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If he fair liberty and law
By ruffian pow'r expiring draw,
The keener passions then engage
Aright, and sanctify their rage;
If he attempt disastrous love,
We hear those 'plaints that wound the grove.
Within the kinder passions glow,
And tears distill'd from pity flow.”
From the bright vision I descend,
And my deserled theme attend.
Me never did ambition seize,
Strange fever most inflam'd by ease!
The active lunacy of pride,
That courts jilt Fortune for a bride,
• This par'dise-tree, so fair and high,
I view with no aspiring eye:
Like aspen shake the restless leaves,
And Sodom-fruit our pains deceives,
Whence frequent falls give no surprise,
But fits of Spleen, call’d growing wise.
Greatness in glitt'ring forms display'd
Affects weak eyes much us'd to shade,
And by its falsely-envied scene
Gives self-debasing fits of Spleen.
We should be pleas'd that things are so,
Who do for nothing see the show,
And, middle-siz'd, can pass between
Life's hubbub safe, because unseen,
And midst the glare of greatness trace
A wat'ry sunshine in the face,
And pleasure Aed to, to redress
The sad fatigue of idleness.
Contentment, parent of delight,
So much a stranger to our sight,
Say, goddess, in what happy place
Mortals behold thy blooming face;
Thy gracious auspices impart,
And for thy temple choose my heart.
They, whom thou deignest to inspire,
Thy science learn, to bound desire;
By happy alchymy of mind
They turn to pleasure all they find ;
They both disdain in outward mien
The grave and solemn garb of Spleen,
And meretricious arts of dress,
To feign a joy, and hide distress ;
Unmov'd when the rude tempest blows,
Without an opiate they repose;
And, cover'd by your shield, desy
The whizzing shafts, that round ihem fly:
Nor meddling with the god's affairs,
Concern themselves with distant cares ;
But place their bliss in mental rest,
And feast upon the good possess’d.
Forc'd by soft violence of pray'r,
The blithesome goddess soothes my care.
I feel the deity inspire,
And thus she models my desire.
Two hundred pounds half-yearly paid,
Annuity securely made,
A farm some twenty miles from town,
Small, tight, salubrious, and my own;
Two maids, that never saw the town,
A serving.man, not quite a clown;
A boy to help to tread the mow,
And drive, while t'other holds the plow;
A chief, of temper form'd to please,
Fit to converse, and keep the keys;
And better to preserve the peace,
Commission'd by the name of niece,
With understandings of a size
To think their master very wise.
May Heav'n (it's all I wish for) send
One genial room to treat a friend,
Where decent cupboard, little plate,
Display benevolence, not state.
And may my humble dwelling stand
Upon some chosen spot of land :
A pond before full to the brim,
Where cows may cool, and geese may swim;
Behind, a green-like velvet neat,
Soft to the eye, and to the feet;
Where od'rous plants in evening fair
Breathe all around ambrosial air;
From Eurus, foe to kitchen ground,
Fenc'd by a slope with bushes crown'd,
Fit dwelling for the feather'd throng,
Who pay their quit-rents with a song ;
With op'ning views of hill and dale,
Which sense and fancy too regale,
Where the half-cirque, which vision bounds,
Like amphitheatre surrounds;
And woods impervious to the breeze,
Thick phalanx of embodied trees,
From hills through plains in dusk array
Extended far, repel the day.
Here stillness, height, and solemn shade
Invite, and contemplation aid :
Here nymphs from hollow oaks relate
The dark decrees and will of Fate,
And dreams beneath the spreading beeca
Inspire, and docile fancy teach ;
While soft as breezy breath of wind,
Impulses rustle through the mind.
Here Dryads, scorning Phæbus' ray
While Pan melodius pipes away,
In measur'd motions frisk about,
Till old Silenus puts them out.
There see the clover, pea, and bean,
Vie in variety of green;
Fresh pastures speckled o'er with sheep,
Brown fields their fallow sabbaths keep,
Plump Ceres golden tresses wear,
And poppy top-knots deck her hair,
And silver streams through meadows stray,
And Naïads on the margin play,
And lesser nymphs on side of hills
From plaything urns pour down the rills.
Thus shelter'd, free from care and strife,
May I enjoy a calm through life;
See faction, safe in low degree,
As men at land see storms at sea,
And laugh at miserable elves,
Not kind, so much as to themselves,
Curs'd with such souls of base alloy,
As can possess, but not enjoy ;
Debarr'd the pleasure to impart
By av'rice, sphincter of the heart,
Who wealth, hard-earn'd by guilty cares
Bequeath untouch'd to thankless heirs.
