy's oblivious stream. 
 
 Then still while love and young desire 
 Play thro* the veins and warm the soul, 
 
 Burn, burn with love's exalting fire, 
 
 And drink to beauty's health the bowl. 
 
 L. T, 
 
236 
 
 TINDER THE PICTURE OF 
 
 LADY ******* 
 
 THOSE charms that time destroys the painter gives, 
 The beauty withers when the picture lives : 
 Be Shee your painter, but } T our poet I, 
 Verse lasts immortal, colours fade and die. 
 You, happy fair ! perpetual bloom might hope 
 If Shee were Reynolds, and if I were Pope. 
 
 ARS LONGA, VITA BREVIS*. 
 
 Too fleeting life forbids us to be wise 
 For, ere the sage is formed, the mortal dies. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 
 * A saying of Hippocrates. 
 
237 
 
 HORACE TO NE^RA. 
 
 'TWAS night the silver moon serenely shone, 
 The stars around her throne, 
 When you more close than clasping ivy twin'd 
 Within these arms reclin'd, 
 And swore by all the injur'd deities 
 These faithless perjuries: 
 " Long as the raging wolf the herd devours, 
 " Long as Orion pours 
 " His roaring tempest on the wintry wave 
 " To fright the sailor brave ; 
 
 " Long as th' enamour'd wanton gale caresses 
 
 " Apollo's flowing tresses, 
 
 " Nesera's breast with mutual flames shall burn, 
 
 " And thy true love return." 
 
 Ah ! cruel nymph, and shall thy Flaccus see 
 Another bless' d by thee ? 
 
238 
 
 Another swain enjoy his lost delights, 
 His happy, happy nights ? 
 Ah ! shall he see a rival's hated face 
 Contented with disgrace ? 
 And you, fond boy ! by my misfortune blest, 
 By my false fair carest ; 
 Tho 1 in your wide domains Pactolus roll'd 
 His glittering sands of gold ; 
 Tho' all the arts the sage of Satnos knew 
 Belong'd alone to you ; 
 
 Tho' your fair form e'en Nireus' form surpass'd, 
 Her love would never last ; 
 Soon will her charms another swain beguile, 
 'Tis then that I shall smile. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 1805. 
 
239 
 
 TRANSLATION FROM 
 
 COWLEY. 
 
 WHAT ! verse again ? O fool to feed once more 
 That dire disease that you so oft forswore ; 
 That rooted ail that baffles all your skill, 
 Mocks force and reason yet, and ever will : 
 Does Jove, my friend, and all to favour you, 
 Laugh at the lover's lies, and poet's too ? 
 
 Softly, good sir ! forgive the son of song, 
 In rhyme's tight chains reluctant dragg'd along : 
 The doctor's art I lately dar'd to try, 
 And thought no dunce alive so calm as I ; 
 But then, the moon at full has turn'd my brain, 
 And brought me my poetic fits again. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 
 
240 
 
 HORACE, CARM. 28. III. 
 " Festo quid potius die," &c. 
 
 ODE FOR THE BIRTH-DAY. 1809. 
 
 FRIEND = , since we both foresee 
 
 That certain folks must tumble soon, 
 
 How shall two jacobins agree 
 
 To celebrate the fourth of June ? 
 
 At some French tavern let us dine 
 
 In spite of all the royal rout, 
 Two bottles of their oldest wine 
 
 Shall draw our rebel humours out. 
 
 Come, I will toast brave Clavering 
 
 And all the enemies of York, 
 Whilst you on t'other side shall sing 
 
 The deadly darts of Mrs. Clarke *. 
 
 * " Celeris spicula Cynthiae." 
 The collector of these poems does not approve quite of the rhymes 
 
241 
 
 Fair Anna ! too resistless dame, 
 
 Whence every soldier sought promotion, 
 
 To whom each striving courtier came, 
 And churchmen too paid due devotion. 
 
 < ( Dear, pretty, darling girl !" for thee 
 
 Greenwood and Cox shall feel our spite ; 
 
 But most, we'll drink in three times three, 
 Damnation to that scoundrel Knight *. 
 
 " York and Clarke," but the duke and the darling have been so 
 often coupled together, that it would be a pity to part them in this 
 place. 
 
 * Dicetur meriti Nox quoque naeniS. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. ISOg. 
 
242 
 
 CHARLES FOX 
 
 THE GKAVE OF 
 
 WILLIAM PITT. 
 
 YES, noble pair ! Britannia's equal boast, 
 And rivals only who should serve her most ; 
 One death unites you, and one grave contains 
 All that of man, of mighty man remains, 
 The mortal clay. Your souls together fly 
 To seek the mansions of your native sky, 
 And join the patriots in the realms above, 
 Who best deserv'd, and gain'd a nation's love; 
 For both to one great end your powers applied, 
 Both serv'd your country, and to save it died. 
 
