Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

ON THE

When Damon, who design'd to pass the day

MENALCAS. With hounds and horns, and chase the flying prey, Rose early from his bed; but soon be found Damon, behold yon breaking purple cloud; The welkin pitch'd with sullen clouds around, Hear'st thou not hymns and songs divinely loud ? An eastern wind, and dew upon the ground. There mounts Amyntas; the young cherubs play Thus while he stood, and sighing did survey About their godlike mate, and sing him on his way. The fields, and curst th' ill omens of the day, He cleaves the liquid air, behold he flies, He saw Menalcas come with heavy pace;

And every moment gains upon the skies. Wet were his eyes, and cheerless was his face: The new-come guest admires th' ethereal state, He wrung his hands, distracted with his care, The sapphire portal, and the golden gate; And sent his voice before him from afar.

And now, admitted in the shining throng, “Return," he cry'd, “ return, unhappy swain, He shows the passport which he brought along, The spungy clouds are filld with gathering rain: His passport is his innocence and grace, The promise of the day not only cross'd,

Well known to all the natives of the place. But ev'n the spring, the spring itself, is lost. Now sing, ye joyful angels, and admire Amyntas-oh!”—he could not speak the rest, Your brother's voice, that comes to mend your quire: Nor needed, for presaging Damon guess'd.

Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow;
Equal with Heaven young Damon lov'd the boy, For like Amyntas none is left below,
The boast of Nature, both his parents' joy.
His graceful form revolving in his mind;
So great a genius, and a soul so kind,

VI.
Gave sad assurance that his fears were true;
Too well the envy of the gods he knew :
For when their gifts too lavishly are plac'd,

DEATH OF A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN,
Soon they repent, and will not make them last.
For sure it was too bountiful a dole,

He who could view the book of Destiny, The mother's features, and the father's soul. And read whatever there was writ of thee, Then thus he cry'd: “The morn bespoke the news: O charming youth, in the first opening page, The Morning did her cheerful light diffuse: So many graces in so green an age, But see how suddenly she chang'd her face, Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind, And brought on clouds and rain, the day's disgrace; A soul at once so manly, and so kind; Just such, Amyntas, was thy promis'd race. Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er, What charms adoru'd thy youth, where Nature And after some few leaves should find no more, smil'd,

Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space, And more than man was given us in a child ! A step of life that promisd such a race. His infancy was ripe: a soul sublime

We must not, dare not think, that Heaven began In years so tender that prevented time:

A child, and could not finish him a man; Heaven gave him all at once; then snatch'd away, Reflecting what a mighty store was laid Ere mortals all his beauties could survey :

Of rich materials, and a model made:
Just like the flower that buds and withers in a day.” The cost already furnish'd; so bestow'd,

As more was never to one soul allow'd:
MENALCAS.

Yet, after this profusion spent in vain,

Nothing but mouldering ashes to remain, The mother, lovely, though with grief opprest, I guess not, lest I split upon the shelf, Reclin'd his dying bead upon her breast,

Yet, durst I guess, Heaven kept it for himself; The mournful family stood all around;

And, giving us the use, did soon recal,
One groan was heard, one universal sound : Ere we could spare, the mighty principal.
All were in floods of tears and endless sorrow drown'd. Thus then he disappear'd, was rarify'd;
So dire a sadness sat on every look,

For 'tis improper speech to say he dy'd :
Ev'n Death repented he had given the stroke. He was exhal'd; his great Creator drew
He griev'd his fatal work had been ordain’d, His spirit, as the Sun the morning dew.
But promis'd length of life to those who yet remain'd. 'Tis sin produces death; and he had none
The mother's and her eldest daughter's grace,

But the taint Adam left on every son.
It seems, had brib'd him to prolong their space, He added not, he was so pure, so good,
The father bore it with undaunted soul,

'Twas but th' original forfeit of his blood : Like one who durst his destiny control :

And that so little, that the river ran Yet with becoming grief he bore his part,

More clear than the corrupted fount began. Resign'd his son, but not resign'd his heart. Nothing remain'd of the first muddy clay; Patient as Job; and may he live to see,

The length of course had wash'd it in the way: Like him, a new increasing family!

So deep, and yet so clear, we might behold

The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold.
DAMON.

As such we lov'd, admir'd, almost ador'd,

Gave all the tribute mortals could afford, Such is my wish, and such my prophecy.

Perhaps we gave so much, the powers above For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould remains; Grew angry at our superstitious love : Long may she exercise her fruitful pains ! For when we more than human homage pay, But, ah! with better hap, and bring a race The charming cause is justly snatch'd away. More lasting, and endued with equal grace ! Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone : Equal she may, but further none can go :

And yet we murmur that he went so soon: For he was all that was exact below.

