Sivut kuvina

Sterlin the feer didi visit, whilft he fate In gloom tartareous half his wide domain.
With astrolabe prophetic, to foresee

Then sighing, thus the faid—“ Have I so long
Young actions issuing from the Fates Divan. Employ'd my various art, t'enrich the lap
Full of thy power infus’d by nappy ALE,

Of Earth, all-bearing motheł ; and my lore Darkling he watch'd the planetary orbs,

Communicated to the unweeting hind, in their obscure sojourn o'er heaven's high cope; And shall not this pre-eminence obrain ?" Nor ceas'd till the grey dawn with orient dew Then from beneath her Tyrian vest the took Inpearl'd his large mustachoes, deep ensconc'd The bearded cars of grain she most admir'd, Beneath his over-thadowing orb of hat,

Which gods call Chrithe, in terrestrial fpeech And ample fence of elephantine nofc,

Ycloped Barley. “'Tis to this, she cry'd, Scornful of keenest polar winds, or fleet,

The British cohorts owe their martial fame Or hail, fent rattling down from wintry Jove, And far-redoubted prowess, matchless youth! (Vain efforts on his sevenfold mantle, made This, when returning from the foughten field, of Caledonion rug, immortal woof!)

Or Noric, or Iberian, seam'd with Icars, Such energy of foul to raise the song,

(Sad signatures of many a dreadful gafn!) Deign, Goddess, now to me; nor then withdraw The veteran, carousing, foon restores Thy fure presiding power, but guide my wing, Puissance to his arm, and strings his nerves ! Which nobly meditates no vulgar flight.

And, as a snake, when firse the rosy hours Now from th' ensanguin'd liter's reeking flood, Shed vernal sweets o'er every vale and mead, Tardy with many a corse of Božan knight, Rolls tardy from his cell obscure and dank; And Gallic deep ingullt, with barbed steeds But, when by genial rays of summer sun Promiscuous, Fame to high Olympus flew, Purg'd of his flough, he nimbly thrids the brake, Shearing th' expanse of heaven with active plume; Whetting his tting, his crested head he rears Nor swifter from Plialinimon's steepy top Terrific, from each eye retort he shoots The staunch Gerfaulcon through the buxom air Enfanguin'd says, the distant swains admire Stoops on the steerage of his wings, to truss His various neck, and Spires bedropt with gold : The quarry, hern, or mallard, newly sprung So at each glass the harrass'd warrior feels From creek, whence brighc Sabrina bubbling | Vigour renate; his horrent arms he takes, forih,

And rusting faulchion, on whose ample hilt Runs fast a Naïs through the flowery mcads, Long Victory fate dormant: foon se lakes To spread round Uriconium's towers her Itrcanis. Her drowly wings, and follows to the war, Her golden trump the goddess founded thrice, With speed succind; where foon his martial Whole thrilling clang reach'd heaven's extreme

port sphere.

She recognizes, whilft he haughty Stands Rons'd at the blaft, the gods with winged speed On the roughi edge of battle, and bestows To learn the tidings came, on radiant thrones Wide torment on the serried files, so us'd, With fair memorials, and impresses quaint Frequent in bold emprise, to work fad rout, Emblazon'd o'er they fare, devis'd of old

And havoc dire; these the told Briton mows, by Mulciber; nor (niall his skill I ween.

Dauntless as Deities exémpt from fate, There she relates what Churchill's arm had Ardent to deck his brow with mural gold, wrought

Or civic wreath of oak, the victor's meed. On Blenheim's bloody plain. Up Bacchus rose, Such is the power of ale with vines embower'd, By his plump check and barrel belly known, While dangling bunches court his thirsting lip; The pliant tendrils of a juicy vine

Sullen he fits, and ligbing oft extols Around his rosy brow in singles curl'd;

The beverage they quaff, whose happy foil And in his hand a bunch of grapes he held, Prolific Dovus laves, or Trenta's urn The enugns of the god! with ardent tone Adorns with waving Chrithe (joyous scencs He mov'd, that straight the nectar'd bowl should Of vegetable gold !) secure they dwell

