UC-NRLF IN. HENRY MEMRIAM U. BRANDENSTEIN I I m V / LEWESDOJN HILL, LEWESDON HILL, WITH OTHER POEMS. BY THE REV. WILLIAM CROWE, PUBLIC ORATOR OF THE UNIVERSITY OP OXFORD. Ka; /uC 6U7rAo/a tzreju^ov otjUL Aa/^tttiVj oj ra'jr eTrexjavev. SOPH. Farewell thy printless sands and pebbly shore ! I hear the white surge beat thy coast no more, Pure, gentle source of the high, rapturous mood ! Where'er, like the great Flood, by thy dread force Propell'd shape Thou my calm, my blameless course, Heaven, Earth, and Ocean's Lord ! and Father of the Good ! * ** A CORRECTED AND MUCH ENLARGED EDITION, WITH NOTES. LONDON : JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET, 1827. -. . 1 IN MEMORfAM ^ , ,Q, LONDON : PRINIE!) BY THOMAS DAVISON, WTHTEFRIARS. ADVERTISEMENT. THE Hill which gives title to the following Poem is situated in the western part of Dorsetshire. This choice of a subject, to which the Author was led by his residence near the spot, may seem perhaps to confine him to topics of mere rural and local de- scription. But he begs leave here to inform the Reader that he has advanced beyond those narrow limits to something more general and important. On the other hand he trusts, that in his farthest excursions the connexion between him and his sub- M143891 vi ADVERTISEMENT. ject will easily be traced. The few notes which are subjoined he thought necessary to elucidate the passages to which they refer. He will only add in this place, from Hutchins's History of Dorsetshire, (vol. i. p. 366), what is there said of Lewesdon (or, as it is now corruptly called, Lewson) : " This and Pillesdon Hill surmount all the hills, though very high, between them and the sea. Mariners call them the Cow and Calf, in which forms they are fancied to appear, being eminent sea-marks to those who sail upon the coast." To the top of this Hill the Author describes himself as walking on a May morning. TO THE RIGHT REV. FATHER IN GOD JONATHAN, LORD BISHOP OF ST. ASAPH, WHO, IN A LEARNED, TREE, AND LIBERAL AGE, IS HIMSELF MOST HIGHLY DISTINGUISHED BY EXTENSIVE, USEFUL, AND ELEGANT LEARNING, BY A DISINTERESTED SUPPORT OF FREEDOM, AND BY A TRULY CHRISTIAN LIBERALITY OF MIND, THIS POEM, WITH ALL RESPECT, IS DEDICATED BY HIS LORDSHIP'S MOST OBLIGED AND MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT, THE AUTHOR. Jan. 1788. CONTENTS. , Page LEWESDON HILL . . 1 Notes ... ,41 Inscribed beneath the picture of an ass . .61 Ode to the Lyric Muse. Spoken in the Theatre at the in- stallation of Lord North, chancellor of the university of Oxford . . . . .64 Verses intended to have been spoken in the Theatre to the Duke of Portland, at his installation as chancellor of the university of Oxford, in the year 1793 . . 70 On the Death of Captain Cook . . -75 Elegy to the memory of Dr. W. Hayes, professor of music in the university of Oxford. . . .80 The World. Intended as an apology for not writing. By a Lady . . .' .82 The British Theatre. Written in 1775 . . 84 On two Publications, entitled Editions of two of our Poets 89 The Spleen . . . .92 Lines written with a pencil in a lady's almanac . 98 To a young gentlewoman, with Thomson's Seasons, doubled down at the story of Palemon and Lavinia . . 101 Sonnet . . . . .103 Sonnet to Petrarch .... 105 To a lady, who desired some specimens of the author's poetry 107 Epitaph on a child who died of a scarlet fever in the fifteenth month of his age. 1802 , . . 108 X CONTENTS. Epitaph on Sir Charles Turner, bart. in the family mausoleum at Kirk Leatham, Yorkshire Lines written at the tomb of William of Wykeham, in Win- chester cathedral .... Translation of a Greek inscription upon a fountain From Lucretius saepius olim Religio peperit scelerosa. Lib. I. v. 83. From Lucretius Suave, mari magno turbantibus. Lib. II. v. I. From Lucretius Avia Pieridum peragro loca. Lib. IV. v. 1. Psalm LXXII. abridged, and adapted to a particular tune Midnight Devotion. Written in the great storm, 1822 Silbury Hill .... To the Daisy ..... Fragment ..... From Purchase's Pilgrimage, versified and designed as a motto to " Voyages for the Discovery of a N. W. Passage" 131 Fragment . . . . .133 The rape of Proserpine . . .135 Sonnet . . . . .137 Song . . . . .139 Song ... . . .141 Song . . . . .142 To a lady going to her family in Ireland . .143 To the Sun ..... 144 Song . . . . .146 To a lady, fortune-telling with cards . 1 48 CONTENTS. XI Page Epigram ..... 150 On two English poets, who flourished in the former half of the last century, and published complimentary verses on each other . . . .152 Verses to the honour of the London Pastrycook, who marked " No popery" on his pies, &c. . . . 154 On the funeral of , in a hearse and six, followed by a mourning coach and four . . .157 Parody on Dryden's " Three poets," &c. . . 160 Epigram ..... 161 An expostulatory supplication to Death, after the decease of Dr. Bumey . . .162 On the decease of Home Tooke . . .163 Inscription for the granite sarcophagus brought from Alex- andria to the British Museum . . .164 Inscription for a statue of field-marshal Suworow . 166 On field-marshal Suworow. A dialogue . .169 On F. W. the king of Prussia's ineffectual attempt on War- saw . . . . .171 Political advice to the members of the French Convention. A dialogue . . . . .176 Written when Buonaparte was altering the governments of Germany . . . . .178 Suggested by reading Dryden's Britannia Rediviva, a poem on the prince born on the 10th of June, 1688 . . 179 Succession . . . . .183 Epigram . . . .186 On the increase of human life 188 Xll CONTENTS. Page Ode to the king of France. 1823 . .189 Verses spoken in the Theatre, Oxford, at the installation of the chancellor, Lord Grenville, July 10, 1810, by Henry Crowe, a commoner of Wadham College . .193 AdMusas . . . . .198 Hw ? E^yo/v tf/qretga, @tw Tr^OTroAe SvriTOiffiv Or. Hym. . * 199 JepthaeVotum ..... 202 Palmyra ..... 204 Ad Hyacinthum. 1791 . . . 206 Romulus. Scriptus 1803 . . . . 208 Helena Insula . . . . .215 On Captain Sir M. Murray, wounded at the Westminster election . . . . .221 Amnestia Infida . -. . . 222 Psalm CXIV. . . . . .223 Psalm CXXXIII. . . . .225 Psalm CXXXVII. . , . . .226 In obitum senis academici, Thomas Pryor, Armigeri . 228 In obitum J. N. Oxoniensis, 1783 . \ . 229 Bene est cui Deus dederit Parca quod satis est manu. Hor. Lib. 3. Od. 16. . 230 E12 K022TON .... 232 Inscriptio in Horto auctoris apud Alton in com. Wilt. . 234 Epicedium ..... 237 De Seipso ,mandatum auctoris . . . 239 LEWESDON HILL. U? to thy summit, LEWESDON, to the brow Of yon proud rising, where the lonely thorn Bends from the rude South-east with top cut sheer By his keen breath, along the narrow track, By which the scanty -pastured sheep ascend Up to thy furze-clad summit, let me climb, My morning exercise, and thence look round B 2 LEAVES DON HILL. Upon the variegated scene, of hills And woods and fruitful vales, and villages Half hid in tufted orchards, and the sea Boundless, and studded thick with many a sail. Ye dew-fed vapours, nightly balm, exhaled From earth, young herbs and flowers, that in the morn Ascend as incense to the Lord of day, I come to breathe your odours ; while they float Yet near this surface, let me walk embathed In your invisible perfumes, to health So friendly, nor less grateful to the mind, Administering sweet peace and cheerfulness. LEWESDON HILL. 3 How changed is thy appearance, beauteous hill ! Thou hast put off thy wintry garb, brown heath And russet fern, thy seemly-coloured cloak To bide the hoary frosts and dripping rains Of chill December, and art gaily robed In livery of the spring : upon thy brow A cap of flowery hawthorn, and thy neck Mantled with new-sprung furze and spangles thick Of golden bloom : nor lack thee tufted woods Adown thy sides : tall oaks of lusty green, The darker fir, light ash, and the nesh tops Of the young hazel join, to form thy skirts In many a wavy fold of verdant wreath : So gorgeously hath Nature drest thee up 4 LEWESDON HILL. Against the birth of May : and, vested so, Thou dost appear more gracefully arrayed Than Fashion's worshippers, whose gaudy shows, Fantastical as are a sick man's dreams, From vanity to costly vanity Change ofter than the moon. Thy comely dress, From sad to gay returning with the year, Shall grace thee still till Nature's self shall change. These are the beauties of thy woodland scene At each return of spring : yet some 1 delight Rather to view the change ; and fondly gaze On fading colours, and the thousand tints Which Autumn lays upon the varying leaf: LEWESDON HILL. I like them not, for all their boasted hues Are kin to Sickliness ; mortal Decay Is drinking up their vital juice ; that gone, They turn to sear and yellow. Should I praise Such false complexions, and for beauty take A look consumption-bred ? As soon, if gray Were mixt in young Louisa's tresses brown, I 'd call it beautiful variety, And therefore dote on her. Yet I can spy A beauty in that fruitful change, when comes The yellow Autumn and the hopes o* the year Brings on to golden ripeness ; nor dispraise The pure and spotless form of that sharp time, When January spreads a pall of snow 6 LEWESDON HILL. O'er the dead face of th* undistinguish'd earth. Then stand I in the hollow comb beneath, And bless this friendly mount, that weather-fends My reed-roofd cottage, while the wintry blast From the thick north