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 | r Q j =
 
 POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE D T E R. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND O. REES, 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW J 
 
 BY T. BENSLEY, BOLT-COURT, 
 FLEET-STREET. 
 
 1802.
 
 CONTENTS OF VCifc: II. 
 
 Page 
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 Eflay on Representative Poetry 1 
 
 The Love-Poet 31 
 
 ' The Mufes' Wedding-Day 34 
 
 Burger, or Winter Defeated 3p 
 
 King William's Man 41 
 
 Democritus Junior 43 
 
 Timon 48 
 
 The Volunteer to the True Patriot 52 
 
 TJ*^Sympathiil 54 
 
 The Plaintive Man's Addrefs to Melancholy 58 
 
 The Citizen of the World 63 
 
 The Sailor . . 66 
 
 Horace 6g 
 
 The Addrefs of a Poor Private 7* 
 
 Simonides 74 
 
 1033839
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Sappho , 70 
 
 Anacreon 78 
 
 The Vpologift 80 
 
 BOOK THE FOURTH. 
 
 Fifty on Di 'ns and Vifions 83 
 
 T e Dreams of Pindus l6l 
 
 The Padlocked Lady 177 
 
 Alfred 211 
 
 The Funeral Proceffion of Polly Whitehead . 216 
 
 Monody on the Death of Penelope Trotter . . 229 
 
 ERRATA, Vol. II. 
 
 Eflay on Repreff.ntative Poetry, p. 15. 1. 1 3. for Editor read 
 Editors.- p. Z2. 1. 3. for Prateata read Prattxta ; note f 
 belongs to p. 43. 
 
 Poems, p. 3^. 1. 7. for art read ivit. p. 59. 1. 13. for than 
 
 w read then. p. 63. 1. 6. for fears read/tar.
 
 ESSAY 
 
 ON 
 
 REPRESENTATIVE POETRY. 
 
 A. few reflections have already been introduced 
 on the character of lyrical compofitlons. "We now 
 return to the fubject : the view, however, to be 
 here taken of it will be different from that in 
 the Introductory Effay. Indeed, though lyrical 
 poetry is the proper fubject of the following re- 
 marks, yet the chapter aflumes a more characteriftic 
 title. Odes put on various forms, and move to 
 very different meafures : I fhall now confider fuch 
 only as are of. an imitative, or, to fpeak, perhaps, 
 more properly, of a reprefentative nature. 
 Vol. II. B
 
 2 
 
 Poetry, in reference to the perfon employed in 
 it, is threefold. The poet muft either fpeak in 
 his own perfon, or he muft aflume a character j or 
 he muft fometimes fpeak in his own perfon, and 
 fometimes in the character of another. In the 
 firftcafe, we may call his compofitions, narrative ; 
 in the fecond, reprefentative and dramatic j in the 
 laft, the mixt character *. 
 
 All poetry, which is not original, that is, found- 
 ed in the exercife of the poet's own genius, on 
 his own feelings, on human manners, or natural 
 objects, muft be either tranflation, imitation of 
 other poets, or reprefentative of other perfons 
 and manners. 
 
 Tranflation is the conveying of a writer's fen- 
 timents from one language into another. This 
 
 * Scaliger. Poet. L. v. cap. 3.
 
 3 
 exercif'e may be performed either, as it were, ver- 
 batim, by what is called literal tranflation ; or by 
 a more liberal, though fiill a legitimate, interpre- 
 tation of an author's meaning ; with the diftinft 
 excellencies and defe&s of which, whether a trans- 
 lator fliould confider himfelf merely as the fidus 
 interpret, or attempt, in fome meafure, the man- 
 ner of an original, I (hall not, at prefent, inter- 
 meddle ; only adding, that the true meaning of 
 his author mould be preferved, yet the idioms 
 of the two languages be kept diftinft. On the 
 lubje& of Imitation I beg leave to be a little 
 copious. 
 
 All poetry, in its generic nature, has been con- 
 sidered, and has been fo defined by Plato, Ariftotle*, 
 and fubfequent critics, as Imitation j in reference, 
 
 * See Arillotle, rfg nwurixuf, pars prima. 
 B 2
 
 4 
 
 however, to nature only, as its great model or ex- 
 amplar. Epic poetry, comedy, tragedy, lyric poetry, 
 are all, in this fenfe, imitation. Other arts, painting, 
 fculpture, and in fome fort, mufic, are alfo in like 
 manner, though in different degrees, imitative, 
 for I by no means coincide with thofe critics, 
 who have entirely excluded mufic from the imita- 
 tive arts *. 
 
 Our attention has been hitherto confined to 
 that flyle of compofition, in which the writer 
 appears in his own perfon. Here he is evidently 
 limited in his fubjects, as well as in his mode of 
 treating them. For though poetry, by its very 
 
 * See Beattie on Poetry and Mufic, p. 138. who largely dif- 
 cufTes the fubje<t, that mufic is not an imitative art. I am 
 happy to accord in fentiment on this fubject with two in- 
 genious writers. See Webb's Obfervations on Poetry and 
 Mufic, and Twining's fecond Eflay, prefixed to his tranfla- 
 tion of Ariftotie's Poetics .
 
 5 
 
 nature, is a fpecies of creation, and poffeffes in 
 itfelf a degree of magic, giving the writer new 
 eyes, new ears, new feelings *, and lifting him 
 above his ordinary material felf ; yet, after all, if 
 the poet is but fpeaking in his own perfon, he is 
 confined by his own individuality : his own fyftem 
 of fenfations and paffions, his own afTemblage of 
 aflbciations, fentiments, and manners, mark out 
 his proper boundaries : let his imagination be as 
 exquifite, as Plato confiders it, and as the molt 
 powerful genius will allow, Itill the minuteft fcin- 
 tillations of invention, and the moll dazzling co- 
 rufcations of fancy, have all their center in him- 
 felf. He is the focus, whence they all diverge, 
 or to which they all ultimately tend. 
 
 * Plato fpeaks of poetry, as a kind of fury, or divine fym- 
 metry, in his Phsedrus, agreeably to Horace, ** cui mens 
 divinior." 
 
 B 3
 
 6 
 
 But, when the poet reprefents another peribn, he 
 ofneceffityrefignshis own individuality; and over 
 and above all the creative energies, which he, 
 by his very character, poffefles, he is introduced, 
 by the aflumption of a foreign character, into a 
 new fyftem of fenfations and pafhons, into new 
 relations, new aflbciations, and new capacities. 
 He ceales to be himfelf ; he no longer appears the 
 mere narrator of his own affections or his own fen- 
 timents, but a man of other times, an actor of other 
 manners, an appropriator of other habits. 
 
 Reprefentative poetry, then, (for to that I al- 
 lude,) comprehends various fpecies : paftoral, 
 comic, and tragic poetry, and a certain ityle of 
 lyrics, all belong to this clafsj as epic poetry, 
 (though with this I have, at prcfent, no concern,} 
 is of the mixt.
 
 7 
 
 To difcufs the nature of paftoral poetry, to trace 
 it in its birth and progrefs from comic *, to un- 
 fold the original ftrudture, to notice the pecar 
 liar provinces, and the diftinft offices of tragedy and 
 comedy, would each require a feparate effay. 
 J, therefore, keep my eye on the ode. 
 
 The imitation, of which I (hall firfl fpeak, 
 confifts, in borrowing the language and fentiments 
 of other writers, in working on the fame materials, 
 not in the mafs of nature, but as wrought out 
 into ihape, and reduced to order. All, that the 
 imitator performs, is, to add fome new joint, to 
 fuperadd a little frefh colouring, or to throw around 
 it fome difguife of drapery. To manage this with 
 dexterity, requires, it muft be allowed, fome ge- 
 
 * See Warton's Eflay on Paftoral Poetry, prefixed to his 
 Theocritus. 
 
 B \
 
 uius, or, at leaft, a considerable degree of tafte. 
 But, fo far as this mere contrivance goes, the writer 
 has no greater pretenfions to the character of a 
 poet, in the higher! fenfe, than one who can only 
 attain to the mechanical part of verfe. The for- 
 mer is but a copyift, as the latter is only a 
 verfifier. 
 
 How far fuch writers as Virgil, Horace, and 
 Pope, have a claim to the higher pretenfions of 
 the poet, I fhall not now determine. Some writ- 
 ers on Original Genius have denied fuch pre- 
 tenfions ; and were this the place, I fhould oppofe 
 their opinions ; though it is indubitable, that the 
 above mentioned poets were in very numerous in- 
 ftances only polithers or improvers. This, how- 
 ever, is certain, that mere imitation is, generally, 
 the employment of inferior geniufes ; or, if poets
 
 9 ' 
 
 of higher energies have engaged in it, their exercife* 
 are to be, commonly, found among their juvenilia. 
 
 Here I fpeak concerning fuch poems, as ftart 
 with the open avowal of being imitations of other 
 authors. The writers of fuch poems may have 
 their appropriate merit, a few agreeable refem- 
 blances, or ftudied coincidences; but they are too 
 much reftrained to foar very high ; and, indeed, 
 their higheft ambition is, to be fluttering on other 
 people's moulders, and to be decorated with their 
 ornaments. As to fuch poems, as are of a higher 
 character, but in which fome occasional refem- 
 blances may be found, this may proceed from a 
 writer's leaving, for a feafon, his own purfuit, 
 to flrengthen his numbers, or to embellifh 
 his defcriptions, by a little extraneous aflift- 
 ance. Jitill he may be, in his general chara&er,
 
 10 
 
 a great genius. For that our very beft poets, 
 Milton and Gray more particularly, may be fol- 
 lowed in this manner, cannot be denied. 
 
 To lay down rules for fucb, as fet out with the 
 open avowal of being imitators of other authors, 
 or to lay down the criteria of that fort of imita- 
 tion, which is only partial and accidental, is cer- 
 tainly not my prefent intention : the latter has 
 been well done by Biihop Hurd*. This, however, 
 mould always be remembered, that poetry, as 
 fuch, in congenial breath produces fome congenial 
 feelings. Original genius, if I ufe a proper word, 
 will be always able to produce fomething that may 
 be properly called its own : and yet, men who look 
 at nature with the fame eyes, who furvey the 
 
 * In wh.t muft be confidered as his bcft critieaJ work, on 
 Poetic Imitation.
 
 11 
 
 whole of man, and who poffefs a poetical ima- 
 gination, may be fuppofed often to fee and to 
 feel alike, to form the fame aflbciations, and 
 even to exprefs themfelves in a fimilar manner. 
 Such correfpondences and parallelifms cannot but 
 fometimes occur; and more particularly, when 
 different poets write on the fame, or on fimilar 
 fubje&s. It would be no difficult matter to point 
 out numerous parallelifms in the moft ancient 
 and diftant northern poets, and the moft remote 
 Afiatics, in the Hebrew poets and Homer; in 
 poets, who, at the time, had not thefmalleft inter- 
 courfe, and who were totally unacquainted with 
 each other's language. An ingenious man, well 
 acquainted with the Greek and Roman claflics, un- 
 dertook to point out imitations of Terence, Arifto- 
 phanes, Sophocles, Euripides, and ^Efchylus, in 
 Shakefpeare's plays, in order to bring out his fa-
 
 12 
 
 vourite conclufion, *' that Shakefpeare was a per- 
 fect mafter of the languages, from which he bor- 
 rowed them * :" and every body knows, how com- 
 pletely his fyftem was overturned, by a perfon, at 
 leaft his equal in claflic literature, and infinitely 
 his fuperior in knowledge of Shakefpeare, and 
 of old Engliih writings. 
 
 Mere imitation, however, is but an inferior 
 kind of poetry j and this fort of poetry has given 
 birth to an inferior fort of criticifm : I mean, to 
 that which confifls in tracing through different au- 
 thors parallel pafTages, and in making the laws of 
 emendatory criticifm depend on fome original 
 
 * *' An inquiry into the learning of Shakefpeare, with re- 
 marks on feveral pafTages in his plays, by Peter Whalley, the 
 editor of Ben Jonfon." The controverfy was fettled by Dr. 
 Farmer, in his Effay on the Learning of Shakefpeare.
 
 13 
 
 (tandard. This may be called conjectural and 
 verbal criticifm. to diftinguifh it from a higher 
 fpecies, which, confftingin marking the analogies 
 of nature, in eftablifliing principles, and in tracing 
 the movements of poetry backward to the opera- 
 tions of the human mind, to real exiftencies, or hu- 
 man life and manners, mc.y be called philofo- 
 phical. For poetry and criticifm, no lefs than 
 grammar and rhetoric, have their philofophy, as 
 well as their elementary parts and ordinary ap- 
 plications. This philofophy conftitutes the true 
 wifdom in each. 
 
 Let not, however, thefe obfervations be mif- 
 underflood. The more a man looks into his own 
 underftanding, the more will he perceive the clofe 
 intimacy between words and knowledge *. And 
 
 * Locke's Eflay on the Human Underftanding ; and par- 
 ticularly the excellent chapter in Home Tooke's Diverfions
 
 14 
 
 I have certainly no intention to deliver the fmalleft 
 reflection on the proper application of verbal and 
 conjectural criticifm. This fort of criticifm hath 
 its proper employments and moft important 
 ufesj and, I believe, it will always be found, 
 that fuch as have arrived at eminence in it, 
 (for of pert fciolifts I am not fpeaking) have been 
 in other refpe&s accompliftied fcholars. I al- 
 lude only to the abufe or excefs of this talent. 
 Its origin may, in part, be traced to very ample 
 faurces. 
 
 At the revival of literature every critic almoft 
 compofed latiu verfes, and fafliioned his ftyle 
 after the Roman poets*, or after the Italians, 
 
 of Purley, containing Considerations on Mr. Locke's 
 Effay, chap. ii. 
 
 * Almolt all of them published Latin poenn.
 
 15 
 
 their fuccefibrs and avowed imitators. The poetf 
 purfued the fame courfe. Hence the univerfal 
 rage for imitation. The Greek and Roman poets, 
 too, were unfortunately circumftanced. The La- 
 tin had no exiftence but in manufcripts; and 
 the Greek were to be read only in tranflations. 
 Thefe manufcripts being very fcarce, were to be 
 repeatedly copied, and the copyifts and librarians, 
 for they were very ignorant men, made perpetual 
 miftakes, which fucceeding copyifts, being no 
 wifer than their predeceffors, tranfcribed, adding 
 often other blunders of their own *. The ori- 
 ginal Editor, therefore, of the claflics had no 
 light ta(k to perform. They were to compare 
 different manufcripts, to raife conjectures of their 
 
 * Petrarch, therefore, generally fuperintended thefe copyifts, 
 and often copied himfelf. See Dobfon's Life of Petrarch, 
 vol. i. p. 16.
 
 16 
 
 own, and to correct fpurious readings, or what 
 they fuppofed fuch, by clearer and lefs difputed 
 paflages in other authors. This eagernefs for 
 corre&ing and comparing, flowed from the Hate 
 -of literature. And from thofe refpedtable gram- 
 marians and critics, the firft editors and com- 
 mentators of the claflics, it defcended, without 
 lofing any of its original ardour, to their fuc- 
 -cefloFs. 
 
 The invention of Printing, indeed, had fome- 
 what relieved from the perplexity of thefe pur- 
 suits ; but much (till remained to be done 3 and 
 the more agreeable part of the work poflefled 
 fomething that fafcinated fcholars. To notice the 
 beauties of an ancient author, to illuftrate his 
 meaning by correfponding paflages in other writ- 
 ers, and to bring back the imitator, through
 
 1/ 
 
 numerous parallelisms, to the original writr, was 
 at once an agreeable and reputable employment. It 
 exercifed the understanding ; it awakened the 
 powers of memory j it cherimed elegance and 
 tafte ; and it gave, and often defervedly, a cha- 
 racter for learning, by affording the critic an 
 opportunity of difplaying vafl reading. And we 
 muft not be furprifed, if the critic, forgetting 
 fometimes his peculiar profeffion, got out of his 
 province, and was tempted to give play to his 
 fancy : and as critics have often found out "meanings 
 never meant,' we may naturally enough conclude, 
 that they have fometimes traced imitations, that 
 ne\er exified but in their own imaginations*. 
 But a hint only can be dropped on this fub- 
 
 * Bentlfy's edition of Horace and Milton willTSe n every 
 one's recollection here. 
 
 VoL.ir, c
 
 18 
 
 So far as it affe&s poetry, it may certainly 
 often lead to the raoft erroneous conclusions, 
 and thofe conclufions may be made canons of 
 criticifm. Hence many unwarrantable emenda- 
 tion of authors, and hafiy * conjectures concerning 
 purloining, of which the tendency is, fometimes, 
 to diminiiri the flock of original poetry, and to 
 retard the genuine operations of genius. 
 
 But to confine myfeif to my proper fubjcft. 
 I am far from maintaining, that all imitations 
 are unlawful. The true poet mould certainly 
 defigri after Nature, making her his original 
 and exemplar. But inafmuch as in regard to 
 fubjett, nature is fometimes incomplete, judgment 
 
 * Several editions of the claflical authors have been pub- 
 liihed with the profeffed defign to point out parallel paffages. 
 Virgil, Horace, aad cthcri.
 
 19 
 
 is required to feleft, as well as to improve ; and 
 the poet may call to his affiflance fome great 
 original-genius, who has gone before him in con- 
 templating nature ; for in ftudying him he does 
 but fludy nature through him. But, as this 
 original genius might not give the firft dire&ion, 
 to his thoughts^ fo neither is it neceflary that 
 he fhould prefcribe limits to his obfervations, 
 or fhackle his imagination. He may go out on 
 the difcovery, and traverfe air, and earth, and 
 fcas, as if he had never met with any other 
 poet in his life. Critics, in the art of painting, . 
 lay down as maxims, that a true painter muft . 
 poflefs, indeed, genius j but that his genius fhould 
 be corrected by rules, and enriched by obferva- 
 tion and reading: but that, " fince he cannot 
 " fee or fludy every thing," I ufe the words of a* 
 C 2
 
 20 
 
 writer * on painting, " that he would defire to 
 " know in the way to the perfection he aims at, 
 " he may, without fcruple, make ufe of another 
 " man's ftudies." In like manner Longinus, after 
 opening the five fources of the sublime, pro- 
 ceeds to confider Imitation as the fixth. u Was 
 only Herodotus," fays he, " the great imitator of 
 " Homer ? Stefichorus -was fo before him, and 
 " alfo Archilochus. And more than ail thefe 
 " was Plato, who from the Homeric fountain drew 
 " innumerable flreams to himielf." Nay, Homer 
 imftlf was not the moft ancient of poets: and 
 who will fay, that he did not drink fometimes at 
 their fprings ? That Milton and even Shakefpeare 
 availed themlelves of preceding poets is ua- 
 
 * De Pitei's Art of Painting, book i. chap. z. And to 
 the fime purport Sir Jofhua Reynolds in his Discot'Rsrs.
 
 21 
 
 doubted *, The writer who wipes out a fpeck, 
 or finilhes an incomplete defign, is not to be 
 traduced as a mere purloiner ; he may be a true 
 poet. 
 
 The proper fubjeft for imitation is undoubtedly 
 the fpirit of an author : but lawful exercife for 
 it, though within juft limits, is language, fenti- 
 ment, feeling, and paffion j for thefe belong to 
 all nations : but manners, cuftoms, place, fable, 
 and religion, peculiar to one age or country, can- 
 not be lawfully imitated by writers of another, 
 unlefs by allufion or comparifon, or unlefs an 
 author refigns his individuality j in which cafe, 
 his writings merit another appellation. 
 
 * Scan Enquiry into the Life and Writings of Homer, 
 fel. vi. Refpedting Milton and Shakefpeare, fee more parti- 
 cularly Warton's edition of Milton's fmaller poems ; and Dr. 
 Farmer's Eifay on the Learning of Shakefpeare. 
 
 C 3
 
 22 
 
 In defcriptions of an Englifh proceflion, or an 
 Englifh magiftracy, there is no greater propriety in 
 introducing the "Praete32ta,Trabeae. 1 Fafce3,Letica ) 
 Tribunal"-" of Juvenal, than there would have 
 been in introducing the Tirfing f in Homer's 
 battles. An elegant woman in Afia may be 
 compared to a box-treej becaufe the Afiatic box- 
 tree is a beautiful tree, and adorned with {len- 
 der branches. But mould a poet imitate fuch 
 paffage in Europe, it would be far -from giving 
 embellishment to his picture". In like manner 
 in regard to fables and mythology. Each nation 
 poflerTes its own peculiar fables and mythology j 
 
 * The name of a particular facred fword in the incantation 
 of Hervor, from the Runic Poetry. 
 
 ^ Pope's turn for imitation, however, where no imitation 
 was acknowledged, was frequently very reprehenfible. He 
 frequently borrows pafl'ages from other poets, our old 
 Englifli poets m6re particularly, with little or no alteration.
 
 23 
 
 and an Englilh poet, a&ing merely as an imita 4 
 tor, has nothing to do with any but his own, if he 
 choofes to ufe any, unlefs in a way of illuftra- 
 tion, aliufion *, or comparifon, but not of appro- 
 priation. It would be very eafy to point out in- 
 ftances of unlawful imitations : but I rather choofe 
 to point to Pope's imitations of Horace's Satires, 
 and Johnfon's of Juvenal, as intlances of lawful 
 and beautiful imitation. Pope, in his imitation of 
 Horace's Ode to' Venus, is animated and beautiful, 
 but makes two or three ftrokes of unlawful 
 imitation. 
 
 Hitherto my allufions have been directed to- 
 wards that defcription of poets, in whom the 
 
 * Addifon in his Critique on Milton very judicioufly notices 
 the d.ftinclion; and has remarked the improper introduction 
 of a foreign mythology in Milton's Pabadjse Lost. 
 
 C 4
 
 author fpeaks in his private character. A few 
 hints follow on that kind of writing, in which 
 the poet lays afide his own individuality, and 
 takes up that of another ; which, undoubtedly, 
 in its generic name, may be called imitative poetry; 
 but which, to render it (till more characteristic, 
 may be denominated reprefentative. 
 
 X adopt this cautious kind of language, becaufe 
 the terms reprefentative and dramatic are ufually 
 received as theatric language, and confined to the 
 Ihige; whereas, following the true etymological 
 meaning, 1 extend it to any fort of writing, in 
 which the author exhibits himfelf in a charac- 
 ter different from his own, whether reprefented 
 on the fiage, or in mere wriiing. The poet, 
 in this point of view, becomes a kind of a&or.
 
 25 
 
 Were it my intention to go into theatric re- 
 prefentatiom, as fuch, I mould hold myfelf bound 
 to examine minutely the principles of Ariftotle, 
 and to oppofe fome of them, becaufe they hare 
 been implicitly followed not only by the French 
 critics, but by fome of our country*: and, on 
 the other hand, to make fome obfervations on Vol- 
 taire, who has openly attacked f the great poet, 
 who has been ftiled the Mafter of the Englifli 
 drama. But the theatre I pafs for the prefent, 
 and circumfcribe my attempts by a very fmall 
 circle, though I fhall ftill be brought back in fome 
 fort to the ancient ufage, before fcenic repre- 
 fentations were introduced into cities J : nor will 
 
 * I allude more particularly to Bi/hop Htird on the 
 Drama, and his admirers. See the EfTays Subjoined to his 
 poems. 
 
 f In his EfTays on Dramatic Poetry. 
 
