But 'tis by way of wit and joke, Yet there are those, who're foud of wit, "Yes-he at bottom-don't you know him? The man in print and conversation And be, whose humour hits the town, Lest gaping fools, and vile repeaters, Should catch her up, and spoil her features, Well, but methinks I hear you say, "Write then, my friend!"-Write what?-" a play. The theatres are open yet, Try the strong efforts of your pen, That talent, George, though yet untried, Authors, like maids at fifteen years, How could you, George, with patience bear, Some of that calling have 1 known, Who held no judgment like their own; For, after all their mighty rout, Of chatt'ring round and round about; The man's is drawn too coarse and rough, A higher kind of talk to please; Sweet sir, say I, pardonnez moi ! As long as life and business last, But grant the cast is as you like, To morrow comes. I know your merit, The coach below, the clock gone five, With horrour hear the galleries ring, And wonder where you got such stuff. Miss Pope, still an actress of genuine merit. C. The fiddlers play again pell-mell: TWO ODES1. ΦΩΝΑΝΤΑ ΣΥΝΕΤΟΙΣΙΝ. ΕΣ ΔΕ ΤΟ ΠΑΝ, ΕΡΜΗΝΕΩΝ XATIZEL. ODE I. She bids pursue the fav'rite road Of lofty cloud-capt Ode Meantime each bard, with eager speed, High blood and youth his lusty veins inspire: Who knows not, Tottipontimoy, thy name? Pindar, Olymp. II. The bloody shoulder'd Arab was his sire: DAUGHTER of Chaos and old Night, Cimmerian Muse, all hail! That wrapt in never-twinkling gloom, canst write, He from the ever-living lyre Heard ye the din of modern rhimers bray? The shallow fop in antic vest, Tir'd of the beaten road, Proud to be singly drest, Changes, with every changing moon, the mode. Say, shall not then the Heav'n-born Muses too Variety pursue? Shall not applauding critics hail the vogue? Whether the Muse the style of Cambria's sons, Or the rude gabble of the Huns, Or the broader dialect Of Caledonia she affect, Or take, Hibernia, thy still ranker brogue? On this terrestrial ball The tyrant, Fashion, governs all. Long she paid him with disdain, Perch'd on the dubious height, she loves to ride, Each blast that blows, around she goes, Emblem of her magic pow'r, Changing it's hues a thousand times an hour. Of many a dancing moon-beam made, * I take the liberty of inserting the two following odes, though I cannot, with strict propriety, print them as my own composition. The truth is, they were written in concert with a friend, to whose labours I am always happy to add my own: I mean the author of the Jealous Wife. His Whitenose2, he on fam'd Doncastria's plains In vain for life the struggling courser strains, He leads the chase, he wins the race, Third from Whitenose springs Light o'er the plain, as dancing cork, There Granta's son Seiz'd on the steed; And thence him led, (so Fate decreed) What stripling neat, of visage sweet, Lo! next, a bard, secure of praise, His self-complacent countenauce displays. His broad mustachios, ting'd with golden dye, Flame, like a meteor, to the troubled air: Proud his demeanor, and his eagle eye, [glare. O'er-hung with lavish lid, yet shone with glorious The grizzle grace Of bushy peruke shadow'd o'er his face. In large wide boots, whose ponderous weight Would sink each wight of modern date, He rides, well-pleas'd: so large a pair Not Garagantua's self might wear: Not he, of nature fierce and cruel, Who, if we trust to ancient ballad, Devour'd three pilgrims in a sallad; Nor he of fame germane, hight Pantagruel. 2 The author is either mistaken in this place, or has else indulged himself in a very unwarrantable poetical licence. Whitenose was not the sire, but a son of the Godolphin Arabian. See my Calendar. Heber. Accoutred thus, th' advent'rous youth Fast by whose side clear streams meandring But urges on amain the fiery steed [creep; Up Snowdon's shaggy side, or Cambrian rock unWhere the venerable herd [couth: Of goats, with long and sapient beard, And, tiptoe on the mountains steep, See, see, he soars! With mighty wings outspread, His lyric glory in the clouds, Too fond to strike the stars with lofty head! O steed divine! what daring spirit Yet shall be mount, with classic housings grac❜d, Drive his light courser o'er the bounds of Taste. ODE II. TO OBLIVION. PARENT of Ease'! Oblivion old, Thou, who delightest still to dwell Or Styx' black streams, which even Jove control! Or if it suit thy better will To choose the tinkling weeping rill, While, creeping in meanders slow, And hollow blasts, which never cease to sigh, A prey no longer let me be To that gossip Memory, Who waves her banners trim, and proudly flies For Memory's a friend to woe; All, all is thine. Thy pow'rful sway What though the modern tragic strain Each day to thee falls pamphlet clean: Each month a new-born magazine: Hear then, O goddess, hear thy vot'ry's pray'r!