comes howling : till the Spring Return, who leads my devious steps abroad, To climb, as now, to LEWESDON'S airy top. V Above the noise and stir of yonder fields Uplifted, on this height I feel the mind Expand itself in wider liberty. The distant sounds break gently on my sense, Soothing to meditation : so methinks, Even so, sequestered from the noisy world, LEWESDON HILL. *7 Could I wear out this transitory being In peaceful contemplation and calm ease. But Conscience, which still censures on our acts, That awful voice within us, and the sense Of an Hereafter, wake and rouse us up From such unshaped retirement ; which were else A blest condition on this earthly stage. For who would make his life a life of toil For wealth, overbalanced with a thousand cares ; Or power, which base compliance must uphold ; Or honour, lavished most on courtly slaves ; Or fame, vain breath of a misjudging world ; Who for such perishable gaudes would put A yoke upon his free unbroken spirit, H LEWESDON HILL. And gall himself with trammels and the rubs Of this world's business ; so he might stand clear Of judgment and the tax of idleness In that dread audit, when his mortal hours (Which now with soft and silent stealth pace by) Must all be counted for ? But, for this fear, And to remove, according to our power, The wants and evils of our brother's state, 'Tis meet we justle with the world ; content, If by our sovereign Master we be found At last not profitless: for worldly meed, Given or withheld, I deem of it alike. From this proud eminence on all sides round Th" unbroken prospect opens to my view, LEWESDON HILL. 9 On all sides large ; save only where the head Of Pillesdon rises, Pillesdon's lofty Pen : So call (still rendering to his ancient name Observance due) that rival Height south-west, Which like a rampire bounds the vale beneath. There woods, there blooming orchards, there are seen Herds ranging, or at rest beneath the shade Of some wide-branching oak ; there goodly fields Of corn, and verdant pasture, whence the kine Returning with their milky treasure home Store the rich dairy : such fair plenty fills The pleasant vale of Marshwood, pleasant now, Since that the Spring has deck'd anew the meads 10 LEWESDON HILL. With flowery vesture, and the warmer sun Their foggy moistness drain'd ; in wintry days Cold, vapourish, miry, wet, and to the flocks Unfriendly, when autumnal rains begin To drench the spungy turf: but ere that time The careful shepherd moves to healthier soil, Rechasing, lest his tender ewes should coath 2 In the dank pasturage. Yet not the fields Of Evesham, nor that ample valley named Of the White Horse, its antique monument Carved in the chalky bourne, for beauty and wealth Might equal, though surpassing in extent, This fertile vale, in length from LEWESDON'S base Extended to the sea, and watered well LEWESDON HILL. 11 By many a rill ; but chief with thy clear stream, Thou nameless Rivulet, who, from the side Of LEWESDON softly welling forth, dost trip Adown the valley, wandering sportively. Alas, how soon thy little course will end ! How soon thy infant stream shall lose itself In the salt mass of waters, ere it grow To name or greatness ! Yet it flows along Untainted with the commerce of the world, Nor passing by the noisy haunts of men ; But through sequestered meads, a little space, Winds secretly, and in its wanton path May cheer some drooping flower, or minister Of its cool water to the thirsty lamb : 12 LEWESDON HILL. Then falls into the ravenous sea., as pure As when it issued from its native hill. So to thine early grave didst thou run on. Spotless Francesca, so, after short course, Thine innocent and playful infancy Was swallowed up in death, and thy pure spirit In that illimitable gulf which bounds Our mortal continent. But not there lost, Not there extinguished, as some falsely teach, Who can talk much and learnedly of life, Who know our frame and fashion, who can tell The substance and the properties of man, As they had seen him made, aye and stood by LEWESDON HILL. 13 Spies on Heaven^s work. They also can discourse Wisely, to prove that what must be must be, And show how thoughts are jogg'd out of the brain By a mechanical impulse ; pushing on The minds of us, poor unaccountables, To fatal resolution. Know they not, That in this mortal life, whate'er it be, We take the path that leads to good or evil, And therein find our bliss or misery ? And this includes all reasonable ends Of knowledge or of being ; farther to go Is toil unprofitable, and tV effect Most perilous wandering. Yet of this be sure, Where freedom is not, there no virtue is : 14 LEWESDON KILL. If there be none, this world is all a cheat. And the divine stability of Heaven (That assured seat for good men after death) Is but a transient cloud, displayed so fair To cherish virtuous hope, but at our need Eludes the sense, and fools our honest faith, Vanishing in a lie. If this be so, Were it not better to be born a beast, Only to feel what is, and thus to 'scape The aguish fear that shakes the afflicted breast With sore anxiety of what shall be And all for nought ? Since our most wicked act Is not our sin, and our religious awe Delusion, if that strong Necessity LEWESDON HILL. 15 Chains up our will. But that the mind is free. The Mind herself, best judge of her own state, Is feelingly convinced ; nor to be moved By subtle words, that may perplex the head, But ne'er persuade the heart. Vain argument, That with false weapons of Philosophy Fights against Hope, and Sense, and Nature's strength ! See how the Sun, here clouded, afar off Pours down the golden radiance of his light Upon the enridged sea ; where the black ship Sails on the phosphor-seeming waves. So fair, But falsely-flattering, was yon surface calm, 1C LKWESDON HILL. When forth for India saiPd, in evil time, That Vessel, whose disastrous fate, when told, FilTd every breast with horror, and each eye With piteous tears, so cruel was the loss 3 . Methinks I see her, as, by the wintry storm Shattered and driven along past yonder Isle, She strove, her latest hope, by strength or art, To gain the port within it, or at worst - To shun that harbourless and hollow coast From Portland eastward to the Promontory 4 , Where still St. Alban's high built chapel stands. But art nor strength avail her on she drives, In storm and darkness to the fatal coast : And there "mong rocks and high-o'erhanging cliffs LEWESDON HILL. 17 Dash'd piteously, with all her precious freight Was lost, by Neptune^s wild and foamy jaws Swallowed up quick ! The richliest-laden ship Of spicy Ternate, or that Annual, sent To the Philippines o'er the Southern main From Acapulco, carrying massy gold, Were poor to this ; freighted with hopeful Youth, And Beauty, and high Courage undismayed By mortal terrors, and paternal Love Strong, and unconquerable even in death Alas, they perished all, all in one hour ! Now yonder high way view, wide-beaten, bare With ceaseless tread of men and beasts, and track 18 LEWESDON HILL. Of many indenting wheels, heavy and light, That in their different courses as they pass, Rush violently down precipitate, Or slowly turn, oft resting, up the steep. Mark how that road, with mazes serpentine, From ShiptonV bottom to the lofty down Winds like a path of pleasure, drawn by art Through park or flowery garden for delight. Nor less delightful this if, while he mounts Not wearied, the free Journeyer will pause To view the prospect oft, as oft to see Beauty still changing : yet not so contrived By fancy, or choice, but of necessity, By soft gradations of ascent to lead LEWESDON HILL. 19 The labouring and way-worn feet along, And make their toil less toilsome. Half way up, Or nearer to the top, behold a cot, CTer which the branchy trees, those sycamores, Wave gently : at their roots a rustic bench Invites to short refreshment, and to taste What grateful beverage the house may yield After fatigue, or dusty heat ; thence calFd The TRAVELLER'S REST. Welcome, embowered seat, Friendly repose to the slow passenger Ascending, ere he takes his sultry way Along th" interminable road, stretched out Over th' unshelter'd down ; or when at last He has that hard and solitary path o* 20 LEWESDON HILL. Measured by painful steps. And blest are they, Who in life's toilsome journey may make pause After a march of glory : yet not such As rise in causeless war, troubling the world By their mad quarrel, and in fields of blood HaiPd victors, thence renowned, and calPd on earth Kings, heroes, demi-gods, but in high Heaven Thieves, ruffians, murderers ; these find no repose : Thee rather, patriot Conqueror, to thee Belongs such rest ; who in the western world, Thine own delivered country, for thyself Hast planted an immortal grove, and there, Upon the glorious mount of Liberty Reposing, sit'st beneath the palmy shade. LEWESDON HILL. 21 And Thou, not less renowned in like attempt Of high achievement, though thy virtue faiPd To save thy little country. Patriot Prince, Hero, Philosopher what more could they Who wisely chose thee, PAOLI, to bless Thy native Isle, long struggling to be free ? But Heaven allowed not yet may'st thou repose After thy glorious toil, secure of fame Well-earned by virtue : while ambitious France, Who stretched her lawless hand to seize thine isle, Enjoys not rest or glory ; with her prey Gorged