TO WILLIAM COLMORE, ESQ.
The Day after the great Meteor, in March 1715.
THIS dismal morn, when east winds blow,
And ev'ry languid pulse beats low,
With face most sorrowfully grim,
And head oppress'd with wind and whim,
Grave as an owl, and just as witty,
To thee I twang my doleful ditty,
And in mine own dull rhimes would find
Music to sooth my restless mind:
But oh! my friend, I sing in vain,
No dogg'rel can relieve my pain;
Since thou art gone, my heart's desire,
And heav'n, and earth, and sea, conspire,
To make my miseries complete;
Where shall a wretched Hip retreat?
What shall a drooping mortal do,
Who pines for sunshine and for you?
If in the dark alcove I dream,
And you or Phillis is my theme,
While love or friendship warm my soul,
My shins are burning to a coal.
If rais'd to speculations high,
I gaze the stars and spangled sky,
With heart devout and wond'ring eye,
Amaz'd I view strange globes of light;
Meteors with horrid lustre bright
My guilty trembling soul affright.
To Mother Earth's prolific bed,
Pensive I stoop my giddy head,
From thence, too, all my hopes are fled.
Nor flow'rs, nor grass, nor shrubs, appear
To deck the smiling infant year,
But blasts my tender blossoms wound,
And desolation reigns around.
If sea-ward my dark thoughts I bend,
O! where will my misfortunes end?
My loyal soul distracted meets
Attainted dukes and Spanish fleets.*
Thus jarring elements unite,
Pregnant with wrongs, and arm'd with spite;
Successive mischiefs ev'ry hour
On my devoted head they pour.
Whate'er I do, where'er I go,
'Tis still an endless scene of woe.
'Tis thus disconsolate I mourn,
I faint, I die, till thy return;
Till thy brisk wit and hum'rous vein
Restore me to myself again.
Let others vainly seek for ease
ADDRES TO HIS ELBOW -CHAIR,
My dear companion, and my faithful friend!
If Orpheus taught the list'ning oaks to bend ;
If stones and rubbish, at Amphion's call,
Danc'd into form, and built the Theban wall,
Why should'st not thou attend my humble lays,
And hear my grateful harp resound thy praise?
True, thou art spruce and fine, a very beau;
But what are trappings and external show?
To real worth alone I make my court;
Knaves are my scorn, and coxcombs are my sport. Ic
Once I beheld thee far less trim and gay,
Ragged, disjointed, and to worms a prey;
The safe retreat of ev'ry lurking mouse;
Derided, shunn'd; the lumber of my house.
Thy robe how chang'd from what it was before!
Thy velvet robe, which pleas'd my sires of yore!
'Tis thus capricious Fortune wheels us round;
Aloft we mount---then tumble to the ground.
Yet grateful then, my constancy I prov'd;
I knew thy worth; my friends in rags I lov'd:
I lov'd thee more; nor, like a courtier, spurn'd
My benefactor when the tide was turn'd.
With conscious shame, yet frankly, I confess
That in my youthful days---I lov'd thee less.
Where vanity, where pleasure call'd, I stray'd,
And ev'ry wayward appetite obey'd;
But sage experience taught me how to prize
Myself, and how this world: she bade me rise
To nobler flights, regardless of a race
Of factious emmets; pointed where to place
My bliss, and lodg'd me in thy soft embrace.
Here on thy yielding down I sit secure,
And, patiently, what Heav'n has sent endure;
From all the futile cares of bus'ness free,
Not fond of life, but yet content to be:
Here mark the fleeting hours, regret the past,
And seriously prepare to meet the last.
So safe on shore the pension'd sailor lies,
And all the malice of the storm defies;
With ease of body bless'd, and peace of mind,
Pities the restless crew he left behind;
Whilst in his cell he meditates alone
On his great voyage to the world unknown.
ON MIRANDA'S LEAVING THE COUNTRY.
THE sun departing, hides his head,
The lily and the rose are dead,
The birds forget to sing;
The cooing turtles now no more
Repeat their am'rous ditties o'er,
But watch th' approaching spring,
For soon the merry month of May
Restores the bright all-cheering ray;
Soft notes charm ev'ry grove:
The flow'rs ambrosial incense breathe,
And all above and all beneath
Is fragrance, joy, and love.
So when Miranda hence retires,
Each shepherd only not expires;
How rueful is the scene!
How the dull moments creep along!
No sportive dance, no rural song,
No gambols on the green.
Yet when the radiant nymph appears,
Each field its richest liv'ry wears,
All Nature's blithe and gay;
The swains, transported with delight,
After a long and gloomy night,
Bless the reviving day.
While thus, indulgent to our pray❜r,
Kind Heav'n permitted us to share
A blessing so divine;
While smiling hope gave some relief,
And joys alternate sooth'd our grief,
What shepherd could repine?
But now---her fatal loss we mourn,
Never, oh! never to return
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