 J Jul. Scaliger. Poet. 
 
 Vol. II. * C 5
 
 26 
 
 it be necefiary to reftrain myfelf by the ordinary 
 rules of the drama, viz. that the fubject or ftory 
 fhould be probable, that the hero or heroine 
 fhould be great perfonages and the like*: all 
 thefe matters belong not to my prefent bufinefs. 
 
 Thofe poems, in which the fpeaker wears a 
 fictitious character, differ from fuch, as are merely 
 imitative, on this ground: the latter ftill re- 
 ferve the perfonality of the author j whereas the 
 former go out of the poet himfelf, and come for- 
 ward as reprefentative of another. This repre- 
 fentation, I think, diftinctly marks the two cha- 
 racters, and points out their feparate offices. 
 
 The mere imitator, being confined by his own 
 individuality, moves, as it were, within a given 
 
 * Sec Ariftotlc, niji ntttrrutnf.
 
 97 
 
 i 
 
 t circle; whereas, the representative poet is bound 
 by no circumference, except the characters, which 
 
 the borrows, for the time. He may put on what- 
 ever manners he pleafes, and copy what cuftoms 
 he pleafes: he may throw himfelf backwards, or 
 even forwards, into any age or country : he may 
 
 i range through the regions of fiction and romance, 
 or veil himfelf in all the obfcurity of mythology 
 and fable. He is only to confider himfelf as 
 
 . a&ing a part j and rauft, therefore, while fo acting, 
 keep to his character. He is bound only by fome 
 
 - laws, which regulate the drama * : and, as the 
 imitator is in perpetual danger of being a mere 
 
 * Intererit multum, Davufne loquatur, an heros : 
 Maturufne fenex, an adhuc florente juventa 
 Fervidus, an matrons potens, an fedula nutrix : 
 Mercatorne vagus, cultorne virentis agelli : 
 Colchus an Afiyrius, Thebis nutritus, an Argis. 
 
 Hor. ArsPoet.
 
 as 
 
 copyift, the reprefentative poet, however, ought 
 not to be fo. 
 
 Did my limits allow, I mould be pleafed to 
 give fome fpecimens of this kind of poetry from 
 a defcription of a poetical contention in Famianus 
 Strada ; not through admiration of the manner in 
 which it was conducted, for it was whimfical 
 enough, but on account of the excellent compo- 
 fitions to which it gave birth, and becaufe the 
 ftyle of writing and reciting was reprefentative. 
 The parties concerned were all men of the moft 
 diftinguifhed talents and learning in Italy; Her- 
 cules Strozza, Naugereus, Bembo, Jovianus, Tar- 
 rhafius, and Caftileonius: their compofjtions were 
 vin Latin: and they undertook to perfonify the 
 -following poets, Lucan, Lucretius, Claudian, 
 Ovid, Statius, and Virgil. But of thefe matters 
 enough.
 
 29 
 As to the following little feries they might all, 
 I believe, be clafled under the lighter fpecies of 
 lyric poetry. But I have chofen to put them into 
 this new divifionj becaufe they are now pre- 
 fented to the reader in affumed characters ; and, 
 therefore, may, perhaps, be denominated, Reprefen- 
 tative. I fay they are now prefented in this 
 form, becaufe, though they all now wear a bor- 
 rowed name, yet many of them were originally 
 written in my own character, and with as real a 
 feeling, as any thing I ever compofed. But to 
 give an air of variety to the volumes, and becaufe 
 many of the following feries are written in a re- 
 prefentative character, I have brought them all 
 into one book. The reader will therefore pleafe 
 to take notice, that I do not profefs to imitate 
 the language or fentiments of others, but merely 
 to forego my individuality, and to aflame,
 
 30 
 
 though on a very fmall fcale, the chara&er of 
 other perfons. They are very imperfeft fketches, 
 and I have not prefumed to give them any title. 
 Two or three, however, are profeiTed tranflations.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 THE LOVE- POET. 
 
 Oh! Love, fair Nature's child, undeck'd by art^ 
 "Whom fhould I call, but thee, in every clime, 
 
 The poet's mighty god? 
 Harmonious power ! To whom all beings raife 
 
 Gay fongs, and gratulations meet, 
 For thine it is thro' air, earth, fea to range, 
 
 "VVing'd with defire, and warm with life j 
 Thine the perennial fires, that renovate the world!
 
 32 
 Have I not on thy altars duly pour'd 
 The pure libation, following it with fighs, 
 
 And refignation meet? 
 To thee have I not paid, at morn and eve, 
 
 The pray'r too big for words, a prieft, 
 That greatly felt, and filently ador'd ? 
 
 Oh I then thy vot'ry's trembling heart- 
 Touch with the living coals, that on thine altar 
 burn. 
 
 But fpare,. oh 1 fpare me now : affume no more 
 The form terrific, fire-red eyes and darts, 
 
 Thy darts of living fteel j 
 Nor bring with thee thy train of thoufand ills, 
 
 The fleeplefs night, the day of care, 
 Follies, and wanderings, griefs, and fears, and fmarts, 
 
 Pale melancholy, pining fhame, 
 That lead the vagrant heart to lab'rinths of defpair.
 
 33 
 
 Be but my mufe, what other fliall I need ? 
 Give me but that fweet mufic of the foul, 
 
 Can I then want a lyre ? 
 Oh! tune my heart-firings ; fo the pafiions all 
 
 Shall to my fong fing jubilant : 
 So fliall the feafons, in alternate dance, 
 
 Pafs fmiling by, each herb, fruit, flow'r, 
 Be redolent of fweets, and every gale infpire ! 
 
 True to thy name, now wear thy lovelieft form, 
 Dimples and fmiles, and pity-beaming eyes, 
 
 And foul-enliven'd mirths. 
 And bring the flower of blifs without the thorn : 
 
 Delights that laft, and cares that pleafe, 
 With meek benevolence, but taught by thee : 
 
 So from my heart, by thee attun'd, 
 Sweet melodies fhall rife, and dignify my fong. 
 
 Vol. II. D
 
 34 
 
 THE MUSES' WEDDING-DAY. 
 
 Let do&ors prattle what they will; 
 
 I laugh at what they fay ; 
 
 Mufe, 'tis our wedding day ; 
 We will be merry ; Co a bumper fill. 
 
 Yes ! let the glafs 
 
 Now freely pafs ; 
 We have had ills enough, now is our time for play. 
 
 ^Here's to the bards of earlieft times, 
 And may the laurel bough 
 Still flourifh on their brow, 
 As ftill they lift our fouls with loftieft rhymes. 
 So let the glafs 
 Now freely pafs ; 
 Still be their mem'ries green as thoufand years ago.
 
 35 
 
 Here's to the bard of modern days, 
 
 May duns ne'er vex his door, 
 
 As they have bards' before ; 
 Health to his Love, and lucky be his lays ! 
 ' So let the glafs 
 
 Now freely pafs ; 
 May he have art at will, of money too good ftore I 
 
 Here's to the bards of years to come^ 
 
 And when they feel within 
 
 The tuneful fit begin, 
 And Wit grow warm, may Prudence not leave home ! 
 
 So let the glafs, 
 
 Now freely pafs, 
 JLefiPoverty fhould come, that beldame lank and thin. 
 
 D2
 
 36 
 
 Here's to the mufes, more than nine, 
 
 For know, that Ladies fair 
 
 The beft of mufes are, 
 And can do more, than e'en the god of wine. 
 ^ So let the glafs 
 
 Now freely pafs, 
 Love is the poet's friend, and love is mod divine. 
 
 Here's to all patrons good and kind, 
 I mean not every finner, 
 Who gives the bard a dinner, 
 And who with dirty work would clog his mind. 
 But let the glafs 
 Now freely pafs, 
 To him, who loves the Mufe, and can by goodnefs bind.
 
 Here's to the fouls., that I love molt, 
 
 I mean to each bookfeller, 
 
 Who is a right good fellow, 
 Who need not tremble at an author's ghoft; 
 
 So lift the glafs 
 
 And let it pafs, 
 Mufe, I could drink their healths, till I grew warm 
 and mellow. 
 
 But we mud raife us to the nonce : 
 
 Shall I be now the tool 
 
 Of old Sir William's * fchool ? 
 No no we furely may get drunk for once. 
 
 So move the glafs 
 
 And let it pafs : 
 Who on their wedding-day would ever drink by 
 rule ? 
 
 * Sir William Temple. 
 D 3
 
 38 
 
 Thus, Mufe, with us the matter ftands ; 
 
 Tho' we are wedded, 
 
 And we have bedded, 
 Yet never prieft did join the holy bands. 
 
 But move the glafs 
 
 And let it pafsj 
 80 may our freaks and lores ftill live in fairy lands !
 
 39 
 
 BURGER, 
 
 OR, WINTER DEFEATED. 
 
 See ! where Hern Winter's icy hand 
 
 Difrobes the poplar tree ! 
 The fields, their May-clothes loft, all naked ftand. 
 
 Their forms of red, white, blue, no more I fee, 
 Buried in (hows they deep, and live no more 
 for me. 
 
 Yet flowrets fweet, fhall I for you 
 
 The fong of grief indite, 
 When I my lovely loving charmer view, 
 
 In more than all your vernal beauty bright, 
 With forehead white, red lip, and eyes of azure 
 light ? 
 
 D 4
 
 40 
 
 Ye blackbirds, that once cheer/ d the vale, 
 Ye nightingales, that charm'd the grove, 
 
 How vainly fliould your notes my ear aflail, 
 For filver-voic'd is fhe, the girl I love, 
 
 And fweet her breath, as gales o'er hyacinth bed* 
 that rove. 
 
 When of her lips I tafte the blifs, 
 
 Full happinefs I feem to meet ; 
 More dear to me the honey-breathing kifs, 
 
 Than mulberry fragrant, or than cherry fweet . 
 What more then can I aik, in her fair fpring 1 
 greet ? 
 
 * # * Thefe lines are, probably, rather a paraph rafe, than 
 a translation, from Burger. The ode was read to me into 
 profe by a friend, and I put it, moftly memoriter, jnto 
 metre.
 
 41 
 
 KING WILLIAM'S MAN, 
 
 CR, THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 As when the fun's bright beams appear, 
 And lowering tempeits fieal away, 
 
 So midft a dark revolving year, 
 Returns this bright aufpicious day. 
 
 Britons, revive, lift high the glee, 
 
 And hail the day with three times three. 
 
 i 
 
 Three cheers, our facred country's due, 
 We raife for popilh plots reveal'd. 
 
 Thus perifh Superftition's crew, 
 
 Tho' deep as hell, they lie conceal'd ! 
 Britons, &rc.
 
 4 2 
 
 Three more to Freedom's name \vc give, 
 And fhout to fee a tyrant fly j 
 
 Long may Britannia's faviours live, 
 Her tyrants all inglorious die ! 
 Britons, &e. 
 
 Three times we ihout for equal laws, 
 And in a virtuous jury boaft j 
 
 May juftice and the people's caufe, 
 Reign ev'ry loyal Briton's toaftl 
 Britons, &c. 
 
 Roll on, ye years, and day* fucceed, 
 That fhall to tyrants ruin bring ! 
 
 Europe fhall ratify the deed, 
 
 And joyful nations fliout and flng, 
 And Britons wake their gayeft glee, 
 And hail that day with three times three.
 
 
 
 43 
 DEMOCRITUS JUNIOR*; 
 
 OK, THE LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 Tho' life declines, and time the thief, 
 
 Has flol'n my bloom away 5 
 I charge thee, fly thefe cheerful haunts, dull grief, 
 
 Nor, think tho' lhine my locks all filver grey, 
 That I, like dotard old, will fall thy (ickly prey. 
 
 Light was my heart, when life was young, 
 
 As kid o'er verdant plain, 
 1 laugh'd, and danc'd, I fnigger'd, toy'd and fung : 
 
 The lads and lafles joind my gamefome ftrainj 
 And age flood fmirking by us growing young again. 
 
 * The ancient Democritus was a celebrated philofopher ? 
 contemporary with Socrates.
 
 44 
 
 Where are thofe hours ? They are hot fled ; 
 
 My comrades live, and ftill 
 Old bald-pates oft we meet, by cuftom led ; > 
 
 We call up fchool-boy days with wizard fkill, 
 Repeat our merry pranks, and then a bumper fill. 
 
 Why ftartle at the fparkling glafs ? 
 
 QuafFd not old Noah wine ? 
 Wife Solomon did he not toafi his lafs ? 
 
 Nor did, tho'grey their beards, their joys decline ; 
 But Laughter was their god, and Laughter fhall be 
 mine. 
 
 Ye men, who worfhip hoards of gold, 
 
 Yet pleafure dare not tafte, 
 Can I but laugh fuch men-moles to behold, 
 
 Or fuch as riches only know to wafte, 
 Mere fquirrels cracking nuts, and fquandering them 
 in hafte ?
 
 45 
 
 Philosophers, who wink and blink 
 
 With clofe-glafs'd peeping eyes, 
 Can I but laugh, profoundeft firs, to think, 
 
 What pride mid thofe meek looks in ambufh lies ? 
 How Folly fcreens her face mid Wifdom's fair 
 difguife ? 
 
 Ye magpie poets, chattering rhymes, 
 
 And ye, who ftrains of woe, 
 Like whining ring-doves, eke againft the times, 
 
 Magging your faucy clack at all ye know, 
 Or foothing poor dear felves in numbers fadly flow ? 
 
 Whether, good firs, ye rail or pine, 
 
 What boots it all to me ? 
 To fit, and prate, like mock-bird, ihall be mine, 
 
 To chatter, 'plain like you, then oft" I'll flee ; 
 And jeer you all at once, in one high laughing glee.
 
 46 
 
 Ye patriot fouls, fo wond'rous grave, 
 
 So loving, good, and wife, 
 Boafting your country ye but with to fave, 
 
 Ye lanky fpiders, fharing filly flies ; 
 Oh ! how I fit and laugh, to trace your filken lies. 
 
 But queens, and kings, and fuch like things, 
 
 I rev'rence much ; and never, 
 Ko, never will I laugh at queens or kings ; 
 
 But crowns from red caps, faith, I cannot fever ; 
 And I could laugh at both, for ever and for ever. 
 
 And while I laugb, good Joan, my wife, 
 
 Shall fport like damfel gay ; 
 .For Joan, kind foul, has laugh'd with me thro' life; 
 
 And ftill, like two old lutes, in tune we playj 
 And while our hearts are blithe, ne'er dream of life's 
 decay.
 
 47 
 
 Thus, Falitaff like, HI live and die, 
 
 Laugh long as I can fee j 
 And, when Death's bufy hand {hall clofe my eyes, 
 
 This bag of jokes I leave the doctor's fee. 
 Then, Doctor, when I'm dead, laugh thou, and 
 think of me.
 
 4S 
 T I M ON*; 
 
 OR, THE MAN-HATER. 
 
 Ye comrades, who, when lite was young, 
 When Hope was warm, and Fancy gay, 
 
 How are ye fled, ye fluttering throng, 
 Mere infe&s of a fummer's day 1 
 
 Falfe world, I now defy thy frown ; 
 
 Friendship, I court no more thy fmile ! 
 This heart, now dead, or fenfelefs grown, 
 
 Where could ye torture, how beguile ? 
 
 * This whimfical character has given birth to much hu- 
 mour in modern as well as ancient times. It will be unne- 
 cessary to fay any thing of him here, except, that he was 
 an Athenian, and lived in the times of the Peloponnefian 
 war.
 
 49 
 
 Ye books, that cheer'd my loncfome hours, 
 Ye fongs, that charm'd a lover's bread, 
 
 Fled, fled is all your boafled power 
 Talk ye, ye once could talk, of reft ? 
 
 Deceitful books, that preach of truth, 
 Your folemn lectures all are lies : 
 
 Ye fongs, that could beguile my youth, 
 Can ye relieve a heart, that fighs ? 
 
 Oh! fun, why fparkle bright thy beams? 
 
 Thy marching, why fo fiately-flow ) 
 Quick -fly, as glides the mountain-ftreani ; 
 
 "Why linger thus o'er tents of woe ? 
 
 Yc lightnings, flafh your fires along j 
 Ye heav'ns, affume your deadlieft form ; 
 Vol. II. E
 
 50 
 
 Ye thunders, mutter deep, and ftrong, 
 And let me perim in the ftorm. 
 
 Or, iffome gods prefide above, 
 
 Oh ! bear me far from human racej 
 
 Wild 'mid fome defart let me rove, 
 And view no fmiling fellow face. 
 
 Or, on fome mountain's fide of rock, 
 
 Where ftray the wild iheep, whiftling near, 
 
 I'll fit like ftraggler from the flock, 
 And furly view the profpeft drear. 
 
 And, when grey ev'ning's mifts arife, 
 Some lonely ghoft fhall be my gueft, 
 
 Whofe body now unburied lies, 
 
 Who fighs, like me, in vain for reft.
 
 51 
 
 Oh! Nature, by what art combin'd, 
 Didft thou contrive thy monftrous plan ? 
 
 I loathe my fellows of mankind ; 
 1 hate myfelf for being man. 
 
 E 2
 
 52 
 
 THE VOLUNTEER 
 
 TO 
 
 THE TRUE PATRIOT. 
 
 While venal bards attempt to found 
 
 Thro' years remote the trump of fame, 
 And call the wondering nations round, 
 To learn fome haughty conqu'ror's name, 
 Jnftice demands a purer fong, 
 Let Freedom's fons the {train' prolong. 
 
 Let fuch receive their country's praife, 
 Who Virtue's caufe undaunted plead; 
 
 And fuch the Poet's unbought lays, 
 Who dare in Freedom's caufe to bleed. 
 Juftice, &c.
 
 55 
 
 And live there in degenerate times 
 Men ftill to public virtue true, 
 
 Who, bluflung for a nation's crimes, 
 Still fearlefs give the honour due ? 
 Juftice, &c. 
 
 Yes : fliould a nation prove unjuft, 
 Nor laurels deck the patriot's head j 
 
 Genius fhall fhape the living bull, 
 And future bards his glory fpread. 
 Juftice, tec. 
 
 Juftice fhall far extend her reign, 
 
 And Freedom wave her banners wide j 
 
 And thofe immortal honours gain, 
 Who nobly liv'd, or nobly died. 
 Juftice, &c. 
 
 E 3
 
 5% 
 
 TftE SYMPATHISE 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALCOVE, AT NOON, ON A VERY 
 SULTRY DAY. 
 
 Oh ! Thou, whofe early-beaming fmile, 
 
 Whofe parting bluthes gild the (ky, 
 And warm with pureft fires the tuneful tribes ! 
 
 As glows that flower of (lately form, 
 
 "Whofe hue of gold to thee unfoldsj 
 
 So at the tender fmile of morn, 
 
 So 'mid the fober blufh of Eve, 
 To thee, fair fun,,I turn, and blefs thy cheering beana, 
 
 tBut now no more the noontide ray 
 iilas taught the herd to court the (hade
 
 55 
 
 And cheat in focial crowds the fallen hours. 
 
 Now labour feeks a fhort repofej 
 
 And Love, that oft, at evening mild, 
 
 Soft-whifpers in the virgin's ear 
 
 His tender tale, with many a figh, 
 Flags his young wing, and feverifh drops his dart.' 
 
 Me too, this fhady, cool alcove, 
 Me this embowering oak invites, 
 
 To fit at eafe, and fing the hours away. 
 Here let me woo the moral mufe: 
 Her voice may fuit the noon of life, 
 Which nor the virgin eye of morn, 
 Shall cheer again, nor the foft hand 
 
 Of matron eve may lead to peaceful bower 1 !. 
 
 Ah! now I feel the blaze of day, 
 That fcorches, while it fhiues ; I hear 
 4
 
 56 
 
 Life's bufy hum, rude war and party ragej 
 The fun darts downward on this head, 
 His courfe direct, nor mild his beams. 
 The world moves reitlefs, and, at home, 
 Folly has gorg'd herlelf with crimes, 
 
 And I was born to fee, to feel, to mourn. 
 
 But, let not private malice boaft ; 
 This breatt heeds not her little fting; 
 
 Her little fting wounds not the generous breatt 
 But there's a public moniter, gorg'd 
 With blood of virtuous men, and her fting 
 Knows where to pierce a nation j her 
 I dread, her barbed dart I dread, 
 
 That, thro' % thoufand viclims, pierces me. 
 
 Here, then, I hail retreat, and fhade: 
 Here tafte the fweets of bleft repofe $
 
 57 
 
 Tho'., as yon filent fongftrefs hangs the wing, 
 And feems to grudge th' autumnal year 
 Her fong of mellowed harmonies j 
 So droops my voice, and fleeps my fong; 
 So nurfing fear, and fympathies of foul, 
 
 Sorrowing I fit, and languifh at the fun. 
 
 Anno 1794.
 
 58 
 
 THE PLAINTIVE MAN'S ADDRESS 
 
 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 Oh! nymph of pallid hue, and raven hair, 
 That in fequefter'd fcencs art wont to reft, 
 Deep-nurturing fome grief within thy bread, 
 
 Some weight of grief, that none with thee may fhare ; 
 
 Whofe eye, whence tears have long forgot to flow, 
 To Heaven directed looks, of earth afraid : 
 
 How^ dear to me thy form of fpeechlefs woe ! 
 And facred are thy haunts, thou folitary maid !
 
 59 
 
 ir. 
 
 Oft art thou feen befide the willowy ftream; 
 
 And, though no youthful fmile adorns thy face, 
 
 Though on thy cheek no rofes we may trace, 
 Yet doft'thou, in thy fpring of life, fome virgin feem. 
 Thy vefture carelefs hangs, as fnowdrop white j 
 
 Loofe-noating fall thy locks, unbound thy zone ; 
 Thine eye now foftly lad, now wildly bright, 
 
 Eefpeaks a lover dead, and thou wilt love but one. 
 
 III. 
 
 'Now art thou feen flow-lingering in the wood, 
 
 Where pours the nightingale her liquid throat, 
 
 And varies through the night her love-lorn note., 
 
 As tho' her mate were fled, or tender brood. 
 
 i 
 To thee more pleating than the veftment grey, 
 
 Tale mourner ! faddelt of the widow train,
 
 60 
 
 Doom'd to lament, at thy dark clofe of day, 
 Some aged Priam dead fome youthful Helor 
 flain. 
 
 IV. 
 Thee, Fancy, fometimes hails the Muse of Woe, 
 
 Whom fabled wrongs can wake to real fmart j 
 
 Ovid's foft hclions make thee melt at heart .5 
 And fuffering ghofls inftrucr. the tear to flow. 
 Does tender forrow Pity's Bard * infpire ? 
 
 Thy lute refponfive breathes the tragic moan : 
 But, does Orestes curfe the God of fire f ? 
 
 Quick doft thou leave thy lute, to liflen to his 
 groan. 
 
 V. 
 Say, can that penfive look thy mind reveal, 
 
 While from thy lips th' nnfinifhed accents fall, 
 
 * Eurifidzs. -J- Ewriudis Orestes, v. 4*6.
 