but not satisfied, and craving still Against tV intent of Nature. See Her now Upon the adverse shore, her Norman coast, 22 LEWESDON HILL. Plying 6 her monstrous labour unrestrained ! A rank of castles in the rough sea sunk, With towery shape and height, and armed heads Uprising o^er the surge ; and these between, Unmeasurable mass of ponderous rock Projected many a mile to rear her wall Midst the deep waters. She, the mighty work Still urging, in her arrogant attempt, As with a lordly voice to the Ocean cries, 4 Hitherto come, no farther ; here be staid 4 The raging of thy waves ; within this bound 4 Be all my haven' and therewith takes in A space of amplest circuit, wide and deep, Won from the straitened main ; nor less in strength LEWESDON HILL. 23 Than in dimensions, giant-like in both, On each side flank'd with citadels and towers And rocky walls, and arches massy proof Against the storm of war. Compared with this Less, 7 and less hazardous emprize achieved Resistless Alexander, when he cast The strong foundations of that high-raised mound Deep in the hostile waves, his martial way, Built on before him up to sea-girt Tyre. Nor 8 aught so bold, so vast, so wonderful, At Athos or the fetter'd Hellespont, Imagined in his pride that Asian vain, Xerxes, but ere he turned from Salamis Flying through the blood-red waves in one poor bark. #4 LEWESDON HILL. Retarded by thick-weltering carcasses. Nor 9 yet that elder work (if work it were, Not fable) raised upon the Phrygian shore, (Where lay the fleet confederate against Troy, A thousand ships behind the vasty mole All sheltered) could with this compare, though built It seem'd, of greatness worthy to create Envy in the immortals ; and at last Not overthrown without th' embattled aid Of angry Neptune. So may He once more Rise from his troubled bed, and send his waves, Urged on to fury by contending winds, With horned violence to push and whelm This pile, usurping on his watry reign ! LEWESDON HILL. 25 From hostile shores returning, glad I look On native scenes again ; and first salute Thee, Burton 10 , and thy lofty cliff, where oft The nightly blaze is kindled ; further seen Than erst was that love-tended cresset, hung Beside the Hellespont : yet not like that Inviting to the hospitable arms Of Beauty and Youth, but lighted up, the sign Of danger, and of ambush'd foes to warn The stealth-approaching Vessel, homeward bound From Havre or the Norman isles, with freight Of wines and hotter drinks, the trash of France, Forbidden merchandize. Such fraud to quell Many a light skiff and well-appointed sloop 26 LEWESDON HILL. Lies hovering near the coast, or hid behind Some curved promontory, in hope to seize These contraband : vain hope ! on that high shore Stationed, th* associates of their lawless trade Keep watch, and to their fellows off at sea Give the known signal ; they with fearful haste Observant, put about the ship, and plunge Into concealing darkness. As a fox, That from the cry of hounds and hunters' din Runs crafty down the wind, and steals away Forth from his cover, hopeful so t"* elude The not yet following pack, if chance the shout Of eager or unpractised boy betray His meditated flight, back he retires LEWESDON HILL. 21 To shelter him in the thick wood : so these Retiring, ply to south, and shun the land Too perilous to approach : and oft at sea Secure (or ever nigh the guarded coast They venture) to the trackless deep they trust Their forfeitable cargo, rundlets small, Together link'd upon their cablets length, And to the shelving bottom sunk and fixt By stony weights ; till happier hour arrive To land it on the vacant beach unriskM. But what is yonder Hill 11 , whose dusky brow Wears, like a regal diadem, the round Of ancient battlements and ramparts high. 28 LEWESDON HILL. And frowns upon the vales ? I know thee not- Thou hast no name, no honourable note. No chronicle of all thy warlike pride. To testify what once thou wert, how great. How glorious, and how feared. So perish all, Who seek their greatness in dominion held Over their fellows, or the pomp of war, And be as thou forgotten, and their fame Cancelled like thine ! But thee in after times Reclaimed to culture, Shepherds visited, And calPd thee Orgarston ; so thee they call'd Of Orgar, Saxon Earl, the wealthy sire Of fair Elfrida ; She, whose happy Bard Has with his gentle witchery so wrought LEWESDON HILL. 29 Upon our sense, that we can see no more Her mad ambition, treacherous cruelty. And purple robes of state with royal blood Inhospitably stain'd ; but in their place Pure faith, soft manners, filial duty meek, Connubial love, and stoles of saintly white. Sure 'tis all false what poets fondly tell Of rural innocence and village love ; Else had thy simple annals, Nethercombe, Who bosomed in the vale below dost look This morn so cheerful, been unstain'd with crimes, Which the pale rustic shudders to relate. There lived, the blessing of her fathers age, 30 LKWESDON HILL. I fable not, nor will with fabled names Varnish a melancholy tale all true, A lowly maid ; lowly, but like that flower, Which grows in lowly place, and thence has name, Lily o 1 the vale, within her parent leaves As in retreat she lives ; yet fair and sweet Above the gaudiest Blooms, that flaunt abroad, And play with every wanton breath of Heaven. Thus innocent, her beauties caught the eye Of a young villager, whose vows of love Soon won her easy faith : her sire meantime, Alas ! nor knowing nor suspecting ought, Till that her shape, erewhile so graceful seen, (Dian first rising after change was not LEWESDON HILL. 31 More delicate) betrayed her secret act. And grew to guilty fulness : then farewell Her maiden dignity, and comely pride. And virtuous reputation. But this loss Worse followed, loss of shame, and wilful wreck Of what was left her yet of good, or fair, Or decent : now her meek and gentle voice To petulant turned ; her simply-neat attire To sluttish tawdry : her once timid eye Grew fix'd, and parleyed wantonly with those It look'd on. Change detestable ! For she, Erewhile the light of her fond father's house,. Became a grievous darkness : but his heart Endured not long ; all in despair he went 32 LEWESDON HILL. Into the chambers of the grave, to seek A comfortless repose from sorrow and shame. What then befell this daughter desolate ? For He, the partner of her earliest fault, Had left her, false perhaps, or in dislike Of her light carriage. What could then befall, What else, but of her self-injurious life The too sad penance hopeless penury, Loathsome disease unpitied, and thereto The brand of all-avoided infamy Set on her, like the fearful token o'er A plague-infested house : at length to death Impatient and distract she made bold way. LEWESDON HILL. 33 Fain would I view thee, Corscombe, fain would hail The ground where Hollis 12 lies ; his choice retreat, Where, from the busy world withdrawn, he lived To generous Virtue, and the holy love Of Liberty, a dedicated spirit ; And left his ashes there ; still honouring Thy fields, with title given of patriot names, But more with his untitled sepulchre. That envious ridge conceals thee from my sight, Which, passing o'er thy place north-east, looks on To Sherburne's ancient towers and rich domains, The noble Digby^s mansion ; where he dwells Inviolate, and fearless of thy curse, 34 LEWESDON HILL. War-glutted Osmund, 13 superstitious Lord ! Who with Heaven^ justice for a bloody life Madest thy presumptuous bargain ; giving more Than thy just having to redeem thy guilt. And darest bid th" Almighty to become The minister of thy curse. But sure it fell, So bigots fondly judged, full sure it fell With sacred vengeance pointed on the head Of many a bold usurper : chief on thine (Favourite of Fortune once, but last her thrall), Accomplished u Raleigh ! in that lawless day When, like a goodly hart, thou wert beset With crafty blood-hounds, lurching for thy life, While as they feigned to chase thee fairly down ; LEWESDON HILL. 35 And that foul Scot, the minion-kissing King, Pursued with havoc in the tyrannous hunt. How is it vanished in a hasty spleen, The Tor of Glastonbury ! Even but now I saw the hoary pile cresting the top Of that north-western hill ; and in this Now A cloud hath passed on it, and its dim bulk Becomes annihilate, or if not, a spot Which the strained vision tires itself to find. And even so fares it with the things of earth Which seem most constant : there will come the cloud That shall infold them up, and leave their place 36 LEWESDON HILL. A seat for Emptiness. Our narrow ken Reaches too far, when all that we behold Is but the havoc of wide-wasting Time, Or what he soon shall spoil. His outspread wings (Which bear him like an eagle o^er the earth) Are plumed in front so downy soft, they seem To foster what they touch, and mortal fools Rejoice beneath their hovering : woe the while ! For in that indefatigable flight The multitudinous strokes incessantly Bruise all beneath their cope, and mark on all His secret injury ; on the front of man Gray hairs and wrinkles ; still as Time speeds on Hard and more hard his iron pennons beat LEWESDON HILL. 37 \Vith ceaseless violence ; nor overpass, Till all the creatures of this nether world Are one wide quarry : following dark behind. The cormorant Oblivion swallows up The carcasses that Time has made his prey. But, hark ! the village clock strikes nine the chimes Merrily follow, tuneful to the sense Of the pleased clown attentive, while they make False-measured melody on crazy bells. O wond'rous Power of modulated sound ! Which, like the air (whose all-obedient shape Thou makest thy slave), canst subtilly pervade 38 LKWESDON HILL. * The yielded avenues of sense, unlock The close affections, by some fairy path Winning an easy way through every ear, And with thine unsubstantial quality Holding in mighty chains the hearts of all ; All, but some cold and sullen-temper'd spirits, Who feel no touch of sympathy or love. Yet what is music, and the blended power Of voice with instruments of wind and string? What but an empty pageant of sweet noise ? 