May 1, with look ungloom'd by guile,
And wearing Virtue's liv'ry-smile,
Prone the distressed to relieve,
And little trespasses forgive,
With income not in Fortune's pow'r,
And skill to make a busy hour,
With trips to town life to amuse,
To purchase books, and hear the news,
To see old friends, brush off the clown,
And quicken taste at coming down,
Unhurt by sickness' blasting rage,
And slowly mellowing in age,
When Fate extends its gathering gripe,
Fall off like fruit grown fully ripe,
Quit a worn being without pain,
Perhaps to blossom soon again.
But now more serious see me grow,
And what I think, my Memmius, know.
Th' enthusiast's hope, and raptures wild,
Have never yet my reason foil'd.
His springy soul dilates like air,
When free from weight of ambient care,
And, hush'd in meditation deep,
Slides into dreams, as when asleep;
Then, fond of new discoveries grown,
Proves a Columbus of her own,
Disdains the narrow bounds of place,
And through the wilds of endless space,
Borne up on metaphysic wings,
Chases light forms and shadowy things,
And in the vague excursion caught,
Brings home some rare exotic thought.
The melancholy man such dreams,
As brightest evidence, esteems;
Fain would he see some distant scene
Suggested by his restless Spleen,
And Fancy's telescope applies
With tinctur'd glass to cheat his eyes.
Such thoughts, as love the gloom of night,
I close examine by the light;
For who, though brib'd by gain to lie,
Dare sunbeam-written truths deny,
And execute plain common sense
On faith's mere hearsay evidence ?
That superstition mayn't create,
And club its ills with those of Fate,
I many a notion take to task,
Made dreadful by its visor-mask.
Thus scruple, spasm of the mind,
Is cur'd, and certainty I find,
Since optic reason shows me plain,
I dreaded spectres of the brain;
And legendary fears are gone,
Though in tenacious childhood sown.
Thus in opinions I commence
Freeholder in the proper sense,
And neither suit nor service do,
Nor homage to pretenders show,
Who boast themselves by spurious roll
Lords of the manor of the soul;
Preferring sense, from chin that's bare,
To nonsense thron'd in whisker'd hair.
To thee, Creator uncreate,
O Entium Ens ! divinely great!
Hold, Muse, nor melting pinions try,
Nor near the blazing glory fly,
Nor straining break thy feeble bow,
Unfeather'd arrows far to throw :
Through fields unknown nor madly stray
Where no ideas mark the way.
With tender eyes, and colors faint,
And trembling hands, forbear to paint
Who features veil'd by light can hit?
Where can, what has no outline, sit?
My soul, the vain attempt forego,
Thyself, the filter subject, know
He wisely shuns the bold extreme,
Who soon lays by th' unequal theme,
Nor runs, with Wisdom's syrens caught,
On quicksands swall'wing shipwreck'd thought
But, conscious of his distance, gives
Mute praise, and humble negatives.
In one, no object of our sight,
Immutable, and infinite,
Who can't be cruel or unjust,
Calm and resign'd, I fix my trust;
To him my past and present state
I owe, and must my future fate.
A stranger into life I'm come,
Dying may be our going home,
Transported here by angry Fate,
The convicts of a prior state.
Hence I no anxious thoughts bestow
On matters I can never know ;
Through life's foul way, like vagrant pass'd
He'll grant a settlement at last,
And with sweet ease the wearied crown,
By leave to lay his being down.
If doom'd to dance th' eternal round
Of life no sooner lost but found,
And dissolution soon to come,
Like sponge, wipes out life's present sum,
But can't our state of pow'r bereave
An endless series to receive;
Then, if hard dealt with here by Fate,
We balance in another state,
And consciousness must go along,
And sign th’acquittance for the wrong.
He for his creatures must decree
More happiness than misery,
Or be supposed to create,
Curious to try, what 'tis to hate :
And do an act, which rage infers,
'Cause lameness halts, or blindness errs.
Thus, thus I steer my bark, and sail
On even keel with gentle gale;
At helm I make my reason sit,
My crew of passions all submit.
If dark and blustering prove some nights,
Philosophy puts forth her lights ;
Experience holds the cautious glass,
To shun the breakers, as I pass,
And frequent throws the wary lead,
To see what dangers may be hid;
And once in seven years I'm seen
At Bath or Tunbridge, to careen.