 61 
 
 As tho' the forward tongue would utter all, 
 Which yet thy fecret bofom would conceal ? 
 Witnefs to wrongs, no pity can relieve, 
 
 To joys, which flatter, but muft fhortly flee j 
 E'en fancied Mifery wakes the caufe to grieve : 
 
 Thou haft a figh for all ; none heaves a figh for 
 thee! 
 
 VI. 
 Then hafte thee, Queen of Woe, from mortal eye; 
 
 Thy manfion fix within fome lonely cell, 
 
 Where pale-ey'd Superstition loves to dwell, 
 Wearied of life, and lingers but to die : 
 As the land flreams to mark the fleeting hour j 
 
 As the death's-head reminds thee of thy doomj 
 As the fpade finks thy future grave bed lower *, 
 
 I, too, will learn to die, fad pilgrim at thy tomb f 
 
 * It is fcarcely neceffary to acquaint the reader, that this 
 verfe contains an allufion to the ctiftoms of the monks of LaTrappe.
 
 jsi 
 
 VII. 
 For, oh ! whatever form I fee thee wear, 
 
 If yet foft Mercy dwell within thy breaftj 
 
 Thyfelf fo fad, yet anxious to make bleft, 
 For others woe, if thou the figh wilt fpare j 
 Tho' like the fage * that only liv'd to weep; 
 
 Tho' all the load of human ills were thine, 
 For thee will I forego the balmy fleep, 
 
 Or, wandering wild like thee, will make thy 
 forrows mine. 
 
 * Heraclitus, a famous philofophor of Ephefus, in A/ia 
 Minor, known by the name of the Weeping Philofopher, as 
 Democritus was of the Laughing. Djoc. Laekt. in Vita.
 
 63 
 
 THE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD, 
 
 "When long thick tempefts wafte the plains, 
 
 r 
 And lightnings cleave an angry Iky, 
 
 Sorrow invades each anxious fwain, 
 
 And trembling nymphs to fhelter fly. 
 
 But ftiould the fun's bright beams appear, 
 
 Hufh'd are their fighs, and calm'd their fears. 
 
 So, when fierce zeal a nation rends, 
 And dark injuftice veils the throne, 
 
 Beneath the ftorm meek virtue bends, 
 And modefl truth is heard to groan : 
 
 But let the flar of Freedom rife, 
 
 They hail the beams with grateful eyes* 
 
 Who, then, when patriots long opprefs'd, 
 Decree to curb a tyrant's pride,
 
 6* 
 
 And juftice fires a nation's breaft, 
 
 Who fhall the gen'rous ardour chide ? 
 What fhall withftand the great decree, 
 When a brave nation will be frse? 
 
 Thus Greece repell'd her num'rous foes, 
 Thus Britain curb'd a Stuart's race ; 
 
 Thus Gallia's fons to glory rofe, 
 Heralds of Peace to future days : 
 
 And thus may all the nations rife, 
 
 And About their triumphs to the ikies ! 
 
 The wars of ages thus decided, 
 
 Commerce thall bltf>each finding land; 
 And man from man no more divided, 
 
 In peace fhall live, a friendly band. 
 But, tyrants with their glare of pow'r, 
 Like meteors fall, to rife no more.
 
 65 
 
 Then blooming youths, and fages hoary, 
 Shall fing the deeds of ancient days, 
 
 And tender virgins learn the ftory, 
 And children lifp their grandfires praife. 
 
 The heavens fhall fmile, and earth be gay, 
 
 When Peace with Freedom rules the day. 
 
 Vol. II.
 
 6& 
 THE SAILOR, 
 
 THE SCENE, SCOTLAND. 
 
 My dame, behold a failor brave ! 
 
 And he muft quickly plough the fea ; 
 Muft leave, for ocean's boift'rous wave, 
 
 The rippling brook, and whifpering tree. 
 The blackbird calls; the fkylarks ring 
 
 Shrill carols thro' the welkin clear ; 
 Nature's full chorus feems to ling, 
 
 " Still, happy failor, linger here.'' 
 But, Dame, you view a failor brave ; 
 And he muft plough the boift'rous wave. 
 
 , Yon dainty palace '* charms my eye, 
 And Avon's waters fweetly glide. 
 
 * The Duke of Hamilton's, at Hamilton.
 
 67 
 
 Fair Bircleugh's flowery terrace nigh, 
 Haftning to meet the bonny Clyde : 
 
 Ah! pleafing fcene! in rapt'rous mood, 
 How near thy braes I ftill could ftray ! 
 
 How range yon deep romantic wood, 
 And talk of love the live-long day ! 
 But, Dame, &c. 
 
 As dew-drop Peggy's eye is bright, 
 
 Your Peggy's cheek as lily fair, 
 Her feet, as hare's, move foft and light, 
 
 Her voice like blackbird's loud and clear. 
 And (he can foften every heart, 
 
 When fond the rings her " Highland Laddie ;' 
 So quickly, Dame, muft I depart, 
 
 And keep my heart ftill tight and fteady. 
 But, Dame, &c. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 
 
 JBut, when on ocean's reftlefs bed, 
 
 The fhip rolls rocking to the wind, 
 When fhores and cliffs, and hills are fted, 
 
 Thy kindnefs will I call to mind. 
 When dowie droops my head with grief, 
 
 And from my eye-lid fteals a tear, 
 In grateful thoughts I'll find relief, 
 
 And Peggy's long my heart lhall cheer 
 But, Dame, you view a failor brave, 
 And now he haftes to plough the wave.
 
 69 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 Why, when I view thofe cherry lips, 
 That breaft of fweets, thofe eyes of fire, 
 
 While Fancy from thy mouth rich nectar fips, 
 And round thy neck entwines each young defire t 
 
 Why mould I afk, if twenty years, 
 Or twenty more matur'd thofe charms, 
 
 Thy breath, more foft than fpring, thy lover cheers. 
 And more than fummer lingers in thy arms. 
 
 The Mufe for thee is proud to fing, 
 
 The Graces lead the dance to thee, 
 The Nymphs to thee their fweeteft flowrets bring: 
 
 Oh ! then it furely cannot winter be. 
 F 3
 
 What tho' the bloom of years were fled, 
 The heats of love all pafs'd away ? 
 
 Yet wifdom could on age new luftre (hed, 
 As a fweet glory gilds the parting day.
 
 71 
 
 THE ADDIILSS 
 
 OP A POOR PRIVATE, WITH HIS FAMILY, WHILE 
 PUBLIC MEN WERE ENGAGED IN A FAST. 
 
 Great Kramer of unnumber'd worlds, 
 And whom unnumber'd worlds adore . 
 
 Whole goodnefs all thy creatures fhare, 
 While Nature trembles at thy power : 
 
 Thine is the hand that moves the fpheres, 
 That wakes the winds, and lifts the fea, 
 
 And man, who moves the lord of earth, 
 A&s but the part ailign'd by thee. 
 
 Kings, at whole will a nation bends, 
 Row at thy throne, and own thy fway. 
 
 r k
 
 72 
 
 And, tho' like gods they tread on earth, 
 To thee the duteous fervice pay. 
 
 Chiefs, tho* with numerous hofts combin'd, 
 They fellow-blood in torrents fpill, 
 
 Eager for conqueft and for fame, 
 Do but thy great defigns fulfill. 
 
 While fuppliant crowds implore thy aid, 
 To thee we raife the humble cry, 
 
 Thine altar is the contrite heart, 
 Thine incenfe a repentant ligh. 
 
 But, if injuftice grind the poor, 
 Or avarice ftain the fordid hand ; 
 
 Or fierce ambition thirft for blood, 
 Or rude oppreffion wafte the land j 
 
 The God, who hears the orphan's cry, 
 The widow's pray'r, the prifoner's groan,
 
 7S 
 
 Still lift'ning to the poor oppreft, 
 
 Shall fpurn th' oppreflbr from his throne. 
 
 Xor will he heed the lifted eye, 
 
 The fuppliant hand, the bending knee, 
 
 Nor altars grac'd with fplendid rites, 
 The forms of public mockery. 
 
 Oh 1 Britain, in thy fober hour, 
 Learn juftice, nor contemn the rod 1 
 
 So will he love to be thy friend, 
 If thus thou own him, as thy God.
 
 74 
 
 S I M O N I D E S. 
 
 A TRANSLATION FROM THE GREEK. 
 
 When on the motley-painted cheft the wind 
 Blew boiftrous, and by dire commotions ftirr d, 
 
 The rifing furges roar'd, 
 Fair Danae, while trickled down her cheek 
 
 The frequent tear, felt all a mothers pangs; 
 Round her young Perfeus, round her deareft babe, 
 
 She threw, refign'd to fate, her lovely arm, 
 And breath'd, thus foftly breath'd, the forrows 
 of her foul. 
 
 Ah ! me, my child, what griefs do I endure ! 
 Whilft thou, dear fuckling babe, ill-omen'd child, 
 
 Sleepeft, with heart at reft j 
 Sleepeft in joylefs, brafs- encircled houfe ;
 
 75 
 
 And dark the night, tho' gleams the moon ferene. 
 The wave, that pafles thy unmoiften'd locks, 
 
 Thou heedeft not ; thou heareft not the winds ; 
 For calm is thy lov'd face, in purple veftment veil'd. 
 
 Ills now prefs on ; and, didft thou know thofe ills, 
 How wouldft thou to my words, my words of woe, 
 
 Lend me thy little ear ! 
 Sleep, then, my babe, thy mother bids thee fleep j 
 And deep the waves, and fleep my fea of cares. 
 Yet, oh ! my father Jove, confound their fchemes I 
 Bold now the prayeroh ! may my Perfeus live ! 
 Still may he live, and ftill revenge his mother'a 
 wrongs.
 
 76 
 
 SAPPHO; 
 
 OR, THE EESOJLVE. 
 
 Yes, I have lov'd : yet often have I faid, 
 
 Love in this breaft (hall never revel more; 
 
 But I will liften to wild ocean's roar, 
 Or, like fome out-caft folitary {hade, 
 
 Will cling upon the howlings of the wind, 
 
 Till I grow deaf and lifelefs, cold and blind. 
 But, ah! enchantrefs, ceafe the tender lay, 
 
 Nor tune thy lyre to notes, thus foftly flow ; 
 Thofe eyes oh take thofe melting eyes away ! 
 
 Nor let thofe lips with honey' d fweets o'erflow ; 
 Nor let meek Pity pale that lovely cheek, 
 
 Nor weep, as wretches their long-fufferings fpeak.
 
 77 
 
 With forms fo fair endued, oh ! Venus, why 
 Are Leibian maids, or with fuch weaknefs I? 
 
 Do Leibian damfels touch the melting lyre? 
 My lyre is mute j and I in filence gaze ; 
 
 As tho' the mufe did not this breafl infpire, 
 I lofe in tenderer loves the love of praife. 
 
 Oh ! Sappho, how art thou imprifoned round, 
 
 Beauty's weak captive, faft-enchain'd with found J 
 Frail, frail refolve ! vain promife of a day r 
 I fee, I hear, I feel, and die away.
 
 78 
 ANACREON 
 
 TO A CAT. 
 
 
 
 Prince of cats, with ikin fo fleek, 
 Sharpen'd mouth, and jetty cheek, 
 And tail, as coral mining-bright, 
 And eyes, that can defy the night : 
 With whifkers, claws, and fcenting nofe, 
 For ever moufing, as it goes- 
 All thefe proclaim as mere a cat, 
 As ever tuzzled moufe, or rat. 
 But when I mark, thy miftrefs nigh, 
 
 And I have look'd with fearching eye,- 
 
 I 
 The purring foft, the tender gaze, 
 
 And all thy little fonclling ways, 
 
 The playful tail, the touch fo bland, 
 
 When ftroking Sappho's lovely hand,
 
 79 
 
 And when on Sappho's * bofom fpread, 
 
 I fee thee neftle clofe thy head, 
 
 And this, and more than this I fee, 
 
 Till, happy pufs, I envy thee : 
 
 Oh ! then, methinks, time was, that thou 
 
 Waft not, what thou appeareft now : 
 
 While drinking thus of love thy fill, 
 
 Thou feemeft but a lover ftill ; 
 
 Ye, prince of cats, if right I fcan, 
 
 The time has been, when thou waft, man. 
 
 It is of no confequence to thefe lines, whether Anacreon 
 and Sappho were contemporaries : this has been difputed : 
 the rum: of any other of Anacreon's favourites would do as 
 well.
 
 80 
 
 THE APOLOGIST. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF DE SEGUR. 
 
 Think not, tho' gaily flows the lay, 
 
 Too meanly of the tuneful art : 
 Song claims the right to flirt and play, 
 
 Nor lefs can act the moral part. 
 Mirth, while it lightly trips along, 
 
 The weightier Truth fliall lift to light ; 
 And hence I learn to rev'rence fong, 
 
 While ftill its milder charms delight. 
 
 The Samian prince, that prince fevere, 
 
 His people rul'd with iron hand : 
 Great was his power, and great their fear j 
 A None durfl refift the dread command.
 
 * 
 
 81 
 
 Anacreon chartn'd the tyrant down, 
 Afluag'd his wrath, and wak'd defire, 
 
 Such force have tender numbers fhewn ! 
 And hence I love the tender lyre. 
 
 The rofe, ere yet its leaves unfold, 
 
 Requires the fun's enlivening ray; 
 And, would you warm the heart, when cold ? 
 
 Go, try the love-infpiring lay. 
 Ah ! little aids the profe-told tale, 
 
 Drefs'd in no charms, nor wingd with fire 
 But love, in verfe, ihall feldom fail j 
 
 And therefore will I blefs the lyre. 
 
 Behold the man of dauntlefs brow, 
 
 Who knows no meafure in his crimes ! 
 
 To ftoic rules he fcorns to bow ; 
 He dreads no cenfor of the times. 
 Vol. If. G
 
 82 
 
 But ridicule, if it reprove, 
 
 Shall leave the long-remember'd fmart ; 
 And hence I love the fhafts of fong, 
 
 For they can reach the guilty heart. 
 
 "When griefs and cares perplex'd ray breaft, 
 
 To books I ran, to feek relief : 
 But Plato could not yield me reft, 
 
 And Seneca brought no relief. 
 Anacreon, more one verfe of thine, 
 
 Than feven old fages, me mall pleafe : 
 Still, then, fhall playful fong be mine ; 
 
 For fong the troubled heart ihall eafe !
 
 83 
 
 CURSORY REMARKS 
 
 ON 
 
 READERS, AND THE NATURE OF POETRY: 
 
 ON 
 
 DREAMS AND VISTONS. 
 
 I am a friend, I confefs, to Introductions; and, 
 for this reafon ; Introductions, or Prefaces, are 
 often friends as w ell to readers as to authors. To 
 the former, they fumifh a clue to lead through 
 thofe labyrinths, in which fome writings are un- 
 fortunately involved ; and to the latter, they are 
 favourable a hundred ways : they prevent a mans 
 going head-foremoft into the work, without taking 
 his reafon with him ; they remove difficulties, that 
 may, probably, occur ; and they anfwer objections 
 G 2
 
 84 
 
 before they caii poffibly be ilarted. Thefe matters 
 being fettled, the reader has before him the prim- 
 rofe path of pleafure ; and the writer has nothing 
 at leaft to give him concern. He makes hands 
 with the mufe, if he happens to be a poet ; and, at 
 all events, with his good friends, the critics 5 bleffes 
 Providence, that he was born a genius ; feafts his 
 imagination with the fine compliments, which 
 the world are paying, or ought to be paying, his 
 performance ; and looks forward to immortality, 
 as his lawful inheritance. Reader, I fetyou, then, i 
 an, example who knows but you may become 
 an author? by writing a long introduction, ox 
 preface, to a few fmall poems. 
 
 Now the following work requires no clue; 
 here is no labyrinth : the broad day opens upon 
 you immediately : the paffage is direct and clear,
 
 85 
 
 at leaft to fuch perfons, as enter with proper fpirit, 
 and proceed with correct feelings. To all others 
 I (hall appear, on the prefent occafion, a myftic. 
 
 As to obje&ions, I know of none, that can be 
 advanced, at leaft, none, which, fpeaking as an 
 author, I fhould deem reafonable. 
 
 But, as there exift people, and, I fear, they have 
 fome credit with the public, who will not fuffer 
 a poor fellow to gratify his own vanity, which is 
 often very innocent, or to be the propagandilt of 
 his own principles, which may be very harmlefs ; 
 who muft needs endeavour to difcompofe his felf- 
 complacency, to the great interruption of his lucu- 
 brations, and the enfeebling of all learned refolu- 
 tions, I fhall demean myfelf accordingly. It is 
 more like an Englishman to begin the attack. 
 G 3
 
 85" 
 
 1 . As many readers poffefs the power of twitting 
 exprefiions to twenty different meanings, fo that a 
 plain man (and fueh moft writers would be 
 thought) thall fcarcely know, when he is fure of 
 his word ; others are for making many poor words 
 fairly give up the ghoft ; words, too, of the true 
 Englifh breed, which, in their generation, have 
 been trufty fervants, and might ftill, one fhould 
 think, be allowed to keep on their legs. Such rea- 
 ders, will, I hope, permit me to remind them, that 
 the perfons, to whom, as they will perceive, I am" 
 much indebted in two of the following poems, 
 were not taught the languages at the court end of 
 the town, nor at any of pur public fchools, or 
 learned uuiverfi ties: but, what then ? they adopt, 
 in the proper fenfe of the word, their mother or 
 vulgar tongue, enlivened a little, perhaps, by what 
 I (hall ever defend as an excellent attainment, 
 1
 
 87 
 which is rather a lucky knack in the ufe of thfr 
 vulgar tongue, than a diftin6t dialed, and fo will 
 not be confounded, I hope, with the flang * lan- 
 guage. A learned gentleman has lately fhewn, 
 that the gypfey language is the moft ancient in 
 the world f ; and, I think, I could prove from au- 
 thentic documents, that this knack, for I will not 
 call it by its proper name, as a mode of fpeech, 
 is more ancient than the gypfey, as an original* 
 language; that being quite appropriate, it mud, at 
 lea ft, to perfons of tafte, always be agreeable ; 
 and, from the very nature of man, muft endure, 
 
 * The learned are not to be informed, thac there is a re- 
 gular dictionary of the ilanc language : the other can only 
 be learned in practice 
 
 \ The ctymo'ogicum magnum by Sylbivrgius confines itfelf 
 to Greek ; the etymologicum magnum alluded to here compre- 
 hends all languages down to the gypiey, which the writer 
 maintains to bt the >lde(t language in the w;r)d. 
 
 G 4
 
 88 
 
 as long as language itfelf. I hope, therefore, no 
 one will meddle with one of my words, nor knit 
 his brows, if my language appear to him fomewhat 
 oily and glib ; but rather aifure himfelf, that I 
 ufe the propcreft, if not the richeft, words in the 
 Englifh language, with a mod laudable difpatch 
 of pronunciation, and with all the limplicity and 
 unreilrainednefs of an Englishman. 
 
 But, though expreffions, confidered in their 
 original fenfe, may be proper, it does not follow, 
 that they are the moft perfpicuous and clear. 
 Plain and natural are vague terms. What may 
 be mere ABC to a country bumpkin, may be 
 Arabic to a noble lord ; and what may fet a noble 
 lord a capering, may bring an honelt countryman 
 upon Lis knees : and the countryman's may be 
 the beft Engliih of the two. If, therefore, I oc- 
 7
 
 89 
 cafionally borrow a word from the zomerzetfhire 
 dialed, or the Lancashire dialect *, or even from 
 the Scottish dialed f, I claim no forgivenefs . 
 Let me avail myfelf of the obfervation, u There 
 are great, as well as little vulgar :" and let not 
 the remark offend ; the latter are often lefs of bar- 
 barians (I fpeak here merely of language) than 
 the former. The author of Hudibras, and his 
 imitator (Cotton), abound % with what fomecali 
 vulgar words : and what many people treat as 
 weeds, and throw to the dunghill, ftill bloom in 
 the gardens of Shakefpeare and Spenfer. 
 
 * Tim Bobbin's Poems. 
 
 f Allan Ramfay's Poems. 
 
 I confefs, however, my refutation failed ; for, after co.tu 
 pofing one or two poems in the ftyle alluded to, I altered 
 them back again. 
 
 % In Virgil Travefteid.
 
 90 
 
 Apropos, I rauft here put ray proteft again ft 
 fuch readers, as pronounce every thing abfurd 
 that is to them unintelligible. Are not fome 
 writings by their very nature myfterious ? Hare 
 not all nations had their myftics, their dreamers, 
 their vifionifts, and their prophets ? And are 
 they not always allowed to have a language of 
 their own ? But of this more hereafter. 
 
 2. Next there is the reader, who is a'ftout ad- 
 vocate for the epic and dramatic unities. Now, 
 though the following poems are diminutive, and 
 can hardly be called poems, yet there exift fome 
 great readers, who love to mangle little poets. 
 But, paffing that, it might be proved, that the 
 greater! poets have not ftrictly anfwered their ex- 
 pectations; nor yet have thefe deviations difpof- 
 fclTed them of their feats in ParnafTus. Ariftotle,
 
 91 
 
 it is true, contends very ftoutly for the unities; and 
 produces Homer and the Greek tragedians as his 
 examples : but, how eafy were it to deraonftrate, 
 that fuch poets are notfo undeviating in thisrefpeft, 
 as to be unexceptionable authorities ! Nay, has not 
 a learned writer lately undertaken to mew, that 
 fucb^ a place as Troy never exifted * ! The Iliad 
 muft, of courfe, in his judgment, be the mere 
 dream of fome blind minftrel, whether Homer, 
 or fome other, no matter. Yet the Iliad ftands, 
 even in the opinion of this writer, a true epic ; 
 and will fo (land, to the end of time. Milton, 
 too, abounds with digreffions ; Jo which Addifonf , 
 notwithstanding his partiality, was by no means 
 blind digreffions, irreconcileable to the laws of 
 
 * The author of, A New Syltem, or an Analylis of 
 Ancient Mythology. 
 
 f In his Critique on the Paradise Lost.
 
 92 
 
 the epic, as laid down by the critics. Has 
 he not, moreover, jumbled together contradic- 
 tory mythologies, fo as to break in upon the 
 uniformity of his poem ? As to Shakefpeare, who 
 knows not, that maugre all faid by Ariftotle, who 
 knows not, I fay, that the immortal Shakefpeare 
 fairly kicked the unities out of doors ? A for- 
 tiori, fuch things as dreams, virions, and a 
 foniori Hill, prophecies, muft not be expected to 
 be over-rigid about certain rules: they have rules 
 of their own. A vifionift profeffes the power, and 
 he- ought to affert it, of travelling like light; 
 and he may traverfe backwards and forwards a 
 thoufand and a thoufand times in the fame book, 
 if he pleafes. - 
 
 3. Next, there is the logical reader. A man of 
 found reafoning powere is entitled to the greateft
 
 o 
 
 attention ; nobody more fo : but intelligent men, 
 it feems, diftinguiih between a fair reafoner and 
 a common logician : for the logic of the fchools, 
 to give it the due portion of commendation, is 
 but an- help to reafon *: and, judging from what 
 has parTed among fome perfons, reputed great 
 logicians, many incline to believe, that our pro- 
 founded reafoners, fuch as Newton, Locke, and 
 Bacon, were little indebted to logic. However, 
 allowing, that a reader lhould be a logician, 
 and certainly he ought to be a good reafoner, 
 that he rauft walk and talk fyllogiftically ; muft 
 a poet, alfo, be this precife fyllogizer? By 
 no means : a reader, who has but two miles to 
 proceed, muft firft rife out of his chair, go re- 
 gularly down flairs, and tramp over every inch 
 
 * Baker's Refle&ions on Learning, chap. v.
 