'Tis past : and all that it has left behind Is but an echo dwelling in the ear LEWESDON HILL. 39 Of the toy-taken fancy, and beside, A void and countless hour in life's brief day. But ill accords my verse with the delights Of this gay month : and see the Villagers Assembling jocund in their best attire To grace this genial morn. Now I descend To join the worldly crowd ; perchance to talk, To think, to act as they : then all these thoughts, That lift th' expanded heart above this spot To heavenly musing, these shall pass away (Even as this goodly prospect from my view) Hidden by near and earthy-rooted cares. So passeth human life our better mind 40 LEWESDON HILL. Is as a Sunday's garment, then put on When we have nought to do ; but at our work We wear a worse for thrift. Of this enough : To-morrow for severer thought ; but now To breakfast, and keep festival to-day. NOTES. NOTES. Note 1, page 4, line 10. At each return of spring : yet some delight, 3$c. AN adventitious beauty, arising from that gradual decay, which loosens the withering leaf, gilds the au- tumnal landscape with a temporary splendor superior to the verdure of spring, or the luxuriance of summer. The infinitely various and ever-changing hues of the leaves at this season, melting into every soft gradation of tint and shade, have long engaged the imitation of the painter, and are equally happy ornaments in the description of the poet. Aikin's Essay on the Charac- ter of Thompson's Seasons, prefixed to his edition of them, 1791. NoteS, p. 10, line 7. Rechasing, lest his tender ewes should coath. To coath, Skinner says, is a word common in Lincoln- shire, and signifies, to faint. He derives it from the Anglo-Saxon co$e,, a disease. In Dorsetshire it is in common use, but it is used of sheep only : a coathed sheep is a rotten sheep ; to coath is to take the rot, 44 NOTES. Rechasing is also a term in that county appropriated to flocks : to chase and rechase is to drive sheep at certain times from one sort of ground to another, or from one parish to another. The author having ventured to introduce some pro- vincial and other terms, takes this occasion to say, that it is a liberty in which he has not indulged himself, but when he conceived them to be allowable for the sake of ornament or expression. Note 3, page 16, line 4. With piteous tears, so cruel was the loss. The distressful condition of the Halswell here alluded to is thus circumstantially described in the narrative of her loss, p. 13. " Thursday the 5th, at two in the morning, the wind came to the southward, blew fresh, and the weather was very thick ; at noon Portland was seen, bearing N. by E. distance two or three leagues; at eight at night it blew a strong gale at S. and at this time the Portland lights were seen bearing N. W. distance four or five leagues, when they wore ship, and got her head to the westward ; but rinding they lost ground upon that tack, they wore again, and kept stretching on eastward, in hopes to have weathered Peverel-point, in which case they intended to have anchored in Studland Bay : at 1 1 at night it cleared, and they saw St. Alban's-head a mile and a half to the leeward of them ; upon which they took in sail immediately, and let go the small bower NOTES. 45 anchdr, which brought up the ship at a whole cable, and she rode for about an hour, but then drove ; they now let go the sheet anchor, and wore away a whole cable, and the ship rode for about two hours longer, when she drove again. They were then driving very fast on shore, and might expect every moment to strike !" Note 4, page 16, line 10. From Portland eastward to the Promontory. " Not far from this (Encombe) stands St. rfldene's Chapel; which took name from the dedication to St. Adeline, the first bishop of Sherbourne in this shire : but now it serves for a sea-mark/' Coker's Survey of Dorsetshire, p. 47. " Near the sea is the high land of St. Aldhelm's, com- monly called St. Albans, a noted sea-mark. The cliff here is 147 yards perpendicular. On this promontory, about a mile south of Worth, stands a chapel of the same name." Hutchins's Dorsetsh. vol. i. p. 228. But this headland is not marked by name in Hutchins's map. " The very utter part of Si. Aldhelm's point is five miles from Sandwich (Swanwich)." Lei. Itin. vol. iii. p. 53. Note 5, page 18, line 6. From Shiptoris bottom to the lofty down. Shipton is a hill, which, according to common re- port, is so called from its shape ; the top of it being 46 NOTES. formed like a ship with the keel upwards. It stands three miles from Bridport on the road towards London ; which road passes by the foot of it to the North. Note 6, page 22, line 1 . Plying her monstrous labour unrestrained. The works now carrying on at Cherburgh, (A. D. 1787) to make a haven for ships of war, are principally the following. Of these however it is not intended to give a full description ; but only to mention some par- ticulars, from which an idea may be formed of the greatness of the scheme. In the open sea, above a league from the town, and within half a mile west of a rock called Disk PeUe, a pier is begun, with design of conducting it on to the shore somewhat beyond Point Hommet, about two miles westward of Cherburgh. In order to this, a strong frame of timber- work, of the shape of a truncated cone, having been constructed on the beach, was buoyed out, and sunk in a depth of water ; which at 'lowest ebb is 35 feet, and where the tide rises near 20 feet. The diameter of this cone at bottom is about 60 yards, its height 70 feet ; and the area on its top large enough to receive a battery of cannon, with which it is here- after to be fortified. Its solid contents are 2500 French toises; which, in our measure (allowing the French foot to be to the English as J 44 to 135), will amount to 24,250 cubic yards nearly. Several other cones, of NOTES. 47 equal dimensions, are sunk at convenient distances from each other, forming the line of the pier : their number, when complete, it is said, will he forty. As soon as any one of these is carried to its place, it is filled with stones, which are dug from mount Rouille and other rocks near the coast, and brought on horses to the shore : whence they are conveyed to the cones in vessels of forty, sixty, or eighty tons burden. In like manner, but with much greater labour and expense, the spaces between the cones are filled up with stones thrown loosely into the sea, till the heap is raised above the water. On this mass, as on a foundation, a wall of masonry- work is to be erected. The length of the whole is near five miles. On L'isle Pelfe and Point Hommet before-mentioned large fortifications are con- structed bomb-proof, to defend the haven and pier. It is the opinion of some persons that this stupendous mole may be injured or destroyed by what is called a ground-sea, i. e. a sea when the waters are agitated to the bottom; and this happens when a strong wind, after having put the waves in motion, suddenly shifts to the opposite quarter. The description given in the Poem of this vast undertaking closes with an allusion to this opinion. Note 7, page 23, lines 5 and 6. Less and less hazardous emprize achieved Resistless Alexander. Quint. Curt, lib, 4, cap. 2, 3. 48 NOTES. Note 8, page 23, line 10. Nor aught so bold, so vast, so wonderful. - creditur olim Velificatus Athos Densa cadavera prora. Juv. Sat. x. v. 173. 186. Note 9, page 24, line 2. Nor yet that elder work. HOM. iL.vii. v. 43G. 4G3. (Ji.lV V xXi{TJJ<7t, - IL. xii. v. 1, 33. Note 10, page 25, line 3. Thee, Burton, and thy lofty cliff. Burton is a village near the sea, lying S. E. from Lewesdon, and about two miles S. of Shipton hill be- fore mentioned. The cliff is among the loftiest of all upon that coast ; and smugglers often take advantage of its height for the purpose related in the poem. Note 11, page 27, line 11. But what is yonder Hill, whose dusky brow. " Eggardon Hill is a very high hill, and gives name NOTES. 