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Although it is impossible to deny Grainger the credit of poetical genius, it must ever be regretted that where he wished most to excel, he was most unfortunate in the choice of a subject. The effect of his Sugar-Cane, either as to pleasure or utility, must be local. Connected as an English merchant may be with the produce of the West Indies, it will not be easy to persuade the reader of English poetry to study the cultivation of the sugar-plant, merely that he may add some new imagery to the more ample stores which he can contemplate without study or trouble. In the West Indies this poem might have charms, if readers could be found; but what poetical fancy can dwell on the economy of canes and copper-boilers, or find interest in the transactions of planters and sugar-brokers?

His invocations to his Muse are so frequent and abrupt, that "the assembled wits at sir Joshua Reynolds's" might have found many passages as ludicrous as that which excited their mirth. The solemnity of these invocations excites expectation which generally ends in disappointment, and at best the reader's attention is bespoke without being rewarded. He is induced to look for something grand, and is told of a contrivance for destroying monkies, or a recipe to poison rats. He smiles to find the slaves called by the happy poetical name of swains, and the planters urged to devotion!

The images in this poem are in general low, and the allusions, where the poet would be minutely descriptive, descend to things little and familiar. Yet this is in some measure forced upon him. His Muse sings of matters so new and uncouth to her, that it is impossible "her heavenly plumes" should escape being "soiled." What Muse, indeed, could give a receipt for a compost of "weeds, mould, dung, and stale," or a lively description of the symptoms and cure of the yaws, and preserve her elegance or purity?

But what lessens the respect of the reader for the poem in general, is the object so often repeated, so unpoetical and unphilosophical, wealth. Yet this, too, is a necessary evil arising from the choice of subject, for although our author frequently says,

the planter, if he wealth desire

it would be difficult to find many instances of planters who desired any thing else. In all his appeals to that class on the treatment of slaves, he has no persuasion more strong than self-interest, and he has no consolation to give the slaves, but that, in his opinion, they are happier than those who dig the mines.

Where, however, he quits the plain track of mechanical instructions, we have many of those effusions of fancy which will yet preserve this poem in our collections. The description of the hurricane and of the earthquake are truly grand, and heightened by circumstances of horrour that are new to Europeans. The episode of Montano, in the first book, arrests the attention very forcibly, and many of the occasional reflections are elegant and pathetic; nor ought the tale of Junio and Theana to be omitted in a list of the beauties of this poem.

The Ode to Solitude, already noticed, and the ballad of Bryan and Pereene, are sufficient to attest our author's claim to poetical honours. The translation of Tibullus, which is added to the present collection, will give equal proofs of classical taste and learning.

POEMS

OF

JAMES GRAINGER, M. D.

SOLITUDE.

AN ODE.

SOLITUDE, romantic maid,

Whether by nodding towers you tread,
Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb,
Or climb the Andes' clifted side,
Or by the Nile's coy source abide,
Or, starting from your half-year's sleep,
From Hecla view the thawing deep,
Or at the purple dawn of day,
Tadmor's marble wastes survey ';
You, recluse, again I woo,
And again your steps pursue.

Plum'd Conceit himself surveying,
Folly with her shadow playing,
Purse-proud, elbowing Insolence,
Bloated empiric, puff'd Pretence,
Noise that through a trumpet speaks,
Laughter in loud peals that breaks,
Intrusion with a fopling's face
(Ignorant of time and place)
Sparks of fire Dissension blowing,
Ductile, court-bred Flattery, bowing,
Restraint's stiff neck, Grimace's leer,
Squint-ey'd Censure's artful sneer,
Ambition's buskins steep'd in blood,
Fly thy presence, Solitude.

Sage Reflection bent with years,
Conscious Virtue void of fears,
Muffled Silence, wood-nymph shy,
Meditation's piercing eye,
Halcyon Peace on moss reclin'd,
Retrospect that scans the mind,

Alluding to the account of Palmyra, published by Messrs. Wood and Dawkins, and the manner in which they were struck at the sight of these magnificent ruins by break of day.

