Sivut kuvina

Have wisely from those envy'd heights declind, Ah, Colin, thy hopes are in vaiti,
Have sunk to that just level of mankind,

Thy pipe and thy laurel resign; Where not too little nor too much gives the true Thy false-one inclines to a swain, peace of mind.

Whose music is swecter than thine.
“ And you, my companions so dear,

Who sorrow to see me betray'd,

Whatever I suffer, forbear,

Forbear to accuse the false maid. AND THE HAPPINESS OF THE SAINTS IN HEAVEN.

Though through the wide world I should range, DONE FROM THE LATIN OF J. GERHARD.

'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly;
In that bless'd day, from every part, the just, 'Twas hers to be false and to change,
Rais'd from the liquid deep or mouldering dust, 'Tis mine to be constant and die.
The various products of Time's fruitful womb,
All of past ages, present and to come,

“ Jf while my hard fate I sustain, In full assembly shall at once resort,

In her breast any pity is found, And meet within high Heaven's capacious court:

Let her come with the nymphs of the plain, There famous names rever'd in days of old,

And see me laid low in the ground. Our great forefathers there we shall behold,

The last humble boon that I crave, From whom old stocks and ancestry began,

Is to shade me with cypress and yer; And worthily in long succession ran;

And when she looks down on my grave, The reverend sires with pleasure shall we groet,

Let her own that her shepherd was true. Attentive hear, while faithful they repeat

“ Then to her new lore let her go, Full many a virtuous deed, and many a noble feat.

And deck her in golden array, There all those tender ties, which here below,

Be finest at every fine show, Or kindred, or more sacred friendship know,

And frolic it all the long day;
Firm, constant, and unchangeable shall grow.

While Colin, forgotten and gone,
Refin'd from passion, and the dregs of sense,
A better, truer, dearer love from thence,

No more shall be talk'd of, or seen,
Its everlasting being shall coinmence:

Unless when beneath the pale Moon,
There, liketheir days, their joys shall ne'er be done,

His ghost shall glide over the greea."
No night shall rise, to shade Heaven's glorious sun,
But one eternal holy-day go on.



DESPAIRING beside a clear stream,

A shepherd forsaken was laid;
And while a false nymph was his theme,

A willow supported his head.
The wind that blew over the plain,

To his sighs with a sigh did reply; And the brook, in return to his pain,

Ran mourufully murmuring by. “ Alas, silly swain that I was !"

Thus sadly complaining, he cry'd,
When first I beheld that fair face,

'Twere better by far I had dy'd.
She talk'd, and I bless'd the dear tongue;

When she smil'd, twas a pleasure too great. I listen'd, and cry'd, when she sung,

Was nightingale ever so sweet? “ How foolish was I to believe

She could doat on so lowly a clown, Or that her fond heart would not grieve,

To forsake the fine folk of the town? To think that a beauty so gay,

So kind and so constant would prove; Or go clad like our maidens in gray,

Or live in a cottage on love? « What though I have skill to complain,

Though the Muses my temples have crown'd; What though, when they hear my soft strain,

The virgins sit weeping around,

Ye winds, to whom Colin complains,

In ditties so sad and so sweet,
Believe me, the shepherd but feigns

He's wretched to show he has wit.
No charmer like Colin can move,

And this is some pretty new art;
Ah! Colin's a juggier in love,

And likes to play tricks with my heart,
When he will, he can sigh and look pale,

Seem doleful and alter his face,
Can tremble, and alter his tale,

Ah! Colin has every pace:
The willow my rover prefers

To the breast, where he once beg'd to lie,
And the stream, that he swells with his tears,

Are rivals belov'd more than 1.
His head my fond bosom would bear,

And my heart would soon beat him to rest;
Let the swain that is slighted despair,

But Colin is only in jest ;
No death the deceiver designs,

Let the maid that is ruin'd despair;
For Colin but dies in his lines,

And gives bimself that modish air.
Can shepherds, bred far from the court,

So wittily talk of their fame?
But Colin makes passion his sport,

Beware of so fatal a game;
My voice of no music can boast,

Nor my person of ought that is fine,
But Colin may find to his cost,

A face that is fairer than mine.


