« PreviousContinue »
“ Say, in Creation's ample bound,
Where can there such a form be found ?
How fine that curve! How bright those rays!
Oh I could here for ever gaze!
See, see, resplendent circles rise,
Each above each, of various dyes !
Mark that first ring of fanguine light!
Beam'd ever ruby half fo bright?
Or can the flaming topaz vie
With that next stream of golden dye?
Where was that em'rald ever seen
Whose rays could rival yonder green?
Or where's that saphire's azure hue,
Can emulate it’s neighb'ring blue?
See ! purple terminates my bow,
Boast amethysts so bright a glow ?"
Thus to each charm she gave its due,
Nay more- but that is
Exhauftless feem'd the copious theme,
For where's the end of self esteem ?
She finding still for praise pretence,
From vanity drew eloquence:
When in the midst of her career,
Behold her glories disappear.
See her late boasted tints decay
And vanish into air away,
Like spectres at th' approach of day,
On things too transient hangs their fate,
For them to hope a lasting date,
The fallen rain has clear'd the skies,
And lo! the short-lived phantom dies.
My application's brief and plain,
Beauty's the Rainbow, Youth's the Rain.
On the Seahorse, with the Astronomers on board, being attacked
ly a French frigate.
ARS, inform'd that some wights with inquisitive eye,
Dispatch d a bold warrior from Lewis's fleet,
The caitiffs to seize, and their purpose defeat ;
But Neptune ftrait sent a Seahorse to their aid,
And safe o'er the ocean his fav’rites conveyd.
Lines from Mr. G- -k to a Nobleman, who asked him if he did
not intend being in Parliament,
JORE than content with what my labours gain,
Of public favour though a little vain ;
Yet not so vain my mind, so madly bent,
To wish to play the fool in parliament;
In each dramatic unity to err;
Misaking time and place and characler!
Were it my fate to quit the mimic art,
I'd “strut, and fret,” no more in any part,
No more in public scenes would I engage,
Or wear the cap and musk on any stage.
EPITAPI on Admiral Boscauen.
TOP and behold !
(Once a fable pillar of the fate)
Admiral EDWARD BOSCAWEN,
January the 10th, 1761,
In the fiftieth year of his age ;
Equally in the lusire of renown
As in the meridian of life.
His birth, tho' noble,
His titles, tho’illuftrious,
Were but incidental additions to his greatnes,
Be these therefore the lesser theme of heralds,
Whilst the annals of adverse nations,
If they faithfully record
What our own history,
Proud to adorn her
Mutt perpetuate ;
Shall even to late pofterity convey,
With what ardent zeal,
With what succesful valour,
He served his country,
And taught her foes to dread
Her naval power.
What an infexible attachment to merit
Flourishing beneath his happy sufpices,
What an allemblage
Intrepidity, humanity and justice
To form his character,
And render him
At once beloved and envied.
Yet know, insidious Gaul !
Eternal enemy of this our isle !
Howe'er our grief
May seem to give the present exultation ;
Yet, even after death,
Shall to succeeding ages stand
A fair example,
And rouse the active sons of Britain,
To dart the terror of their thunders
On Callic perfidy !
So shall the conquests which his deeds inspired,
Indelibly transmit his virtues,
(A blaze of martial glory)
The mural epitaph,
The local and perishable monuments
Of brass or stone.
EPITAPH on the late Mr. Richardson, Author of Pamela, Sit
Charles Grandison, &c.
Fever warm benevolence was dear,
Or genuine fancy deep attention won,
Approach with awe the dust-of Richardson.
What tho' his Muse, thro' distant regions known,
Might scorn the tribute of this humble itone ;
Yet pleasing to his gentle hace, must prove
The meanest pledge of friendship, and of love :
For oft will these, from venal throngs exil'd;
And oft will Innocence, of affect mild,
And white-rob’d Chastity, with streaming eyes
Frequent the cloister where their patron lies.
This, reader, learn; and learn from one, whose woe
Bids her wild verse in artless accents flow :
For, could the frame her numbers to commend
The husband, father, citizen and friend;
How would her Mufe display, in equal strain,
The critic's judgment, and the writer's vein ?-
Ah, no! expect not from the chisel'd stone
The praises, graven on our hearts alone.
There shall his fame a lasting shrine acquire :
And ever shall his moving page inspire
Pure truth, fixt honour, wirtue's pleasing lore;
While taste and science crown'd tlus favour'd shore.
On the death of JOHN RICH, Esq.
Accept this latest trilute at my hand.
VIE scene is clos'd-—-—-Life's play is done
And pleasantry expires with Lun;
Who well perform’d, with various art,
The mimic, and the moral part.
His action juft, correct his plan,
Whether as Ilariequin, or man.
Hlear, criticks, hear! and spare your jest,
Life's but a motley garb at beft;
Jie wore it long with grace and ease,
And every geliure taught to please ;
Where (foie few patch-work foibles feen
His contient virtue's radiant hue
O'er all superior shore to view.
The lively vein of repartee,
As magick-lword, was sinart and free ;
Like that for harmless mirth defign'd, .
It ftruck, but left no pain behind.
The mask of oddity, he wore,
Endear'd the liidden beauties more.
When thrown afide, the thade is clear'a,
The real countenance appear'd.
When human kindness, candour fair,
And truth the native features were.
With moral eye
his labours scan,
And in the actor read the man.
Hlow few, like him, could change with ease,
From hape to shape, and all thould pleate !
Think on the numerous hours of sport
We spent with him in Fancy's court!
What ev’nings of fupreme delight!
--they're clos'd in endless night.
-For gratitude, for virtue's caule,
Crown his last exit with applaute,
Let him not want the lasting praise,
(That noble meed of well-spent days!)
While, this his mortal dress laid by
With ready grace, and decency,
Now changing on a nobler plan,
To blissful faint from worthy man,
He makes, on yon celestial skore,
One easy transformation more.
THINK not, the fair deceiv'd by poet's lays, ,
Cupid in floth inglorious melts his days; Think not enchain'd on Chloe's breast he lies, Or bathes himself in Delia's languid eyes; Now here, now there, the wanten wanderer roves, O'er Belgia's waters, or Italia's groves; Now soothes the hearts of Gallia's filken swains, Now fires the tawny youth on Java's plains. As o'er luxurious China's fields he fails, Upborn by lovers fighs, and balmy gales, Deep in the bofom of a fragrant glade, Where pines flow-moving form'd a dancing shade, Where Zephyr stole the rose's rich perfume, And wakeful almonds shook their snowy bloom, Crown'd with rough thickets role a moís-grown cave, Whose tinkling fides pour down a sparkling waves Unwilling to defert its native groves, The ling'ring stream in flow'ry labirinths roves: The god of love feeds his insatiate fight, Slow wave his loose wings, and retard his flight.
But say, what soft confusion seiz'd thy breast, What heaving fighs thy inftant flame confeft, When Thea broke from Morpheus' dewy arms, Rose from the grot, and blaz'd in all her charm.s? Its swelling orb no hoop enormous spread, . Like magic fphere to guard the tim'rous maid; No torturing stays the yielding waist contin’il, A bliss for lovers arms alone defign'd. Her hair, by no malicious art repress’d, Play'd in the wind, and wanton'd o'er her breast, Jove grew a swan to press the Spartan fair, What form to taste those charms would Cupid wear?
Quick thro' the founding grove the god defcendis, Quick at her feet a fighing suppliant bendi. Can youth be deaf when Syren paiiion sues? Or how can beauty fly, when love puifues?