Rapt earth-gazing Revery,
Blushing artless Modesty,
Health that snuffs the morning air,
Full-ey'd Truth with bosom bare,
Inspiration, Nature's child,
Seek the solitary wild.

You with the tragic Muse retir'd'
The wise Euripides inspir'd,
You taught the sadly-pleasing air
That Athens sav'd from ruins bare 3.
You gave the Cean's tears to flow,
And unlock'd the springs of woe4;
You penn'd what exil'd Naso thought,
And pour'd the melancholy note.
With Petrarch o'er Valcluse you stray'd,
When Death snatch'd his long-lov'd maid;
You taught the rocks her loss to mourn,
You strew'd with flowers her virgin urn.
And late in Hagley you were seen",
With blood-shed eyes, and sombre mien,
Hymen his yellow vestment tore,
And Dirge a wreath of cypress wore.
But chief your own the solemn lay
That wept Narcissa young and gay,
Darkness clapp'd her sable wing,

While you touch'd the mournful string,
Anguish left the pathless wild,
Grim-fac'd Melancholy smil'd,
Drowsy Midnight ceas'd to yawn,
The starry host put back the dawn,
Aside their harps ev'n seraphs flung
To hear the sweet Complaint, O Young?.

When all Nature 's hush'd asleep, Nor Love nor Guilt their vigils keep,

2 In the island of Salamis.

3 See Plutarch in the life of Lysander.

4 Simonides.

s Laura, twenty years, and ten after her death.

6 Monody on the death of Mrs. Lyttelton.

7 Night Thoughts.

Soft you leave your cavern'd den,
And wander o'er the works of men.
But when Phosphor brings the dawn,
By her dappled coursers drawn,
Again you to the wild retreat
And the early huntsman meet,
Where as you pensive pace along,
You catch the distant shepherd's song,
Or brush from herbs the pearly dew,
Or the rising primrose view.

Devotion lends her heav'n-plum'd wings,
You mount, and Nature with you sings.
But when mid-day fervours glow,
To upland airy shades you go,
Where never sun-burnt woodman came,
Nor sportsman chas'd the timid game;
And there beneath an oak reclin'd,
With drowsy waterfalls behind,
You sink to rest.

Till the tuneful bird of night,

From the neighb'ring poplar's height,
Wake you with her solemn strain,
And teach pleas'd Echo to complain.

With you roses brighter bloom,
Sweeter every sweet perfume,
Purer every fountain flows,
Stronger every wilding grows.

Let those toil for gold who please,
Or for fame renounce their ease.
What is fame? an empty bubble;
Gold? a transient, shining trouble.
Let them for their country bleed,
What was Sidney's, Raleigh's meed?
Man 's not worth a moment's pain,
Base, ungrateful, fickle, vain.
Then let me, sequester'd fair,
To your Sibyl grot repair,
On yon hanging cliff it stands
Scoop'd by Nature's salvage hands,
Bosom'd in the gloomy shade
Of cypress, not with age decay'd.
Where the owl still-hooting sits,
Where the bat incessant flits,
There in loftier strains I'll sing,
Whence the changing seasons spring,
Tell how storms deform the skies,
Whence the waves subside and rise,
Trace the comet's blazing tail,
Weigh the planets in a scale;
Bend, great God, before thy shrine,
The bournless microcosm 's thine.

Save me! what 's yon shrouded shade,
That wanders in the dark-brown glade?
It beckons me!-vain fears, adieu,
Mysterious ghost, I follow you.
Ah me! too well that gait I know,
My youth's first friend, my manhood's woe!
Its breast it bares! what! stain'd with blood?
Quick let me stanch the vital flood.

O spirit, whither art thou flown?
Why left me comfortless alone?

O Solitude, on me bestow

The heart-felt harmony of woe,
Such, such, as on th' Ausonian shore,

Sweet Dorian Moschus 8 trill'd of yore:

• See Idyll.