, flow,

Nor feel th' eternal snows that clothe their cliffs ; Devote to Churchill's health, and o'er all heaven Nor curse th' inclement air, whose horrid face Uncommon orgies should be kept till eve, Scowls like that arctic heuven, that drizzling sheds Till all were fated with inmortal muult,

Perpetual winter on the frozen kirts Delicious tipple! that, in heavenly veins,

Of Scandinavia and the Baltic main, Assimilated, vigorous ichor bred,

Where the young tempelts tirit are taught to roar. Superior to Frontiniac, or Bordeaux,

Snug in their Nraw-built huts, or daikling carch'd Or old Falern, Campania's best increase,

In cavern'd rock, they live (small need of arc Or the more dulcet juice the happy ides

To formi Spruce architrave or cornice quaint, From Palma or Forteventura send.

On Parian marble, with Corinthian grace Joy Bulh'd on every face, and pleasing glec Prepar'd)—there on well-fuel'd hearth they chat, luward aflent discover'd, till uprose

Whilst black pots walk the round with laughing Ceres, not blithe, for marks of latent woe

ale Dim on her visage lour'd: such her deport, Surcharg'd; or brew'd in planetary hour, When Arethafa from her recdy bed

When March weigh'd night and day in equal Told her how Dis young Proferpine had rap'd,

fcale ; To fway his iron fceptre, and cuma:aad

Or in October tunn'd, and mellow grown

Come, my lads, move the glass, drink about

With seven revolving suns, the racy juice, Whilst they of Tober guise contrive retreat,
Strong with delicious flavour, strikes the sense. And run with ears ered; as the call ftag
Nor wants on vast circunference of board, Unharbour'd by the woodman quits his layre,
Of Arthur's imitative, large surloin

And flies the yerning pack which close pursue,
Of ox, or virgin heifer, wont to browse
The meads of Longovicum (fattening soil,

So they not bowly dread th' approaching for:

They run, they ily, till flying on obscure, Replete with clover-grass, and foodful fhrub). Night-founder'd in town-ditches Itagnant gwgs Planced with sprigs of rosemary it stands, Soph rowls on Soph promiscuous.-Caps aloof Meet paragon (as far as great with small

Quadrate and circular confus’dly ily, May correspond) for some Panchæan hill,

The sport of fierce Norwegian tempests, cof Embrown'd with salery skies, thin set with By Thrascia's coadjutant, and the roar. palm,

Of loud Euroclydon's tumultuous guls." And olive rarely interspers’d, whose shade

She said : the fire of gods and men fupress, Skreens hospitably from the Tropic Crab

With aspect bland, attentive audience gave The quiver'd Arabs' vagrant clan, that waits Then nodded awful : from his fhaken locks Insidious some rich caravan, which fares

Ambrosial fragrance few: the signal given To Mecca, with Barbaric gold full fraught. By Ganymede the skinker foon was kend;

Thus Britain's hardy sons, of rustic mould, With Ale he Heaven's capacious goblet crown's
Paticnt of arms, still quash th' afpiring Gaul, To Phrygian mood Apollo tun'd his lyre,
Blest by my boon; which when they slightly The Muses fang alternate, all carous'd,

But Bacchus murmuring left th' afsembled powes
Should they, with high defence of triple brass
Wide-circling, live immur'd (as erst was tried
By Bacon's charms, on which the fickening moon
Look'd wan, and cheerless mew'd her crescent

Whilft Demogorgon heard his stern behest)
Thrice the prevailing power of Gallia's arms

Should there refiftless ravage, as of old
Great Pharamond, the founder of her fame,
Was wont, when first his marshal'd peerage pass'd

COME, fill me a glass, fill it high,
The subject Rhene. What though Britannia

A bumper, a bumper I'll have :

He's a fool that will flinch ; I'll not bate an achie
Herself a world, with ocean circumsus'd ?

Though I drink myself into my grave.
'Tis Ale that warms her sons t'affert her claim, Here's a health to all those jolly fouls,
And with full vollcy makes her naval tubes
Thunder disastrous doom to opponent powers !

Who like me will never give o'er,

Whom no danger controuls, but will take di Nor potent only to enkindle Mars,

their bowls, And fire with knightly prowess recreant souls: It science can encourage, and excite

And merrily stickle for more. The mind to ditties blithe, and charming song.