 F. Q. 
 
243 
 
 ADDITIONAL LINES 
 
 AT THE CONCLUSION OF THE LAST BOOK OF 
 HOWE'S LUCAN, WRITTEN BY 
 
 MRS. ROWE. 
 
 SOME looser Muse, perhaps, who lightly treads 
 The devious paths where wanton fancy leads, 
 In heaven's high court would feign the queen of Love, 
 Kneeling in tears before the throne of Jove ; 
 Imploring sad th' Almighty Father's grace, 
 For the dear offspring of her Julian race : 
 While to the just recording Roman's eyes 
 
 Far different scenes and different gods arise. 
 
 o 
 
 The guardian furies round him rear their heads, 
 And Nemesis the shield of safety spreads ; 
 Freedom and laws the Pharian darts withstand, 
 And save him for avenging Brutus' hand. 
 
 R 2 
 
244 
 
 FEMALE LEVITY. 
 
 FROM Q CICERO. 
 
 TRUST to the waves, but trust no woman's love, 
 For she less constant than the sea will prove ; 
 No fair can faithful be, or if she should, 
 It shows a wondrous change from bad to good. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 180(5. 
 
 A SIMILE FROM PLAUTUS, 
 
 How much a man is like a house ! 
 My simile fits vastly close; 
 The structure first is fair and fine, 
 The work and workmen quite divine. 
 A tenant comes, for love of gain, 
 Shuts out the air, lets in the rain ^ 
 
245 
 
 The rafters rot, the roofs decay, 
 And all the building falls away. 
 Thus following up the common plan, 
 Our parents strive to make a man ; 
 They polish, teach, use constant care, 
 And no expense and labour spare. 
 'Twas thus with me whilst yet at home, 
 I dreamt not of my sins to come ; 
 But when I left my friends' controul 
 Arid liv'd the master of my soul, 
 Then all my founder's care and cost, 
 And all their pains prov'd labour lost; 
 For sloth my tenant then became, 
 And shut the doors on sense and shame; 
 Let in the storm thro' every chink, 
 And left me what you see a sink. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 
 
246 
 
 INSCRIPTION FOR THE BUST OF 
 
 VOLTAIRE. 
 
 WITH various parts for every effort fit, 
 With wisdom witty, and a sage with wit, 
 A hard, by every willing Muse belov'd, 
 By aii but fools, and knaves, and kings approv'd, 
 Who superstition's idol durst despise, 
 And 'gainst the monster lift a mortal's eyes, 
 Thee, thee, Voltaiie ! exulting Gallia owns 
 The last and best of all her fav'rite sons. 
 
 Trin. Coll. Camb. 
 
247 
 
 LADY ********* 
 
 'Tis not her eyes, tho' Cupids ambush there, 
 
 'Tis not the beauties of her flowing hair ; 
 
 'Tis not her breast, whose Parian hue might vie 
 
 With drifted snows on Etna's sides that lie ; 
 
 And like those treach'rous snows would feign conceal 
 
 A warmth more genial which her eyes reveal ; 
 
 But 'tis that winning, that resistless grace 
 
 Which moves her limbs and sparkles in her face ; 
 
 Speaks in her voice, adorns and aids the whole, 
 
 Guide of her actions, offspring of her souL 
 
 L. T. 
 
248 
 
 LOVE DESPISED. 
 
 CAN any length of years gone by 
 
 Love's bliss destroy or ardour tame ? 
 
 No, no : the passion that can die 
 
 Has ne'er deserv'd that blessed name, 
 
 Can brighter beauties e'er persuade 
 The lover from his fair to rove? 
 
 No, no : if any other maid 
 
 Seems fair to him, he does not love. 
 
 Can want, can woe, can misery blight 
 Sincere affection's impulse warm ? 
 
 No : love is as the beacon's light, 
 Priz'd ever most amid the storm. 
 
 T.L. 
 
249 
 
 TRANSLATED FHOM CATULLUS, 
 
 TO CALVUS, 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF QUINTILIA HIS WIFE. 
 
 IF mortal sorrow on the silent dead 
 
 Calvus! can any touch of joy bestow, 
 
 When mourns regret o'er love for ever fled, 
 
 Or weeps for friendship it no more must know, 
 
 Oh ! then Quintilia's spirit will not grieve 
 At early death and fate's unjust decree, 
 
 So much as she will gladden to perceive 
 
 How well, how truly, she was lov'd by thee. 
 
 T.L. 
 
250 
 
 TRANSLATION OF A SONNET OF 
 
 METASTASIO. 
 
 WHILST dreams and tales unreal I devise, 
 And strive to deck them with poetic art, 
 The self-sprung woes so touch my foolish heart, 
 
 I melt in anguish, and myself despise. 
 