Though miracles are short and rarely shown,

Hear then, ye mournful parents, and divide
That love in many, which in one was ty'd.

IX.
That individual blessing is no more,
But multiply'd in your remaining store.

EPITAPH ON TIIE LADY WHITMORE.
The flame's dispers'd, but does not all expire;
The sparkles blaze, though not the globe of fire.
Love him by parts, in all your numerous race,

Fair, kind, and true, a treasure each alone,
And from those parts form one collected grace ;

A wife, a mistress, and a friend in one,

Rest in this tomb, rais'd at thy husband's cost, Then, when you have refin'd to that degree, Imagine all in one, and think that one is he.

Here sadly summing, what he had, and lost.

Come, virgins, ere in equal bands ye join,
Come first, and offer at her sacred shrine ;
Pray but for half the virtues of this wife,

Compound for all the rest, with longer life;
VII.

And wish your vows, like hers, may be return'd,
So lov'd when living, and when dead so mourn'd.

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small]

VIII.

Ye sacred relics, which your marble keep,

Here, undisturb'd by wars, in quiet sleep :
ON THE DEATH OF MR. PURCELL.

Discharge the trust, which, when it was below,

Fairbone's undaunted soul did undergo,
SET TO MUSIC BY DR. BLOW.

And be the town's Palladium from the foe.

Alive and dead these walls he will defend :
Mark how the lark and linnet sing:

Great actions great examples must attend.
With rival notes

The Candian siege his early valour knew,
They strain their warbling throats,

Where Turkish blood did his young hands imbrue. To welcome in the Spring.

From thence returning with deserv'd applause, But in the close of night,

Against the Moors his well-flesh'd sword he draws; When Philomel begins her heavenly lay,

The same the courage, and the same the cause. They cease their mutual spite,

His youth and age, his life and death, combine,
Drink in her music with delight,

As in some great and regular design,
And, listening, silently obey.

All of a piece throughout, and all divine.

Still nearer Heaven his virtues shone more bright, So ceas'd the rival crew,

when Purcell came; Like rising flames expanding in their beight; They sung no more, or only sung his fame :

The martyr's glory crown'd the soldier's fight. Struck dumb, they all admir'd the godlike man:

More bravely British general never fell,
The godlike man,

Nor general's death was e'er reveng'd so well;
Alas! too soon retir'd,

Which his pleas'd eyes beheld before their close, As be too late began.

Follow'd by thousand victims of his foes.
We beg not Hell our Orpheus to restore:

To his lamented loss for time to come
Had he been there,

His pious widow consecrates this toinb.
Their sovereign's fear

Had sent him back before.
The power of harmony too well they knew :
He long ere this had tuu'd their jarring sphere,
And left no Hell below.

XI.
The heavenly choir, who heard bis notes from high, UNDER MR. MILTON'S PICTURE, BEFORE HIS
Let down the scale of music from the sky:

PARADISE LOST.
They handed him along,
And all the way he taught, and all the way they sung. Three poets, in three distant ages born,
Ye brethren of the lyre, and tuneful voice,

Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
Lament his lot; but at your own rejoice:

The first, in loftiness of thought surpass'd; Now live secure, and linger out your days; The next, in majesty; in both the last. The gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's lays, The force of Nature could no further go; Nor know to mend their choice.

To make a third, she join'd the former two.

[ocr errors]

ON THE

Rests here, rewarded by an heavenly prince;
XII.

For what his earthly could not recompense.
Pray, reader, that such times no more appear:

Or, if they happen, learn true honour here.
MONUMENT OF A FAIR MAIDEN LADY, WHO DIED Ask of this age's faith and loyalty,

AT BATH, AND IS THERE INTERRED. Which, to preserve them, Heaven confind in thee. Below this marble monument is laid

Few subjects could a king like thine deserve: All that Heaven wants of this celestial majd.

And fewer, such a king, so well could serve. Preserve, O sacred Tomb, thy trust consign'd;

Blest king, blest subject, whose exalted state The mould was made on purpose for the mind :

By sufferings rose, and gave the law to Fate. And she would lose, if, at the latter day,

Such souls are rare, but mighty patterns giren One atom could be mix'd of other clay.

To Earth, and meant for ornaments to Heaven. Such were the features of her heavenly face, Her limbs were form'd with such harmonious grace: So faultless was the frame, as if the whole

XV.
Had been an emanation of the soul;

EPITAPH
Which her own inward symmetry reveal'd;
And like a picture shone, in glass anneal'd.

UPON THE EARL OF ROCHESTER'S BEING DISMISSED mos Or like the Sun eclips'd, with shaded light:

THE TREASURY, IN 1687. Too piercing, else, to be sustain'd by sight.

Here lies a creature of indulgent Fate, Each thought was visible that roll'd within :

From Tory Hyde rais’d to a chit of state;
As through a crystal case the figur'd hours are seen.