Drown Reason and all such weak foes, 'Thou, Pallas, to my speech just witness bear :

I scorn to obey her command;
How oft haft thou thy votaries beheld
At Crambo merry met, and hymning fhrill

Could she ever fuppose I'd be led by the sofe,

And let my glass idly stand?
With voice harmonic each, whilst others frisk
In mazy dance, or Ceftrian gambols shew,

Reputation's a bugbear to fools,
Elate with mighty joy, when to the brim

A foe to the joys of dear drinking, Critheian nectar crown'd the lordly bowl,

Made use of by tools, who'd fet us new rules, (Equal to Nestor's ponderous cup, which ask'd

And bring us to politic thinking.
A hero's arm to mount it on the board,
Ere he th' embattallid Pylians led, to quell
The pride of Dardan youth in hosting dire).

For I've triflcd an age away,
Or is, with front unbless'd, came towering in

'Tis in vain to command, the ficering land Prodor armipotent, in stern deport

Rolls on, and cannot stay. Resembling turban’d Turk, when high he

His fcimeter with huge two-handed sway.

We'll drink the universe dry;
Alarm'd with threateing accent, harsher far
Than that ill-omen'd sound the bird of night,
With beak uncomely bent, from dodder'd oak
Screams out, the fick man's trump of doleful

Thy jocund fons confront the horrid van,
That crowds his gonfalon of seven foot fize;
And with their rubied faces fand the foe;

# From many circumftances, there is little det this convivial rong was hy the anther of "The Si Shilling." There was, however, an earlier pet, of Art the naincs of this author, who was nephew to ad wrote rome memoirs of his uncle, and kerala pecms.

Fill them all, I'll have fix in a hand,

We'll set foot to foot, and drink it all ort;

If once we grow fober, we die.


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Yet some there were, among the syunder few,
Of those who lefs presum'd, and better knew,
Who durft assert the juster ancient cause
And here restor'd Wit's fundamental laws
Such late was WALSH--the Muses' judge and friend,
Who justly knew to blame or to commend;
To failings mild, but zealous for desert;
The clearest head, and the sincerelt heart.




Anno 1793

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ILLIAM WALSH was son of Joseph Walth, Esq. of Abberly, in Worcestershire, where he was born in 1663.

At the age of fifteen, he was entered a gentleman commoner in Wadham College, Oxford; but left the university without taking a degree.

On leaving the university, he retired to his native county, and pursued his studies at home. He afterwards gratificd his desire of travelling, and improved himself by conversing with men of wit and learning abroad.

On his return from his travels he came to London, where his rank, talents, and address, soon introduced him to the first company in high and literary life,

The best judges of his time bear testimony to the early indicatioos of his taste and judgment in poetry and criticism.

With Dryden, in particular, he was a great favourite; for in the polfcript to his Virgil, he calls him the befi critic of our nation.

He was not, however, merely a critic and a scholar, but a man of fashion, oftentatiously splendid, it is said, in his dress; and a courtier, distinguished by the friend hip of the Duke of Shrewsbury, and Gentleman of the Horse to Queen Anne, under the Duke of Somerset.

He was likewise a member of parliament, having been several times chosen knight of the hire for the county of Worcester, and once the representative of Richmond in Yorkshire.

He appears, from his writings, to have been a zealous friend of the Revolution ; but without rancour or animofty against the opposite party; for he continued his reverence and kindnels for Dryden, after he was dispofsefsed of the laurel by King William, and discountenanced by the public, for his mean compliance and conversion to Popery in the preceding reign.

In 1705, he began to correspond with Popc, in whom he discovered very early the power of poetry, and predicted his future excellence. Their letters are written upon the pastoral comedy of the Italians, and the pastorals which Pope was then preparing to publish.

Pope always retained a grateful remembrance of his early notice, and mentioned him in one of his latter pieces among those that had encouraged his juvenile studies :

“ And knowing Wallh would tell me I could write."

He had before given him more splendid praise in his Essay on Criticism; and, in the opinion of Warburton, sacrificed a little of his judgment to his gratitude.

The time of his death is uncertain ; but it is supposed to have happened in 1709, in the 46th year of his age.

This is all that is known of Walk; a man much admired by his contemporaries; and who feems to have had a well cultivated, though not a very extensive understanding.

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