The marble tombs that rise on high,
Whose dead in vaulted arches lie,
Whose pillars swell with sculptur'd stones,
Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones,
These, all the poor remains of state,
Adorn the rich, or praise the great;
Who, while on Earth in fame they live,
Are senseless of the fame they give.

Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades,
The bursting earth unveils the shades!
All slow, and wan, and wrap'd with shrouds,
They rise in visionary crowds,
And all with sober accent cry,
"Think, mortal, what it is to die."

Now from yon black and funeral yew, That bathes the charnel-house with dew, Methinks, I hear a voice begin;

(Ye ravens, cease your croaking din,
Ye tolling clocks, no time resound

O'er the long lake and midnight ground!)
It sends a peal of hollow groans,
Thus speaking from among the bones.

"When men my scythe and darts supply, How great a king of fears am 1!

They view me like the last of things;

They make, and then they draw, my strings.
Fools! if you less provok'd your fears,
No more my spectre-form appears.
Death's but a path that must be trod,
If man would ever pass to God:
A port of calms, a state to ease
From the rough rage of swelling seas."
Why then thy flowing sable stoles,
Deep pendant cypress, mourning poles,
Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds,
Long palls, drawn hearses, cover'd steeds,
And plumes of black, that, as they tread,
Nod o'er the escutcheons of the dead?

Nor can the parted body know,
Nor wants the soul these forms of woe;
As men who long in prison dwell,
With lamps that glimmer round the cell,
Whene'er their suffering years are run,
Spring forth to greet the glittering Sun:
Such joy, though far transcending sense,
Have pious souls at parting hence.
On Earth, and in the body plac'd,
A few, and evil years, they waste:
But when their chains are cast aside,
See the glad scene unfolding wide,
Clap the glad wing, and tower away,
And mingle with the blaze of day.

HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.

LOVELY, lasting peace of mind!
Sweet delight of human kind!
Heavenly born, and bred on high,
To crown the favourites of the sky
With more of happiness below,
Than victors in a triumph know!"
Whither, O whither art thou fled,
To lay thy meek contented head;
What happy region dost thou please
To make the seat of calms and ease!
Ambition searches all its sphere
Of pomp and state, to meet thee there.
Encreasing Avarice would find
Thy presence in its gold enshrin’d.

The bold adventurer ploughs his way,
Through rocks amidst the foaming sea,
To gain thy love; and then perceives
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.
The silent heart, which grief assails,
Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales,
Sees daisies open,
rivers run,

And seeks (as I have vainly done)
Amusing thought; but learns to know
That solitude's the nurse of woe.
No real happiness is found

In trailing purple o'er the ground;
Or in a soul exalted high,

To range the circuit of the sky,
Converse with stars above, and know
All nature in its forms below:
The rest it seeks, in seeking dies,
And doubts at last, for knowledge, rise.
Lovely, lasting peace, appear!
This world itself, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden blest,
And man contains it in his breast.

'Twas thus, as under shade I stood,
I sung my wishes to the wood,
And, lost in thought, no more perceiv'd
The branches whisper as they way'd:
It seem'd as all the quiet place
Confess'd the presence of his grace.
When thus she spoke-" Go rule thy will,
Bid thy wild passions all be still,
Know God-and bring thy heart to know
The joys which from religion flow:
Then every grace shall prove its guest,
And I'll be there to crown the rest."

Oh! by yonder mossy seat,
In my hours of sweet retreat,
Might I thus my soul employ,
With sense of gratitude and joy:
Rais'd as ancient prophets were,
In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer;
Pleasing all men, hurting none,

Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone:
Then while the gardens take my sight,
With all the colours of delight;
While silver waters glide along,
To please my ear, and court my song:
I'll lift my voice, and tune my string,
And thee, great source of nature, sing.

The Sun that walks his airy way,
To light the world, and give the day;
The Moon that shines with borrow'd light;
The stars that gild the gloomy night;
The seas that roll unnumber'd waves;
The wood that spreads its shady leaves;
The field whose ears conceal the grain,
The yellow treasure of the plain;
All of these, and all I see,
Should be sung, and sung by me:
They speak their maker as they can,
But want and ask the tongue of man.