· And, if thou deign'st to take one moment's care, Attend thy bard! who duly pays The tribute of his votive lays; Whose Muse still offers at thy sacred shrine;Thy bard, who calls thee bis, and makes him O, sweet Forgetfulness, supreme Rule supine o'er ev'ry theme, O'er each sad subject, o'er each soothing strain, Of mine, O goddess, stretch thine awful reign! Nor let Mem'ry steal one note, [thine. Which this rude hand to thee hath wrote! So shalt thou save me from the poet's shame, Though on the letter'd rubric Dodsley post my name. O come! with opiate poppies crown'd, Shedding slumbers soft around! [sack!O come! fat goddess, drunk with laureats' See, where she sits on the benumb'd torpedo's Me, in thy dull Elysium lapt, O bless [back! With thy calm forgetfulness! And gently lull my senses all the while With placid poems in the sinking style! Whether the Herring-poet sing, Great laureat of the fishes' king, Or Lycophron prophetic rave his fill, Wrapt in the darker strains of Johnny Or, if he sing, whose verse affords A bevy of the choicest words, Who meets his lady Muse by moss-grown cell, Adorn'd with epithet and tinkling bell: These, goddess, let me still forget, With all the dearth of modern wit! So may'st thou gently o'er my youthful breast Spread, with thy welcome hand, Oblivion's friendly vest. THE PROGRESS OF ENVY. AH me! unhappy state of mortal wight, According, to Lillæus, who bestows the pa- Ne doth she rest from rancorous despight, rental function on Oblivion. Verba Obliviscendi regunt Genitivum. There is a similar passage in Busbæus. Until she works him mickle woe and shame; Ah! luckless imp is he, whose worth elate, Forces him pay this heavy tax for being great. There stood an ancient mount, yclept Parnass, (The fair domain of sacred Poesy) Which, with fresh odours ever-blooming, was Besprinkled with the dew of Castaly; [glides, Which now in soothing murmurs whisp'ring Wat'ring with genial waves the fragrant soil, Now rolls adown the mountain's steepy sides, Teaching the vales full beauteously to smile, Dame Nature's handy-work, not form'd by lab'ring toil. The Muses fair, these peaceful shades among, With skilful fingers sweep the trembling strings; The air in silence listens to the song, And Time forgets to ply his lazy wings; Pale-visag'd Care, with foul unhallow'd feet, Attempts the summit of the hill to gain, Ne can the hag arrive the blissful seat; Her unavailing strength is spent in vain, Content sits on the top, and mocks her empty pain. Oft Phoebus self left his divine abode, And here enshrouded in a shady bow'r, Regardless of his state, lay'd by the god, And own'd sweet Music's more alluring pow'r. On either side was plac'd a peerless wight, Whose merit long had fill'd the trump of Fame; This, Fancy's darling child, was Spenser hight, Who pip'd full pleasing on the banks of Tame; That no less fam'd than he, and Milton was his name. In these cool bow'rs they live supinely calm; Now Milton sung of disobedient man, And Eden lost: the bards around them throng, Drawn by the wond'rous magic of their princes' song. Not far from these, Dan Chaucer, ancient wight, A lofty seat on Mount Parnassus held, Who long had been the Muses' chief delight; His reverend locks were silver'd o'er with eld; Grave was his visage, and his habit plain; And while he sung, fair Nature he display'd, In verse albeit uncouth, and simple strain; Ne mote he well be seen, so thick the shade, Which clms and aged oaks had all around him made. Next Shakspeare sat, irregularly great, Beside the bard there stood a beauteous maid, Her mantle wimpled' low, her silken hair, Which loose adown her well-turn'd shoulders stray'd, "She made a net to catch the wanton Air," Whose love-sick breezes all around her play'd Aud seem'd in whispers soft to court the heav'nly maid. And ever and anon she wav'd in air A sceptre, fraught with all-creative pow'r: She wav'd it round: eftsoons there did appear Spirits and witches, forms unknown before: Again she lifts her wonder-working wand; Eftsoons upon the flow'ry plain were seen The gay inhabitants of fairie land, And blithe attendants upon Mab their queen In mystic circles danc'd along th' enchanted green. On th' other side stood Nature, goddess fair; A matron seem'd she, and of manners staid; Beauteous her form, majestic was her air, In loose attire of purest white array'd: A potent rod she bore, whose pow'r was such, (As from her darling's works may well be shown) That often with its soul-enchanting touch, She rais'd or