 Haply, when snatch' d from fancy's blind controul, 
 Wisdom appears and calms my troubled soul; 
 Haply, I these impetuous transports prove 
 From the resistless influence of love. 
 
 Alas ! not only these my mournful lays 
 Are fables all whatever I hope or fear, 
 
 Is all deceit, and life itself a maze, 
 
 A tedious, idle dream from year to year. 
 
 Grant me, O God ! when the illusion's past, 
 
 Upon the breast of truth repose at last. 
 
 E. B. 
 
DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 YE fiends ! from whose malignant hearts 
 
 All human evil erst began, 
 How weak would be your cruel arts, 
 
 The restless curses that ye plan; 
 The strokes and scourges poets feign 
 In vain you'd wield, and seek in vain 
 
 The misery of man ; 
 
 Did not the powers of bliss provide 
 The source of greatest grief below ; 
 
 Who scatter transient pleasures wide, 
 And joys that for a moment glow ; 
 
 Which scarce have met our raptur'd gaze 
 
 Ere snatch'd away by you, they raise 
 Regret arid keenest woe. 
 
 L. T. 
 
252 
 
 TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF A BRITISH OFFICER, 
 
 WHO WAS LOST IN THE ATHKNIENNE, 
 MAN OF WAR, FEB. 1807- 
 
 WHERE the rocks of Esquires* lie sunk in the wave 
 Have the billows engulphM the unfortunate brave, 
 And cold o'er as gallant a bosom they flow, 
 As e'er felt for a friend or encountered a foe. 
 
 Poor Harry! Tho' placid and smoothly may rest 
 The waves that lie heavy and chill on thy breast ; 
 Tho' the depths of the ocean be calm and serene, 
 Nor a zephyr may ruffle its surface of green ; 
 As wild as the wildest tornado that raves, 
 And uproots the huge sea from its bottomless caves 5 
 
 * Commonly called " the Squills." 
 
As the billows that madden' d in hurricanes foam, 
 Are the breasts of the friends that bewail thee at home. 
 
 But away with the pall and the hearse from my sight, 
 Not the gloom of the grave nor the silence of night, 
 Not the march of the funeral, solemn and slow, 
 Nor all ostentation of formaliz'd woe, 
 Is fitting, is able, to waken in me 
 One worthy, one just recollection of thee. 
 Not the slow-pealing organ or toll of the bell 
 Can inspire the sad friend who has known thee so well, 
 Who in youth and in pleasure with thee has sojourn'd, 
 To mourn for thee, Harry ! as thou should'st be mourn'd. 
 
 Let the valiant with sympathy sigh at the name 
 Of the soldier who died in the outset to fame! 
 Let the gentle and mild by compassion be mov'd 
 For the grief of the many by whom thou wert lov'd ! 
 How weak are the feelings that sympathy knows ! 
 How false is the tear that from sentiment flows I 
 
254 
 
 But strong are the silent regrets that depress 
 His breast, who in bliss and in rapture's excess, 
 In the highest enjoyments that life can unfold, 
 Still misses the friend that has stor'd them of old. 
 
 In the sports which so often have worn out the day, 
 At the banquet where thou wert the first of the gay ; 
 In merriment's riot, in revelry's glare, 
 In the noise of the crowd, and the smiles of the fair; 
 'Tis there I shall mourn thee, there pensive and true 
 Will mem'ry those moments of friendship renew, 
 When youth offer'd pleasure alone as its scope, 
 And the present was bliss, and the future was hope ; 
 When no thought could depress, and no caution reprove, 
 And all that we sought was wine, laughter, and love. 
 
 Nor ever again shall assemble in glee 
 The friends who so often have revell'd with thee; 
 The young and the thoughtless who folly adore, 
 The gay who have ne'er known reflection before; 
 
255 
 
 But anon, they shall pause 'mid the fever of wine, 
 O'er some trait that's remember'd, some frolic of thine ; 
 And inem'ry shall raise with lost pleasures imprest, 
 A smile on the cheek, with a sigh from the breast. 
 Then silent and sad as the fun'ral will be 
 The sound of the bumper devoted to thee; 
 And the feast be ennobled with feelings divine, 
 As the tears of the drinker are mix'd with his wine. 
 
 Then peace to thee, Harry ! As peacefully sleep 
 The dead in the storms and turmoil of the deep, 
 As they who in sorrow's magnificent gloom, 
 By the pomp of the funeral borne to the tomb, 
 (Man's latest and vainest effusion of pride) 
 Repose in the vault by their forefathers' side. 
 
 So peace to thee, Harry! In pleasure and mirth 
 So often shall mem'ry recal thee to earth, 
 And fancy so oft in thy presence shall dwell, 
 'Twere falsehood to say, " Gallant Harry, farewell!" 
 
 T.L. 
 
 THE END. 
 
T. Davison, Whitefriars, 
 London. 
 
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