Though pleas'd to see the dolphins play
I mind my compass and my way,
With store sufficient for relief,
And wisely still prepar'd to reef,
Nor wanting the dispersive bowl
Of cloudy weather in the soul,
I make, (may Heav'n propitious send
Such wind and weather to the end)
Neither becalmd, nor over-blown,
Life's voyage to the world unknowr
Here 'tis the soul feels sudden youth,
ON BARCLAY'S APOLOGY FOR THE And meets exulting, virgin Truth ;
Here, like a breeze of gentlest kind,
Impulses rustle through the mind :
Here shines that light with glowing face,
THESE sheets primeval doctrines yield,
The fuse divine, that kindles grace;
Where revelation is reveal'd;
Soul-phlegm from literal feeding bred,
Which, if we trim our lamps, will last,
Till darkness be by dying past.
Systems lethargic to the head
And then goes out at end of night,
They purge, and yield a diet thin,
That turns to Gospel-chyle within.
Extinguish'd by superior light.
Truth sublimate may here be seen
Ah me! the heats and colds of life, Extracted from the parts terrene.
Pleasure's and pain's eternal strife, In these is shown, how men obtain
Breed stormy passions, which confin'd, What of Prometheus poets feign:
Shake, like th' Æolian vale, the mind, To Scripture plainness dress is brought,
And raise despair; my lamp can last, And speech, apparel to the thought.
Plac'd where they drive the furious blast. They hiss from instinct at red coats,
False eloquence! big empty sound ! And war, whose work is cutting throats,
Like showers that rush upon the ground!
Little beneath the surface goes,
Forbid, and press the law of love;
Breathing the spirit of the dove.
All streams along, and muddy flows.
Lucrative doctrines they detest,
This sinks, and swells the buried grain, As manufactur'd by the priest ;
And fructifies like southern rain. And throw down turnpikes, where we pay
His art, well hid in mild discourse, For stuff, which never mends the way;
Exerts persuasion's winning force, And tythes, a Jewish tax, reduce,
And nervates so the good design, And frank the Gospel for our use.
That king Agrippa's case is mine.
Well-natur'd, happy shade forgive!
They sable standing armies break;
But the militia useful make :
Like you I think, but cannot live.
Since all unhir'd may preach and pray,
Thy scheme requires the world's contempt, Taught by these rules as well as they;
That from dependence life exempt;
And constitution fram'd so strong,
Rules, which, when truths themselves reveal,
This world's worst climate cannot wrong
Bid us to follow what we feel.
The world can't hear the small still voice,
Not such my lot, not Fortune's brat,
Such is its bustle and its noise ;
I live by pulling off the hat; Reason the proclamation reads,
Compellid by station every hour
To bow to images of power;
But not one riot passion heeds.
Wealth, honor, power, the graces are,
And in life's busy scenes immers'd,
Which here below our homage share:
See better things, and do the worst. They, if one votary they find
Eloquent Want, whose reasons sway, To mistress more divine inclin'd,
And make ten thousand truths give way, In truth's pursuit, t cause delay,
While I your scheme with pleasure trace, Throw golden apples in his way.
Draws near, and stares me in the face. Place me, O Heav'n, in some retreat;
“Consider well your state,” she cries, There let the serious death-watch beat,
Like others kneel, that you may rise ; There let me self in silence shun,
Hold doctrines, by no scruples vex’d, To feel thy will, which should be done.
To which preferment is annex’d; Then comes the Spirit to our hut,
Nor madly prove, where all depends, When fast the senses' doors are shut;
Idolatry upon your friends. For so divine and pure a guest
See, how you like my rueful face, The emptiest rooms are furnish'd best.
Such you must wear, if out of place. O Contemplation! air serene !
Crack'd is your brain to turn recluse From damps of sense, and fogs of spleen!
Without one farthing out at use. Pure mount of thought! thrice holy ground,
They, who have lands, and safe bank-stock,
With faith so founded on a rock,
Where grace, when waited for, is found.
May give a rich invention ease,
And construe Scripture how they please.
“ The honor'd prophet, that of old This celebrated book was written by its author, both Us'd Heav'n's high counsels to unfold, in Latin and English, and was afterwards translated into Did, more than courier angels, greet High Dutch, Low Dutch, French, and Spanish, and proba. The crows, that brought him bread and meat bly into other languages. It has always been esteemed a very ingenious defence of the principles of Quakerism, even by those who deny the doctrines which it endeavors to establish. The author was born at Edinburgh in 1648,
THE SEEKER. and received part of his education at the Scots College in Paris, where his uncle was principal. His father became WHEN I first came to London, I rambled about, one of the earliest converts to the new sect, and from his example, the son seems to have been induced to tread From sermon to sermon, took a slice and went out in his steps. He died on the 3d of October, 1690, in the Then on me, in divinity bachelor, tried 420 year of his age
Many priests to obtrude a Levitical bride;
And urging their various opinions, intended
Say, father Thames, whose gentle pace To make me wed systems, which they recom
Gives leave to view what beauties grace mended.