49 to the hundred. Mr. Coker says it is uncertain whether it takes its name from Edgar, king of the West Saxons, or from Orgarus, earl of Cornwall : and indeed this last derivation is the truest; there being little reason to doubt that it is the old Orgarestone. The camp on the brow of this hill is a large and strong fortification, and seems to be Roman." Hutchins's Dorset, vol. i. p. 289 ; where there is an engraving of this camp. But Hutchins has misrepresented Mr. Coker, who indeed prefers the derivation from Orgar. His words are these : " That it takes name from Edgar, the West Saxon king, I dare not affirm, having nothing to prove it but the nearnesse of the name. It better likes me to think this the place which in Doomsday-book is called Or- gareston ; but whether it take name from Orgareus, earl of Cornwall, I know not ; though I think I should run into no great error to believe it." Coker *s Survey of Dorsetshire, p. 26. Note 12, page 33, line 2. The ground where Hollis lies ; his choice retreat. " Mr. Hollis, in order to preserve the memory of those heroes and patriots for whom he had a veneration, as the assertors and defenders of his country, called many of the farms and fields in his estate at Corscombe by their names ; and by these names they are still distin- guished. In the middle of one of those fields, not far from his house, he ordered his corpse to be deposited in a 50 NOTES. grave ten feet deep ; and that the field should be imme- diately ploughed over, that no trace of his burial-place might remain."- Memoirs of Thomas Hollis, Esq. vol. i. p. 481. Note 13, page 34, line 1. War-glutted Osmond, superstitious lord! Of the strange curse belonging to Shireburne-Castle. From a MS. of the late Bishop of Ely (Bishop John More) now in the Royal Library at Cambridge. " Osmund, a Norman knight, who had served Wil- liam Duke of Normandy from his youth, in all his wars against the French king, and the duke's (William's) subjects, with much valour and discretion, for all his faithful service (when his master had by conquest ob- teyned the crown of England) was rewarded with many great gifts ; among the which was the earldom e of Dorsett, and the gift of many other possessions, whereof the castle and haronie ofSherburne were parcell. But Osmund, in the declyninge of his age, calling to mynde the great effusion of blood which, from his in- fancie, he had shedd ; he resolved to leave all worldly delights, and betake himself to a religious life, the bet- ter to contemplate on his former sinnes, and to ob- teyn pardon for them. And, with much importunitie, having gotten leave of the kinge (who was unwilling to want the assistance of so grave and worthy a counsellor) to resign his temporal honors ; and having obteyned the NOTES. 51 bishoprick of Sarum^ he gave Sherburne, with other lands, to the bishoprick. To which gift he annexed this curse : fc ' That whosoever should take those lands from the bishoprick, or diminish them in great or in small, should be accursed, not only in this world, but also in the world to come ; unless in his life-time he made re- stitution thereof/ And so he died bishop of Sarum." Those lands continued in the possession of his suc- cessors till the reign of King Stephen, who took them away : " whereupon (says this account) his prosperity forsook him/' King Stephen being dead, " these lands came into the hands fof some of the Montagues (after carles of Sarum), who whilest they held the same, un- derwent many disasters. For one or other of them fell by misfortune. And finally, all the males of them be- came extinct, and the earldome received an end in their name. So ill was their success." After this the lands were restored to the bishoprick ; but were taken away a second time by the Duke of Somerset, in the, reign of Edward VI.; " when the duke, being hunting in the parke of Sherburne, he was sent for presently unto the kinge (to whome he was protector) and at his coming up to London, was forth- with committed unto the Tower, and shortly after lost his head." The lands then, in a suit at law, were ad- judged to the Bishop of Sarum ; and so remained, " till Sir Walter Raleigh procured a grant of thenl ; he after- E 2 52 NOTES. wards unfortunately lost them., and at last his head also. Upon his attainder they came, by the king's gift, to Prince Henry ; who died not long after the possession thereof. After Prince Henrys death, the Earle of Somerset (Carr) did possesse them. Finally, he lost them, and many other fortunes." Peck's Desid. Cur. Lib. 14.. No. 6. Note 14, page 34, line 11. Accomplished Raleigh ! in that lawless day. " How Dr. John Coldwell, of a physitian, became a bishop, I have heard by more than a good many; and I will briefly handle it, and as tenderly as I can ; bearing myself equal between the living (Sir Walter Raleigh} and the dead (Bishop Coldwell). Yet the manifest judgements of God on both of them I may not pass over with silence. And to speak first of the knight, who carried off the Spolia opima of the bishop- rick. He, having gotten Sherborne castle, park, and parsonage, was in those days in so great favour with the queen, as I may boldly say, that with less suit than he was fain to make to her, ere he could per- fect this his purchase, and with less money than he bestowed since in Sherborne (in building, and buying out leases, and in drawing the river through rocks into his garden), he might, very justly, and without offence of either church or state, have compassed a much better purchase. Also, as I have been truly in- formed, he had a presage before he first attempted it, NOTES. 53 which did foreshow it would turn to his ruin, and might have kept him from meddling with it, Si mens non Iceva fuisset : for, as he was riding post between Plymouth and the court (as many times he did upon no small em- ployments), this castle being right in the way, he cast such an eye upon it as Ahab did upon Naboth's vineyard. And, once above the rest, being talking of it (of the commodiousness of the place, of the strength of the seat, and how easily it might be got from the bishoprick, suddenly over and over came his horse, that his very face (which was then thought a very good face) plowed up the earth where he fell. This fall was ominous, I make no question ; and himself was apt to construe it so. But his brother Adrian would needs have him interpret it as a conqueror, that his fall presaged the quiet possession of it. And accordingly, for the present, it so fell out. So that with much labor, cost, envy, and obloquy, he got it habendum et tenendum to him and his heirs. But see what became of him. In the public joy and jubilee of the whole realm (when favor, peace, and pardon, were offered even to offenders), he who in wit, in wealth, in courage, was inferior to few, fell suddenly (I cannot tell how) into such a downfall of despair, as his greatest enemy would not have wished him so much harm, as he would have done himself. Can any man be so willfully blind as not to see, and say, Digit us Dei hie est /" Harrington's Brief View, p. 88. 54< NOTES. To these Notes are added the following, taken from jEschylus, to show the resemblance between the ex- pressions of that author and certain passages in this poem. -- Let me walk embathed In your invisible perfumes. P. 2, v. 16, T*f ofyxa TTfoa-fnla ju,' acpsfyijf ; Prom. Vine. 115. - For worldly meed, 1 Given or withheld, I deem of it alike. P. 8, v. 98. cu aiYHV itrc (jt,t <4/fytv ^^-f> Ojwoiov. Asram. 1412. The aguish fear that shakes th' afflicted breast With sore anxiety of what shall be And all for nought. P. 14, v. 179. jutaTatof x V^H?WV (pojSo; Kiv, Tapao-crft, xcti Siuixilctt ffoXiw; XaX)(^jxAa7to TrXaj-tyy* Av|utav^V ifjua;. Choeph. 286. To shun that harbourless and hollow coast. P. 16,v. 204. nxltiv w% xyj8pv>?T>j cro^^. Supplices, 775. the promontory Where still St. Alban's high-built chapel stands. P. 16. v. 205. MvTex 9-wxo; T $; 0-7rc(DTQV AjcrovTi TTOTE lloTXjmoi irvpoc 87TTOVT6? aypiKig yvao;j. Prom. Vinct. 367 Alas ! they perish'd all : all in one hour ! P. 17, v. 220. In the Persae the Chorus demand of Xerxes what was become of his friends the Nobles ; he answers, " 1 left them wrecked on the shores of Salamis :" they ask far- ther, " Where is Pharnuchus and Ariomardus ? Where is the royal Sebalces ?" c. Xerxes replies, TLvi TTiTUAtf/, (E, 6, f,) TXyUO>f Acr7rofjpouir< fcepffw. 97S. flank'd with citadels and towers, And rocky walls, and arches massy-proof Against the storm of war. P. 23, v. 292. 2u 3' wg-e v>]0f xeSvo; oiaxof po^Of Aoeof. Sept. cont. Theb. 62. With horned violence to push and whelm This pile. P. 24, v. 319. , XTA. 56 NOTES. In the Supplices of this author there is a similar phrase on a similar subject, T% AA.OJ avryjo'avTSf O^OIVTC. 34. In the Clouds of Aristophanes, A. 1. S. 4, this word oc- curs, lxaToyxs, and the Scholiast says, in TUV or Tu f the first syllable is long. To generous Virtue, and the holy love Of liberty, a dedicated spirit. P. 33, v. 433. In the Eumenides the Fury calls Orestes Sou^ci/av (rxifx. E/xo< tpatytis re xai xS/s^a/xvof. 303. So fares it with the things of earth Which seem most constant : there will come the cloud That shall enfold them up. P. 35, v. 466. Io> pOTE< Trfay/xar'* UTU^VT p.tv 2x;a T*f VTpe\pjv ibeiv ETrotvffVTepOTp&v) ra yep oj- of syyuara. 423. POEMS. orbrmhni ttiuoq o* ^hft lortouA ij } ^rdiJ lo awono^ orfj giiol f nol lo brtB INSCRIBED BENEATH THE PICTURE OF AN ASS. MEEK animal, whose simple mien Provokes th' insulting eye of Spleen To mock the melancholy trait Of patience in thy front displayed, By thy Great Author fitly so pourtray'd, To character the sorrows of thy fate ; Say, Heir of misery, what to thee Is life ? A long, long, gloomy stage Through the sad vale of labour and of pain ! 