475 Ab! then I will break my lov'd crook,

MÆCEN A S. To thee I'll bequeath all my sheep,

VERSES OCCASIONED BY THE HONOURS CONFERAnd die in the much-favour'd brook,

RED ON THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF HALIWhere Colin does now sit and weep:

FAX, 1714; BEINO TAAT YEAR INSTALLED Then mourn the sad fate that you gave,

KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE In sonnets so smooth and divine;

Perhaps, I may rise from my grave,
To hear such soft music as thine.

PHEEBUS and Caesar once conspir'd to grace

A noble knight of ancient Tuscan race. Of the violet, daisy, and rose,

The monarch, greatly conscious of his worth, The heart's-ease, the lily, and pink,

From books and his retirement call'd him forth; Did thy fingers a garland colpose,

Adoru'd the patriot with the civic crown, And crown'd by the rivulet's brink;

The consui's fasces and patrician gown: How oft, my dear swain, did I swear,

The world's whole wealth he gave him to bestow, How much my fond love did admire

And teach the streams of treasure where to flow: Thy verses, thy shape, and thy air,

To him he hade the suppliant nations come, Though deck'd in thy rural attire!

And on his counsels fix'd the fate of Rome. Your sheep-hook you ruld with such art,

The god of wit, who taught him first to sing,

And tune high numbers to the vocal string,
That all your small subjects obey'd ;
And still you reigo'd king of this heart,

With jealous eyes beheld the bounteous king. Whose passion you falsely upbraid;

“Forbear,” he cry'd, "to rob me of my share;

Our common favourite is our common care. How often, my swain, bave I said,

Honours and wealth thy grateful hand may give; Thy arms are a palace to me, And how well I could live in a shade,

But Phæbus only bids the poet live.

The service of his faithful heart is thine ; Though adorned with nothing but thee!

There let thy Julian star an emblem shine; Oh! what are the sparks of the town,

His mind, and her imperial seat are mine. Though never so fine and so gay?

Then bind his brow ye Thespian maids," he said : I freely would leave beds of down,

The willing Muses the command obey'd, For thy breast on a bed of new hay:

And wove the deathless laurel for his head.
Then, Colin, return once again,

Again make me happy in love,
Let me find thee a faithful true swain,
And as constant a nymph I will prove.






The guardian, blest Britannia, scorns to sleep, ON A LADY WHO SHED HER WATER AT SEEING

When the sad subjects of his father weep; THE TRAGEDY OF CATO; OCCASIONED BY AN

Weak princes by their fears increase distress;

He faces danger, and so makes it less. Whilst mandlin Whigs deplore their Cato's fate, Tyrants on blazing towns may smile with joy; Still with dry eyes the Tory Celia sate :

He knows, to save, is greater than destroy.
But though her pride forbade her eyes to flow,
The gushing waters found a vent below.
Though secret, yet with copious streams she

Like twenty river-gods with all their urns.

Let others screw an hypocritic face,
She shows her grief in a sincerer place!

Here Nature reigns, and passion void of art; WHEN on fair Celia's eyes I gaze,
For this road leads directly to the heart.

And bless their light divine;
I stand confounded with amaze,

To think on what they shine.

On one vile clod of earth she seems

To fix their influcnce;
PLORAT fata sui dum cætera turba Catonis,

Which kindles not at those bright beams, Ecce! oculis siccis Cælia fixa sedet;

Nor wakens into sense.
At quanquam lacrymis fastus vetat ora rigari,

Lost and bewilder'd with the thought,
Iuvenêre viam quâ per opaca fluant :
Clam dolet illa quidem, manat tamen humor That Nature's lavish hand had wrought

I could not but complain,

This fairest work in vain.
Numinis ex urnâ, ceu fluvialis aqua.
Distorquent aliæ vultus, simulantque dolorem : Thus some, who have the stars survey'd,
Quæ inage sincera est Cælia parte dolet.