Your flow'ry banks, if you have seen Said a lech'rous old friar skulking near Lincoln's- The much-sung Grotto of the queen. inn,
Contemplative, forget awhile
(Whose trade's to absolve, but whose pastime's to Oxonian towers, and Windsor's pile,
And Wolsey's pridet (his greatest guilt)
Who, spider-like, seizes weak Protestant flies, And wbat great William since has buili,
Which hung in his sophistry cobweb he spies ;) And flowing fast by Richmond scenes,
“Ah! pity your soul; for without our church pale, (Honor'd retreat of two great queenst)
If you happen to die, to be damn'd you can't fail; From Sion-House,ll whose proud survey
The Bible, you boast, is a wild revelation :
Browbeats your flood, look 'cross the way, Hear a church that can't err, if you hope for sal- And view, from highest swell of tide, vation."
The milder scenes of Surrey side.
Said a formal non-con, (whose rich stock of grace Though yet no palace grace the shore,
Lies forward expos'd in shop-window of face,) To lodge that pair you should adore ;
“ Ah! pity your soul : come, be of our sect:
Nor abbeys, great in ruin, rise,
For then you are safe, and may plead you're elect. Royal equivalents for vice;
As it stands in the Acts, we can prove ourselves Behold a grot, in Delphic grove,
The Graces' and the Muses' love.
Being Christ's little flock everywhere spoke against." (O, might our laureate study here,
Said a jolly church parson, (devoted to ease, How would he hail his new-born year!)
While penal-law dragons guard his golden fleece,) A temple from vain glories free,
"If you pity your soul, I pray listen to neither; Whose goddess is Philosophy,
The first is in error, the last a deceiver:
Whose sides such licens'd idols crown That our's is the true church, the sense of our As Superstition would pull down: tribe is,
The only pilgrimage I know, And surely in medio tutissimus ibis.”
That men of sense would choose to go : Said a yea and nay Friend, with a stiff hat and Which sweet abode, her wisest choice, band,
Urania cheers with heavenly voice, (Who while he talk'd gravely would hold forth his While all the Virtues gather round, hand,)
To see her consecrate the ground. “ Dominion and wealth are the aim of all three, If thou, the god with winged feet, Though about ways and means they may all dis- In council talk of this retreat, agree;
And jealous gods resentment show
Then prithee be wise, go the Quaker's by-way, At altars rais'd to men below;
"Tis plain, without turnpikes, so nothing to pay." Tell those proud lords of Heaven, 'tis fit
Their house our heroes should admit;
While each exists, as poets sing,
A lazy, lewd immortal thing,
They must (or grow in disrepute)
With Earth's first commoners recruit.
Needless it is in terms unskill'd
To praise whatever Boyle 5 shall build ;
WRITTEN BY MR. GREEN, UNDER THE NAME OF Needless it is the busts to name
PETER DRAKE, A FISHERMAN OF BRENTFORD.
Of men, monopolists of fame;
Four chiefs adorn the modest stone, I
For virtue as for learning known;
Printed in the year 1732, but not published.
The thinking sculpture helps to raise
Deep thoughts, the genii of the place:
Scilicet hic possis curvo dignoscere rectum,
Atque inter silvas Academi quærere verum.
Our wits Apollo's influence beg.
The Grotto makes them all with ogg:
† Hampton Court, begun by Cardinal Wolsey, and im. Finding this chalkstone in my nest,
proved by King William III. I strain, and lay among the rest.
1 Queen Anne, consort to King Richard II. and Queen
Elizabeth, both died at Richmond.
ADIEU awhile, forsaken food,
To ramble in the Delian wood,
| Sion-House is now a seat belonging to the Duke of
And pray the god my well-meant song
May not my subject's merit wrong.
Richard Boyle, Earl of Burlington, a nobleman remark. able for his fine taste in architecture. “Never were protection and great wealth more generously and judiciously
diffused than by this great person, who had every quality * A building in Richmond Gardens, erected by Queen of a genius and artist, except envy." He died December Caroline, and committed to the custody of Stephen Duck.