62 INSCRIBED BENEATH No pleasure hath thine youth, no rest thine age. Nor in the vasty round of this terrene Hast thou a friend to set thee free. Till Death, perhaps too late, In the dark evening of thy cheerless day, Shall take thee, fainting on thy way, From the rude storm of unresisted hate. Yet dares the erroneous crowd to mark With folly thy despised race, Th* ungovernable pack, who bark With impious howlings in Heaven's awful face, If e'er on their impatient head Affliction's bitter showV is shed. THE PICTURE OF AN ASS. 63 But 'tis the weakness of thy kind Meekly to bear the inevitable sway ; The wisdom of the human mind Is to murmur and obey. ODE TO THE LYRIC MUSE. SPOKEN IN THE THEATRE AT THE INSTALLATION OF LORD NORTH, CHANCELLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. STROPHE I. FAIR sovereign of the golden lyre. Descend, Thalia, from th' enchanted grove Of Mona, where thou lov'st to rove, Listening the echoes of thy Druid quire ; The lingering sounds that yet respire Waked by the breezes of the Western main ; And bring some high and solemn strain, ODE TO THE LYRIC MUSE. 65 Such as was heard that solemn day When Rome's dread Eagle stooped to prey On Mona's free-born sons, while Liberty Struck on the magic harp her dying song. Dealing vengeance on her foes. The mortal Genius of battle rose. And calFd Despair and Death to lead her host along. Ml STROPHE II. O, Muse divine ! whene'er thy strain Devotes the tyrant head to shame. The Patriot Virtues brighten in thy train ; 66 ODE TO THE LYRIC MUSE. And Glory hears the loud appeal ; And thou, unconquerable flame, First-born of ancient Freedom, Public Zeal : Thou in the dark and dreary hour When Tyranny her dragon-wing outspread, And Sloth a sullen influence shed, And every coward Vice that loves the night RevelPd on Corsica's ill-fated shore ; Thou didst one dauntless heart inflame, Lo, PAOLI, father of his country, came, And with a giant-voice Cried, " Liberty !" unto the drowsy race That slept in Slavery's dull embrace ; Roused at the sound, theyhail'd thy glorious choice, ODE TO THE LYRIC MUSE. 67 And ev'ry manly breast Shook off the unnerving load of rest ; And Virtue chasing the foul forms of night, Rose like a summer sun, and shed a golden light, ANTISTROPHE I. But, ah ! how sunk her veiled head, Untimely dimm'd by Gaul's o'ershadowing pow'r And shalt thou rise, fair isle, no more ? Thy patriot heroes sleep among the dead : Thy gallant virtues all are fled ; Save Fortitude, sole refuge from despair. O Gaul, Oppression's blood-stain'd heir, C8 ODE TO THE LYRIC MUSE. Let me not tell how, taught by thee, England's rude sons smote Liberty On Vincent* s sable rock, her Indian throne : Not unavenged ; for in her cause the sky Storms and fiery vapours pour'd, While Pestilence waved wide his tainted sword To smite * EPODE. Then, O Thalia ! let thy sacred shell Wake the lofty sounds that swell * The remainder of this, and the whole of the second an- tistrophe, were not repeated in the theatre, having been sup- pressed by the academical authorities, on account of their politicalSentiments, and subsequently lost. ODE TO THE LYRIC MUSE. 69 With rapture unreproved the patriot breast ! Robed in her many-colour'd vest On Isis' banks shall Science stand. Waving in her bounteous hand A wond'rous chaplet ; high reward Of toils, by public virtue dared : And while to claim the envied meed Fair Fame her vot'ries leads, thy voice, O Muse, shall join th' applauded choice That fix^d the glorious wreath on FREDERICK'S honour 'd head ! VERSES INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN IN THE THEATRE TO THE DUKE OF PORTLAND, AT HIS INSTALLATION AS CHAN- CELLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, IN THE YEAR 1793. IN evil hour, and with unhallowed voice, Profaning the pure gift of Poesy, Did he begin to sing, He, first who sung Of arms and combats, and the proud array Of warriors on th' embattled plain, and raised Th* aspiring spirit to hopes of fair renown By deeds of violence ! For since that time VERSES. *U Th 1 imperious victor oft, unsatisfied With bloody spoil and tyrannous conquest, dares To challenge fame and honour ; and too oft The poet, bending low, to lawless pow'r Hath paid unseemly reverence, yea, and brought Streams clearest of th' Aonian fount to wash Blood-stained Ambition. If the stroke of war Fell certain on the guilty head, none else, If they that make the cause might taste th 1 effect, And drink, themselves, the bitter cup they mix, Then might the bard (tho' child of peace) delight To twine fresh wreaths around the Conqueror's brow; Or haply strike his high-toned harp, to swell 72 VERSES. The trumpefs martial sound, and bid them on Whom Justice arms for vengeance : but, alas ! That undistinguishing and deathful storm Beats heaviest on th 1 exposed innocent. And they that stir its fury, while it raves, Stand at safe distance, send their mandate forth Unto the mortal ministers that wait To do their bidding. Ah ! who then regards The widow's tears, the friendless orphan's cry, And Famine/ and the ghastly train of woes That follow at the dogged heels of War ? They, in the pomp and pride of victory Rejoicing, o'er the desolated earth, As at an altar wet with human blood, VERSES. 73 And flaming with the fire of cities burnt. Sing their mad hymns of triumph ; hymns to God, O'er the destruction of his gracious works ! Hymns to the Father, o'er his slaughter'd sons ! Detested be their sword ! abhorr'd their name, And scorn'd the tongues that praise them ! Happier Thou, Of peace and science friend, hast held thy course Blameless and pure ; and such is thy renown. And let that secret voice within thy breast Approve thee, then shall these high sounds of praise Which thou hast heard be as sweet harmony, 74 VERSES. Beyond this Concave to the starry sphere Ascending, where the spirits of the blest Hear it well pleased : For Fame can enter Heaven, If Truth and Virtue lead her ; else, forbid, She rises not above this earthy spot ; And then her voice, transient and valueless, Speaks only to the herd. With other praise And worthier duty may She tend on Thee, Follow thee still with honour, such as time Shall never violate, and with just applause, Such as the wise and good might love to share* ON THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN COOK. I WILL not meditate in idle show Of laboured lines my sorrow to relate ; All artless as the tears my verse shall flow That good men weep for his untimely fate. The friends of peace and friends of human kind To mourn thy loss, adventurous Chief, agree ; And all who love the bold or generous mind. And all who science love must weep for thee. 76 ON THE DEATH OF By thee to soft Taheite^s sultry clime, By thee to chill Kamschatzcha's frozen zone, And Iples ne'er viewed till George's golden time Britannia's mighty name at length was known. O how unlike Magellan ! he who bent His daring sail to untried winds, and first The world encompassed save in sad event Of timeless death by savage hands accurst. The Arts of Peace He cared not to extend ; For gold th' untravel'd sea his bark explored, For lust of gold he rashly strove to bend The free-born Indian to his lawless sword. CAPTAIN COOK. 77 Not such the generous purpose of thy will ; With zeal untired and patient toil it strove To make th' untutor'd savage learn thy skill. And the fierce-manner'd tribes embrace thy love. For this thy vessel plough'd the stormy wave. For this the pendent globe thrice circled round, When the rude hand of some unconscious slave With brutal fury dealt the fatal wound. Hold ! hold. Barbarian ! shall the guilty strife Provoke to mortal acts thy frantic hand ? Let fall thy stroke on some less-valued life ; But save, O ! save the Chieftain of the band ! 78 ON THE DEATH OF E'en hostile kings bade spare his honoured head, The bloodless trophies of his fame bade spare ; And Peace and Science wide their influence spread To guard him from the wasteful rage of war : In vain he falls he dies behold him bleed Ah wretched Isle ! ah murderous, murderous race ! The guilt, the memory of this ruffian deed What pains can expiate, or what time efface ? Henceforth no ship shall spread her canvas wing To visit that inhospitable strand ; Save that in after times if chance shall bring Some bark storm driven near the hateful land ; CAPTAIN COOK. 79 Ev'n then the hardy mariner shall mourn ; And as he views it rising from the main, Far from the inhuman shore his prow shall turn. Cursing the murderous isle where Cook was slain* ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF DR. W. HAYES, PROFESSOR OF MUSIC IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. Set to Music ly his Son and Successor, P. Hayes. SYMPHONY. THESE sounds of grief, this solemn air. To thee I sing, dear, honoured shade ! Hear, spirit of my father, hear ! To thee these mournful rites are paid. Here followed an Organ Movement, being a Psalm Tune of the Professor, Dr. Wm. Hayes. ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF Dll. HAYES. 81 Such the last strains by thee were tried, Strains that to holy Choirs belong ; While Age, that wasted all beside, Yet spared the sweetness of thy song. So pass'd he : nor approved alone In science ; like his gentle art, His life was Music, and in tone With Virtue's harmony his heart. O ! let thy tuneful Spirit, to hear The melancholy strains we raise, Now stoop from that celestial sphere Where Music is the voice of Praise ! THE WORLD*. INTENDED AS AN APOLOGY FOR NOT WRITING. BY A LADY. WIDE Habitation of the Sons of Men, Wherein the seeds of vice and virtue lie Mix'd, like the undigested Elements Ere Chaos lost his kingdom ; where blind Chance With Passion holds divided anarchy ; O ! who can rightly scan thee, or describe ? * This was among the subjects for a Prize Poem, given out by Sir John and Lady Miller at Bath Easton, THE WORLD. 