Are ignorantly led,
Quâ mera Natura est, non personata per artem, To think those glorious lamps were made
Quâque itur rcctâ cordis ad ima viâ.

To light Tom-fool to bed.



When harmony shall thy soft soul surprise,

Sooth all thy senses, and tby passions raise:

Amidst wbatever various joys apptar,
Hearing that Chloe's bower crown'd

Yet breathe one sigb, for one sad minute burn; The summit of a neighbouring hill,

Nor let thy heart know one delight sincere,
Where every rural joy was found,

Tili thy own truest Lycidas return.
Where health and wealth were plac'd around;
To wait like servants on her will,

I went, and found 'twas as they said,

Wir and beauty t' other day, That every thing look'd fresh and fair;

Chane'd to take me in their way; Her herds in flowery pastures stray'd,

And, to make the favoui greater, Delightful was the green-wood sbade,

Brought the graces and good-nature, And gently breath'd the balmy air.

Conversation care-beguiling,

Joy iu dimples ever smiling, But when I found my troubled heart

All the pleasures here below; Uneasy grown within my breast,

Men can ask, or gods bestow, My breath come short, and in each part

A jolly train, believe me! No: Some new disorder seem to start,

There were but two, Lepell' and How. Which pain’d me sore and broke my rest : “ Some poxious vapour sure," I said,

“ From this unwholesome soil mu st rise; Some secret venom is convey'd

THE CONTENTED SHEPHERD. Or from this field, or from that shade,


AD. That does the power of life surprise.”

As on a summer's day Soon as the skilful Leach beheld

In the greenwood sbade I lay, The change that in my health was grown:

The maid that I lov'd, " Blame not,” he cry'd, “ nor wood nor field;

As her fancy mov'd, Diseases which such symptoms yield,

Came walking forth that way. Proceed from Chloe's eyes alone.

And as she passed by " Alike she kills in every air,

With a scornful glance of her eye, The coldest breast her beauties warm;

" What a shame," quoth she, And though the fever took you there,

“ For a swain must it be, If Chloe had not been so fair,

Like a lazy loon for to die! The place had never done you barm.”

“ And dost thou nothing heed; What Pan our god has decreed;

What a prize to day

Shall be given away,

To the sweetest shepherd's reed !

“ There's not a single swain

Of all this fruitful plain, Ye gods and Nereid nymphs who rule the sea!

But with hopes and fears Whochain loud storms, and still theraging main! Now busily prepares With care the gentle Lycidas convey,

The bonny boon to gain, And bring the faithful lover safe again.

“ Shall another maiden shine When Albion's shore with cbeerless heart he left,

In brighter array than thine? Pensive and sad upon the deck he stood,

Up, up, dull swain, Of every joy in Chloe's eyes bereft,

Tune thy pipe once again, And wept his sorrows in the swelling flood.

And make the garland mine." Ah, fairest maid! whom, as I well divine,

“Alas! my love," he cry'd, The righteous gods his just reward ordain;

“ What avails this courtly pride! For his return thy pious wishes join,

Since thy dear desert
That thou at length inay'st pay him for his pain. Is written in iny heart

What is all the world beside ?
And since his love does thine alone pursue,
In arts unpractis'd and unus'd to range;

" To me thou art more gay, I charge thee be by his example true,

In this homely russet gray, And shun thy sex's inclination, change.

Than the nymphs of our green,

So trim and so sheen;
When crowds of ycuthful lovers round thee wait,

Or the brightest queen of May.
And tender thoughts in sweetest words impart;
When thou art woo'd by titles, wealth, and state, “ What though my fortune frown,

Then think on Lycidas, and guard thy heart. And deny thee a silken gown;
When the gay theatre shall charm thy eyes,

| Afterwards the celebrated lady Harvey When artful wit shall speak thy beauty's praise; 2 Afterwards his wife.

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My own dear maid,

Still when I hear thee, O my fair,
Be content with this shade,

I bid my heart rejoice;
And a shepherd all thy own.”