No time should cancel thy desert,

More, more, than Bion was 9, thou wert.

O goddess of the tearful eye 1o,
The never-ceasing stream supply.
Let us with Retirement go

To charnels, and the house of woe,
O'er Friendship's herse low-drooping mourn,
Where the sickly tapers burn,

Where Death and nun-clad Sorrow dwell,
And nightly ring the solemn knell.
The gloom dispels, the charnel smiles,
Light flashes through the vaulted ailes,
Blow silky soft, thou western gale,
O goddess of the desert, hail!
She bursts from yon cliff-riven cave,
Insulted by the wintry wave;
Her brow an ivy-garland binds,
Her tresses wanton with the winds,

A lion's spoils, without a zone,
Around her limbs are careless thrown;
Her right-hand wields a knotted mace,
Her eyes roll wild, astride her pace;
Her left a magic mirror holds,

In which she oft herself beholds.
O goddess of the desert, hail!
And softer blow, thou western gale!

Since in each scheme of life I 've fail'd,
And dissappointment seems entail'd;
Since all on Earth I valued most,
My guide, my stay, my friend is lost;
You, only you, can make me blest,
And hush the tempest in my breast.
Then gently deign to guide my feet
To your hermit-trodden seat,
Where I may live at last my own,
Where I at last may die unknown.

I spoke, she twin'd her magic ray,
And thus she said, or seem'd to say:
"Youth, you're mistaken, if you think to find
In shades a med'cine for a troubled mind;
Wan Grief will haunt you wheresoe'er you go,
Sigh in the breeze, and in the streamlet flow.
There pale Inaction pines his life away,
And, satiate, curses the return of day:
There naked Frenzy, laughing wild with pain,
Or bares the blade, or plunges in the main:
There Superstition broods o'er all her fears,
And yells of demons in the Zephyr hears.
But if a hermit you 're resolv'd to dwell,
And bid to social life a last farewell;
'Tis impious-

God never made an independent man,
"Twould jar the concord of his general plan:
See every part of that stupendous whole,
'Whose body Nature is, and God the soul;'
To one great end, the general good, conspire,
From matter, brute, to man, to seraph, fire.
Should man through Nature solitary roam,
His will his sovereign, every where his home,
What force would guard him from the lion's jaw?
What swiftness wing him from the panther's paw
Or should Fate lead him to some safer shore,
Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar;

9 Alluding to the death of a friend.

10 Dr. Grainger has here evidently borrowed from Dr. Warton's Ode to Fancy, which was published several years before the present poem.

Where liberal Nature all her charms bestows,
Suns shine, birds sing, flowers bloom, and water flows,
Fool, dost thou think he 'd revel on the store,
Absolve the care of Heav'n, nor ask for more?
Though waters flow'd, flowers bloom'd, and Phoebus

shone,

He'd sigh, he'd murmur that he was alone.
For know, the Maker on the human breast
A sense of kindred, country, man, imprest;
And social life to better, aid, adorn,
With proper faculties each mortal 's born.

"Though Nature's works the ruling mind declare,
And well deserve inquiry's serious care,
The God (whate'er Misanthropy may say)
Shines, beams in man with most unclouded ray.
What boots it thee to fly from pole to pole,
Hang o'er the Sun, and with the planets roll?
What boots through space's furthest bourns to roam,
If thou, O man, a stranger art at home?
Then know thyself, the human mind survey,
The use, the pleasure will the toil repay.
Hence Inspiration plans his manner'd lays,

Hence Homer's crown; and, Shakspeare, hence thy bays.