joy, or caus'd the deep-felt groan, And each man's passions made subservient to her own. But lo! thick fogs from out the earth arise, And fore the time sore-grieving seeks his wat'ry bed. Envy, the daughter of fell Acheron, (The flood of deadly hate and gloomy night) Had left precipitate her Stygian throne, And through the frighted heavens wing'd her flight: With careful eye each realm she did explore, Ne mote she ought of happiness observe; For happiness, alas! was now no more, Sith ev'ry one from virtue's paths did swerve,' And trample on religion base designs to serve. At length, on blest Parnassus seated high, Within the covert of a gloomy wood, 'Wimpled. A word used by Spenser for hung down. The line enclosed within commas is one of Fairfax's in his translation of Tasso, Gloominess. 2 Dreary-head. Here a deformed monster joy'd to won, Which on fell rancour ever was ybent, All from the rising to the setting sun, Her heart pursued spite with black intent, Ne could her iron mind at human woes relent. In flowing sable stole she was yclad, A frothy sea of nauseous foam was pour'd; The rancour which her hellish thoughts contain, Along the floor black loathsome toads still crawl, Their gullets swell'd with poison's mortal bane, Which ever and anon they spit at all Whom hapless fortune leads too near her den; Around her waist, in place of silken zone, A life-devouring viper rear'd his head, Who no distinction made 'twixt friend and foen, But death on ev'ry side fierce brandished, Fly, reckless mortals, fly, in vain is hardy-head 3. Impatient Envy, through th' etherial waste, At length the fiend in furious toue her silence broke. "Sister, arise! see how our pow'r decays, No more our empire thou and I can boast, Sith mortal man now gains immortal praise, Sith man is blest, and thou and I are lost: See in what state Parnassus' hill appears; See Phoebus' self two happy bards atween; See how the god their song attentive hears; This Spenser hight, that Milton, well I ween! Who can behold unmov'd sike heart-tormenting scene? "Sister, arise! ne let our courage droop, Perforce we will compel these mortals own, That mortal force unto our force shall stoop; Envy and Malice then shall reign alone: Thou best has known to file thy tongue with lies, And to deceive mankind with specious bait: Like Truth accoutred, spreadest forgeries, The fountain of contention and of hate: Arise, unite with me, and be as whilom great!" And now, more hideous rendered to the sight, She burnt to go, equipt in dreadful plight, Her eyes inflam'd did cast their rays askance, pause, And find out nations that extended far, When all was pitchy dark, ne twinkled one bright star. Black was her chariot, drawn by dragons dire, And each fell serpent had a double tongue, Which ever and anon spit flaming fire, The regions of the tainted air among; A lofty seat the sister-monsters bore, In deadly machinations close combin'd, Dull Folly drove with terrible uproar, And cruel Discord follow'd fast behind; God help the man 'gainst whom such caitiff foes are join'd. Aloft in air the rattling chariot flies, While thunder harshly grates upon its wheels; Black pointed spires of smoke around them rise, The air depress'd unusual burthen feels; Detested sight! in terrible array, They spur their fiery dragons on amain, Ne mote their anger suffer cold delay, Until the wish'd-for region they obtain, And land their dingy car on Caledonian plain. Here, eldest son of Malice, long had dwelt A wretch of all the joys of life forlorn; His fame on double falsities was built: (Ah! worthless son, of worthless parent born!) Under the shew of semblance fair, he veil'd The black intentions of his hellish breast; And by these guileful means he more prevail'd Than had he open enmity profest; The wolf more safely wounds when in sheep's clothing drest. Him then themselves atween they joyful place, (Sure sign of woe when such are pleas'd, alas!) Then measure back the air with swifter pace, Until they reach the foot of Mount Parnass. Hither in evil hour the monsters came, And with their new companion did alight, Who long had lost all sense of virtuous shame, Beholding worth with poisonous despight; On his success depends their impious delight. Long burnt he sore the summit to obtain, At lenth, at unawares, he out doth spit That spite which else had to himself been bane; The venom on the breast of Milton lit, And spread benumbing death through every vein; The bard of life bereft fell senseless on the plain. As at the banquet of Thyestes old, The Sun is said t' have shut his radiant eye, So did he now through grief his beams withhold, And darkness to be felt o'erwhelm'd the sky; |