1 shake off every sullen care,

For sorrow flies thy voice.
The seasons Philomel obey,

Whene'er they hear her sing;

She bids the winter fly away,

And she recalls the spring.
To the brook and the willow that heard himn com-
Ah willow, willow.


Poor Colin sat weeping, and told them his pain;

Ah willow, willow; ah willow, willow.
Sweet stream, he cry'd sadly, I'll teach thee to flow. SINCE I have long lov'd you in vain,
Ah willow, &c.

And doated on erery feature;
And the waters shall rise to the briuk with my woe.

Give me at length but leave to complain Ah willow, &c.

Of so ungrateful a creature. All restless and painful poor Amoret lies,

Though I be held in your wandering eyes Ah willow, &c.

The wanton symptoms of ranging; And counts the sad moments of time as it flieg.

Still I resolv'd against being wise, Ab willow, &c.

Anu lov'd you in spite of your changing.

To the nymph my heart loves, ye soft slumbers
Ah willow, &c.

[repair; Why shouid you blame what heaven bas made, Spread your downy wings o'er her, and make her Oi find any fault in creation ? Ab willow, &c.

[your care,

'Tis not the crime of the faithless maid,

But Nature's inclination. Dear brook, were thy chance near her pillow to 'Tis not because I love you less, Ah willow, &c.

[creep, Or think you not a true one; Perhaps thy soft murmurs might lull her to sleep. But if the truth I must confess, Ah willow, &c.

I always lov'd a new-one.
Let me be kept waking, my eyes never close,
Ah willow, &c.

So the sleep that I lose brings my fair one repose,

ON HIS BIRTH-DIY. Ah willow, &c.

When, fraught with all that grateful minds cat Dut if I am doom'd to be wretched indeed; Ah willow, &c.

With friendship, tenderness, respect, and love; If the loss of my dear-one, my love is decreed; The Muse had wish'd, on this returning day, Ah willow, &c.

Something most worthy of herself to say: If no more my sad heart by those eyes shall be To Jove she offer'd up an humble prayer, Ah willow, &c.


To take the noble Warwick to his care. If the voire of my warbler no more shall be heard;

“ Give him," she said, “ whate'er diviner grace

Adorns the soul or beautities the face: Ah willos, &c.

Let manly constancy confirm bis truth,
Believe me, thou fair-one; thou dear-one believe, And gent est manners crown his blooining youth.
Ah willow, &c.

Give him to fame, to virtue to aspire,
Few sighs to thy loss, and few tears will I give. Worthy our songs and thy informing fire:
Ah willow, &c.

All various praise, all honours let hin prore,

Let men admire, and sighing virgins love: One fate to thy Colin and thee shall be ty'd, With honest zeal infame his generous mind, Ah willow, &c.

To love his country, and protect mankind." And soon lay thy shepherd close by thy cold side.

Attentive to ber prayer, the god reply'd, Ah willow', &c.

• Why dest thou ask what has not been deny'd ? Then run, gentle brook; and to lose thyself, haste; Jove's bounteous hand has lavish'd all his power, Ah willow, willow.

And making what he is, can add no more. Fade thou too, my willow, this verse is my last;

Yet since I joy in what I did create,
Ah willow, willow; ah willow, willow.

I will prolong the favourite Warwick's fate,[date."
And lengthen out bis years to some uncommon


What charms in meloiy are found

To softeu every pain!
How do we catch the pleasing sound,

And feel the soothing strain!


While o'er the globe, fair nymph, your searches
And trace its rolling circuit round the sun, (run,
You seem'd the world beneath you to survey,
With eyes ordain'd to give its people day.

With two fair lamps methought your nationsshone, Every good is in his face,
While ours are poorly lighted up by one.

Every open honest grace.
How did those rays your happier empire gild! Thou great Plantagenet; immortal be thy race!
How clothe the flowery mead and fruitful field!

See! the sacred scyon springs,
Your earth was in eternal spring array'd,
And laughing joy amidst its natives play'd.