Hence he, the pride of Athens, and the shame,
The best and wisest of mankind became.
Nor study only, practise what you know,
Your life, your knowledge, to mankind you owe.
With Plato's olive wreath the bays entwine:
Those who in study, should in practice shine.
Say, does the learned lord of Hagley's shade",
Charm man so much by mossy fountains laid,
As when, arous'd, he stems Corruption's course,
And shakes the senate with a Tully's force?
When Freedom gasp'd beneath a Cæsar's feet,
Then public Virtue might to shades retreat;
But where she breathes, the least may useful be,
And Freedom, Britain, still belongs to thee,
Though man's ungrateful, or though Fortune frown;
Is the reward of worth a song, or crown?
Nor yet unrecompens'd are Virtue's pains,
Good Allen 12 lives, and bounteous Brunswick reigns.
On each condition disappointments wait,
Enter the hut, and force the guarded gate.
Nor dare repine, though early Friendship bleed,
From love, the world, and all its cares he 's freed.
But know, Adversity 's the child of God;

Whom Heaven approves of most, most feel her rod.
When smooth old Ocean and each storm 's asleep,
Then Ignorance may plough the wat'ry deep;
But when the demons of the tempest rave,
Skill must conduct the vessel through the wave.
Sidney 13, what good man envies not thy blow?
Who would not wish Anytus 14 for a foe?
Intrepid Virtue triumphs over Fate,
The good can never be unfortunate.
And be this maxim graven in thy mind,
The height of virtue is to serve mankind.

"But when old age has silver'd o'er thy head,
When memory fails, and all thy vigour 's fled,
Then may'st thou seek the stillness of retreat,
Then hear aloof the human tempest beat,
Then will I greet thee to my woodland cave,
Allay the pangs of age, and smooth thy grave."

"Lord Lyttelton.

12 Ralph Allen, esq. of Prior Park.

13 Algernon Sidney, beheaded at Tower Hill, 7th December, 1683.

14 One of the accusers of Socrates.

BRYAN AND PEREENE,

A WEST INDIAN BALLAD,

FOUNDED ON A REAL FACT, THAT HAPPENED IN THE ISLAND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER'S ABOUT TWO YEARS ago.

THE north-east wind did briskly blow,

The ship was safely moor'd,

Young Bryan thought the boat's crew slow, And so leapt overboard.

Pereene, the pride of Indian dames,
His heart long held in thrall,
And whoso his impatience blames,
I wot, ne'er lov'd at all.

A long long year, one month and day,
He dwelt on English land,
Nor once in thought or deed would stray,
Though ladies sought his hand.

For Bryan he was tall and strong, Right blithsome roll'd his een, Sweet was his voice whene'er he sung, He scant had twenty seen.

But who the countless charms can draw, That grac'd his mistress true;

Such charms the old world seldom saw, Nor oft I ween the new.

Her raven hair plays round her neck,
Like tendrils of the vine;
Her cheeks red dewy rose-buds deck,
Her eyes like diamonds shine.

Soon as his well-known ship she spied, She cast her weeds away,

And to the palmy shore she hied,

All in her best array.

In sea-green silk so neatly clad,
She there impatient stood;
The crew with wonder saw the lad
Repel the foaming flood.

Her hands a handkerchief display'd,
Which he at parting gave;
Well pleas'd the token he survey'd,
And manlier beat the wave.

Her fair companions, one and all, Rejoicing crowd the strand; For now her lover swam in call,

And almost touch'd the land.

Then through the white surf did she haste,
To clasp her lovely swain;
When, ah! a shark bit through his waste:
His heart's blood dy'd the main!

He shriek'd his half sprang from the wave,
Streaming with purple gore,

And soon it found a living grave,
And ha! was seen no more.

Now haste, now haste, ye maids, I pray,

Fetch water from the spring:

She falls, she swoons, she dies away,
And soon her knell they ring.

Now each May morning round her tomb,
Ye fair, fresh flow'rets strew,

So may your lovers 'scape his doom,
Her hapless fate 'scape you.

THE SUGAR-CANE :

A POEM.

IN FOUR BOOKS.

Agredior primusque novis Helicona movere Cantibus, et viridi nutantes vertice sylvas; Hospita sacra ferens, nulli memorata priorum. Manil.