 I 
 
 of ground, before he can arrive at bis journey's 
 end. But a poet may travel like light ; vifit the 
 hall of Valhala, and drink metheglin with Odin j 
 breakfaft with Jupiter, and by noon pay his com- 
 pliments to Juno 5 tear Venus from the embraces 
 of her fmutty hufband, and fteal a kifs from her 
 ambrofial lips : he may attack morecaftles, deliver 
 more damfels, in very diflant regions, too, than 
 St. George: he may dig into rocks and caves, 
 traverfe mountains, and play as many magical 
 freaks, as were ever played by old Merlin * ; 
 till it be doubted, as formerly it was of our Britifh 
 wizard, whether he was a man or devil. He may 
 effect all this, I maintain, without fo much as 
 defcending from his own ftair-cafe, or once mov- 
 ing from his elbow-chair. 
 
 * See the Prophecies of Merlin.
 
 95 
 
 4. As to 'tbofe, who read as mere grammarians, 
 little need be infixed on. For, if fuch readers 
 are fatisfied with their mode of making out an 
 author, no writer mould take on himfelf to 
 complain. 
 
 5. The reader, of whom I have reafon to be ap- 
 prehenfive in the following pages, if I may be 
 permitted to fpeak a word concerning mvfelf, 
 is the metaphyfician. He is the perfon, of whom, 
 were I to exprefs my real feelings, I Ihould ap- 
 proach, as the giant of the cattle ; whom, there- 
 fore, it would be my intereft to affault in form, 
 with all my little breadth of philofopby, and 
 length of argument. 
 
 The readers, to whom I allude, are fuch as 
 object to poems, that proceed on fads, that are 
 
 I
 
 96 
 
 not true. Thus, they might fay, to lay out a 
 lady, to make a funeral proceflion for her, to 
 raife a buft to her memory, and to write elegies 
 for her as dead, while yet (he is a6tually alive, 
 and has been feen by many living witneffes in 
 feveral {hops in London, is an anachronifm 
 quite unpardonable ; and fo of many other freaks 
 and vagaries, as fuch readers may choofe to de- 
 nominate them. 
 
 Now let fuch people bethink themfelves, and 
 not fuffer an unreafonable prejudice to deprive 
 them of very confiderable pleafure ; let me en- 
 treat them only to confider the nature of poetry, 
 and in what refpe&s it differs from profe; I 
 do not fay in the perufal of my reveries, but of 
 the fancies and inventions of great poets.
 
 97 
 
 Poetry claims creation as her proper province. 
 She is a nimble-thoughted lady, who flies about 
 as fhepleafes : and it is agreeable to her character, 
 not only to fpeak of things as they really exift, 
 but of things that have no existence, as if they 
 really had. I ufe the words of a great critic *. 
 So that what diftinguiflies poetry from profe, is 
 not the mere meafuring of fyllables into arti- 
 ficial things, called verfes, but, bona fide, creation, 
 or invention f. This .now is admitted by the 
 great critics of antiquity, I mean Ariftotle, Plu- 
 tarch, and Longinus } and fo, I hope, will not be 
 difpnted by the admirers of ancient literature: 
 and, as the opinion is not only frequently re- 
 ferred to, but fyftematically defended, by learned 
 divines, when writing concerning poetry and cri- 
 
 * Julii Scaliger. Poetic, 
 f- Plutarchi De Audiendis Poetis. 
 
 Vol. II. H
 
 9$ 
 
 ticifm *, it will not be difputed by any ferious 
 perfons whatever. 
 
 Poetry, which, by ancient prefcription, thus pof- 
 feiTes the right to create, has alfo a prerogative, 
 no lefs certain and undifputed, confequent upon 
 the former right, viz. to deftroy. 
 
 Indeed, if poetry may not go thil length, what 
 is it good for ? Or, wherein is it better than 
 profe ? if a poet may not make a lady ill, when 
 the is well, or even put an end to her, though 
 perhaps only indifpofedj if a rival lover may 
 not run his antagonist through the body, and, at 
 the fame time, on meeting him in the park, cock 
 his hat full in his face, poetry will go a little 
 way indeed. Were this really the cafe, if a 
 man has any thing to fay, he had better, without 
 all manner of doubt, fay it in profe. 
 
 * Hurd on Poetic Imitation, and Lowth de Vet. Hebr. Poefi.
 
 99 
 
 But thefe things being admitted, let it be fur- 
 ther obfervec!, that fome people are fo formed, 
 that their feelings are not in exaft ratio to their 
 afflictions, but as their fcpaares. Hence, fome 
 people, if they have the tooth-ach, it is well 
 if they are not mad with it : if they read a dull 
 poem, they fall afleep, with their eyes open all 
 the while -, if they fhed a tear, they are drowned 
 in grief; a fit of the cholic deprives them of 
 all their fenfes, and the gripes are fure to kill 
 them. So again, as to their friends, if they do 
 not fee or hear from them, they complain to 
 every roan, woman, and child they meet ; hang 
 down their heads, like a willow; make elegies, 
 monodies, and epitaphs, with an wAero r.aAo^ 
 A$wvis for truly to them he is dead. And thus, 
 reader, it is with rue. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 
 
 And, here, let me afk the lover How does he 
 feel in the abfence of his miftrefs ? Clearly thus : 
 he hies himfelf to the fide of a rivulet drops his 
 tear into the water a willow fupports his poor 
 head the winds are not bent on their ufual va- 
 garies, but are replying, figh for figh, to his com- 
 plaining the brook runs in mournful fympathy 
 to him. So again of the birds; they fing not, as 
 ufual, except, perhaps, the nightingale - her love- 
 lorn note may, perchance, foot he him a little ; 
 while his flieep, a hundred to one, are wandering 
 wild over his neighbours paddocks. Thus it hap- 
 pens, if the fair one is abfent only for a month : 
 but fhould fhe exceed that; fhould fhe be abfent 
 for a year, it becomes a ferious affair indeed : all 
 Nature mourns with him. But, fuppofe her gone 
 acrofs the Atlantic or Indian ocean, never more to 
 return why then the matter is fairly fettled : 
 to him his charmer is, in fat, dead and buried ;
 
 101 
 
 and Strcphon has nothing to do but to hang or 
 drown himfelf in the next river: and thus, reader, 
 it fares with me. And fo much in vindication of 
 a general principle from the very nature of poetry, 
 and the conftitution of man. 
 
 I am here all along addrefling the metaphyseal 
 reader to whom I beg leave ftill further tofuggeft, 
 with his permiflion, that my chara&er is, literally, 
 much of a dreamer. Now, though fnch reader 
 fhould oppofe impertinent fables, (and he has my 
 free permiflion to do it,) yet let me entreat him 
 not to attack a fimple foul in his own chimney, 
 corner. Will any friend to the rights of Englifti. 
 men maintain, that they extend not to dreaming ? 
 For my own part, I believe, that the right of 
 private dreaming is as much the birthright of an 
 Englishman and Proteftant, as the right of private 
 H 3
 
 102 
 
 judgment. On the latter fubjeft endlefs are the 
 books, that have been written : and it is now fet- 
 tled by all parties of Proteftants, (whether they at 
 confidently with the belief, is another matter,) 
 that every Englifhman and Proteftant poffeffes as 
 great a right to think, as to breathe. 
 
 The reafon, I apprehend, why as much has not 
 been written on the right of private dreaming, is, 
 doubtlefs, that there never was erected a tribunal 
 in this country, that oppofed the claim ; no, not 
 even in the reigns of the Poftillion of the Refor- 
 mation *, or of the Virgin Queen f , who, it muft 
 be acknowledged, inconfiftently enough as Tro- 
 teftants, ere6ted tribunals, to keep down private 
 
 * So B"ffiop Burnet in bis Hiflory of the Reformation calls 
 Henry the Vlllth. 
 
 f Elizabeth. 
 
 3
 
 103 
 
 judgment. But the right of private dreaming has 
 never been aiTailed ; was never doubted ; and, of 
 courfe, is occafionally exercifed by all defcriptions 
 of people. We fee men dreaming in pulpits ; dream- 
 ing at the bar; dreaming on the ftage; dreaming 
 in bookfellers' (hops; down to the bench of a 
 country jultice : and fhall any man affert, that an 
 ordinary man may not fleep and dream, uninter- 
 ruptedly, in his own garret ? 
 
 The right once admitted, who (hall fay " fo far 
 fhalt thou dream, and no farther T Who (hall 
 diclate to a dreamer, and prefcribe the bounda- 
 ries, within which his dreams ihould move ? Who 
 {hall prevent his holding converfation with per- 
 fons long fince dead? or his feeing minftrels, 
 mufes, nymphs, virgins, fauns, fatyrs, demons, 
 gods and goddeffes ? What hand of mere fleih 
 H 4
 
 104 
 
 {hall take away his ghofts, his fairies, his devils, 
 his hobgoblins ? "Who fhall purloin him of his 
 will-o'-wifps, of his griffins, of his unicorns ? Of 
 his bulls, without heads, running away with 
 damfels? Of his elephants, flying away with a 
 regiment of foldiers to the moon, or to the 
 furtheft planet in our fyftem ? His fifties, longer 
 than the fea ferpent, or Kraken *, wilh a whole 
 parifh on their fides, riding on the king's high- 
 way ? 
 
 A metaphyfician has not an inch of ground in 
 the land of dreams. A man afleep is fairly be- 
 yond his reach, a being of unimagined power?, of 
 the moft myfterious atfbciations, of the moft incal- 
 culable penetrations: he fliould not be interrupted 
 
 * See Bilhop Pontoppidan's Hiftory of Norway.
 
 105 
 
 while afiecp ; and, when he returns to this world 
 of mere fenfe and matter, he is not to be tor- 
 mented with childifh expectations, and unreafon- 
 able conditions. If people poffefs too much 
 pride now-a days, to confult him as an oracle, as 
 the Grecians fometimes did, their oracles being 
 often delivered in dreams, they mould at leaft 
 poffefs humility enough to liflen to him with 
 refpeft, if not with implicit deference. For, if 
 dreams are extraordinary communications, a fa- 
 voured dreamer may render the higheft fervices to 
 the community, and on individuals he may often 
 confer the moft permanent obligations. Hence 
 it has been the received opinion of almoft all 
 ages and dreamers, whether we choofe to call 
 them facred or prophane, have avowed the belief 
 that dreams are divine; fuperior beings, according 
 
 * Vid. Artemidori Oneirocrltos, et Maimonidis Du&or 
 Perplexorum, Pars ii. C. 36.
 
 106 
 
 to them, making their dreams the vehicles of their 
 purpofes and councils to mankind. 
 
 But I beg leave to fubjoin another obfervation 
 on this fubjeft. From what has already been 
 laid, it is very evident that I have a right to 
 dream in common with other Britifh fhbjects : 
 I poffefs alfo fome peculiar privileges this way. 
 For, befides what has already been afferted, I 
 challenge a claim to this divine foother, as a 
 poet : the reader, however, I allow to rate my 
 poetical character as low as I rate it myfelf. 
 
 IJCow, I think I could fhew, that feveral corn- 
 pofitions of our modern poets were actually writ- 
 ten while the authors were afleep, and that they 
 might be properly called dreams. Thefe poets will 
 not confefs it, I know : but this I collect from
 
 107 
 internal evidence. Poets I am well aware are 
 afhamed to be thought either fleepers or dreamers. 
 I will then (hew, that they ought not to be alliamed 
 of it ; and that a poet has a right to fleep and 
 to dream by prefcription. 
 
 Here, too, I omit laying any ftrefs on what 
 Pope notices relative to fome poets of his time j 
 that they not only were great fleepers themfelves, 
 but made others fleep ; and that, in the third book 
 of the Dunciad, when fome exercifes in verfe, and 
 others in profe, are propofed by Dullnefs, to keep 
 the critics awake, that not only the critics, but 
 the fpe&ators, and even the poets themfelves, fall 
 fa ft afleepj and that in this Dunciad he gives 
 one or two examples of very fuccefsful dreamers > 
 I fay, no ftrefs, fhall be laid by me on fuch matters, 
 becaufe fome readers would evade my conclufion ;
 
 108 
 
 by giving to fuch examples a ludicrous interpre- 
 tation. My proofs (hall be brought from unex- 
 ceptionable authorities. 
 
 And, firft, it is well-known, that feveral of the 
 moll exquifite productions of the Afiatic poets 
 were compofed in fhady bowers, or befide refrefli- 
 ing fireams, when the eyes of the bard were bound 
 in fleep ; and that feveral of the poems them- 
 felves are perfect dreams : and who knows not, 
 that the revelations cf the Hebrew prophets are 
 many of them dreams in form, and that the lan- 
 guage of them is perfectly enigmatical? 
 
 We alfo find in the writings of the Evan- 
 gelifts dreams or virions in form, agreeably to the 
 practice of the Hebrew prophets and Afiatic poets. 
 I own m;felf to be of the fame judgment, too,
 
 109 
 
 with thofe commentators, who fuppofe, that Chrift's' 
 temptation on the Mount *, and John's being iri 
 the Spirit on the Lord's day f, ought to be confidered" 
 as mere vifions, and that the reprefentations pafled 
 before the eyes of the mind, when Chrift and 
 John were afleep, in the fame manner as they 
 patted in the minds of the ancient prophets. 
 The Chriftian Fathers, alfo, had vifions J. But 
 this by the bye 5 we are not now fpeaking of 
 thefe matters. 
 
 The fame may be obferved of the Greek and 
 Roman poets. Of Horace's obfervations concern- 
 ing Homer , I take no notice, becaufe the poet 
 evidently there means, that Homer does not always 
 
 * Matthew, -f Revelations, a. 
 
 \ See more particularly among the Patres Apoftolici, Hermje 
 Vitiones. 
 
 Interdum dormitat Homerus. Ait. Poet.
 
 no 
 
 write like himfelf; as, indeed, who does? But, 
 that Homer was both a fleeper and a dreamer, is 
 evident from the admirable ufe that he makes 
 cf fleeping and dreaming in the Iliad, as in the 
 Second Book ; where, though a dreanyis made to 
 play a flippery trick, ftill it came from Jupiter ] 
 and foelfewhere. Indeed, I have no doubt that fe- 
 deral parts of the Iliad were virions in form. To 
 which view of Homer, the idea of his being blind, 
 and lifiening, as it were, to Apollo playing on a 
 lyre, as reprefented in that incomparable defcrip- 
 tion of Homer's ftatue *, is peculiarly favourable. 
 To the fame purport is the account of true arid 
 falfe dreams, by Homer, who makes the former 
 proceed from Jupiter. And exactly in the fame 
 manner his great imitator, Virgil. The Sixth Book ' 
 of the iEneid, too, clearly holds out this idea : 
 
 * Vid. Anthologia Grxca, lib. vi, .
 
 HI 
 
 and relates, as Bifhop Warburton has (hewn, to 
 the Eleufinian myfieries. The Caffandra of Ly 
 cophron is indifputably an oracular dream. For, 
 though by the poet himfelf this is not aflerted 
 in fo many words, yet the introduction of the 
 poem being expreffed in the accuftomed ftyle of 
 the ancient dreamers ; and the time, in which the 
 oracular maid delivers, her prophecies, being early 
 -in the morning the very time when, according 
 to the ancients, irue dreams were given to men 
 fuch being, I fay, the cafe, we may fairly con- 
 clude this a:nigmatical poem to be literally a 
 dteam. Anacreon has, in his odes, given us one 
 or two of his dreams j .and from the refembrance 
 of Sappho's famous ode to Venus to. one of Ana- 
 creon's,>l Moubt not, that Sappho's mud be added 
 to'the number. Horace, and the other Latin 
 .^>oets, have various poems, that .muft be confi-
 
 112 
 
 dered, in reality, as dreams, and fome they ac- 
 knowledge to be fuch Petrarch was a great 
 dreamer his Laura furnifhed food for his day- 
 dreams, as well as night-dreams : and fome of 
 his dreams were very extraordinary, and even 
 prophetical *, 
 
 As to our Engliih poets, who knows not, that 
 they have all been dreamers ? Our beft poets were 
 great dreamers. Geoffrey Chaucer has feveral 
 dreams in form ; fo alfo has Cowley. Some have 
 thought, that the Paradife Loft was one entire 
 dream; all infpiration,yet a dream: and certain it 
 is, that Milton himfelf leads us to conclude, that 
 much of his poem was compofed in dreams ; medi- 
 tated not only when he was blind, but in bed : there 
 it was he was favoured with his "nightly vifitant.'* 
 
 See Dobfon's Life of Fctiarch^ vol. i.
 
 113 
 
 I take no notice of inferior poets, who have 
 been dreamers ; for they, perhaps, would be in- 
 finite. The names mentioned bring with them 
 the ftamp of undoubted authority : they may be 
 quoted as precedents; and are ample teflimony, 
 that a poet may dream by prefcription. 
 
 The reader fhould notice, that my examples are 
 derived from enlightened and poliflied nations. 
 I could, undoubtedly, have produced, as vouchers 
 for this important claim, thofe hardy, though un- 
 polidied, inhabitants of the north, who conquered 
 the ibuthern nations by their extraordinary cou- 
 rage, and the force of numbers : as the language 
 of their poetry was fuppofed to be derived from 
 the gods, fo was it diftinguifhed by the lofiiefl: 
 and mod founding metaphors . Much of it, in- 
 
 The Runic Poetry. It was called the language of tht g5d< 
 
 Vol. II. I
 
 114 
 
 difputably, difplayed that fublime fpecies of ora- 
 cular or prophetic dreams, noticed by Macrobius * : 
 fuch, particularly, among the five pieces of Runic 
 Poetry, is, the Incantation of Hervor f. In the 
 Edda, alraoft all the fongs might be denominated 
 virions J. Offians poems exhibit the fame cha- 
 racter, as may be diftindtly obferved in the fecond 
 and third books of Fingal. 
 
 And were I to be fet on demonftrating, that this 
 profeflion of dreaming is truly honourable, and 
 not a mere poetical conceit, it might be infifted on, 
 that the philofophers of antiquity were dreamers. 
 Pythagoras, Socrates, Plato, Xenophon, and Ci- 
 
 In Somnium Scipionis, lib. i. cap. 3. 
 
 J- See five pieces of Runic poetry, tr 
 laadic. 
 
 % Edda of Saemund, by A. S. Cottle. 
 
 f See five pieces of Runic poetry, tranflated from the 
 Jflandic.
 
 115 ' 
 
 cero * ; their illuftrious fucceflbrs, alfo, the latter 
 riatoniils, Plotinus, Jamblicus, Simplicius, Julian, 
 Proclus. The curious tales of Apuleius, entitled, 
 The Golden Afs, and the Wanderings of Cupid 
 and Pfychej to which let me add, Boethius's 
 Confolations of Philofophy, would be properly 
 characterized as virions, or dreams. And hence 
 probably it is, that their admirers have not 
 fcrnpled to call them ' divine men.' But of this, 
 enough. It only now remains, that 1 diftin&ly 
 explain, by what means I fell in with this poetical 
 
 * The five years filence, that Pythagoras enjoined his 
 difcip'es, was favourable to this pra&ice. Much might be 
 here obferved on the Daemon of Socrates; concerning 
 which fee the AiroXcyta 5.'X.thj, by Plato. The Somnium 
 Socratis, noticed by Apuleius, is, probably, as authentic as 
 the Somnium Scipionis, given at full length by Cicero. To 
 which m?y be added the elegant vifion, entitled, Tabula 
 Cebetis, 
 
 I 2
 
 116 
 
 pra&ice, and the exat mode, that I purfue, in the 
 regular and orderly difcharge of my duty. 
 
 Having been long a firm believer in the con- 
 ilancy and harmony of nature in all its operations, 
 I have yet been obliged to pay fome deference to 
 thofe, who fee much in anomalies, or devia- 
 tions, from its ordinary laws. I admitted, indeed, 
 that there has exifted a too eafy belief among the 
 Jews and heathens, indeed among the chriftian 
 fathers, and fome of the mod enlightened of mo- 
 dern believers, relative to prodigies, and that tra- 
 ditional conceits concerning futurity have been 
 too i neon fiderately impofed on the common people. 
 However, as truth often lies in the neighbourhood 
 of error, I determined to try, if I could not hit 
 on fome fafer expedient for looking into futurity, 
 and on fome counfel to direft my conduct in the
 
 117 
 
 greater concerns of life. I made fome experi- 
 ments, and actually published a prophecy, that 
 was fulfilled in the year ] JQQ. 
 
 I, as may be fuppofed, was delighted with the 
 difawery, and hope to be the better for it as long 
 as I live. But I prefume to give no counfel on 
 this head to men of great intellect*, or extraordi- 
 nary acutenefs; and lefs dill to fome, whom I 
 could mention, who, though they fleep enough, 
 God knows, are never likely to benefit either 
 themfelves or others ; 
 
 " Safe in their heavinefs they Bver flray." 
 
 Leaving, therefore, every dreamer to his own way 
 of managing matters, I here, for the benefit of 
 the world, fpeak only of what relates to myfelf. 
 
 I 3
 
 118 
 
 It was owing to this my natural fbndnefs for 
 anomalies, that I readily clofed, in earlier life, 
 with the fyftem of ancient mythology. In a kind 
 of femi-poetical character I would keep none but 
 high company: I was band and glove with Jupi- 
 ter, Neptune, Bacchus, and Mars; Apollo was 
 my bofom friend ; I had frequent interviews 
 with all the gods fupramundane and mundane : 
 and being naturally molt attached to thegoddefles, 
 I made hymns to them all. Juno* Diana, Venus, 
 and all the reft had their proper acldrefs. I fay, 
 in me this proceeded from my love of anomalies : 
 though I am well aware, that Plato and more 
 particularly his difciples the latter Platonifts, 
 Julianas, Proclus, Simplidus, and others, aflerf, 
 that fitch repiefentations were by no means ano- 
 malies, but the fublime realities of nature, beau- 
 tiful and venerable, though, to the vulgar, myftical
 
 # 
 
 and recondite truths, making part of a fyllem of 
 wifdom as ancient as the univerfe : fo that, ac- 
 cording to thefe philofophers, while I thought. 
 I was purfuing only fhadows and anomalies, I was 
 a genuine pupil of nature, a fludent of a fyfiem, 
 in which material forms ftood for intellectual 
 energies *, and fables and fymbols became vehicles 
 for a profound philofophy t. 
 - 
 However, whether this mythology be right or 
 wrong, is not the point: I fell out with the phy- 
 sical part of it, which belongs to poetry, leaving 
 the theological ftill in the hands of the philofo- 
 phers J, to whom I always bow with reverence 
 
 * Salluft. de Diis et Mundo, cap. 3. De Fabulis. 
 
 j* That the ./Egyptian. , from whom the Greeks derived their 
 mythology, believed fo, fee Enfield's Hiftory of Philofophy. 
 
 X See thefe distinctions in Macrobius's Somnium Scipionis, 
 and Salluft de Diis et Mundo, as above, diiiinctly maikci 
 out. 
 