In chariot now, Elisha like, he's hurl'd
And Heaven did this transparent veil provide,
Because she had no guilty thought to hide.

To th' upper empty regions of the world :

The airy thing cuts through the yielding sky s All white, a virgin-saint, she sought the skies:

And as it goes does into atoms fly: For marriage, though it sullies not, it dies.

While we on Earth see, with no small delight, High though her wit, yet humble was her mind;

The bird of prey turn’d to a paper kite. As if she could not, or she would not, find

With drunken pride and rage he did so swell, How much her worth transcended all her kind.

The hated thing without compassion fell; Yet she had learn'd so much of Heaven below,

By powerful force of universal prayer, That when arriv'd, she scarce had more to know:

The ill-blown bubble is now turn'd to air;
But only to refresh the former hint;

To his first less than nothing he is gone,
And read her Maker in a fairer print.
So pious, as she had no time to spare

By his preposterous transaction !
For human thoughts, but was confin'd to prayer.
Yet in such charities she passid the day,
'Twas wondrous how she found an hour to pray.

XVI.
A soul so calm, it knew not ebbs or flows,

EPITAPH.
Which passion could but curl, not discompose.
A female softness, with a manly mind :

INTENDED FOR DRYDEN'S WIFE.
A daughter duteous, and a sister kind:
In sickness patient, and in death resign'd.

Here lies my wife: here let her lic!
Now she's at rest, and so am I.

XIII.

XVII.
EPITAPH ON MRS. MARGARET PASTON,

EPIGRAM,
OF BURN INGHAM, IN NORFOLK.

ON THE DUTCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH'S PICTURE. So fair, so young, so innocent, so sweet,

Sure we do live by Cleopatra's age, So ripe a judgment, and so rare a wit,

Since Sunderland does govern now the stage: Require at least an age in one to meet.

She of Septimius had nothing made, In her they metbut long they could not stay, 'Twas gold too fine to mix without allay.

Pompey alone had been by her betray'd. Heaven's image was in her so well exprest,

Were she a poet, she would surely boast, Her very sight upbraided all the rest ;

That all the world for pearls had well been lost Too justly ravish'd from an age like this, Now she is gone, the world is of a piece.

XVIII.

DESCRIPTION OF OLD JACOB TONSON'.
XIV.

With leering look, bull-fac'd, and freckled fair,

With two left legs, with Judas colour'd hair, MONUMENT OF THE MARQUIS OF WINCHESTER. And frowzy pores, that taint the ambient air. He, who in impions- times undaunted stood,

i On Tonson's refusing to give Dryden the price And midst rebellion durst be just and good! he asked for his Virgil, the poet sent him the above; Whose arms asserted, and whose sufferings more and added, “Tell the dog, that he who wrote them, Confirm'd the cause for which be fought before ; can write more." The money was paid.

ON THE

SONGS, ODES, AND A MASQUE.

II. A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687.

I.

TIE FAIR STRANGER.

A SONG.

Happy and free, securely blest ; No beauty could disturb my rest; My amorous heart was in despair, To find a new victorious fair.

Till you, descending on our plains,
With foreign force renew my chains ;
Where now you rule without control
The mighty sovereign of my soul.
Your smiles have more of conquering charms,
Than all your native country arms :
Their troops we can expel with ease,
Who vanquish only when we please.
But in your eyes, oh! there's the spell,
Who can see them, and not rebel?
You make us captives by your stay,
Yet kill us if you go away.

II. ON THE YOUNG STATESMEN.

From harmony, from heavenly harmony

This universal frame began :
When Nature underneath a heap

Of jarring atoms lay,

And could not heave her head,
The tuneful voice was heard from high,

Arise, ye more than dead." Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, In order to their stations leap,

And Music's power obey.
From harmony, from heavenly harmony,

This universal frame began:

From harmony to harmony
Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in man.
What passion cannot Music raise and quell?

When Jubal struck the chorded shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wond'ring, on their faces fell

To worship that celestial sound.
Less than a God they thought there could not dwell

Within the hollow of that shell,

That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell?

The trumpet's loud clangor

Excites us to arms,
With shrill notes of anger

And mortal alarms.
The double double double beat

Of the thundering drum
Cries, “ Hark! the foes come;
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat."

The soft complaining flute
In dying notes discovers

The woes of hopeless lovers,
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.

Sharp violins proclaim
Their jealous pangs, and desperation,
Fury, frantic indignation,
Depth of pains, and height of passion,

For the fair, disdainful dame.
But oh! what art can teach,

What human voice can reach,
The sacred organ's praise?
Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways

To mend the choirs above.
Orpheus could lead the savage race;
And trees uprooted left their place,

Sequacious of the lyre:
But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher :
When to her organ vocal breath was given,
An angel heard, and straight appear'd

Mistaking Earth for Heaven.