83 Subject ill suited to a Virgin's Muse, That cannot praise, and is to blame untaught : Wherefore from this unprofitable theme She turns, leaving unsung its argument ; Save that with careless hand her lute she strikes Lightly, nor hoping that the myrtle wreath Shall crown her unpremeditated lay. THE BRITISH THEATRE. WRITTEN IN 1775. WHEN first was rear'd the British Stage, Rude was the scene and weak the lay ; The Bard explored the sacred Page, And holy Mystery formed his Play. Th' affections of the mortal breast In simple Moral next he sung, Each Vice * in human shape he drest, And to each Virtue* gave a tongue. * Personification of the passions in the moralities. THE BRITISH THEATRE. 85 Then 'gan the Comic Muse unfold In coarser jests her homely art : Of Gammer Gurton's * loss she told, And laugh'd at Hodge^s awkward smart. Come from thy wildly- win ding stream, First-born of Genius, SHAKSPEARE, come ! The listening World attends thy theme, And bids each elder Bard -f- be dumb : * Gammer Gurton's Needle is the oldest English comedy ; the distress of it arises from the loss of the needle, which at last is discovered in her man Hodge's breeches. f There were no plays of any note before Shakspeare. 86 THE BRITISH THEATRE. For thou, within the human Mind Fix'd, as on thy peculiar throne, Sitf st like a Deity inshrined ; And either Muse is all thine own ! Yet shall not Time's rough hand destroy The scenes by learned Jonson writ ; Nor shall Oblivion e'er enjoy The charms of Fletcher's courtly wit : And still in matchless beauty live The numbers of that Lyric Strain Sung gayly to the Star of Eve By Comus and his jovial Train. THE BRITISH THEATRE. 87 Here sunk the Stage : and dire alarms The Muse's voice did overwhelm ; For wounded Freedom calFd to arms, And Discord shook the embattled Realm. But Peace returned ; and with her came (Alas ! how changed !) the tuneful Pair : Thalia's eye should blench with shame, And her sad Sister weep to hear How the mask'd* Fair, in Charles's reign, Her lewd and riotous Fancy fed At Killigrew^s debauchful scene, While hapless Otway pined for Bread. * The custom of that time, for fear of hearing indecen- cies, otherwise too gross to be supported. 88 THE BRITISH THEATRE. Thus the sweet Lark shall sing unheard, And Philomel sit silent by ; While every vile and chattering bird Torments the grove with ribald cry. And see what witless Bards presume With buskin'd fools to rhyme and rage; While Mason's idle Muse is dumb, And weary Garrick quits the Stage. ON TWO PUBLICATIONS, ENTITLED EDITIONS OF TWO OF OUR POETS. WHEN Critic Science first was known, Somewhere upon the Muse^s ground The PRUNING KNIFE OF WIT was thrown ; Not that which Aristarchus found : / That had a stout and longer blade, Would at one stroke cut off a limb ; This knife was delicately made, Not to dismember^ but to trim* 90 ON TWO PUBLICATIONS. With a short harmless edge a-top, 'Twas made like our prize-fighting swords ; Pages and Chapters 'twould not lop, But cut off syllables and words. Well did it wear ; and might have worn Full many an age, yet ne'er the worse ; Till Bentley's hand its edge did turn On Milton's adamantine verse. Warburton seized the blunted tool. Scarce fit for Oyster-opening Drab : For Critic use 'twas now too dull, But tho' it would not cut, 'twould stab ; ON TWO PUBLICATIONS. 91 Then Shakspeare bled, with every friend That loved the Bard : he threatened further ; And God knows what had been the end, Had not Tom Edwards cried out " Murther P Confounded at the fearful word. Awhile he hid the felon steel ; Now gives it Mason, lends it H ; Ah ! see what Gray and Cowley feel ! THE SPLEEN. I AM not of their mind who say The World degenerates every day ; Nor like to hear a churl exclaim, In rapture at Queen Bess's name, And cry, " What happy times were those " When Ladies with the sun uprose, " And for their breakfast did not fear " To eat roast-beef and drink strong-beer ! " Then buxom health and sprightly grace " Enlivened every blooming face, THE SPLEEN. 9-3 " Blooming with roses all its own ; " And rouge, tea, vapours, were unknown." Nature, still changing, still the same t Hath so contrived this worldly frame, That every age shall duly share The good or ill that flows from Her. Thus we, a spleenful race, are free From magic and from sorcery ; While those who lived with good Queen Bess (As they that know the truth confess) Tho' Spleen and Vapours there were none, Had Imps and Witches many a one ; 94 THE SPLEEN. And he who, ''cause he has not seen, Will not believe, hath ne'er, I ween, With due attention mused upon Thy page, O BRITISH SOLOMON ! Thus far in preface Now I '11 tell How Spleen arose, when Witchcraft fell. By vengeful laws the Wizard brood Long harassed and at last subdued, Their black Familiars all repair Before the throne of Lucifer, With sad petitions, setting forth Their many grievances on earth, THE SPLEEN. 95 What torments they were doom'd to bear While tending on their Witches there : Some drown'd, to prove their innocence, Or, scaping, hang'd on that pretence ; Some burnt within their steeple hats, Some nine times murdered in their Cats : Brief, they petition'd to enjoy Some less adventurous employ, Since witchcraft now was thought so common They were not safe in an old woman. Their suit was granted up they came New-liveried in sulphur flame, 96 THE SPLEEN. With licence thro 1 the realm to range ; But, with their powV, their name they change. Magic no longer now is seen, And what was Witchcraft once, is Spleen : Yet still they most delight to vex, As first they did, the female sex ; And still, like an old witch's charm, They tease, but have no power to harm. Tho' Doctors otherwise have told, The tale is true that I unfold : And with my system suits the name, For Spleen and Vapours are the same ; THK SPLEEN. 97 And all the country people know That these, ascending from below. Are DEVILS of peculiar hue. And from their colour call them BLUE, LINES WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL IN A LADY S ALMANAC. Go happy lines, yet fearful go. To meet Louisa's secret eye ! Tell what I wish her heart should know, Yet, rather than declare, I die. Perhaps she 11 scorn ye, and despise The tribute of a heart so poor Too valueless to be the prize Of Beauty, proudest conqueror. LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALMANAC. 99 Then tell her that her touch alone Destroys your penciled forms with ease ; And say your fate is like my own. To be or not, as she shall please. But should her gentleness now spare, Pass one short year, and ye are not I A little year shall send you where You '11 perish among things forgot ; Yet so, how envied should you be I For who is he would not prefer Before an immortality, To live a year, a day with Her ? H 2 100 LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALMANAC. I fear she^ll turn ye all to jest : Then let her know I Ve made my prayer, That, when by beaux, smart beaux, carest, She ne^er may feel a tender care ! But while they sigh, or kneel, or vow, Think it all done in sport and play ; Or write love-rhymes (as I do now), Laugh, but not trust a word they say. A YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN, WITH THOMSON'S SEASONS, DOUBLED DOWN AT THE STORY OF PALEMON AND LAVINIA. ANNA, when you shall read in this true tale How young Lavinia from her lowly state , Was led to splendor, wealth, and dignity, By generous Palemon wooed and won To be his bride, (such happy fortune found Her virtues, and deserved no less) so think Your beauty, tempered with sweet bashful grace Of modesty and native elegance, r GENTLEWOMAN. So think these charms not sparingly bestow 'd But in the pride and prodigality Of liberal Nature, fashioning her work To a rare excellence, these shall inflame Each generous heart with love, and the dear hope To win your gentle favour, and possess A lovelier Lavinia found in you. SONNET. AH ! where is hid, if still it may survive The cankered tooth of Age and Time's despight. Ah ! where is hid that Orb of glass so bright, That Merlin for King Ryence did contrive ; That wondYous Orb so bright, wherein did live, Or ever Time had brought them into light, The forms of things unborn, which to the sight Its high-enchanted power would strangely give ! For Hope, with counterfeit of this true Glass, 104 SONNET. Doth so beguile the lover's easy mind. Still turning it to Fancy's idiot eye. That Reason's self forgets her majesty To join the gaze ; till the fond phantoms pass. And Grief and stern Repentance rise behind. SONNET TO PETRARCH. O FOR that shell, whose melancholy sound, Heard in Valclusa by the lucid stream Of laurel-shaded Sorga, spread thy theme, Fair Laura and her scorn, to all around High-built Avignon, on the rocky mound That banks the impetuous Rhone, and like a steam From some rich incense rising, to the extreme Of desolate Hesperia did rebound, 106 SONNET TO PETRARCH. And gently waked the Muses : so might I, Studious of song like thee, and ah ! too like In sad