 I 4
 
 120 
 
 and efteem. I difintangled all my poetry of every 
 thing fabulous, or mythological, and bore my 
 teirimony, Kke a true champion for nature and 
 fympathy, againft the greater* of our Englifti poets, 
 not excepting Milton himfelf, for what appeared 
 to me mythological inconfiftencies *. 
 
 But what then ? A fancy deeply rooted in the 
 brain is not to be difpatched all at once. Hav- 
 ing, however, completely eradicated the Grecian 
 mythology, I began to work with the eaftern. 
 This, it is true, was travelling backward, a kind 
 of crab like motion: for I was not ignorant, that 
 the Greek mythology was entirely derived from 
 the Eavt. But, who is always in a humour to pro- 
 ceed in the right-forward line of truth ? I put 
 
 * This was published in the Dedication and Preface to 
 Poems, of 1792, addrefled to William Fiend*
 
 121 
 
 Baal, or Bel us, for Jupiter ; Ada, forjunoj Mithras, 
 for Apollo. I had itill my Nine Mufes, though 
 I called them by different names. I got myfelf 
 furrounded with the empyreal world : and, as I 
 formerly had my diifuperi et ivferi, I now laid 
 claim to the higher orders of intelligences, toge- 
 ther with thofe myftical emanations and intellec- 
 tual principles, which constituted the fabric of the 
 Chaldaic Theurgy *. 
 
 But my fpirit was reftlefs: I could not fettle 
 here. I then betook myfelf to the northern my- 
 thology. I was furprifed to find how well it 
 fuittd my purpofe. I had little elfe to do, but to 
 change the names, and I accordingly went to work 
 again, with Odin, Lok, Tyr, Freya, Loduna, Ni- 
 
 * Stanley's Hiftory of the Oriental Philofophy, book ii
 
 122 
 
 order, &c. * I dill preferved my firft and fecond 
 order of divinities, and I found fubftitutes for the 
 Fates, Graces, Mufes, and fo on. Thus I proceeded, 
 changing and complaining, inquiring and doubt- 
 ing, conjefturing and concluding, yet Mill waver- 
 ing, like the needle's point, till very happily I fell 
 into a profound fleep, and was thus delivered from 
 all difficulties at once by a moft fignificant and 
 myfterious dream f. This rectified my mind, ex- 
 tricated me from innumerable perplexities, gave me, 
 as it were, a new nature, and furnifhed me with a 
 new fyftem of opinions. From that day, being in- 
 variable and fixed to my point, I have continued 
 
 * See The Edda of Saemund. 
 
 f- This vifion appears in the following feries, and I actually 
 enjoyed it by my own firefide, in my ufual and regular way 
 cf dreaming. But, as I was immediately conveyed to the 
 binks of the Ifis, every reader, acquainted with the nature of 
 dieams, will perceive, that it was incumbent on me to defcribe 
 it as I have done,
 
 123 
 a calm and fuccefsful dreamer: for dreams 3re 
 from Jove*, are thefhadows of truth} which is much 
 move than fome men, wide awake, can fay of half 
 their lucubrations. 
 
 It, therefore, remains, that I now prefent the 
 feiious reader, for to fuch only I addrefs myfelf,. 
 with an account of my procedure in the difcharge 
 of my moft important duty. 
 
 ; After having performed the bufinefs of the 
 day, I retire to my lodging, with as much deli- 
 beratenefs and folemnity, as if I was entering 
 Trophonius'a cave, for fuch at this feafon is my 
 room to me. But, inftead of the ufual rites and 
 ceremonies performed by thofe who confulted the 
 oracle of Trophonius, fuch as facrificing a ram, 
 warning in a river, anointing with oil, drink- 
 
 * - 0va sk Aij; tjT\. Homer.
 
 124 
 
 ing of the river Lethe *, and the like, I endeavour 
 todiveftmyfelf of every inordinate paffion, plung- 
 ing myfelf, as I might fay, in the depth of mind, 
 purifying my affections, by thinking on the moft 
 amiable perfon I know, which, to fpeak the truth, 
 is generally fome lady, and to work myfelf up 
 to a kind of poetical phrenzy. During this pro- 
 cefs, at a fixed time enters my old woman, who 
 knows my manner. Her bufinefs is to bring my 
 gown and night-cap, placing, at the fame time, a 
 pillow on the fide of my elbow-chair, and two 
 pipes with tobacco on the table, and to leave me 
 without the fmallefl converfation. During my 
 fmoking the firft pipe, I think over, where I have 
 been, what I have been doing, what I have left 
 undone, and the like, for that day, as nearly as t 
 
 See Potter's Grecian And q. vol. i. chap. x. from Pau- 
 fenua and Plutarch.
 
 V25. 
 
 can, according to the rule of Pythagoras *, adding 
 moreover, which is going indeed beyond the rule 
 of Pythagoras, what has been done by others, 
 and, more particularly, in the great council of the 
 nation. As foon as ever I come within the two 
 or three laft whiffs of my pipe, I as regularly fall 
 afleep, as the clock ftrikes twelve when the hand 
 points to the hour. 
 
 % My fleep continues for three hours at a time, 
 ^nd fometimes more, and paffes all before the ap- 
 proach of night for at night I never dream and 
 during the dreaming fit, I fleep as found, accord- 
 ing to the faying, as a church-fteeple. Strange 
 things pafs in my mind during this my feparation 
 from fenfe and matter j though, if I may judge 
 
 Pythagor* XjiVi* tin.
 
 126 
 
 from what I feel, as well as from what ray old 
 lady tells me, with very different affections : fome- 
 tirnes in great agitations and violent contortions 
 of body ; fometimes I am all calmnefs and fe- 
 renity ; for, to ufe an expreflion of the old lady's, 
 flie fometimes finds me quiet and motionlefs, as 
 the children in the wood, when they were co- 
 vered with leaves by the Robin-redbreaft. 
 
 As foon as I awake, I take my other pipe ; and 
 if any thing occurs, which I wifh to keep in re- 
 membrance, either for m/felf, or the benefit of man- 
 kind, I put it down on paper, while I am fmok- 
 ing : it is remarkable, that my dreams are all i 
 vcrfe. 
 
 I lay ftrefs on this circumflance for a very ob- 
 vious realbn, It ought to give considerable weight to
 
 127 
 
 my dreams. For as, on the one hand, divining by 
 dreams was a mod ancient pradice, in uie with 
 the Chaldeans * and all the Asiatics, as well as 
 afterwards with the Greeks and Romans f , and all 
 the nothern nations \ > fo was it ufual, on the 
 other hand, for oracles and prophecies to be de- 
 livered in verfe. The Chaldaic oracles are J| all 
 iu verfe, as were commonly the Grecian. That 
 mod obfeure, but prophetical poem, the Caflfandra 
 of Lycophron is in verfe . All the Hebrew pro- 
 
 * See the Book, of Daniel, chap. ii. 
 
 f- See the beginning of the fecond book of the Iliad, and 
 the end of the fixch book of the /Eneid. 
 
 X Olai Magni Hiit. Genrfutn Septentr. 
 
 U Thefe were firft publiAed by Ludovicus Tiletanus, anno 
 1563. Le Clerc published them at the end of his Latin trans- 
 lation of Stanley's Philofophy, with a differtation prefixed. 
 
 This moft Angular poem has been hitherte totally un- 
 known to Englifh readers. But a fpecimen, and a very ele- 
 gant fpecimen, of a translation of it has lately been pub-
 
 128 
 phecies are In verfe * : and our old Englifh Mer- 
 lin, if I might be permitted to mention him, de- 
 livered all his twenty-four prophecies, whether 
 true or falfe, I inquire not, in metre. 
 
 I fell into this more than ordinary attention to 
 my dreams, fo as to reckon on their importance, 
 by the following difcipline. I was, while yet a boy, 
 incredibly fond of every thing that was rare and 
 wonderful in nature, whether they were called 
 the monadica naturae, fuch as boiling fprings, and 
 petrifying waters; and was ready to go crazy, 
 when I heard of a flaming mountain: and to this 
 very day am quite fidgety, for having never feen 
 
 lifted by W. Mean; which, as it will furnifli fome elucida- 
 tion of a fuMime fpecies of poetry, will I hope, in due time, 
 bt completed. 
 
 * Louth de Vet. Poefi Hebrjcorum,
 
 129 
 Vefuvius or JEtna : The Jufus nature, which, 
 as fome one elegantly exprefles it, are thofe breaks, 
 whereby the hand of nature divides, as it were, 
 the plain ground of fome common nature into an 
 elegant variety, following and flying both at 
 once : the varietatcs naturte, alfo, delighted me, or 
 thofe various fpecies of things, with which differ- 
 ent countries fo entertain the curious of other 
 nations, that one appears, yet is not, a pro- 
 digy to another*: all prodigies, whether they- 
 were called natural or miraculous, whether true 
 or falfe, had fome hold of nay mind. And it is not, 
 therefore, furprfting, that I lhould be fond of 
 dreams, and difpoftd to pay them a particular 
 degree of credit. 
 
 * See Spenfer on Prodigies. 
 
 Vo*. ir. k
 
 130 
 
 The firft book I ever read fairly through was 
 Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. 
 
 The reader will readily fuppofe, that I muft have 
 had, in the courfe of my life, an infinite number 
 of important dreams ; and his fuppofitions will 
 be accurately founded : long ere the down budded 
 on my chin, nay, when I ufed to beftride my 
 rocking-horfe, I remember having a thoufand va- 
 garies, or little dreaming fits, which clearly indi- 
 cated, that, in theprogrefs of years, I mould dream 
 not in the ordinary way, but fignificantly, energe- 
 tically, and like a prophet. An old maiden aunt, 
 whofe fofiering hand trained my infant mind, 
 herfelf a moft fuccefsful dreamer, and deeply verfed 
 in many curious arts, has often afferted, that my 
 head was fhaped exactly like John Bunyan's. And 
 (for T adore her memory) I was fo poffefTed of this 
 idea, that, when I vifiled Bedford jail ferae thirty
 
 131 
 
 years ago, I felt uncommon delight in drinking 
 from the very jug, out of which Bunyan's honeft 
 foul* drank, during his confinement in Bedford 
 jail: the beverage, indeed, was of the ordinary 
 kind : but the effeft was like drinking fo much 
 empyreal fire : it was infpiration. It is true, 
 through much intercourfe with the world, I have 
 been too apt to talk, and walk, to keep my eyes 
 open, and my foul fhut, like other men : but, I 
 foon get right again, and never feel like my- 
 fflf, but when in my elbow-chair. Ariftotle and 
 Baptitla Porta, and fiince them Lavater, have 
 fhewn, that two ikulls, formed alike, will neceF- 
 -furily admit funi'.ar fancies*. 
 
 * A ax 6? JfE /xoif h -^u)(h Ha] ri duet o-vfX7ra$t~v kXXj>Am{* 
 
 (Attffa. Ariitoteles de Phyfiognotn'u, lib. iv. Ejufdem, hb. 
 vi. Vid. etianj Phyfiognom. Johan. Baptiftw Pore*. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 
 
 My dreams have related to all people and na- 
 tions j I may fay, to all worlds and fyftems of 
 worlds. I have difputed with angels and imma- 
 terial daemons, good and bad, as much as ever 
 Count Swedenbourg did*. Fifty times have 
 I vifited the empyrean world, with Hortanis and 
 Marcus, and as often the world zethereal with Pro- 
 clus and Plotinus. I have been a hundred times 
 in the moon, and conveifed with Julian in the 
 fun. I have had intercourfe with material dae- 
 mons, travelled through all the planets, and was 
 feated in the Georgium Sidus, long before it was 
 difcovered by Herfchel. I have been vifited by 
 magicians, necromancers, and ghofls innumerable, 
 have adminiftered at the mithritic rites and the 
 eleufinian mylieries. Endlefs are the enchanted 
 
 * Many of Swcdcnbourg's difputes wi.h angels may be 
 fceii in his worko.
 
 133 
 
 caftles, that I have aftaulted, and the damfels that I 
 have refcued, all kings daughters. I have vifited 
 the hall of Valhala, the regions of Tartarus, and the 
 Elyfian fields. I have been in the land of pygmies, 
 and the land of giants. 
 
 In the yearl 794, north lat. 65, 1 landed on a fea- 
 monfter five miles long j and five degrees further 
 north, faw a fea-ferpent erecting his head a mile 
 out of the ocean, and fpouting water out of his 
 mouth to an immenfe diftance. I have been at 
 the roots of the ocean, and by the throne of Jupi- 
 ter ; have feen, and been enamoured of, the mod 
 beautiful women in every quarter of the globe 5 
 five years I was enflaved to a pair of Circaffian 
 eyes, as black as floes ; till travelling higher up, 
 I faw a dame, called the queen of the north, with 
 blue foft eyes, like the violet. Thus Tacitus -dc- 
 K 3
 
 134. 
 
 fcribcs the Germans. I was this lady's captive five 
 years. Many of my dreams have been of a tender 
 and very amorous nature ; for I deny not, that I 
 was always a Have to beauty : but mott of them 
 have been very ferious. Indeed, many, as I have 
 already hinted, were prophetic, by means of which 
 I forefaw what was to happen, and what has really 
 happened, in my country, for thefe ten years paft ; 
 and I can make a tolerable guefs at what will hap- 
 pen in the principal countries of the four quar 
 ters of the globe for five hundred years to come. 
 At the fame time, my dreams often take a mod: 
 fantafiic turn. For, though in my fleep terreftrial 
 and celeftial things often fympathize, as the old 
 Chaldaic alirologers ufed to exprefs it, yet my 
 fancies fometimes play at crofs purpofes with one 
 another; my dreams fo flicing, dividing, fubdivid- 
 ing, and then uniting again into fuch arabefque
 
 13$ 
 
 forms, that I awake in a fit of loud laughter^ 
 and even now while I am alluding to them, am 
 affected in a manner as if I had been bit by the 
 tarantula t and this is my manner of dreaming. 
 
 Various are the reafons, why C have printed fo few 
 of my virions. My dreams I divide into true and 
 falfe. The falfe are bubbles; I never follow them, but 
 leave them to burft into air. As to the true dreams, 
 that 1 am fo backward to publifh them, is owing 
 in a meafnre to the bafhfulnefs of my nature, 
 and often to my extreme indolence. I neglect to 
 put them down, and they are vanithed for ever. 
 But my principal reafons may be found in the 
 grofs fenfuality, the beaftly ftupidity, and gigan- 
 tic impiety of the prefent times. An effeminate, 
 pufillanimous, trifling, vain-glorious world would 
 not underftand them. 
 
 K4
 
 136' 
 
 The reader will further obferveone circumftance, 
 that my dreams are always fure to partake of the 
 qualities of fuch meditations, as occupied my 
 thoughts at the very moment I fell afleep ; a 
 circumftance, indeed, by no means peculiar to me. 
 Several learned perfons think, that our dreams 
 are but, as it were, the ihadows of what we have 
 feen, heard, made the fubjec~t of our converfation, 
 or even dreamt about (for fome honeft men have 
 flrange propenfities this way) when we are wide 
 awake. This will explain one chara&eritiic fea- 
 ture in my dreams. If I have been ferioufly em- 
 ployed in the day, my dreams will be ferious ; if 
 I have been humoroufly exercifed, my dreams will 
 be fantaliic ; and if, fo to fpeak, ferio-comically, 
 then will my dreams be of a mixed character. A 
 morning fpent in the fociety of a lovely woman 
 always produces a vifion of indefcribable delights.
 
 137 
 Thus, I apprehend, has enough been delivered 
 on the fubjeft of dreaming, to exhibit its lawful 
 pretenfions, and its proper dignities. It will fcarcely 
 be expe&ed, that I fhould fo develope its procedure, 
 as to expofe its more recondite and myftic re- 
 ceffes. Its arcana muft frill be concealed from 
 common curiofity. For, though I affert not, that 
 I am bound to a law, like that which holds the 
 freemafons, not to reveal the fecrets of my order; 
 or to deep filence, like that impofed by the Egyp- 
 tian priefts, and Pythagoras; or by any terrors, 
 like thofe which feized fuch as were admitted to 
 the eleufinian myfieries, retraining them to con- 
 cealment; and though the maxim of vulgar 
 conjurers, ars ejl cclare artcm, I hold in great 
 contempt ; yet, as I always am accuftomed to ap- 
 proach my elbow-chair with reverence, fo do f 
 always return to the world with a degree of digni-
 
 138 
 fied taciturnity; cautious of throwing away infor- 
 mation on a thoughtlefs age, or, what would be 
 as bad, of multiplying the number of dreamers: 
 for a fcience had better be flowly underftood, than 
 treated with levity; and nothing brings it fooner 
 into difcredit, than a multiplicity of practitioners, 
 and the contentions of trifiers. On this principle 
 1 muft ever admire the wifdom of thofe philofo- 
 phers, who have given fufficient light to excite at- 
 tention, but not enough to foothe the idle, or to 
 gratify the impertinent. 
 
 It will mil lefs fee expected, that I fhould ac- 
 company any of my own dreams with particular 
 explanations. The practice of thofe authors, who 
 write notes on their performances, is, compara- 
 tively, of modern date. We now-a-days throw 
 into notes and commentaries, what the ancients
 
 TS9 
 
 embraced in the body of their work, 'as Plutarch's 
 works abundant'y prove : but this is not all : it i 
 well known by the learned, that in all ages of the 
 world, a dreamer and an interpreter of dreams- 
 have been diftinft chara&ers. The dreamer was a 
 character of the higheit diftin&ion, and the mod 
 confummate authority : and it would have fcarcely 
 been reckoned confiftent with his prolefiion, to 
 itoop to be his own interpreter. Homer may be 
 confulted on this fubjeft, and fuch as have 
 written profetTedly on dreams, Macrobius, Ai te- 
 midorus, and Achmes *. I, therefore, choofe to 
 abide by ancient ufage, antiqnity being a fuffi-, 
 cient precedent, where at Icaft we have not clear 
 demonfiration the other way. 
 
 * See M;crob!us in Somnium Scipionis, cap. iii. Attemi- 
 midori 0i;oitfiTof, cap. ii. and Achmetis OnjpoxjiTc?. The 
 latter writer has given particular explications of dreams as 
 praclifed more particularly fey the Indians, Egyptians, and 
 Perfiana,
 
 HO 
 
 But I muft here caution my readers, as, I be- 
 lieve, I have before, that every folemn creature is 
 not to be confidered as a true and regular dreamer. 
 Some people, as might be demonftrated from indu- 
 bitable marks in their frame and movements, in 
 their mufcles, foreheads, eyes, legs, fides *, as 
 well as from their grave, monotonous, and hypo- 
 chondriac-like behaviour, may befaid to be always 
 in a fleeping pofture, in a half-dreaming condition. 
 Again, fome particular fort of food difpofes people 
 to dreams : and hence it was. that Pythagoras de- 
 barred his difciples the ufe of the bean f. Fifh 
 and raw fruits were fuppofed by the ancients to 
 
 * Vid. Ariirotelis Pliyfiognom, cap. ill. 
 
 f So Cicero fays: but Aulas Gellius afierts that Arifto- 
 xenns the muikian wrote a treatife to fliew the contrary. 
 Nodes, lib. iv. c. ii. However this be, Theophrafius and 
 fclutarch bear teftimony to the fomniferous quality of" beans*
 
 141 
 
 produce confufed dreams. Plutarch fpeaks of the 
 head of the polypus as having fome ill qualities. 
 Exceffes and even inanition affect ourfleep,and pro- 
 duce dreams, as all medical writers inform us. Lau- 
 danum produces ftrange and even agreeable phan- 
 tafms, but is an enemy to fober dreams. Violent 
 difappointments and reftlefs defires, love, vanity, 
 ambition, and the like, have a wonderful power 
 over the imagination, generate mighty phantafms, 
 and produce dangerous fuperftitions. I warn my 
 difciples againft fuch dreams, at leaft they mult 
 not expect me to undertake the defence of them. 
 Some have a wonderful propenfity to dream at 
 church j and, from the facrednefs of the place, 
 may probably expect oracular dreams. But let 
 them guard againft miftakes. The ancients did 
 often, unqueflionably, obtain oracular dreams in 
 their temples ; as Tully fpeaks of the Lacedemo- 
 
 I
 
 142 
 nian Ephori, who were accuftomed thus to dream 
 in the temple ofPafiphae. Apuleius fpeaks of him- 
 felf, as dreaming in the temple of Ifis, and Sue- 
 tonius of Vefpafian dreaming in the temple of 
 Health. But as oracles, in the more extenfive 
 fignifjcatton, have now ceafed, let men content 
 themfelves with dreaming in places better adapted 
 to the prefent aera of the world : ofherwife, they 
 may expofe themfelves to the reproofs of their 
 paftors, or to the banterings of wits, who may 
 write sleepy sekmo-ns. As to authors, I leave 
 them to theii own guidance, for my bufinefs is 
 not immediately with them. Men may be great 
 writers, but bad dreamers; and, on the other 
 hand,, they may be great dreamers, and yet never 
 write a word in their lives. 
 
 Of the five divifions of -dreams made by tlw 
 1
 
 143 
 
 ancients *, two only are worthy of a ferious de- 
 fence , and how to manage matters with thefe, 
 I leave to the ingenuoufnefs of every reader ; cau- 
 tioning them to guard againft miftakes from the 
 vaguenefs of the expreflion, and recommending 
 them for further information to Macrobius,Geminus 
 Pyrites, Artemon the Miletian, Artemidorus, Af- 
 tramfychns, Philo-Judaeus, &c. I think it a great 
 reproach to the prefent times, that, among fo many 
 perfons infinitely better dreamers than I am, no 
 one has ventured to appear as an open advocate for 
 dreaming but myfelf. But let none of my bre- 
 thren be alarmed : I will not let out too much. 
 1 only drop hints: and k> much by way <jf apo- 
 logy for dreaming. 
 
 Macrobius in Somnium Scipionk, lib. i. cap. 3. Arte- 
 widori Ovs;{cx{tT; diftinguiihes the irv*v from the rti<{
 
 144 
 
 It now only remains, that I wind up all with 
 a. fuitable peroration : in which I will point out 
 the fervices, which this effay may anfwer. 
 
 The firfl fervice it may anfwer, is, in affording 
 not a vindication of this work, but an apology for 
 the author. Multifarious purfuits and numerous 
 regards may eafily perplex our courfe, by multi- 
 plying our attentions. When duties crofs one 
 another, when one afff&ion interrupts others, and 
 wilhes are altogether fruitlefs, by being endlefs, 
 the mind becomes wearied by infinite aberrations, 
 and finds at length repofe, only in becoming fta- 
 tionary. Under fuch exercifes it was, that I 
 found it necefiary, in my firfl: effay, to apologize 
 for dilatorinefs. But, alfuredly, had I not 
 been too diffident, I fhould have been more 
 explicit: I fhould have pleaded my propenfity
 
 
 145 
 to dreaming. Yes ! when fomc friend has been 
 complaining, perhaps, of my negleft, and ac- 
 cufing me of inconftancy, or, probably, even of 
 folly, a hundred to one, but I was in a profound 
 fleep, travelling from planet to planet, traverfing^ 
 the milky way, advancing to the outermofl world 
 of the material fyftems, the empyreal world, till I 
 arrived at immaterial angels, daemons, and gods *: 
 or I have been pouring out my heart in tendernefs, 
 and.fliedding tears on the recollection of former 
 days, of friendfliips, that can never be obliterated 
 from my memory. Then again, of the fair-fex 
 Here, I am indeed, the leaft capable of doing juftice 
 to my feelings j for nature and affeftion have laid 
 me under an eternal obligation to do homage to 
 them. Beauty fets my whole foul on fire j and 
 to enumerate all the forms, that have excited my 
 
 * According co the Chaldaic Philofophy. 
 