CLARENDON had law and sense,

Clifford was fierce and brave;
Bennet's grave look was a pretence,
And Danby's matchless impudence

Help'd to support the knave.
But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory,
These will appear such cbits in story,

'Twill turn all politics to jests, To be repeated like John Dory,

When fiddlers sing at feasts. Protect us, mighty Providence,

What would these madmen have ? First, they would bribe us without pence, Deceive us without common sense,

And without power enslave.

Shall free-born men, in humble awe,

Submit to servile shame; Who froin consent and custom draw The same right to be ruld by law,

Which kings pretend to reign

The duke shall wield his conquering sword,

The chancellor make a speech, The king shall pass bis honest word, The pawn'd revenue sums afford,

And then, come kiss my breech. So have I seen a king on chess

(His rooks and knights withdrawn, His queen and bishops in distress) Shifting about, grow less and less,

With here and there a pawn.

GRAND CHORUS.

As from the power of sacred lays,

The spheres began to move, And sung the great Creator's praise

To all the bless'd above ;

THE

A SONG.

So when the last and dreadful hour

“ By their praying and whining, This crumbling pageant shall devour,

And clasping and twining, The trumpet shall be heard on high,

And panting and wishing, The dead shall live, the living die,

And sighing and kissing,
And Music shall untune the sky.

And sighing and kissing so close."
Cupid in shape of a swain did appear,

He saw the sad wound, and in pity drew near;
IV.

Then show'd her his arrow, and bid her not fear;
For the pain was no more than a maiden may bear:

When the balm was infus'd, she was not at a loss, TEARS OF AMYNTA, FOR THE DEATH OF DAMON.

What they meant by their sighing, and kissing so

By their praying and whining, (close;

And clasping and twining, On a bank, beside a willow,

And panting and wishing, Heaven her covering, earth her pillow,

And sighing and kissing,
Sad Amynta sigh'd alone:

And sighing and kissing so close.
From the cheerless dawn of morning
Till the dews of night returning,
Sighing thus she made her moan:
Hope is banish'd,

VI.
Joys are vanish'd,
Damon, my belov'd, is gone!

THE LADY'S SONG. Time, I dare thee to discover

A CHOIR of bright beauties in spring did appear, Such a youth, and such a lover ;

To choose a May lady to govern the year; Oh! so true, so kind was he!

All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds in Damon was the pride of Nature,

green; Charming in his every feature;

The garland was given, and Phyllis was queen: Damon liv'd alone for me;

But Phyllis refus'd it, and sighing did say,
Melting kisses,

I'll not wear a garland while Pan is away.
Murinuring blisses :
Who so liv'd and lov'd as we !

While Pan, and fair Syrinx, are fled from our shore,

The Graces are banish'd, and Love is no more: “ Never shall we curse the morning,

The soft god of pleasure, that warm'd our desires, Never bless the night returning,

Has broken his bow, and extinguish'd his fires: Sweet embraces to restore:

And vows that himself, and his mother, will mour, Never shall we both lie dying,

Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return.
Nature failing, Love supplying
All the joys he drain'd before:

Forbear your addresses, and court us no more;
Death, come end me

For we will perform what the deity swore :
To befriend me;

But if you dare think of deserving our charms, Love and Damon are no more."

Away with your sheephooks, and take to your arms:
Then laurels and myrtles your brows shall adorn,
When Pan, and his son, and fair Syrinx, returi.

[blocks in formation]

A SONG,

close ;

SYLVIA the fair, in the bloom of fifteen,
Felt an innocent warmth, as she lay on the green: Fair, sweet, and young, receive a prize
She had beard of a pleasure, and something she Reserv'd for your victorious eyes :

guest
By the towzing, and tumbling, and touching her From crowds, whom at your feet you see,

O pity, and distinguish me! She saw the men eager, but was at a loss,

As I from thousand beauties more Wha, they meant by their sighing, and kissing so

Distinguish you, and only you adore. By their praying and whining,

Your face for conquest was design'd, And clasping and twining,

Your every motion charms my mind; And panting and wishing,

Angels, when you your silence break, And sighing and kissing,

Forget their hymns, to hear you speak; And sighing and kissing so close.

But when at once they hear and view,

Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you. “ Ah!" she cry'd; “ah! for a languishing maid, In a country of Christians, to die without aid ! No graces can your form improve, Not a Whig, or a Tory, or Trimmer at least, But all are lost, unless you love; Or a Protestant parson, or Catholic priest, While that sweet passion you disdain, T' instruct a young virgin, that is at a loss, Your veil and beauty are in vain : What they meant by their sighing, and kissing so In pity then prevent my fate, close !

For after dying all reprieve's too late.

« ПредишнаНапред »