4, 1753. At the time this poem was written, many other verses ap
T The author should have said five; there being the peared on the same subject.
busts of Newton, Locke, Wollaston, Clarke, and Boyle
To the mind's ear, and inward sight,
Their silence speaks, and shade gives light:
While insects from the threshold preach,
And minds dispos'd to musing teach:
Proud of strong limbs and painted hues,
They perish by the slightest bruise ;
Or maladies, begun within,
Destroy more slow life's frail machine;
From maggot-youth through change of state,
They feel like us the turns of fate;
Some born to creep have liv'd to fly,
And change earth-cells for dwellings high ;
And some that did their six wings keep,
Before they died been forc'd to creep;
They politics like ours profess,
The greater prey upon the less :
Some strain on foot huge loads to bring ,
Some toil incessant on the wing,
And in their different ways explore
Wise sense of want by future store ;
Nor from their vigorous schemes desist
Till death, and then are never miss'd.
Some frolic, toil, marry, increase,
Are sick and well, have war and peace,
And, broke with age, in half a day
Yield to successors, and away.
Let not profane this sacred place,
Hypocrisy with Janus' face ;
Or Pomp, mixt state of pride and care ;
Court Kindness, Falsehood's polish'd ware;
Scandal disguis’d in Friendship's veil,
That tells, unask'd, th' injurious tale ;
Or art politic, which allows
The Jesuit-remedy for vows;
Or priest, perfuming crowned head,
"Till in a swoon Truth lies for dead ;
Or tawdry critic, who perceives
No grace, which plain proportion gives,
And more than lineaments divine
Admires the gilding of the shrine;
Or that self-haunting spectre Spleen,
In thickest fog the clearest seen;
Or Prophecy, which dreams a lie,
That fools believe and knaves apply ;
Or frolic Mirth, profanely loud,
And happy only in a crowd ;
Or Melancholy's pensive gloom,
Proxy in Contemplation's room.
O Delia! when I touch this string,
To thee my Muse directs her wing.
Unspotted fair! with downcast look
Mind not so much the murm'ring brook ;
Nor fixt in thought, with footsteps slow
Through cypress alleys cherish woe:
I see the soul in pensive fit,
And moping like sick linnet sit.
With dewy eye, and moulting wing,
Unperch'd, averse to fly or sing ;
I see the favorite curls begin
(Disus'd to toilet discipline)
To quit their post, lose their smart air,
And grow again like common hair;
And tears, which frequent kerchiefs dry,
Raise a red circle round the eye;
And by this bur about the Moon,
Conjecture more ill weather soon.
Love not so much the doleful knell:
And news the boding night-birds tell ;
Nor watch the wainscot's hollow blow;
And hens portentous when they crow;
Nor sleepless mind the death-watch beat;
In taper find no winding-sheet:
Nor in burnt coal a coffin see,
Though thrown at others, meant for thee:
Or when the coruscation gleams,
Find out not first the bloody streams;
Nor in imprest remembrance keep
Grim tap’stry figures wrought in sleep;
Nor rise to see in antique hall
The moonlight monsters on the wall,
And shadowy spectres darkly pass
Trailing their sables o'er the grass,
Let vice and guilt act how they please
In souls, their conquer'd provinces;
By Heaven's just charter it appears,
Virtue's exempt from quartering fears,
Shall then arm'd fancies fiercely drest,
Live at discretion in your breast?
Be wise, and panic fright disdain,
As notions, meteors of the brain ;
And sights perform'd, illusive scene!
By magic-lantern of the Spleen.
Come here, from baleful cares releas'd,
With Virtue's ticket, to a feast,
Where decent Mirth and Wisdom, join'd
In stewardship, regale the mind.
Call back the Cupids to your eyes,
I see the godlings with surprise,
Not knowing home in such a plight,
Fly to and fro, afraid to light.-
Far from my theme, from method far,
Convey'd in Venus' flying car,
I go compellid by feather'd steeds,
That scorn the rein, when Delia leads.
No daub of elegiac strain
These holy wars shall ever stain;
As spiders Irish wainscot flee,
Falsehood with them shall disagree;
This floor let not the vulgar tread,
Who worship only what they dread :
Nor bigots who but one way see
Through blinkers of authority.
Nor they who its four saints defame
By making virtue but a name;
Nor abstract wit, (painful regale
To hunt the pig with slippery tail !)
Artists, who richly chase their thought,
Gaudy without, but hollow wrought,
And beat too thin, and tool'd too much
To bear the proof and standard touch ·
Nor fops to guard this sylvan ark,
With necklace bells in treble bark:
Nor cynics growl and fiercely paw,
The mastiffs of the moral law.
Come, nymph, with rural honors drest,
Virtue's exterior form confest,
With charms untarnish'd, innocence
Display, and Eden shall commence;
When thus you come in sober fit,
And wisdom is preferr'd to wit;
And looks diviner graces tell,
Which don't with giggling muscles dwell,
And Beauty like the ray-clipt Sun,
With bolder eye we look upon;
Learning shall with obsequious mien
Tell all the wonders she has seen;