 Vol. II. L
 
 146 
 
 regards, all the amiable women, that have bound 
 my heart by ties of gratitude, would defeat all the 
 powers of calculation. How often am I, while 
 fitting in my elbow-chair, overpowered with recol- 
 lections, and opprefied even to madnefs ! Then 
 it is, that fleep comes to my relief, and nothing 
 but fleep can relieve me. I dream Anacreon 
 himfelf could not have dreamed more delight- 
 fully: and, as that bard enumerated Athenian 
 women, Corinthian women, Achaian women, 
 Lcfbians and Ionians, Carians and Rhodians , 
 till going to the utmoft limits of the known world, 
 (which muft have been, I fuppofe, in the poet's 
 dreams,) and finding it impoffible to do himfelf 
 juftice, he breaks off abruptly. Thus do I through 
 almoft every county of England, Scotland, and 
 "Wales.- At one time, I am liftening to the melody 
 
 * See Anacreon's Ode, E<; raj txurt* sp*>r.
 
 147 
 of female voices, or the charms of mufical inflru- 
 ments. Then I am tranfported to another place : I 
 become foftened and captived by the eyes of one, 
 whom formerly I adored, and whom I ftill contem- 
 plate with all the foftnefs of melancholy pleafure. I 
 braid her hair, weave a chaplet for her head, and 
 ftrew her path with rofes. Then, by the fide of 
 a river, I ftretch myfelf on nature's carpet, varie- 
 gated with the fimpleft flowers ; or recline in an 
 alcove, overfhadowed with honeyfuckles ; while 
 the fofteft zephyrs, and the fongs of the moft me- 
 lodious warblers, lull us to repofe. This is all 
 a dream! Ah! what better excufe could be 
 made for my feeming negleft, than this, Behold! 
 He drcameth. For thefe virions have held me for 
 days and weeks, I may fay, even for months and 
 years. Who, then, can properly eftimate this 
 art ? It is ineftimable. I had rather be in the 
 
 I, 2
 
 148 
 
 poflcflion of the art of dreaming, than of all the 
 emollients and foporifics of Hippocrates, Af- 
 clepiades, Celfus, or Galen ; of all the anodynes of 
 Paracelfusj of all the balms, and fpices, and 
 myrrhs of Arabia ; than of the knowledge of the 
 longitude, or of the philofopher's done ! 
 
 Another important fervice I propofe by this 
 efiay, as an apology not more for ancient, than 
 modern, poets. I have already alluded to the im- 
 proper fpirit of many critics in their treatment of 
 ancient authors. Thus, for example, they fpeak 
 of the father of hiftory, Herodotus, as an utterer 
 of fables. I fettle this bufinefs in regard to Hero- 
 dotus, and other ancient hiftorians, more ealily, 
 as well as more candidly and critically, by main- 
 taining, that they were occafionally dreamers j 
 and, that what fome people are pleafed to call
 
 149 
 
 fables, were literally dreams. Herodotus, indeed, 
 fays, that he reports them, after others. But, 
 what are we to understand by this * ? Indifput- 
 ably this ; that he records the dreams of the Egyp- 
 tians (among whom, as he confefles, he travelled,) 
 or, at leaft, learned to dream after them. And 
 that the Egyptians, the Chaldeans f, Perfians, and 
 Indians, were all eminent dreamers is univerfally 
 acknowledged. This art, then, travelled from the 
 Eaft. India, therefore, has with great propriety been 
 called the cradle of the arts and fciences ; among 
 which, dreaming always claimed peculiar honours. 
 In like manner, the philofophers, as for example, 
 Pythagoras, travelled into the Eaft. And, when we 
 
 * Herodot. Clio. 
 
 f Vid. Achmetis OmpsxjiTOf. 
 
 L 3
 
 150 
 
 hear him afferting, as iElian * maintains he did, 
 what may feem quite irreconcileable to common 
 apprehenfions, we collect, undoubtedly, that be 
 excelled in the art of dreams. The Sag #* 
 yXurrry, the five years filence enjoined his difci- 
 ples, was peculiarly favourable to this art. As to 
 the poets, I mean the Greek and Roman, I have 
 given undoubted proofs, that they were all dream- 
 ers : and this might be more clearly demonftrated 
 of the Afiatics. I cannot, therefore, help expreffing 
 my furprife, that, when critics are accounting for 
 the high-founding language of the Afiatic poetry, 
 and referring it to the nature of their hiftory, to- 
 theirianguage, morals, difcipline, climate, fables, 
 and proverbs, that they Ihould have omitted to 
 have mentioned their dreams ; for dreaming and 
 
 * M}\n } Var. Hift. fib. iv. c. 17.
 
 151 
 
 even prophefying by dreams;, they could not but 
 know, were univerfally practifed amongft them. 
 
 As to the Celtic nations, as all their do&rines and 
 modes of divination are of Oriental extraction, 
 we may naturally expect to find, as indeed we do 
 find, the art of dreaming among them * ; to which 
 their manner of fecluding themfelves, (I allude 
 more particularly to the Druids,) in caves, and 
 dens, and groves, was peculiarly favourable f : and 
 that their bards praftifed it, who indeed were 
 but an order of Druids, is evident, as already hinted 
 from the Edda, the raoft ancient record of nor- 
 thern poetry, and the five Runic odes, already 
 alluded to. 
 
 * Cacfar de Bell. Gall. lib. iv. obfsrvei, dat they reckoned 
 their time by nights. 
 
 J- Tacitus de Moribus German.
 
 152 
 
 I hope, then, in pleading for modern poetry, 
 on the ground of its being a refined and fublime 
 fpecies of dreaming, not to be oppofed by too 
 hafty objections. For, though it fhould be afferted to 
 be my manner only, (which yet I have not vanity 
 enough to allow,) fiill is the practice of all anti- 
 quity on my fide. And, though the practice is too 
 much difcontinued, which I am forry to confefs, 
 yet is the language even of modern poetry fiill a 
 voucher for this moft ancient and univerfal cus- 
 tom. And who will not acknowledge, that po- 
 pular language bed evinces the reality of an- 
 cient ufages and obfplete cuftoms? Hence our 
 poets, I mean the Englifh, in their moft unguard- 
 ed moments, and in the moft unfophifticated in- 
 gennoufnefs of their hearts, ftill ufe the venerable 
 andfignificantlanguage of their forefathers ; Infpi- 
 ration, Trances, theMufes' Dreams, Poetic Vifions,
 
 153 
 
 dreams of Pindus, and a thoufand fuch expreflions, 
 all proving, that the land of dreams is, as it ever 
 was, the true and proper region of poetry. So 
 that the poet, when be wilhes to raife himfelf to 
 the higbeft pitch, and to give the reins to his ima- 
 gination, naturally adopts the words of a deeper, 
 (though, alas ! he too often ufes fiction, when he 
 ought to pra&ife realities), throws himfelf back 
 in his eafy chair, and cries u Sleep, my ftrains j 
 fleep, my lyre." Henceforth, then, with permiffion, 
 I fliall ufe the art of dreaming, not only as the 
 guide - to my own poetic raptures, when I choofe 
 to indulge in them, but as a key to genuine criti- 
 cifm. So that, leaving metaphyfics entirely out 
 of the account, when I hear the critics accufingr 
 the poets, as I fometimes have, of reveries, flights, 
 extravagances, inconfiftencies, violation of unities, 
 mythologies, fables, and the like; all contrary, as
 
 154 
 
 they fay, to truth and nature, I hope to be forgiven 
 in taking another courfe. I (hall afcend my little 
 bark, and fail after them on their fea of dreams, and 
 if, on their arrival in port, I find they have had a 
 found rudder, fails in good order, a veffel well man- 
 ned, and properly trimmed, I will hail their arrival 
 with fhouts and congratulations. I will leave for a 
 while Ariftotle, though I fiill hold him in refped j 
 and, inftead of facing with Plutarch, quoting an 
 ancient poet, who ought never to be forgiven, 
 
 Poets tell many falfehoods, 
 I will rather follow Horace, 
 
 Aliquando bonus dormibat Homerus, 
 i Good Homer fometimes dreams. 
 
 And thus, by my fkill in dreams, having, I think, re- 
 fcued poetry and the poets from many embarrafT-
 
 155 
 
 ments, I have rendered the moft important fervices 
 to mankind. 
 
 But I (hall not flop here for having now dis- 
 covered the true art of poetry, I intend to improve 
 it to forae important purpofe. And I know not 
 how better to effect my wifhes, than by fubmit- 
 ting to the consideration of men of genius, whe- 
 ther it would not be for the public utility to fet 
 on foot regular focieties or clubs for dreaming. 
 Every one is well acquainted, that ftrength is ac- 
 quired by union. On this principle of combina- 
 tion it is, that the moft ufeful inftitutions have 
 been founded, and on this principle they may be 
 defended. The effects of fuch focieties would be 
 great and lading. The regions of poetry would 
 be confiderably extended, imagination need fet 
 no bounds to its excurfions, and the tafte and 
 
 3
 
 156 
 
 pleafure of the public would be in proportion 
 to the fancy of the poet. Such focieties would, 
 I know, excite the notice of government ; but not 
 in a way of difFatisfa&ion, or oppofition : for our 
 governors, finding fuch clubs compofed of quiet 
 and peaceable people, and, at the fame time, ob- 
 f erving the beneficial confequences of thefe focial 
 dreamings, would take them under their prote&ion, 
 and be proud to confer on them literary honours, 
 by eftablithing regular colleges for dreaming. 
 
 When fuch focieties are formed, I fhould hum- 
 bly propofe, that they are not "to be bound by 
 fuch laws as govern ftates, or ordinary private 
 focieties j and for this obvious reafon ; as dreama 
 lie not within the regions of common nature, fa 
 ought they not to be fubjeft to human jurifdictiorv 
 The civil magiilrate has no right to control
 
 157 
 
 them. They fliould be free as air, uninterrupted 
 as the light of heaven. Rules, if they have any, 
 ihould be mere regulations, to preferve private li- 
 berty; not laws, to limit the boundaries of dreams. 
 
 In order to be a member of fnch fociety, it 
 ihould be a fufficient qualification, that the candi- 
 date has pra&ifed, and understands, the art of 
 dreaming. No inquiry ihould be made into his 
 political or religious opinions: though I think', 
 that over and above the knowledge of the llcen- 
 tiafommatoris, every member fhould be well ac- 
 quainted with the principles of liberty, both civil 
 and religious. 
 
 As no men, however, mould be received into 
 this community, but fuch as are real dreamers, 
 the room of convention, perhaps, might have this
 
 158 
 
 motto over it, ufoi$ avompog * turirvj, in the fame 
 manner as Plato had sfois ayfjop.tr p-rpos zunrtu f : 
 and, agreeably to the principles of toleration, (I 
 here recommend to fuch focieties to ftudy Lode's 
 Treatife on the fubje&), every one mould allow 
 his brother to dream in his own way, his full 
 length of time, and on any fubjeft he pleafes: 
 Whoever wakes firit, fhould bind himfelf to a Py- 
 thagorean taciturnity, and remember the v$ egi 
 yXcvrrrj j or elfe quietly leave the room, without 
 giving the leaft interruption to others. 
 
 Let it not, however, be imagined, that by this 
 propofal I have any view to my own intereft. Far 
 be it from me, like fome public-fpirited charac- 
 
 * Let no man unacquainted with dreams enter here. 
 "\ Let no man enter without uaderftanding geometry.
 
 159 
 
 ters, to propofe a generous plan, in order to place 
 myfelf at the head. I am ill-qualified to be the 
 leader of a feet. A head Co light as mine (hould 
 never afcend an eminence. All that I afpire to, 
 is, either to be permitted to fit quietly in my 
 own elbow-chair, or to be the humbleft member 
 of fuch a fociety as I have referred to, on a pro- 
 mife, never to difturb my brethren : my higheft 
 ambition being, to be permitted to dream accord- 
 ing to my own tafte ; my greateft pleafure, to hear 
 that others have a tafte, and manner of their own. 
 
 And thus, as a poet * had the honour of prefent- 
 ing the model, not indeed every way perfeft, of 
 the Royal Society, and the hiftotianf of that fo- 
 
 A Propofition for the Advancement of Experimental Phi- 
 losophy. Cowley's Works. 
 
 f Spratt's Hift. of the Royal Society.
 
 160 
 
 ciety gives him all due honour, lb have I furniuV- 
 td important hints for erecting another new col- 
 lege, in the hiftory of which I hope to be remem- 
 bered, as a well-wiiher at leaft to the Society.
 
 161 
 
 The DREAMS op PINDUS. 
 
 In that blithe feafon, when, on every fpray, 
 Love lifts the fluttering wing, and warms each 
 
 flow'r, 
 In mufe-frequented, fancy-colourd bower, 
 
 Sleep's pris'ner, lock'd in virion deep, I lay : 
 Ifis, fair river, flows the bower befide, 
 
 Moift'ning the bank, as wont, with kifTes fweet j 
 While Cherwell pours along his filver tide, 
 
 The kindred-ftream in kind embrace to meet : 
 " Ah! thus I cried, as now thefe ftreams combine, 
 " Might man with fellow-man in friendly union 
 join." 
 
 The (lately fun had left his mid-day throne; 
 And on the waters play'd his floping beam; 
 Vol. II. M
 
 1 62 
 
 Silent awhile the feather'd warblers feem ; 
 And faint with heat, the daified meadows (hone. 
 
 Soon as foft flumbers have enfnar'd my eyes, 
 I hear a voice, that fpeaks in accent ftrong; 
 
 "Bright fcenes fhall rife fucceffive: man, be 
 
 wife, 
 i 
 " And mark each fhadowy form, that glides along.'' 
 
 Now all is ftill : a fairer landfcape mines, 
 
 Of Nature's livelieft green, of Beauty's boldeft 
 
 lines. 
 
 One vifion foon is paftj when I behold 
 
 A Form defcend, whom nine fair virgins led j 
 A glory beams from his ambrofial head: 
 
 Bright are his eyes : his locks all-fhining gold: 
 A golden chaplet binds his comely brows j 
 
 His golden lyre with art is aptly ftrung : 
 
 And now, with mufings deep his vifage glows,
 
 163 
 "While nature rapt in mute attention hung. 
 
 But when th' immortal minft'rel ftrikes the lyre, 
 What high-bom raptures feize that bleft enthu- 
 fiaft choir * 1 
 
 What pencil may defcribe thofe virgins fair, 
 
 Their myftic forms, their eyes of heav'nly light ? 
 
 Where poefy and mufic's powers unite, 
 Who may their many-mingling charms declare? 
 
 Thefe damfels fing in turn, then fweep the firing 
 Of loftier harp, or breathe the melting lute ; 
 
 Now clang the citterns, now the cymbals ring, 
 As different founds the different genius fuit. 
 
 Thus Fancy, ever various, loves to pleafe ; 
 
 Thus from light difcord calls the fweeter har- 
 monies. 
 
 * Grerfan Poetry. 
 M 2
 
 164 
 
 Proud was their fong j of gods, and heroes brave, 
 Of Jove loud-thundering, and his awful queen, 
 And her, the virgin rare, of Sylvan mien, 
 
 And Beauty's goddefs, fprung from ocean wave: 
 Nor lefs of her, the warrior, from whofe eye 
 
 Beam'd wifdom, gorgon-terror from whofe breaftj 
 And him, that god, who lifts the tempeft high, 
 
 Or calms at will the raging fea to reft : 
 
 All to whofe power immortal heights belong ; 
 All, whom the mufe has deign' d to raife in death- 
 lefs fong. 
 
 But quickly now fucceflive to my view *, 
 
 Far different forms, and different fcenes arife, 
 Suns dazzling-bright, and ever-purpling fkies, 
 
 Ambrofial ftreams, and fields of heavenly hue : 
 
 Afiatk Poetry.
 
 165 
 
 And far away a wide-extended fiream r 
 Sacred the name, and dear in Eaftern lore, 
 
 (More ftately lives not in the poet's- dream) 
 Rolls its proud wave befide the filent more. 
 
 And hark ! a thoufand fongs to Mithra rife,. 
 
 Luxuriant as the fields, and glowing as the 
 Ikies. 
 
 The rapt'rous notes fill every facred bower, 
 Till now, as dumb' ring, clos'd the eye of day j 
 Then pour'd the nightingale Iris liquid lay, 
 
 Ferch'd on a branch befide a favourite flower : 
 And near the flower his eyes are glittering- 
 bright j 
 
 And near the flower his notes fo wildly rove, 
 As though his little breaft with fond delight 
 
 Would break, for blooming Rofa was his love. 
 M 3
 
 \0 
 
 n Sweeteft of flowers, oh ! ftill thy ftay prolong : 
 " Oh ! fweeteft bird, ftill pour thy foothing melt- 
 ing fong." 
 
 The fcene is chang'd now towering forms ) 
 view *, 
 With limbs of giant-fize, and yellow hair 5 
 And loud to heaven they lift the warlike air j 
 
 Eold is their front: their eyes of heavenly blue. 
 Louder and louder ftill refounds the ftrain ; 
 
 Wild clafti the fhields, refponfive to the found -, 
 While warriors, mail'd in horror, fccur the plain, 
 
 And gricfly foemen, groaning, bite the ground f 
 " Joy to the brave!" I hear the bardic cryj 
 "Lift high (the day is won) the fong of victory! 
 
 * Northern Poetry.
 
 167 
 
 And now fantaftic forms around are feen, 
 Goblins and griffins, fprites, a motley band, 
 And he, who whilom rul'd in fairy-land, 
 
 That merry, pranking king, and elfin queen. 
 " Oh! flay thee, Oberon lo! a gentle knight 
 
 " Implores thy aid, on val'rous deeds intent j 
 " True to his love, and panting for the fight, 
 
 " On great emprize in diftant regions bent." 
 Oberon is flay'd ; " and take that horn, he cries, 
 "And take that facred ring, and every danger flies. 
 
 And lo ! a caftle rears its lofty wall, 
 
 And fiery dragons guard the building round} 
 Ah 1 who would dare to tread infernal ground^ ? 
 The knight has dared : no terrors may appal : 
 Though hell were near the place, he muft ad- 
 vance : 
 Deep-foams his fiery fteed, and prances high, 
 M 4
 
 168 
 Till, by the terror of his flaming lance, 
 Clofe-lock'd in death thofe raving monfters lie. 
 Loud-blows his horn : the gates wide open fpread : 
 And proud he enters in, and towers his crefted 
 head. 
 
 And, oh ! what freezing fcenes to view unfold ! 
 
 How flare, with horror wild, his ftony eyes ! 
 
 "What piteous howlings, and what frantic cries ! 
 Stound are his ears ! his blood runs fhivering cold ! 
 
 Here deep enthrall'd lies many a lady bright, 
 Ah ! doom'd by giant curs'd to writhe in pain, 
 
 Or yield, vile fervice! to his damn'd delight, 
 Who, deep retir'd, here holds his dev'lifh reign: 
 
 But by the knight's flout arm that monfter fell 
 
 Has felt the ftroke of death, and haftens down 
 to hell.
 
 169 
 
 " Now, ladies, take heav'n's faireft, richeft booir, 
 1 " Freedom is yours ; God fpeed you on your way :" 
 
 And now the knight lhall hail the happy dayj 
 High the defert, and he (hall triumph foon: 
 
 A princefs bright (fuch honours crown the brave) 
 In pride of youth awaits- thy wifli'd return j 
 
 Full many a fair, fir knight, 'twas thine to favej 
 Nor vainly could that breaft with glory burn. 
 
 And now the fairy fcene eludes my fight; 
 . Fled is the princefs fair, and fled the valorous 
 knight. 
 
 But hark ! the matter of the Runic rhime, 
 
 Strikes the hoarfe fliell, and wakes the rumbling 
 
 lay j 
 And lo ! the fire of men purfues his way, 
 
 To try Vaftrudnis fkill in truth fublime. 
 Now Gothic wifdom beams upon my fight ;
 
 170 
 
 Now myftic truth enchains my wond 'ring mind; 
 Whence earth and heav'n, and all thofe worlds 
 of light, 
 The mighty gods, and heroes of mankind ; 
 The Morning's virgin eye, Eve's purple glow, 
 And all the flowers that bloom, and all the herbs 
 that grow. 
 
 But thick now hurtling in the murky air, 
 
 See glittering helms, and many a quivering lance ! 
 
 And, lo! the fatal lifters now advance;, 
 Orkney, for woe ! Erin for woe prepare 1 
 
 Lo ! north and fouth the grieily fpectres fly : 
 Grim-vifag'd Terror fcowls on all the plain j 
 
 And, hark ! the pond'rous groan, the frantic cry, 
 The cry, the groan of many a hero flaia. 
 
 Clofe, fcene of horror, on my aching eyes ! 
 
 The fatal dames are fped j and lo ! the virion 
 flies.
 
 m 
 
 But mighty fquadrons now embattle round, 
 And guilty conqueft has diftain'd the field : 
 Heralds of peace muft they to fury yield ? 
 
 Shall unarm'd victims feel the deadly wound ? 
 Yes ! they have fall'n, the bards, fair Cambria's 
 pride, 
 
 Truth's tuneful priefts, to heav'n they lift the prayer. 
 Yet not unmourn'd the blamelefs victims died j 
 
 See diftant harpers hov'ring in the air! 
 
 While brave Aneurin mourns his Hoel (lain ; 
 And Pity droops the head at foft Llewellyn's {train. 
 
 Thus do thefe vifionary pageants gleam ; 
 
 Some quick retire, while others glittering rife j 
 As once thofe angel-fhapes from opening Ikies, 
 
 Paffing, repairing, liv'd in Jacob's dream. 
 Ah! fcenes that live in Fancy's fruitful eye ! 
 
 Ah 1 forms that can beguile a life of woe !
 
 172 
 
 Who, proud in truth, would ev'ry day-dream fly f 
 Who, rob'd in wifdom, Fancy's charm forego? 
 Return 1 unreal forms, if ye can pleafej 
 Oh ! take my fober thoughts, and wrap my foul 
 in eafe. 
 
 Laft in the train I hear a tuneful band, 
 Still vibrates on my ear the various fong,- 
 To whom the potent charms of verfe belong j 
 
 Mortals they feem, and feem of diff'rent land ; 
 Their voices difFrent, loud, foft, fhrill, and clear : 
 
 How drinks my ear each bold and liquid lay ! 
 How thrillsmy heart with pity, love, and fear, 
 
 As pierc'd with horror wild, or tranfport gay ! 
 Trembling, I cry, oh ! might I aid that choir ! 
 But fruitlefs all the pray'r the thadowy groups- 
 retire.
 