complaint of ill-requited love, So might I, hopeless now, have power to strike Such notes, as lovers 1 tears should sanctify. And cold Fidele's melting sighs approve. TO A LADY, WHO DESIRED SOME SPECIMENS OF THE AUTHOR S POETRY. LET not Eliza bid me now rehearse The unvalued rhymes that long forgotten lie : For all unfit is my rude-fashioned Verse To meet the censure of her curious eye : But for her sake a subject could I choose To draw down fame and envy on the Bard, Thy lovely Self should be my theme and Muse, And thy sweet smile, Eliza, my reward. EPITAPH ON A CHILD WHO DIED OF A SCARLET FEVER IN THE FIFTEENTH MONTH OF HIS AGE. 1802. THOUGH thou wert dear, for lovely was thy form. And fair thy mind, and hopeful from thy birth ; Though sudden was the pestilential storm That beat thy tender blossom to the earth ; For thee we grieve not ; certain that the soul Yet sinless, bursting from its earthy clod, Is borne on angel wings beyond the pole, Where infant innocence hath place with God. EPITAPH ON SIR CHARLES TURNER, BART. IN THE FAMILY MAU- SOLEUM AT KIRK LEATHAM, YORKSHIRE. BENEATH this halWd vault, this awful shade. Amidst his generous Forefathers laid, Lo TURNER sleeps, the latest of his race, In prime of manhood given to Death's embrace. Heir of their name, and of their virtues heir, His heart was liberal, courteous, brave, sincere. Nor that his only praise ; his patient mind, Cheerful in grief, in agony resigned, 110 EPITAPH. Long bore the tedious hours of cureless pain. Which Love and Friendship strove to soothe in vain. Farewell, dear Consort of my happier days ! To Thee this duty thy THERESA pays. Lamenting still for Thee, 'till fate shall join Her kindred spirit and her dust with thine. LINES WRITTEN AT THE TOMB OF WILLIAM OF WYKEHAM, IN WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL. WYKEHAM, around thy venerable tomb With fond affection still thy children come ; And tho"* no more the loud-voiced hymn they sing, Still silent prayers and heartfelt wishes bring. That thy departed Spirit, secure and blest, May with the destined heirs of glory rest ; And, for thy pious bounty here bestow'd, Treasure in Heaven may have, and joy in God ! TRANSLATION OF A GREEK INSCRIPTION UPON A FOUNTAIN ' Aypolx o-uv Trot/Mat;, x. r. K. Vitruvius, Lib. 8. c. 3. SHEPHERD, if thirst oppress thee, while thy flock Thou lead'st at noon by this Arcadian spring, * There was a fountain in Arcadia, which had the reputa- tion of creating an aversion to wine in whoever happened to bathe in it, although the water was innocent and wholesome to drink : and the tradition was, that it had received this singular property from Melampus, a celebrated physician of antiquity, when he made use of it to cure certain Arcadian princesses, the daughters of Proetus, of a strange species of madness. These young ladies fancied themselves to be changed into cows. The story is frequently alluded to by the poets; both Ovid and Virgil mention it. TRANSLATION, &c. 113 Here freely drink thy fill, and freely bring Around my Naiads all thy fleecy stock : But in the water wash not, lest thou feel Loathing, and strange antipathy to wine ; Such power it hath to make thee hate the vine, E'er since my fount did Proetus'' daughters heal ; For here Melampus bathed them, here he cast A spell to purge their madness off, and hold The secret taint ; what time from Argos old To rough Arcadia's mountain heights he past. FROM LUCRETIUS. saepius olim Religio peperit scelerosa. Lib. I. v. 83. YET Superstition has of old brought forth More impious wickedness ; witness that time In Aulis, when at Dian's temple met Th' associate Princes, Chiefs, the prime of Greece, And stained her altar with the virgin blood Of Iphigenia : o'er her youthful locks They bound the fillets ; on her cheeks she felt ViiOM LUCRETIUS. 115 The dress of sacrifice : but when she saw Beside the altar her dear father stand In sorrow, and for his sake the ministers Hiding their knife, and all the assembly round Weeping at sight of her ; when this she saw, Struck mute with terror, on her knees she sunk. Ah ! then in vain she called upon her king, Her father, urged him by a parent's love To save his wretched child ; while ruthless hands Bore her all trembling to the altars base ; Not for her nuptials, not for holy rites Of Hymen, tended on with dance and song ; But for a foul and bloody sacrifice. So fell this chaste and tearful victim, slain 116 FROM LUCRETIUS. Evto in her marriage hour ; and all to free Their wind-bound Navy from the fancied let Of adverse Deities, to such a guilt Could Superstition prompt a father's heart. FROM LUCRETIUS. Suave, mari magno turbantibus. Lib. II. v. 1 . SWEET is it, when the stormy winds have roused The boisterous ocean, from on shore to view The toiling mariner ; not that the pain Of others gives us pleasure, but for that To see what ills we 'scape ourselves is sweet : And it is sweet, when armies on the plain Array'd for battle join in mortal strife, To stand aloof from danger and look on : ITS FROM LUCKETIUS. But nothing sweeter is, than all serene In the strong towers of wisdom high to dwell, And thence look down upon the wandering race Of men, that vainly seek the path of life ; Vying in genius, or nobility ; With unabated labour, night and day Striving to rise supreme in wealth or power. FROM LUCRETIUS. Avia Pieridum peragro loca. Lib. IV. v. 1 . PIERIAN heights, the Muses 1 trackless haunts And wilds untrodden erst by mortal feet, CTer these I wander, haply there to find New flowers and fountains new ; I love to drink Of the pure stream fresh-welling, and to cull A wreath of orient hues and odours rare, Whence never poet yet his chaplet wove. PSALM LXXII. ABRIDGED, AND ADAPTED* TO A PARTICULAR TUNE. LORD, to the King thy judgments give. Give to his Son thy righteousness : So shall thy people safely live. So he thy chosen flock shall bless. * By adapted, is here meant, partly., that the accented syllables in the verse coincide with the accented notes of the tune. PSALM LXXII. .121 Great his dominion, large his sway O'er earth and ocean shall extend : Him shall remotest isles obey. Him the wide sea from end to end. War and the battle then shall cease, Then righteous men in favour stand ; Peace shall return, a lasting peace ; Plenty again shall store the land. While He, with choicest blessings crown'd, Long on his throne shall sit sublime ; Honoured by all the nations round, i Honoured by Kings of every clime. PSALM LXXII. Blest be our God for these fair days, These happy days that rise again ! O may his glorious name and praise Fill all the earth ! Amen, amen. MIDNIGHT DEVOTION. WRITTEN IN THE GREAT STORM, 1822. WHEN the storm's increasing roar, In the fearful hour of night, And the blast that rives my door Start the sleepers with affright ; While the fierce descending rain And the warring winds of heaven All embattled rush amain On my fragile window driven ; MIDNIGHT DEVOTION. I, for those who bide this pelting, Breathe a prayer of charity. And, my soul with pity melting. Heavenly Father, call on Thee. SILBURY HILL*. O THOU, to whom in the olden time was raised Yon ample Mound, not fashion 'd to display An artful structure, but with better skill Piled massive, to endure through many an age, How simple, how majestic is thy tomb ! When temples and when palaces shall fall, * Silbury Hill is a Barrow of the largest size. It stands close by the road from London to Bath : 80 miles west from Hyde- Park Corner. 126 SILBURY HILL. And mighty cities moulder into dust, When to their deep foundations Time shall shake The strong-based pyramids, shall thine remain Amid the general ruin unsubdued, Uninjured as the everlasting hills, And mock the feeble power of storms and Time. TO THE DAISY. GENTLE flower, young April's pride. Say not Nature hath denied Thee her bounty or her grace, Though thou lack the Rose's face. / Where she spreads her carpet green There thy maiden form is seen, 128 TO THE DAISY. Drest in robes of purest white. Ever constant in her sight, But at will to wanton wild. Like a playful darling child. Thee she tends in summer days, And the nibbling ewes that graze Spare to crop her favourite : And the Fairies, when by night Their green paths they quaintly tread, Walk not o'er thy sleeping head. FRAGMENT. KING Richard in the gray Tower sate. Captive of Austria's haughty Lord, In a strange land, unhonour'd, unexplored, To felon durance changed his royal state. Pale was his haggard eye, And sunk his cheek, to stern captivity In all all but in his Lion heart subdued : He sate in melancholy solitude, 130 FRAGMENT. And sadly gazed upon the setting sun, As down the heavenly road, That all with purple glow'd, It wested toward his realm of Albion. FROM PURCHASE'S PILGRIMAGE, VERSIFIED AND DESIGNED AS A MOTTO TO v (TO TTOT^/OV) ej ros Se/yoraT'oy opff J bill Hoc ubicunque cadet jaceat (modo sede sacrata) Magno nee luctu dignum neque funere corpus. Nee tumuli sit eura mei, neque carmina posco Quae poterunt nomenque meum famamque peren- nera 240 DE SEIPSO. In tumulo servare ; quid autem fama juvabit Posthuma, terrarum quamvis impleverit orbem ? Spiritus alta petens coeli de vertice terras Despiciet, curasque hominum ridebit inanes. THE LONDON: PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON. WHITEFRIAKS. 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