PREFACE.

cannot wholly dispense with them. Accordingly we find that Hesiod and Virgil, among the ancients, with Philips and Dyer, (not to mention some other poets now living in our own country) have been obliged to insert them in their poems. Their example is a sufficient apology for me, for in their steps I shall always be proud to tread.

Vos sequor, ô Graiæ gentis decus, inque vestris

nunc

Fixa pedum pono pressis vestigia signis ;
Non ita certandi cupidus, quam propter amorem,
Quod vos imitari aveo. .........

Yet, like them too, I have generally preferred the way of description, wherever that could be done without hurting the subject.

Such words as are not common in Europe, I have briefly explained: because an obscure poem affords both less pleasure and profit to the reader. -For the same reason, some notes have been added, which, it is presumed, will not be disagreeable to those who have never been in the West Indies.

In a West India Georgic, the mention of many

Soon after my arrival in the West Indies, I conceived the design of writing a poem on the culti-indigenous remedies, as well as diseases, was unvation of the sugar-cane. My inducements to this arduous undertaking were, not only the importance and novelty of the subject, but more especially this consideration; that, as the face of this country was wholly different from that of Europe, so whatever hand copied its appearances, however rude, could not fail to enrich poetry with many new and picturesque images.

I cannot, indeed, say I have satisfied my own ideas in this particular: yet I must be permitted to recommend the precepts contained in this poem. They are the children of truth, not of genius; the result of experience, not the productions of fancy. Thus, though I may not be able to please, I shall stand some chance of instructing the reader; which, as it is the nobler end of all poetry, so it should be the principal aim of every writer who wishes to be thought a good man.

It must, however, be observed, that, though the general precepts are suited to every climate, where the cane will grow; yet, the more minute rules are chiefly drawn from the practice of St. Christopher. Some selection was necessary; and I could adopt no modes of planting with such propriety, as those I had seen practised in that island, where it has been my good fortune chiefly to reside since I came to the West Indies.

I have often been astonished, that so little has been published on the cultivation of the sugarcane, while the press has groaned under folios on every other branch of rural economy. It were unjust to suppose planters were not solicitous for the improvement of their art, and injurious to assert they were incapable of obliging mankind with their improvements.

And yet, except some scattered hints in Pere Labat, and other French travellers in America; an essay, by colonel Martyn of Antigua, is the only piece on plantership I have seen deserving a perusal. That gentleman's pamphlet is, indeed, an excellent performance; and to it I own myself indebted.

It must be confessed, that terms of art look awkward in poetry; yet didactic compositions

avoidable. The truth is, I have rather courted opportunities of this nature, than avoided them. Medicines of such amazing efficacy, as I have had occasion to make trials of in these islands, deserve to be universally known. And wherever, in the following poem, I recommend any such, I beg leave to be understood as a physician, and

not as a poet.

Basseterre, Jan. 1763.

one.

BOOK I.

ARGUMENT.

Subject proposed. Invocation and address. What soils the cane grows best in. The grey light earth. Praise of St. Christopher. The red brick mould. Praise of Jamaica, and of Christopher Columbus. The black soil mixed with clay and gravel. Praise of Barbadoes, Nevis, and Mountserrat. Composts may improve other soils. Advantages and disadvantages of a level plantation. Of a mountain-estate. Of a midland Advantages of proper cultivation. Of fallowing. Of compost. Of leaving the Woura, and penning cattle on the distant cane-pieces. Whether yams improve the soil. Whether dung should be be buried in each hole, or scattered over the piece. Cane-lands may be holed at any time. The ridges should be open to the trade-wind. The beauty of holing regularly by a line. Alternate holing, and the wheel-plough recommended to trial. When to plant. Wet weather the best. Rain often falls in the West Indies, almost without any previous signs. The signs of rainy weather. Of fogs round the high mountains. Planting described. Begin to plant mountain-land in July: the low ground in November, and the subsequent months, till May. The advantage of changing tops in planting. Whether the Moon has any influence over the

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