 173 
 
 Now all is paft, and not a form is feenj 
 
 While filence reigns (as when a vernal (hower 
 Sheds on the meadows round a fruitful ftore, 
 And leaves the grateful landfcape all ferene) 
 
 But foon, thus changeful is the life of man- 
 Some genius leads me to a fecret cave, 
 
 Form'd by proportion's niceft, trueft plan, 
 And Ocean rolls befide the placid wave. 
 
 Straight as I enter, oh 1 what fweet furprife 
 Has feiz'd my raptur'd heart, and fill'd my ra- 
 vifh'd eyes \ 
 
 There art had cull'd from nature (lores divine; 
 There plac'd in brilliant rows with ftudious care, 
 Whatever boafts the fea of treafures rare; 
 
 Whate'er of fpai kling ore conceals the mine ; 
 The branching coral, red, and white, and blub, 
 
 The filvery pearl, the cryftal bright and clear, 
 3
 
 174 
 
 Em' raids of green, the ruby's fcarlet hue, 
 The pride of climes, and bloflbms of the year ; 
 All, that could pleafe and charm a gazer's eyes; 
 For here, though fmall the fpot, did feem a paradife. 
 
 By nymphs attended, here a Sylvan maid, 
 
 (Cities fhe fled, arid fpurn'd the chain of Love ; 
 Her love, to range the mountain, ftream, and 
 grove) 
 Finds reft and coolnefs in the quiet fhade. 
 
 And near, an aged dame, of power fupreme, 
 Prolific parent fhe, the fov'reign high 
 
 Of nature's boundlefs realms yet fond did feem 
 Of fimpleft chaplet, cull'd from meadows nigh. 
 How mild her eye ! Thus beams the morning 
 
 light- 
 How all the Goddefs Form now fwells upon my 
 fight I
 
 175 
 
 " Be thine," Hie faid, and gaz'd upon the flowers, 
 With looks of melting fweetnefs and delight, 
 " With many a dazzling fcene to feaft thy fight ; 
 
 " To follow Fiftion through her magic bowers j 
 " To trip with Fancy in her airy dance, 
 
 " With tiptoe revelries, and wild furprize : 
 " To mark each pageant in its proud advance 
 
 " From ihadowy deeps, and vifionary fkies : 
 f Sweet are the haunts, wherever genius roves, 
 " Through fields of vifion'd blifs, or academic- 
 groves. 
 
 " Sooth'd into foftnefs by the melting fong, 
 " Charm d into reverence by the mighty theme, 
 * Be thine to kindle at each mufe's dream, 
 
 " To hail with reverence all the tuneful throng. 
 " Theirs be the praife nor (lender be the praife, 
 
 " To make new worlds, to burft the bounds of time, 
 7
 
 176 
 
 "Their (lately monument of fame to raife, 
 " And on the heart to bind the magic rhyme: 
 " Bold their defign, each daring charm to feize, 
 " And roufe to wonder, where they mean to 
 . pleafe. 
 
 * 
 
 "^Thine be the warblings of the humbler lyre, 
 "Mumble, but not inglorious : thine to ling 
 "The Morning's glittering eye, the virgin Spring, 
 
 ' The power of Beauty, Freedom's holy fire j 
 " To guide the youthful poet on his way; 
 
 " To roufe the virtues, foothe the foul of pain. 
 Enough : if Genius may but feel the lay j 
 
 Enough: if Friendfliip but approve the ftrain: 
 And if, for life's ihort day-dream foon fhall fly, 
 The mufe may charm a pang, or check a rifing 
 figh.
 
 THE PADLOCKED LADY. 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 Hence the world ! and fleep my mufe! * 
 So will I ftroll, where'er I choofe ; 
 Roll in rny chariot o'er the feas ; ^ 
 
 Or ride a broomftick, if I pleafe j 
 Breakfaft with gods, and take my dinner;- 
 With any faint, or any flnner 5 
 And fup at eve, to kill the fpleen, 
 With Mab, my little fairy-queen. 
 
 Tis done 5 and fleep has bound my eyes ; 
 Tis done ; and now the virion flies : 
 For, 'tis not given me to be long, 
 To fpeak the myft'ries of my fong. 
 Liften ye young, and liften old, 
 And try the virion to unfold. 
 Vol. II. N
 
 178 
 
 Far I travelled to the Eaft, 
 And far I travelled to the Weft j 
 I pinch'd the North-Bear's frozen tail ; 
 And Southward, Southward, now I fail. 
 As late I wander far, and far, 
 To watch the rifing ev'ning-ftar ; 
 And, heedlefs of the lapfe of time, 
 Mufe, as I go, the myftic rhyme, 
 From human footfteps far I ftray, 
 Thro' deep long labyrinths of way; 
 Till now, from mazes round and round, 
 My feet have reach'd their utmoft bound : 
 For, on the lonely rocky lhore, 
 I hear the ocean's thund'ring roar. 
 
 Above my head huge mountains rife, 
 That feem to lift a weight of ikies 
 Where, loft in the myfterious height, 
 The gariih eagle wires his flight. 
 
 3
 
 Ah ! vain it were to track the wind, 
 As, backward now the path to find \ 
 And forward nothing can I view, 
 But boundlefs feas, and ikies of blue. 
 And who will guide my doubtful feet ? 
 Oh ! might I fome kind genius meet \ 
 For lonely, ah I lonely, here I ftray, 
 Pilgrim benighted on my way. 
 
 " Behold me, on your call attend 
 ** Pilgrim ! Behold your guide and friend." 
 
 I look and, wondering, I behold 
 Near me a Form eredt, but old. 
 White was his beard, as virgin-fnows, 
 And a white garment downward flows. 
 Still on his cheek the rofe was fpread ; 
 And his blue eyes a luftre (bed. 
 N 2
 
 180 
 For, though in years he feem'd a Sage, 
 His was the reverend charm of age. 
 <! Pilgrim bewildered, I would know, 
 " What is the caurfe thy feet would go ? 
 " But, ere my hand diredt the way, 
 " Say, pilgrim, whence thy footfteps ftray }" 
 
 /as late enwrapt in fleep I lay, 
 While fiill fmil'd out the face of day, 
 I faw a Form, as feraph bright, 
 Defcend from realms of heavenly light. 
 Her wings, wide-waving, brightly fhone, 
 Refplendent as an eaftern fun. 
 Her locks of gold flream loofe behind, 
 Difporting in the frolic wind. 
 The rofy cheek, the eye of fire, 
 The gay luxuriance of attire, 
 Her movements, negligently gay, 
 Diftin6tly to my gaze difplay,
 
 181 
 
 Far, far beyond the reach of art, 
 
 All, that can win upon the heart. 
 
 My heart is won, and now I rove. 
 
 If I may fee the form I love. 
 
 My heart is won, and yet my heart 
 
 Feels nought of love, except the fmart. 
 
 For ne'er, methought, thefe eyes (hall fee, 
 
 A being heavenly-fair as (he. 
 
 Still while I prefs, her image flies. 
 
 And in my void embraces dies j 
 
 A reftlefs lover, ftill I ftray, 
 
 Flitting, and urging life away. 
 
 I feek what never may be foundj 
 
 And I have fought the world around. 
 
 Swift as the wing of morning-light, 
 Downward I rirft direct ray flight. 
 
 N 3
 
 182 
 
 Nile, Egypt's pride, in current ftrong, 
 Rolls the falubrious ftream along. 
 And now, I range at large the fhores 
 Thro' all the motley tribes of Moors ; 
 Nations and kingdoms far and wide, 
 As ftill my ftrong affections guide j 
 This all my wifli, and all my prayer, 
 " Obi might I find this heavenly fair!" 
 
 Lo! backward then I urge my courfe, 
 And track the Nile's prolific fource. 
 Till, quick as thought, I traverfe o'er 
 The defert plain, the mountain hoar ; 
 Tra&s immenfc of blafted land, 
 Boggy waftes, and fcorching fand, 
 Where never rain defcends in fhowers, 
 Nor zephyr lingers in the bowers: 
 No fruit, no herb, no flowers appear; 
 One burning fummer binds the year.
 
 183 
 
 I hear the Lybian lion roar j 
 I pafs the tiger, gorg'd with gore. 
 The fullen bear befide me prowls, 
 And the grim wolf, as famifh'd, howls. 
 Bold is my heart, my fpirits gay, 
 I heed no troublers of the way. 
 Thus thro' all Afric's realms I go, 
 Still anxious thro' thofe realms to know, 
 Tis all my wifb, 'tis all my pray'r, 
 If here might dwell this heav'nly fair. 
 
 They bring a dame, " and this is fhe, 
 ** Beauteous and wife, and great and fres. 
 * Azza her name, I wear her chain, 
 " And far and wide is Azza s reign." 
 
 My heavenly fair \ it was not fhe : 
 Azza was neither fair, nor free. 
 N 4
 
 184 
 
 Her vifoge dark, but told within 
 Some hidden myftery of fin. 
 Darkly her favage eyeballs roll, 
 But darker, ah ! darker was her foul. 
 Vers'd in the depth of female wiles, 
 Death, flav'ry, hell, were in her fmiles. 
 Hence in difdain I took my flight, 
 Who fhall miflead a lover's fight ? 
 
 Lo ! now I face the eafiern fun ! 
 And quick as light my courfe is run. 
 Bright upon my ravifh'd eyes, 
 All Afia's golden glories rife. 
 .Full in my fight, before me go, 
 In all the pomp and pride of fhow, 
 Kings, princes, emperors, fages grave, 
 Warrior-chiefs, and heroes brave. 
 And many a female form is feen,
 
 y 
 
 185 
 
 And each might pafs for Beauty's queen: 
 Still all my wifh and all my prayer, 
 " Oh ! could I meet my heavenly fair !" 
 
 They bring a dame, " and this is me j- 
 " Leila is beauteous, great and free." 
 Not the cryftal, clear and bright, 
 Shone like her eyes' aetherial light j 
 Not the pearl, however fair, 
 Could with her fnowy fkin compare ; 
 Her cheek a colour did difclofe, 
 Beyond the ruby, or the rofe j 
 Her locks in eafy ringlets play'd, 
 Darker than night's myfterious fhade : 
 Her lovely lips were blufhing-red, 
 Like coral in its native bed j 
 Her breath than violet more fweet j 
 Her teeth like iv'ry white and neat.
 
 186 
 
 And to what Nature could impart, 
 Leila had ev'ry charm of Art. 
 
 Realms were fubjeft to her fway, 
 And hofts of flaves her call obey. 
 Merchants and nobles do but roam, 
 To bring for Leila treafures home. 
 Heziaz' nards, and Mecca's flowers, 
 And all the foul of Tuda's bowers j 
 Each perfume, that its fweets diftills, 
 From Naged's groves, or Naidis' hills ; 
 All that in Golconda fhines 
 Of glittering rock, or golden mines j 
 All on the lovely Leila wait, 
 For not more beauteous fhe than great. 
 
 But what is beauty, what is power ? 
 Fleeting like the palling hour.
 
 187 
 
 Beauty, fcarce beauty feems to be, 
 That fpurns the glory to be free. 
 Riches are poor, and power is weak, 
 Unlefs they nobler triumphs feek. 
 Leila would every thought control, 
 For die was tyrant in the foul. 
 %/[y heavenly fair I It was not fhe 
 I fcorn the dame, that is not free. 
 Hence in difdain I take my flight : 
 Who fliall miflead a lover's fight ? 
 
 But loftier now I foar in foul, 
 Uprifing towards the northern pole : 
 O'er woods, and rocks, and hills of fnow, 
 Swift as the whirlwind's fpeed I go. 
 Now on the ocean vaft I roam, 
 And fee the Norway monfter foam, 
 Floating along for many a mile, 
 As fome proud fea encircled ifle >
 
 188 
 
 While, like tall mafts, fea ferpents rife. 
 With finuous motions to the ikies : 
 Till backward now I gain the ftrand, 
 And traverfe thro' each diftant land. 
 Swift thro' Lapland's frofts I hafte ; 
 Swift thro' Siberia's tracklefs waftej 
 See people fierce, and people ftrong, 
 In hardy fquadrons wheel along ; 
 See princes in long order go, 
 With royal port and martial brow $ 
 See many a fmiling royal dame, 
 With eye of fire, and ftately frame; 
 Still all my wiih, and all my prayer, 
 " Where fhall I find my heavenly fair ?" 
 
 " Behold your dame ! and this is fhe j 
 " Skada is beauteous, fair, and free."
 
 189 
 
 My heavenly fair ! It was not me :- 
 Skada was neither fair nor free. 
 Wild was her look, and ftern her air, 
 Fierce as a northern meteor's glare. 
 Skada, tho' pra&is'd long in art, 
 Ne'er felt the foftnefs of the heart. 
 Her will was law ; her word was fate : 
 Her only glory to be great. 
 Hence in difdain I take ray flight j 
 Who fhall miflead a lover's fight ? 
 
 Now like a fpirit airy -free, 
 Soon have I pafs'd th' Atlantic fea ; 
 And I have reach'd Columbia's Ihore, 
 And travell d motley nations o'er. 
 Rapt in my ftrange myfterious love, 
 Northward many a league I rove.
 
 190 
 
 Still anxious, reftlefs fiill I go, 
 O'er feas of ice, and hills of fnow j 
 Valleys, that (hew no verdure's pride, 
 And lakes, that fpread like ocean wide; 
 Till pinnacling a neck of land, 
 Between two boundlefs feas I Hand. 
 Then downward far I take my flight, 
 O'er funny plains, o'er many an height. 
 Peruvian mines, and Chili's (hades 
 Soon my reftlefs foul pervades j 
 Rivers, that teem with golden ore, 
 And rocks, that gild the fouthern more. 
 And many a youth, and many a dame, 
 Of lofty port, and royal name, 
 Pafs and repafs before my fight, 
 All in glittering robes bedight. 
 Yet* none of all the dames I fee, 
 Is like my charmer fair and free.
 
 191 
 
 Again, as quick as lightning fleet*, 
 I pafs the equinoftial heats. 
 And now I wander every plain, 
 Wide-ftretching towards th' Atlantic mail*. 
 Here many a diflant ftate I fee 
 All by one fettled league agree y 
 (As ftill around a glorious fun, 
 The planets far-encircling run j) 
 Each people differing much in name, 
 But ftill in arts and laws the fame. 
 Here Love was gay, and honeft Toil 
 Had labour' d long the happy foil : 
 And Plenty well rewards the pain, 
 
 For every field wide- waves with grain, j 
 
 "With fail outftretch'd, while Commerce ftands, 
 
 Prepar'd to vifit diflant lands ; 
 
 Tho' Want compells no fwain to roam, 
 
 For Peace endears a native home.
 
 192 
 
 Ah ! happy, happy people tell, 
 Does here my lovely charmer dwell I 
 Still all my wifti and all my prayer, 
 That I might meet my heavenly fair. 
 
 They bring a dame" and this is flie 
 * Lo ! Eleutheria ! great and free." 
 
 The dame was free, the dame was bright, 
 Glittering her eye, like heaven's own light. 
 Her locks of gold ftream loofe behind, 
 Difporting as the frolic wind. 
 The rofy cheek, the foul of flre r 
 The gay luxuriance of attire ; 
 Her movements, negligently g.iy, 
 Diflinftly to my gaze difplay, 
 Far, far beyond the reach of art, 
 All, that can win upon the heart.
 
 193 
 
 Warm glows my breaft -, my fpirits rife j * 
 
 And rapture kindles in my eyes ! 
 
 Till ftrivering cold, at length, prevails 
 
 Thro' all my limbs and language fails. 
 
 Then accents faint my foul declare, 
 
 " Yes ! thou art (he ! my heavenly fair." 
 
 With virgin blufli and fmiling eyes 
 Fair Eleutheria ftraight replies 
 Pilgrim, not yet thy courfe is run, 
 Pilgrim, not yet thy labour done. 
 Tho' mild my form, tho' free .my air, 
 Yet am I not thy noble fair j 
 Tho' ftill with her I kindred claim, 
 And from her I derive my name. 
 In a gay ifle, beyond the main, 
 My mother holds her golden reign. 
 The faireft (he the fair among, 
 For ever fair, for ever young. 
 
 Vol. II. O
 
 194 
 
 And (he hath many ages told ; 
 But feems in wlfdom only old. 
 Tho' fmall the native realms (he owns, 
 Yet does fhe govern diftant thrones. 
 Her empire reaches far and wide; 
 Thro' every fea her navies ride : 
 The treafures rare of every foil 
 She brings, to blefs her fav'rite ifle. 
 And, while fhe boafts the treafures rare, 
 Still her own fields are frefh and fair. 
 This faid, fair Eleutheria flies, 
 Quick-glancing from my longing eyes. 
 
 High-beats my lofty foul again ; 
 I fkim acrofs th' Atlantic main : 
 This ifle 1 fee my hopes expand ; 
 And quick I traverfe all the land. 
 But tho' I travel round and round, 
 Yet no where is my charmer found :
 
 195 
 
 Tho' ftill my wifti, and ftill my prayer, 
 Ob ! could I meet my heavenly fair ! 
 And here at length my courfe I ftay, 
 From many a labyrinth wild of way. 
 What fate, oh Sage 1 remains for me ? 
 Say, canft thou read Heaven's high decree ? 
 
 The Sage replies Yes ! fon, I know, 
 Whence thou doft come, and where wouldfi. go. 
 Pilgrim, not yet thy courfe is run, 
 Pilgrim, not yet thy labour done. 
 Heav'n's ways I read and well attend j 
 In me behold a guide and friend. 
 
 In vain thy wanderings far and near, 
 Thy lovely miflrefs dwells not here. 
 The ifle, for which thy fpirit fighs, 
 Still many a league in diftance lies. 
 O 2
 
 Nor let thefe words thy foul affright, 
 iLo ! once for all I fet thee right. 
 
 He faid and high he rais'd his hand j 
 And wide he wav'd his magic wand ; 
 When thus: " To man 'tis giv'n to know 
 " His (hare of blifs, and fhare of woe. 
 " Soon (halt thou view the wifiYd-for ifle, 
 " Towards which thou long waft doom'd to toil $ 
 " Soon (halt behold the matchlefs dame, 
 " Whom thoudoft ' heavenly fair' proclaim. 
 <c And thou (halt view her palling great, 
 4C Rob'd in full majefty of ftate ; 
 " But dill, with foul of anguifti too, 
 " That heav'nly Fair degraded view. 
 " My miflion paft, lo ! I retire, 
 " Thy guide is near no more inquire,"
 
 197 
 
 Soft- glides a veffel now to fhore,. 
 And, lo ! the Sage is feen no more. 
 
 I enter foftly blows the breeze ; 
 Mild is the fun, and frnooth the feas. 
 With fwelling fail, and ftreamers gay, 
 The veffel cuts the watry way. 
 Soft Lydian meafures lull to reft 
 The rifing cares, that fwell ray breaft. 
 No adverfe winds obftrucl our courfe ; 
 No marfliall'd billows urge their force. 
 In quiet ftate and gilded pride, 
 Quick o'er the ocean-ftream we glide. 
 Till foon, in ikies of lighted blue, 
 Glittering cliffs afcend to view ; 
 And now behold the wifli'd-for land I 
 And now we wander o'er the flrand. 
 Nor doubts, nor fears, my courfe impede, 
 I follow on, as Heav'n may lead. 
 
 O 3
 
 39B 
 
 In a long deep recefs there lie* 
 A cave unfeen by mortal eyes. 
 High on each fide huge rocks arife, 
 And proudly feem to fcale the ikies. 
 The jetting fides compofe a bay, 
 "Where Ocean lingers long his way : 
 For here the filent waters fleep, 
 As broken from the parent deep. 
 "Woods grace the rocks, and from their brew 
 On the dark waters frown below. 
 
 See now before my ravifhed eyes 
 A mighty fcene of wonders rife ! 
 The waters near the cave are flcd r 
 And mingle with their native bed. 
 Then foon I view the facred cave, 
 Clos'd in, till now, beneath the wave.
 
 199 
 
 And wide the mafiy gates unfold, 
 MalTy gates of glittering gold. 
 Thro' all ray limbs what trembling reigns! 
 What freezing runs thro' all my veins ! 
 Spring in alarm my hopes and fears j 
 With founds unufual ring my ears. 
 And from my cheek the colour flies j 
 And all of fight has left my eyes. 
 My voice is gone, and fwims my head, 
 I feem, as life itfelf were fled. 
 When, lo ! the Sage who fet aright 
 My courfe, appears again in fight. 
 And high aloft he lifts his hand, 
 And wide he waves his magic wand. 
 I glow again my fears are borne 
 Swift, as retreat the dreams of morn : 
 I enter, gazing round and round, 
 As treading confecrated ground. 
 O 4
 
 200 
 
 Here I behold each emblem fair 
 Of every art and fcience rare. 
 There a gay veffel charms my fight, 
 In pearls, and glittering diamonds bright^ 
 A fhip's fair model, emblem made 
 Of commerce, far and wide difplay'd) 
 And relicks rare of ancient times, 
 And ftones and gems of diftant climes-, 
 And filks of more than Tyrian dies, 
 .And flow'rs, and fruits of warmeft tides. 
 Now gazing on from ride to fide, 
 I pierce a foreft's branching pride. 
 And every tree of living hue 
 Spreads its full honours to the view. 
 Here rife the poplar's filvery lines, 
 And aft with fcarlet berries fhinesj 
 The cyprefs walk, for lovers made, 
 And cedar's deep religious (hade.
 
 
 
 c^ 
 
 201 
 
 The chefnut's dark umbrageous green, 
 With many a flowery gem between, 
 Doth each its daintieft verdure fpread, 
 Lifting aloft the towering head. 
 But above all confpicuous flands> 
 And wide its reverend arms expands, 
 As it a thoufand years had flood, 
 The oak, great monarch of the wood. 
 And many a youth, and many a maid, 
 "Were dancing in the chequer'd fliade. 
 While by woodfide, on mountain fteep* 
 Wander'd a flock of fnow-white flieep j 
 And fidelong flretch'd a iliepherd gay, 
 Piping his fweeteft paftoral lay. 
 Still I advance till foon I gain, 
 In muring loft, a fpacious plain. 
 When thus my old magician-friend, 
 rilgrim, lo I here thy wanderings end.
 
 - 202 
 
 I look, and full before my eyes, 
 A thoufand tboufand glories rife. 
 High feated on a (lately throne, 
 That form divinely glorious fhone ; 
 Shone out that form tranfeendent-bright, 
 That whilom charm'd my ravifn'd fight ; 
 Which I had fought, but never found, 
 Tho' wandering wild the world around ; 
 Which ftill could every care beguile ; 
 And fhe was goddefs of the ifle. 
 On either fide a brilliant band 
 In filent adoration ftand, 
 The highborn natives of the ifle, 
 And ftrangers, from a diftant foil ; 
 For far and wide was fpread her fame, 
 And all who knew, rever'd the name. 
 And here of every land and tongue, 
 Were mailers of the mighty fong j
 
 205 
 
 Alt proud to lift their loftieft lays, 
 And found this heavenly Lady's praife^ 
 I hear the warblings of the lyre, 
 As teeming with Apollo's fire. 
 The deep mouth'd organ's peal I hear, 
 As tho' Cecilia's foul were near. 
 J hear the trumpet's martial found, 
 As warrior-fouls were thronging round* 
 And the drum's longeft, loudeft beat, 
 As when two hoftile armies meet. 
 1 hear the melting lute complain, 
 As telling Love's delicious pain. 
 And thoufand voices too I hear, 
 Loud and ftrong, and foft and clear,. 
 All in one mighty theme combine,. 
 All in fymphonious chorus join. 
 Deep rolls the flream of found along, 
 In the full majefty of fong.
 
