His Observations on the History of St. George were printed in the fifth volume of the Archaeologia, in answer, not only to Byrom, but to Dr. Pettingal, who, in 1760, expressed his unbelief in St. George, by a dissertation on the equestrian figure worn by the knights of the garter; Mr. Pegge is supposed to have refuted both. The controversy was, however, revived at a much later period (1795) by Mr. Milner of Winchester, who, in answer to the assertions of Gibbon, the historian, has supported the reality of the person of St. George, with much ingenuity. It only remains to be noticed that The Lancashire Dialect, printed in Byrom's works, is here omitted as unintelligible to readers in general, and one or two other pieces are likewise rejected, which are offensively tinctured with political prejudices long and deservedly forgotten. Our poet's verses On buying the Picture of F. Malebranche, a pleasing jeu d'esprit, is now added from Mr. Nichols' Collection of Fugitive Poetry. Byrom's devotional pieces are entirely preserved. Those composed on the collects, and on subjects connected with the great festivals of our church, will not, I think, suffer much by a comparison with those of Watts, but it must be confessed that Cowper, in our own times, has given a peculiar and elegant simplicity to this species of poetry which none of his predecessors attained. PREFACE TO THE EDITION PUBLISHED IN 1773 IN TWO VOLUMES OCTAVO. THE publication of the following sheets is in compliance with the request of many of Mr. Byrom's friends, who were much pleased with some of his poetical compositions which had casually circulated in his life-time. Much might here be said of the author's learned and poetical talents; but it does not seem to be the business of an editor to endeavour to anticipate the reader's judgment.-By it's own intrinsic worth, and the candid opinion of the public, the following work is left to stand or fall. A deference due to the public may however make it necessary to assure them, that the poems here presented are the genuine production of Mr. Byrom. They are carefully transcribed from his own manuscripts; but as many of them were written rather for private, than for public perusal, it is hoped that all favourable allowance will be made for small inaccuracies. The reader may be surprised perhaps to find in these volumes so many learned and critical questions discussed in verse.-This is indeed a singularity almost peculiar to our author: but he had so accustomed himself to the language of poetry, that he always found it the easiest way of expressing his sentiments upon all occasions. He himself used to give this reason to his friends for treating such subjects in so uncommon a method; and it is presumed; that if they are not found deficient in other respects, the novelty of the manner will be rather a recommendation than otherwise. At a time when party disputes are so happily subsided, it may seem to want an apology, that in the following collection some few pieces are inserted, which appear to be tinctured with a party spirit1. A small attention however will convince the warmest partizan, that what Mr. Byrom has written of this cast was intended to soften the asperity, and prevent the mischiefs of an over-heated zeal. Since this was the author's chief motive for writing, it is imagined no other apology will be necessary for the publication of such pieces. The great truths of Christianity had made, from his earliest years, a deep impression upon the author's mind; and as it was his manner to commit his sentiments of every kind to verse, so he had a peculiar pleasure in employing his pen upon serious subjects.-To the purposes of instruction, and the interests of virtue, all his abilities were ever made subservient. This will appear, more particularly, from the second volume of the following sheets, in which it was thought proper to select such pieces as treat on subjects of a deeper and more important nature. The reader, it is not doubted, will be pleased to find that the author's natural talent for wit and humour has so often given place to something more solid and substantial. * Some of these are omitted in the present edition. C. POEMS OF JOHN BYROM. A PASTORAL. WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR, WHEN A STUDENT AT TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, AND FIRST PRINTED IN THE EIGHTH VOLUME OF THE SPECTATOR. MY time, O ye Muses, was happily spent, When Phoebe went with me wherever I went; Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my breast: Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest! But now she is gone, and has left me behind, What a marvellous change on a sudden I find! When things were as fine as could possibly be, I thought 'twas the Spring; but alas! it was she. With such a companion to tend a few sheep, To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep: I was so good-humour'd, so cheerful and gay, My heart was as light as a feather all day, But now I so cross, and so peevish am grown; So strangely uneasy, as never was known. My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drown'd, And my heart-I am sure it weighs more than a pound. The fountain, that wont to run sweetly along, And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among; Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there, 'Twas pleasure to look at, 't was music to hear: But now she is absent, I walk by its side, And still, as it murmurs, do nothing but chide; Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain? Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain. My lambkins around me would oftentimes play, And Phoebe and I were as joyful as they, How pleasant their sporting, how happy their time, When Spring, Love, and Beauty were all in their prime; But now, in their frolics when by me they pass, My dog I was ever well pleased to see Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me; And Phoebe was pleas'd too, and to my dog said, "Come hither, poor fellow;" and patted his head. But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look Cry "Sirrah;" and give him a blow with my crook: And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe's away? When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I seen, How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green! Sweet music went with us both all the wood thro'. The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too; Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by us did bleat, And chirp went the grasshopper under our feet. But now she is absent, tho' still they sing on, The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone: Her voice in the consort, as now I have found, Gave ev'ry thing else its agreeable sound. Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue? Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you drest, breast: You put on your colours to pleasure her eye, How slowly Time creeps, till my Phoebe return! A DESCRIPTION OF TUNBRIDGE, IN A LETTER TO P. M. ESQ. DEAR Peter, whose friendship I value much more, Lay aside for a while, and come down to the Wells: Some sev'n or eight mile off, to give you the Barbers, dippers, and so forth, we send to you greeting. Soon as they set eyes on you, off flies the hat, Does your honour want this, does your honour want that? That being a stranger, by this apparatus [at us. You may see our good manners, before you come Now this, please your honour, is what we call Tooting, A trick in your custom to get the first footing. Conducted by these civil gen'men to town But to see the fine ladies in their dishabille, The ladies you see, ay, and ladies as fair, Till from some pretty nymph a deep wound you receive, And yourself want the cure, which you thought you could give. Not so wounded howe'er, as to make you forget, That your honour this morn has not breakfasted yet; So to Morley's you go, look about, and sit down; Then comes the young lass for your honour's halfcrown; She brings out the book, you look wisely upon her, "What's the meaning of this?""To subscribe, [ye, please your honour:" So you write, as your betters have all done before [mands, Where wine and good victuals attend your comAnd wheatears, far better than French ortolans. Then, after you've din'd, take a view of our ground, [round, And observe the fine mountains that compass us And, if you could walk a mile after your eating, There's some comical rocks, that are worth contemplating; You may, if you please, for their oddness and make, [o' Peak; Compare 'em-let's see to the De'el's Arse They're one like the other, except that the wonder Does here lie above ground, and there it lies under. To the walks, about seven, you trace back your way, [day; Where the Sun marches off, and the ladies make What crowding of charms! gods! or rather goddesses! [and dresses! What beauties are here! what bright looks, airs, In the room of the waters had Helicon sprung, And the nymphs of the place by old poets been sung, [reason, To invite the gods hither they would have had And Jove had descended each night in the season. If with things here below we compare things on The walks are like yonder bright path in the sky, high, Where heavenly bodies in such clusters mingle, 'Tis impossible, sir, to describe 'em all single: But if ever you saw that sweet creature Miss K-y, If ever you saw her, I say, let me tell ye, Descriptions are needless; for surely to you, No beauty, no graces, can ever be new. But when to their gaming the ladies withdraw, Those beauties are fled, which when walking you saw: Ungrateful the scene which you there see display'd, Chance murd'ring those features which Heav'n had made: If the fair ones their charms did sufficiently prize, Their elbows they'd spare for the sake of their eyes; And the men too-what work! its enough, in good faith is't, Of the nonsence of chance, to convince any atheist. |