Go search among your idle dreams,
Your busy or your vain extremes;
And find a life of equal bliss,
Or own the next begun in this.

THE HERMIT.

FAR in a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;

The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well;
Remote from men, with God he pass'd the days,
Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise.

A life so sacred, such screne repose,
Seem'd Heaven itself, till one suggestion rose;
That Vice should triumph, Virtue, Vice obey,
This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway:
His hopes no more a certain prospect boast,
And all the tenour of his soul is lost:
So when a smooth expanse receives imprest
Calm Nature's image on its watery breast,
Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow,
And skies beneath with answering colours glow:
But if a stone the gentle sea divide,
Swift ruffling circles curl on every side,
And glimmering fragments of a broken Sun,
Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run.

To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, To find if books, or swains, report it right, (For yet by swains alone the world he knew, Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew) He quits his cell; the pilgrim-staff he bore, And fix'd the scallop in his hat before; Then with the Sun a rising journey went, Sedate to think, and watching each event.

The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, And long and lonesome was the wild to pass; But when the southern Sun had warm'd the day, A youth came posting o'er a crossing way; His raiment decent, his complexion fair, And soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair. Then near approaching, "Father, bail!" he cry'd, "And hail, my son," the reverend sire reply'd; Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road; Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part, While in their age they differ, join in heart. Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around.

Now sunk the Sun; the closing hour of day Came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey; Nature in silence bid the world repose; When near the road a stately palace rose:

As one who spies a serpent in his way, Glistening and basking in the summer ray, Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near, Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; So seem'd the sire; when far upon the road, The shining spoil his wiley partner show'd. He stop'd with silence, walk'd with trembling heart, And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part: Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, That generous actions meet a base reward.

While thus they pass, the Sun his glory shrouds, The changing skies hang out their sable clouds; A sound in air presag'd approaching rain, And beasts to covert scud across the plain. Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat. 'Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, And strong, and large, and unimprov'd around; is owner's temper, timorous and severe, Unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there.

As near the miser's heavy doors they drew, Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew; The nimble lightning mix'd with showers began, And o'er their heads loud rolling thunders ran. Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, Driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. At length some pity warm'd the master's breast ("Twas then his threshold first receiv'd a guest); Slow creeking turns the door with jealous care, And half he welcomes in the shivering pair; One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, And Nature's fervour through their limbs recalls: Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine, (Each hardly granted) serv'd them both to dine; And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, A ready warning bid them part in peace.

With still remark the pondering hermit view'd, In one so rich, a life so poor and rude; "And why should such" within himself he cry'd, "Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside?" But what new marks of wonder soon take place, In every settling feature of his face; When from his vest the young companion bore That cup, the generous landlord own'd before,

pass,

go;

The stinted kindness of this churlish soul.
But now the clouds in airy tumult fly;
The Sun emerging opes an azure sky;
A fresher green the smelling leaves display,
And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day:
The weather courts them from the poor retreat,
And the glad master bolts the wary gate.

While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom

wrought

With all the travel of uncertain thought;
His partner's acts without their cause appear,
'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here:
Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes,
Lost and confounded with the various shows.

Now Night's dim shades again involve the sky,
Again the wanderers want a place to lie,
Again they search, and find a lodging nigh,
The soil improv'd around, the mansion neat,
And neither poorly low, nor idly great:
It seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind,
Content, and not to praise, but virtue kind.

Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, Then bless the mansion, and the master greet: Their greeting fair, bestow'd with modest guise, The courteous master hears, and thus replies:

"Without a vain, without a grudging heart, To him who gives us all, I yield a part; From him you come, for him accept it here, A frank and sober, more than costly cheer." He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, Then talk of virtue till the time of bed, When the grave houshold round his hall repair, Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer.

At length the world, renew'd by calm repose,
Was strong for toil, the dappled Morn arose;
Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept,
Near the clos'd cradle where an infant slept,
And writh'd his neck: the landlord's little pride,
O strange return! grew black, and gasp'd, and
dy'd.