See the glad promise of a line of kings!
Such is their day, but cheerless is their night,

Royal youth! what hard divine, No friendly moon reflects your absent light:

Equal to a praise like thine, And, oh! when yet ere many years are past,

Shall in some exalted measure Those beams on other objects shall be plac'd,

Sing thee, Britain's dearest treasure! When some young hero, with resistless art,

Who her joy in thee shall tell, Shall draw those eyes, and warm that virgin heart:

Who the sprightly note shall swell, How shall your creatures then their loss deplore,

His voice attempering to the tuneful shell?

Thee Audenard's recorded field,
And want those suns that rise for them no more?
The bliss you give will be confin’d to one,

Bold in thy brave paternal band, beheld, And for his sake your world must be undone.

And saw with hopeless heart thy fainting rival yield;

Troubled he, with sore dismay,
To thy stronger fate gave way,
Safe beneath thy noble scorn,

Wingy-footed was he borne,
TO MRS. PULTENEY, Swift as the fleeting shades upon the golden cons

What valour, what distinguish'd worth,
Tir'd with the frequent mischiefs of her eyes,

From thee shall lead the coming ages forth? To distant climes the fair Belinda flies.

Crested helms and shining shields, She sees her spreading flames consume around, Warriors fam'd in foreign fields; And not another conquest to be found.

Hoary heads with olive bound, Secure in foreign realms at will to reign,

Kings and lawgivers reuown'd; She leaves her vassals here with proud disdain. Crowding still they rise anew, One only joy which in her heart she wears,

Beyoud the reach of deep prophetic view The dear companion of her flight she bears.

Young Augustus! never cease! Æneas thus a burning town forsook,

Pledge of our present and our future peace, Thus into banishment his gods he took:

Still pour the blessings forth, and give thy great But, to retrieve his native Troy's disgrace,

All the stock that fate ordains [increase Fix'd a new empire in a happier place,

To supply succeeding reigns,
Whether glory shall inspire
Gentler arts or martial fire,

Still the fair descent shall be

Dear to Albion, all, like thee,

Patrons of righteous rules, and foes to tyranny. Hail to thee, glorious rising Year, With what uncommon grace thy days appear!

Ye golden lights who shine on high, Comely art thou in thy prime,

Ye potent planets who ascend the sky, Lovely child of hoary Time;

On the opening year dispense Where thy golden footsteps tread,

All your kindest influence; Pleasures all around thee spread;

Heavenly powers be all prepar'd Bliss and beauty grace thy train;

For our Carolina's guard; Muse, strike the lyre to some immortal strain.

Short and easy be the pains, But, oh! what skill, what master hand, Which for a nation's weal the heroine sustains.

Shall govern or constrain the wanton band? Britannia's angel, be thou near Loose like my verse they dance, and all without The growing race is thy peculiar care,

Images of fairest things [command. Oh spread thy sacred wing above the royal fair. Crowd about the speaking strings;

George by thee was wafted o'er Peace and sweet prosperity,

To the long expected shore: Faith and cheerful loyalty,

None presuming to withstand With smiling love and deathless poesy.

Thy celestial armed hand,

While bis sacred head to shade, (play'd Ye scowling shades who break away, The blended cross on high thy silver shieid disWell do ye fiy and shun the purple day, Every fiend and fiend-like form,

But, oh! wbat other form divine Black and sullen as a storm,

Propitious near the hero seems to shine! Jealous Fear, and false Surmise,

Peace of mind, and joy serene, Danger with her dreadful eyes,

In her sacred eyes are seen, Faction, Fury, all are fied,

Honour binds her mitred brow, And bold Rebellion hides her daring head.

Faith and truth beside ber go, Behold, thou gracious Year, behold,

With zeal and pure devotion bending low. To whom thy treasures all thou shalt unfold, A thousand storins around her threat, For whom thy whiter days were kept from times A thousand billows roar beneath ber feet,

See thy George, for this is he! [of old! While, fix'd upon a rock, she keeps her stable seat. On his right hand waiting free,

Still in sign of sure defence, Britaip and fair Liberty,

Trust and mutual conGidence,

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