 204' 
 
 And ftill the defcant's boldeft lays- 
 Clos'd with the burden of her praife. 
 
 But, ah! not fplendid fcenes alone, 
 And Peace's milder luftre fhone j 
 Nor only Plenty's form appears j 
 Nor only Mufic charms the ears. 
 Hark ! I hear not diftant far 
 March'd the Giant Fiend of war. 
 Yonder roll'd the kindled ftorms, 
 Yonder ftrode the warrior forms. 
 Arms againft arms embattled clang, 
 And with wild fhouts the mountain rang. 
 Who may the^warriors pride control? 
 Lavifti, too lavifli of the foul, 
 Lo ! many a gallant hero flain, 
 And blood empurples all the flain.
 
 205 
 
 Taint, and more faint they draw their breath, 
 And, hark ! the mighty groan in death. 
 "While famifh'd eagles hovering round 
 Drink life-blood from each gafping wound. 
 In vain for tires the children mourn, 
 And wives expe<5t their lords return. 
 Quick thro' their veins the fpirits flee, 
 Nor wife, nor child, they more ihall fee. 
 
 New horrors rife! Behold a throng 
 Of haplefs negroes trail along j 
 From native lands the fufferers go, 
 To nurfe their long, long tale of woe; 
 In diftant realms, to toil unknown j 
 To pour unheard the fecret groan j 
 To wear the vile tremendous chain; 
 And linger life away in pain.
 
 206 
 
 Reft of the dear delights of life, 
 
 Friend, parent, hufband, child, and wife} 
 
 Like the poor refufe of their race, 
 
 Labour their all, and long difgrace. 
 
 And e'en where fplendid fcenes arife, 
 
 While Peace looks on with fmiling eyes, 
 
 Where Plenty's cheerful form appears, 
 
 And fweeteft mufic charms the ears, 
 
 Many a feeble form I view, 
 
 And many a cheek of pallid hue. 
 
 Want was there, and trembling Age 
 
 Pining in life's laft lingering ftage. 
 
 And, e'en amid the tuneful throng 
 
 Was many a fon of rapturous fong, 
 
 But mute as tho' the Mufes' fires 
 
 Ne'er warm'd their hearts, or rous'd their lyres. 
 
 In vain fweet meafures thrill around j 
 
 In vain the fwell and pomp of found ;
 
 207 
 
 Wbat mall the foul all-hopelefs cheer? 
 The numbers die upon their ear. 
 Silent they fat, while thro' their fouls 
 A tide of mighty forrows rolls. 
 
 I now, with flow and awful pace, 
 Approach the Lady of the place : 
 When, fudden on my wondering eyes, 
 1 fee a curious ftru&ure rife : 
 A high triumphant arch, that wears 
 The beauteous reverend pomp of years : 
 As when, in Grecia's happier days, 
 The conqu'ror claim'd his wreathe of praife, 
 And, in gay triumphs, proud to ride, 
 With vanquiih'd warriors by his fide- 
 High o'er the arch diftinQly fhone, 
 An emblem of the glorious fun : 
 
 7
 
 208 
 
 "Six wandering ftars, with motion flow, 
 All in different orbits go. 
 Above, another errant light, 
 Holds on its courfe, all paly-bright: 
 With orbit wide, and vaft his fize, 
 He looks the monarch of the fkies. 
 Soon o'er the plain, through all the rows, 
 A bufy buttling tumult glows : 
 And foon again, with martial grace, 
 Each clofes in his deftin'd place. 
 And two and two, and hand in hand, 
 In grand proceffion moves the band. 
 And trophies proud they bear along, 
 Routing the claih of martial fong. 
 And as with (lately tread they march, 
 Ere yet they pafs the folemn arch, 
 Each bow'd before that feventh light, 
 That held from far his paly light.
 
 209 
 Of orbit wide, and largeft fize, 
 That look'd the monarch of the Ikies. 
 
 Lo! pa ft is all the crowd along, 
 And funk the fwell of martial fong. 
 And now alone upon the plain 
 I with that awful queen remain, 
 The goddefs fair, fo heav'nly bright, 
 That firft in vifion met my fight. 
 "What fhall the generous foul affray? 
 I tread refolv'd the arduous way. 
 Love can doubts and fears control j 
 And give new vigour to the foul. 
 
 Nearer and nearer ftill I drew, 
 To yield this goddefs homage due ; 
 To tell her how in toil and pain, 
 I fought her true, tho' fought in vain, 
 
 Vol. II. P
 
 210 
 
 Now gently urg'd, now wildly hurl'd, 
 Had travdll'd reftlefs round the world, 
 Her vifion'd form my only reft, 
 And fhe the fire, that warm'd my breaft. 
 But, oh 1 what tortures rack my foull 
 How wild and wild my eyeballs roll I 
 I view hef near, and ftill more near; 
 Then ftand a ftatue, chrll'd with fear. 
 Clos'd were her -eyes to all around, 
 And in a golden bandage bound} 
 Nor could fhe voice of mortal hear > 
 A death-like deafnefs bound her ear. 
 While from her lips, to feal her tongue, 
 A vile inglorious Padlock hung. 
 I ftruggle, but in vain, for breath, 
 I feem as in the grafp of death. 
 To Heav'n I lift my burning eyes; 
 1 ftart! and lo ! the vifion flies.
 
 211 
 
 ALFRED. 
 
 Ah! why fhould Song, enchanting Song, 
 Her vot'ries lead thro' Error's maze? 
 Why Flattery, poifoning future days, 
 
 Give pride thofe laurels that to truth belong ? 
 
 A vaunt, thou bard of ancient time! 
 * I hate the bafe infidious Lyre, 
 That bids the dazzled crowds retire, 
 
 While tyrants lit as gods fublime. 
 
 II. 
 I love the man of generous frame, 
 Who teems with love of human kind, 
 Who leaves the vulgar great behind, 
 And fcorns the fplendid treachMes of a name. 
 I> 2 '
 
 212 
 
 Heroes have bafk'd, a ferpent-brood, 
 Hatch'd by Ambition's baneful rayj 
 Conqu'rors, high-mail'd in war array, 
 
 Have reel'd, mere dsemons, drunk with blood. 
 
 III. 
 
 Where Difcord holds her torch on high, 
 Recount the warrior Romans dead, 
 The blood of generous Britons fhed, 
 
 O'er vafial fons hear humbled Gallia figh: 
 
 How ftreams the Rhine with German gore 1 
 Let Caefar mount the victor's car ; 
 And Rome, amid the fpoils of war, 
 
 Her conqu'ror, and the world's, adore. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah f vain the pomp, th' imperial fvvay ! 
 "When Juftice takes her watchful Hand,
 
 213 
 
 A&ions fhe weighs with patient handy 
 Nor will fhe rafhly throw her palms away* 
 She fpurns the mad heroic race ! 
 And oft, while paeans rend the fkies, 
 While altars breathing incenfe rife, 
 
 The conqu'ror marks for long difgrace*. 
 
 a 
 
 V. 
 
 Yet, Fame, thy fair Elyfium raife, 
 
 And Genius, cull thy wreathe of flowers, 
 And, feated in unfading bowers, 
 
 Alfred, ennobled fhine through endlefs days 
 
 I fee, I fcale the mount fublime ! 
 Loft in the beams of heavenly light, 
 I fee 'mid ftreams, as cryftal bright, 
 
 The bards, who rais'd the lofty rhyme. 
 P 3
 
 214 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Bleft, Alfred, be thy honour'd name, 
 " (A people's voice of praife is fweet) 
 ** And fweet the fongs, his ear that greet, 
 
 " The Prince, whofe bofom glows with Free- 
 dom's flame. 
 
 " Still blofibm, 'mid the lapfe of years, 
 " The laurels wreath'd on Virtue's browj 
 u In richer pride her honours blow, 
 
 " And age her memory but endears. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " See Britain rifing from her feat, 
 " Proud of her rights, and equal laws, 
 " Ardent in Freedom's facred caufe : 
 
 She found thee wife, and has proclaimed the? 
 great.
 
 21o 
 rc Twas thine each citizen to fire ; 
 
 " They pant the thirfty lance to wield r 
 "They rufh impetuous to the field; 
 ** And Freedom fees her foes expire." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 They ceas'd and ceafe the lyric ftrain : 
 For Alfred lives to blels no more ; 
 Though ftill, its day of fplendor o'er, 
 
 Downward the. fan but finks to rife again. 
 
 Thus Alfred fliines in deathlefs fame, 
 And daiting golden glories high, 
 Still marches ftately through the Iky, 
 
 While gazing nations blefs his name. 
 
 P. S. This poem was originally a kind of vifion refeting to 
 Alfred : it was afterward addrefled to Major Cartwright, and 
 publi/hed in the Annual Anthology. 
 
 P 4
 
 filG 
 THE FUNERAL PROCESSION 
 
 OP 
 POLLY WHITEHEAD. 
 
 As lately I flept, ere yet approach'd the night, 
 Not one lively dream would my {lumbers delight, 
 Eut fcreams rend my ear3, and horrors fill my fight r 
 Tor ghofts, furies, devils, around feem'd to fight. 
 
 So I fiartled and groan'd, 
 
 And I figh'd, and I moan'd, 
 
 Then round about I tumbled, 
 
 And I rumbled, and jumbled 3 
 But, I was all alone, and fo no one could I fright. 
 
 Then I wake and get up, and my pillow duly fpread, 
 Till furies and devils are all fairly fled ; 
 When a funeral proceffion fucceeds in their fteadj- 
 So now folemn fancies get into my head.
 
 217 
 
 And thus flraight I began; 
 " What, alas ! is poor man, 
 " Or what woman, who fliares 
 " All his griefs, and his cares ?" . 
 And a fad flood of tears, I in fympathy fhed. 
 
 Methought I was walking, as poets oft do, 
 Of fwe'et country air to drink one gale or two, 
 On the city new road, 'mid folks not a few, 
 Hufbands, wives with their bantlings, and fweeN 
 hearts fo true. 
 
 And when now I look back, 
 
 What a crowd all in black I 
 
 And from Moorfields they padj 
 
 Silent, folemn, and fad, 
 For Bunhill-field's burying-ground they have itf 
 view. 
 
 So curious and thoughtful, I cow take my fland, 
 With a troop of old goflips, a newfmongering band/
 
 218 
 
 Who, without much ado make me foon underftand, 
 "What a terrible ill has befallen the land ; 
 
 An ill, that rich and poor 
 
 Would have reafon to deplore, 
 
 That to dames of each degree 
 
 Would be caufe of mifery. 
 And we alike had caufe to fear, left we mould' be 
 trepann'd ; 
 
 And all London they knew, and all London's wife, 
 Who liv'd happy couples, and who liv'd in ftrife, 
 What wives were a -breeding, where cuckolds were 
 
 rife, 
 Rogues foon to be hung, faints departing this life : 
 
 So all at once they tell 
 
 How a lily-white belle, 
 
 Oh ! the deareft dear creature, 
 
 And fo lamb-like in feature, 
 Had juft been cut up by death's murd'rous knife.
 
 219 
 
 To thoufands and' thoufands this Polly wa3 dear, 
 And thoufands for Polly will now fhed the tear, 
 As foon, if you look, will be now made appear; 
 For the groaners and mourners willall foon be here. 
 
 And fo by me they move, 
 
 All lamenting their love; 
 
 And they feem'd to abound, 
 
 As ants cover the ground, 
 Sad black-tufted knights, whom, ah! nothing will 
 cheer. 
 
 Firft the flationers come, and with great caufe to 
 
 mourn, 
 For lince Polly travels to that difmal bourne 
 From which mortals more, ah ! never fhall return, 
 Alas ! they are not able a penny more to earn* 
 They muft now (hut up their hall, 
 Or on fome new fcheme muft fall,
 
 Aqd never more look gay, 
 . On a lord-mayor's merry day, 
 So their ink they throw away, and their pens ail 
 they will burn. 
 
 And now come of authors a tribe great and imall, 
 With great fenfe, and little fenfe, and no fenfe at all j 
 They muft now give o'er writing, or get themfelves 
 
 in thrall; 
 So all the land will now in Egypt's darknefs crawl. 
 
 For no more will they write, 
 
 Nor give a wink of light; 
 
 Henceforth they muft turn ufliers, 
 
 Or ftoop to be bumbrufliers, 
 Apothecaries, priefts, or clerks, as it may fall. 
 
 The printers now fucceed all in lamentable taking,- 
 For fince Polly Whitehead this world is now for- 
 faking,
 
 221 
 
 All fheir preffes muft ftand ftill, every foul willfoon 
 
 be breaking, 
 Since printing firft began, there was never fuch 
 heart-aching. 
 See compofitors all go, 
 With their heads quite crack'd with woe ; 
 And the preflmen, faucy race, 
 Who oft fmack'd Polly's face, 
 But now, for all their airs, they are awkward faces 
 making. 
 
 Next their journeymen, their 'prentices, and devils 
 
 follow all, 
 And, ah ! where (hall they fly ? to whom for fuccdnr 
 
 call ? 
 Ev'ry fliop is now {hut up, there's not left a fingle 
 
 flail, 
 And when matters thus all fail, foon their fervants 
 
 too muft fall.
 
 '222 
 
 Tears, like fhow'rs trickling flow-, 
 Wild and wild is their woe, 
 Who for poor men will feel ? 
 They muft dig, beg, or fteal : 
 In limbo when they get, who will take them from 
 their thrall? 
 
 Next a troop of bookbinders appear fall in view, 
 And as forrowful as any, to give them all their due: 
 For as hufbands, who oft make their wives black 
 
 and blue, 
 When their dearies once are dead, then their follies 
 quickly rue. 
 
 Thus the book-binding trade, 
 
 Did lament the dear maid} 
 
 For, alas ! they had lump'd her, 
 
 They had pinch'd her, and thump'd her; 
 And fo to all comfort they now bid. adieu.
 
 223 
 The bookfeHers next follow, and a comely-looking 
 
 band, , 
 
 From the Row, Paul's Church-yard, Cheapfide and 
 
 the Strand j 
 How deep, alas ! their woe! tell their trade 's now 
 
 at a (land 
 For fhe is now no more, who their every hope once 
 fann'd. 
 For, ah! not, as heretofore, 
 Can they feaft their authors more 5 
 For fince Polly dear is dead, 
 All their profits now are fled ; 
 Se Old England they will leave, W> feek fome other 
 land. 
 
 Newfpaper-folks now follow to fee poor Polly's end, 
 Who, when the mourning's over, their courfe away 
 will bend:
 
 224 
 
 Their preflfes all are Hill, and the times will never mend j 
 And not a newfman more their bloody news will 
 vend. 
 Hufli'd now is all their fun, 
 Clos'd their bag of Helicon j 
 They care not now a pin, 
 Who's out, or who is in ; 
 And their columns now no more they with ladies 
 routs diftend. 
 
 Now come Old England's friends, who, while Polly 
 
 was alive, 
 Hop'd that Alfreds laws and England together 
 
 would revive. 
 To fpread the people's rights they did boldly once 
 
 contrive j 
 :Eut now 'tis o'er, the die is caft, and they no more 
 
 will firive. 
 7
 
 225 
 
 Old Nick may have the law, 
 That but crams a premier's maw; 
 For, fince Polly dear is dead, 
 Every hope of Freedom's fled ; 
 And the bees will now leave England, where none 
 but drones will hire. 
 
 And, lo ! the laft in order I behold the poet- 
 train ; 
 
 Some who work'd about the drama, fome who 
 plied the epic ftrain j 
 
 Some who heroes lov'd to tickle, fome who footh'd 
 the lover's pain ; 
 
 And fome, who wrote for glory, and fome who 
 wrote for gain. 
 H?.d fate but left to choofe, 
 They had rather loft the Mufe, 
 
 Vol. II. Q
 
 226 
 
 Or for Phoebus, god of fong, 
 Padded, moping thus along ; 
 Their hearts will all be broken, and turn'd be every 
 brain. 
 
 So ready now I ftand, with my fympathetic tear, 
 Having juft ek'd out an ode, to welcome the new 
 
 year ; 
 And, as an undertaker's (hop to me was very near, 
 I got a gown and hatband, and joftled in the rear. 
 
 " So poets, with your leave, 
 
 " I come with you to grieve : 
 
 " The humbler! of your train, 
 
 " Greateft caufe has to complain ; 
 " For Polly I could die, me was my deareft dear." 
 
 So now all pale and fad we approach the burying- 
 
 ground, 
 And fighings fad, and groanings deep, and wailings 
 wild abound,
 
 227. 
 or ftout and brawny Irifhmen were howling all 
 around ; 
 And they, dear hearts, for Polly fair will raife their 
 country's found. 
 The prieft begins to read, 
 But, good foul, cannot proceed ; 
 And to heav'n he catts a look, 
 And then down he drops his bookj 
 For he can't pray, nor read, nor yet his text ex- 
 pound. 
 
 So now we waddle back, a woe-bewilder'd throng, 
 Heads drooping, hands wringing, ah 1 how we 
 
 creep along. 
 And I tried my lkill in elegiac fong, 
 For fad drains fuit weak fouls, as lofty do the ftrong. 
 
 For mod woeful bard am I, 
 
 Who by inftincfc feem to cry. 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 
 
 So to foothe my fecret pain, 
 I penn'd down a mournful ftrain *, 
 Which did of right, thro' Britain wide, to mourners 
 all belong. 
 
 * The Elegy was publiihed in the Morning Chronicle a few 
 months ago.
 
 229 
 
 A MONODY. 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF PENELOPE TROTTER. 
 
 Right well have learned doctors {hewn 
 That one grief never comes alone } 
 But, as the rain comes pattering down, 
 Stream after ftream upon your cr,own, 
 So man no fooner one gripe feels, 
 Than t'other nips him by the heels ; 
 Till we fcarce know, tho' grieve we muft, 
 Where to begin our tale of forrow firft. 
 
 Ah! lack and a-well-aday ! 
 I erft who wet poor Polly Whiteheads clay 
 
 With tears fo hot, muft now, alas ! died hotter -, 
 For Death has tripp'd the heels of Peny Trotter. 
 
 a 3
 
 250 
 
 Nor T alone all London, fad at heart, 
 
 Doffs the gay robe, and takes the garb of woe, 
 
 And tears, as from their fprings thp waters ftart, 
 From Eafi, Y/eft, North, and South, are feen 
 to flow. 
 
 For ten miles London round was Peny known, 
 No dame Eaft, Welt, North, South, fo bright in 
 fame: 
 
 To young and old alike her love was fhewn, 
 And all expectant flood at Peny's name. 
 
 She was not young, yet mov'd with nimble feet ; 
 
 Aged flie was not, though in mind a fage: 
 Her youih retain'd whate'er of youth is fweet, 
 
 As erft her youth what gains refpect in age. 
 
 She fritk'd not, while a girl, in girlifh mood, 
 Nor kifs'd an J toy'd, as maids are wont to do;
 
 SSI 
 
 Nor on the road e'er linger d to be woo'd,. 
 And knew her dury better than to woo. 
 
 Her errand done, (lie had no goffips tale j. 
 
 Hut would with maidrn modeity retire ; 
 And tho' perchance fhe took a cup of ale, 
 
 Stopt not, to dumber near the kitchen fire. 
 
 This buttling life for many a year fiie led, 
 True as the needle thus her duty plied j 
 
 And thousand, thoufand matters droop the head, 
 For ne'er than Pen a truftier fervant died. 
 
 Oh! calmer dear of Grief, 
 
 Sweet Melancholy, come -, 
 What now may yield relief, 
 
 While Pen lies in the tomb ? 
 What but thy penfive air, 
 Meek eye, and brow of care,
 
 232 
 
 Thy liquid eye, thy melting ftrain, 
 
 And the light vifions of thy brain, 
 
 The forms, that to thy midnight-mufings throng, 
 
 And fill with unpremeditated fong ? 
 
 But how fhall I relate 
 
 The wayward cruelties of fate ? 
 
 How in indignant verfe 
 
 Pen's haplefs end rehearfe ? 
 For not, as gentle dames fhould die, the died, 
 
 Peaceful, upon her bed ; 
 But while on duty bent fhe hied, 
 
 Behold her dead ! 
 Her fnow-white flelh by hands moft cruel whipt, 
 Till of her very fkin the maid is ftript ! 
 
 But who were they, what tyger men, 
 That laid their fangs on honeft Pen?
 
 233 
 
 No vulgar ruffians they, 
 
 "Who prowl on the highway, 
 
 Or clap, amid your midnight reft, 
 
 The felon-piftol to your breaft. 
 
 No, it was none of thefe, 
 
 Nor was it dire difeafe, 
 
 Fever, catarrh, or fpafm, or cholic, 
 
 Nor any young and wanton frolic; 
 
 Nor did intemp' ranee ply the venom'd cup, 
 
 Pen there would never take above a fup, 
 
 Satan could not have made her drink it up 
 
 No furer, quicker than all thefe, 
 Than piftol, dagger, or than tyger-claw, 
 
 Than foul intemp'rance, or than rank difeafe, 
 The wretch, that murder'd Pen, was Law. 
 
 Oh ! Law, tho' fages are fo fond to prove, 
 That thou in nature's bofom haft thy feat,
 
 And that thy voice, infpiring awe and love, 
 Preferves the world in harmony complete ; 
 
 That hsav'n andearth to thee theirhomage pay, 
 That great and fmall alike thy care employ, 
 
 That ev'ry being gladly owns thy fway, 
 And hails thee mother of their peace and 
 
 jy 5 
 
 Yet art not thou too often made, 
 By man, that debauchee, a jade, 
 Quite marr'd and jarr'd in ev'ry feature, 
 The verielt. fouleft, moil difcordant creature, 
 Whirling the world about in ftrife, 
 Burning the deareft bonds of life ; 
 Lumping, and thumping each rebellious elf, 
 A bolder rebel ftill thyfelf ? 
 H> when my eyes are lock d in fleep, 
 Thou near me doit thy vigils keep,
 
 235 
 
 Why, then I prize thee more than all my 
 
 wealth, 
 And am content to drink thy health; 
 But, if thou canftembaftille honeft men, 
 And kill fo good a foul as honeft Pen ; 
 Then, to be plain, I'll make no fufs about 
 
 you; 
 Ma'am, I had rather live without you. 
 
 THE END.
 
 23fj 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 I fliall obtrude no more of my dreams now 
 on my readers, but fupprefs feveral of very 
 great importance. The Northern Meteors The 
 Milky Way The Hall of Valhala The Sea Ser- 
 pent The Buffoon Minllrel An Extraordinary 
 Dragon, whofe death was occafioned by a bird's 
 fettling on its head, and dropping on it a moil 
 lingular kind of kernel The feed of the Dragon, 
 that fprings from the blood of the parent-monfter. 
 And alfo prophecies, m<?re particularly one 
 intituled, The Ghoft of William Penn, that ap- 
 peared to me in the neighbourhood of Phila- 
 delphia. 
 
 uo^ii-i 
 
 T. Benfley, Printer, Bolt Court, Fleet Street, London.
 
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