Horrour of horrours! what! his only son!
How look'd our hermit when the fact was done;
Not Hell, though Hell's black jaws in sunder
part,

And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart.
Confus'd, and struck with silence at the deed,
He flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with speed.
His steps the youth pursues; the country lay
Perplex'd with roads, a servant show'd the way:
A river cross'd the path; the passage o'er
Was nice to find; the servant trod before;
Long arms of oaks an open bridge supply'd,
And deep the waves beneath the bending glide.
The youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin,
Approached the careless guide, and thrust him in;
Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head,
Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead.
Wild, sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes,
He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries,
"Detested wretch!"-But scarce his speech be-

gan,

When the strange partner seem'd no longer mau:
His youthful face grew more serenely sweet;
His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet;
Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair;
Celestial odours breathe through purpled air;
And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day,
Wide at his back their gradual plumes display.
The form etherial burst upon his sight,
And moves in all the majesty of light.

Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, Sudden he gaz'd, and wist not what to do; Surprise in secret chains his words suspends, And in a calm his settling temper ends. But silence here the beauteous angel broke (The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke). "Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unIn sweet memorial rise before the throne: [known, These charms, success in our bright region find, And force an angel down, to calm thy mind; For this, commission'd, I forsook the sky, Nay, cease to kneel-thy fellow-servant I. "Then know the truth of government divine, And let these scruples be no longer thine. "The Maker justly claims that world he made, In this the right of Providence is laid; Its sacred majesty through all depends On using second means to work his ends: 'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, The power exerts his attributes on high, Your actions uses, nor controls your will, And bids the doubting sons of men be still. "What strange events can strike with more surprise,

Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes?

Yet, taught by these, confess th' Almighty just, And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust!

"The great, vain man, who far'd on costly food, Whose life was too luxurious to be good; Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine, Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, And still he welcomes, but with less of cost.

"The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted Ne'er mov'd in duty to the wandering poor; [dour With him I left the cup, to teach his mind That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, With heaping coals of fire upon its head; In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, And loose from dross the silver runs below.

"Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God;

(Child of his age) for him he liv'd in pain,
And measur'd back his steps to Earth again.
To what excesses had his dotage run?
But God, to save the father, took the son.
To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go,
(And 't was my ministry to deal the blow)
The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust,
Now owns in tears the punishment was just.

"But now had all his fortune felt a wrack,
Had that false servant sped in safety back;
This night his treasur'd heaps he meant to steal,
And what a fund of charity would fail!
Thus Heaven instructs thy mind: this trial o'er,
Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more."

On sounding pinions here the youth withdrew, The sage stood wondering, as the seraph flew. Thus look'd Elisha when, to mount on high, His master took the chariot of the sky; The fiery pomp ascending left to view; The prophet gaz'd, and wish'd to follow too, The bending hermit here a prayer begun, "Lord! as in Heaven, on Earth thy will be done:" Then gladly turning sought his ancient place, And pass'd a life of piety and peace.

PIETY, OR THE VISION'.

'Twas when the night in silent sable fled,
When cheerful morning sprung with rising red,
When dreams and vapours leave to crowd the brain,
And best the vision draws its heavenly scene;
'Twas then, as slumbering on my couch I lay,
A sudden splendour seem'd to kindle day,
A breeze came breathing in a sweet perfume,
Blown from eternal gardens, fill'd the room;
And in a void of blue, that clouds invest,
Appear'd a daughter of the realms of rest;

This and the following poem are not in the octavo editions of Dr. Parnell's poems published by Mr. Pope. They were first communicated to the public by the late ingenious Mr. James Arbuckle, and published in his Hibernicus's Letters, No. 62, GOLDSMITH.-They are now in some degree corrected, from the volume of Posthumous Poems. N.

Her head a ring of golden glory wore,
Her honour'd hand the sacred volume bore,
Her raiment glittering seem'd a silver white,
And all her sweet companions sons of light.

Straight as I gaz'd, my fear and wonder grew,
Fear barr'd my voice, and wonder fix'd my view;
When lo! a cherub of the shining crowd
That sail'd as guardian in her azure cloud,
Fann'd the soft air, and downwards seem'd to glide,
And to my lips a living coal apply'd.
Then while the warmth o'er all my pulses ran
Diffusing comfort, thus the maid began:

1

"Where glorious mansions are prepar'd above, The seats of music, and the seats of love, Thence I descend, and Piety my name, To warm thy bosom with celestial flame, To teach thee praises mix'd with humble prayers, And tune thy soul to sing seraphic airs. Be thou my bard." A vial here she caught, (An angel's hand the crystal vial brought) And as with awful sound the word was said, She pour'd a sacred unction on my head; Then thus proceeded : Be thy Muse thy zeal, Dare to be good, and all my joys reveal, While other pencils flattering forms create, And paint the gaudy plumes that deck the great; While other pens exalt the vain delight, Whose wasteful revel wakes the depth of night; Or others softly sing in idle lines How Damon courts, or Amaryllis shines; More wisely thou select a theme divine, Fame is their recompense, 'tis Heaven is thine. Despise the raptures of discorded fire, Where wine, or passion, or applause inspire Low restless life, and ravings born of Earth, Whose meaner subjects speak their humble birth, Like working seas, that, when loud winters blow, Not made for rising, only rage below. Mine is a warm and yet a lambent heat, More lasting still, as more intensely great, Produc'd where prayer, and praise, and pleasure

breathe,

vance,

"Ah! while I speak, I feel my bosom swell, My raptures smother what I long to tell. 'Tis God! a present God! through cleaving air I see the throne, and see the Jesus there Plac'd on the right. He shows the wounds he bore (My fervours oft have won him thus before); How pleas'd he looks! my words have reach'd his

ear;

He bids the gates unbar; and calls me near."

She ceas'd. The cloud on which she seem'd to tread

Its curls unfolded, and around her spread;
Bright angels waft their wings to raise the cloud,
And sweep their ivory lutes, and sing aloud;
The scene moves off, while all its ambient sky
Is turn'd to wondrous music as they fly;
And soft the swelling sounds of music grow,
And faint their softness, till they fail below.

My downy sleep the warmth of Phoebus broke,
And while my thoughts were settling, thus I spoke.
"Thou beauteous vision! on the soul impress'd,
When most my reason would appear to rest,
'Twas sure with pencils dipt in various lights
Some curious angel linn'd thy sacred sights;
From blazing suns his radiant gold he drew,
While moons the silver gave, and air the blue.
I'll mount the roving winds expanded wing,
And seek the sacred hill, and light to sing;
(Tis known in Jewry well) I'll make my lays,
Obedient to thy summons, sound with praise."

But still I fear, unwarm'd with holy flame, I take for truth the flatteries of a dream; And barely wish the wondrous gift I boast, And faintly practise what deserves it most.

Indulgent Lord! whose gracious love displays Joy in the light, and fills the dark with ease! Be this, to bless my days, no dream of bliss; Or be, to bless the nights, my dreams like this.

BACCHUS;

OR, THE DRUNKEN METAMORPHOSIS.

As Bacchus, ranging at his leisure,
(Jolly Bacchus, king of pleasure!)
Charm'd the wide world with drink and dances,
And all his thousand airy fancies,
Alas! he quite forgot the while
His favourite vines in Lesbos isle.

The god, returning ere they dy'd,
"Ah! see my jolly fauns," he cry'd,
The leaves but hardly born are red,
And the bare arms for pity spread:
The beasts afford a rich manure;
Fly, my boys, to bring the cure;
Up the mountains, o'er the vales,
Through the woods, and down the dales;
For this, if full the cluster grow,
Your bowls shall doubly overflow."

So cheer'd with more officious haste
They bring the dung of every beast;
The loads they wheel, the roots they bare,
They lay the rich manure with care;

While oft he calls to labour hard,
And names as oft the red reward.

The plants refresh'd, new leaves appear,
The thickening clusters load the year;
The season swiftly purple grew,

The grapes hung dangling deep with blue.
A vineyard ripe, a day serene
Now calls them all to work again.
The fauns through every furrow shoot
To load their flaskets with the fruit;
And now the vintage early trod,
The wines invite the jovial god.

Strow the roses, raise the song,
See the master comes along;
Lusty revel join'd with laughter,
Whim and frolic follow after:
The fauns aside the vats remain,
To show the work, and reap the gain.
All around, and all around,
They sit to riot on the ground;
A vessel stands amidst the ring,

And here they laugh, and here they sing:
Or rise a jolly jolly band,

And dance about it hand in hand;
Dance about, and shout amain,
Then sit to laugh and sing again.
Thus they drink, and thus they play
The sun and all their wits away.

But, as an ancient author sung,
The vine manur'd with every dung,
From every creature strangely drew
A twang of brutal nature too;
'Twas hence in drinking on the lawns
New turns of humour seiz'd the fauns.

Here one was crying out, " By Jove!"
Another," Fight me in the grove;"
This wounds a friend, and that the trees;
The lion's temper reign'd in these.

Another grins, and leaps about,
And keeps a merry world of rout,
And talks impertinently free,
And twenty talk the same as he:
Chattering, idle, airy, kind:

These take the monkeys turn of mind.

Here one, that saw the nymphs which stood
To peep upon them from the wood,
Skulks off to try if any maid

Be lagging late beneath the shade;
While loose discourse another raises
In naked Nature's plainest phrases,
And every glass he drinks enjoys,

With change of nonsense, lust, and noise;
Mad and careless, hot and vain:
Such as these the goat retain.

Another drinks and casts it up,

And drinks, and wants another cup;
Solemn, silent, and sedate,

Ever long, and ever late,

Full of meats, and full of wine:

This takes his temper from the swine.

Here some who hardly seem to breathe,
Drink, and hang the jaw beneath.
Gaping, tender, apt to weep:
Their nature's alter'd by the sheep.
'Twas thus one autumn all the crew
(If what the poets say be true)
While Bacchus made the merry feast,
Inclin'd to one or other beast:

And since, 'tis said, for many a mile
He spread the vines of Lesbos isle.

VOL. IX.

THE HORSE AND THE OLIVE. WITH moral tale let ancient Wisdom move, Whilst thus I sing to make the moderns wise: Strong Neptune once with sage Minerva strove, And rising Athens was the victor's prize. By Neptune, Plutus (guardian power of gain), By great Minerva, bright Apollo stood: But Jove superior bade the side obtain,

Which best contriv'd to do the nation good. Then Neptune striking, from the parted ground The warlike Horse came pawing on the plain, And as it tost its mane, and pranc'd around, "By this," he cries, "I'll make the people reign."

The goddess, smiling, gently bow'd her spear, And "Rather thus they shall be bless'd," she said; Then upwards shooting in the vernal air,

With loaded boughs the fruitful Olive spread. Jove saw what gift the rural powers design'd; And took th' impartial scales, resolv'd to show, If greater bliss in warlike pomp we find,

Or in the calm which peaceful times bestow. On Neptune's part he plac'd victorious days, Gay trophies won, and fame extending wide; But plenty, safety, science, arts, and ease,

Minerva's scale with greater weight supply'd.
Fierce War devours whom gentle Peace would savet
Sweet Peace restores what angry War destroys;
War made for Peace, with that rewards the brave;
While Peace its pleasures from itself enjoys.
Hence vanquish'd Neptune to the sea withdrew,
Hence wise Minerva rul'd Athenian lands;
Her Athens hence in arts and honours grew,
And still her olives deck pacific hands.

From fables, thus disclos'd, a monarch's mind
May form just rules to choose the truly great,
And subjects weary'd with distresses find,
Whose kind endeavours most befriend the state
Ev'n Britain here may learn to place her love,
If cities won, her kingdom's wealth have cost;
If Anna's thoughts the patriot souls approve,
Whose cares restore that wealth the wars had lost,

But if we ask, the moral to disclose,

Whom her best patroness Europa calls,
Great Anna's title no exception knows,
And unapply'd in this the fable falls.

With her nor Neptune or Minerva vies:
Whene'er she pleas'd, her troops to conquest flew;
Whene'er she pleases, peaceful times arise:
She gave the Horse, and gives the Olive too.

DR. DONNE'S THIRD SATIRE VERSIFIED.

COMPASSION checks my spleen, yet scorn denies
The tears a passage through my swelling eyes;
To laugh or weep at sins, might idly show
Unheedful passion, or unfruitful woe.
Satire! arise, and try thy sharper ways,
If ever satire cur'd an old disease.
Bb