Elegant Extracts: Or, Useful and Entertaining Pieces of Poetry, Selected for ...

Fathers and Friends of human kind!
They form'd the nations, or refin'd,
With all all that mends the head and heart,
Enlight'ning truth, adorning art.

Thus mufing in the folemn fhade,
At once the founding breeze was laid:
And nature, by the unknown law,
Shook deep with reverential awe;
Dumb filence grew upon the hour;
A browner night involv'd the bow'r:
When iffuing from the inmoft wood,
Appear'd fair Freedom's Genius good.
O Freedom! fov'reign boon of Heav'n,
Great Charter with our being giv'n;
For which the patriot and the fage
Have plann'd, have bled, thro' ev'ry age!
High privilege of human race,
Beyond a mortal monarch's grace:
Who could not give, who cannot claim,
What but from God immediate came!

§ 115. Ode to Evening. Dr. Jos. WARTON. HAIL, meck-eyed Maiden, clad in fober grey, Whofe foft approach the weary woodman loves;

As homeward bent to kifs his prattling babes
Jocund he whistles through the twilight groves.
When Phoebus finks behind the gilded hills,
You lightly o'er the mifty meadows walk;
The drooping daifies bathe in dulcet dews,
And nurse the nodding violet's tender stalk.
The panting Dryads, that in day's fierce heat
To inmott bow'rs and cooling caverns ran,
Return to trip in wanton ev'ning dance;
Old Sylvan too returns, and laughing Pan.
To the deep wood the clamorous rooks repair,
Light fkims the fwallow o'er the wat'ry fcene;
And from the sheep-cot, and fresh-furrow'd field,
Stout ploughmen meet to wreftle on the green.
The fwain, that artlefs fings on yonder rock,
His fupping fheep and length'ning fhadow fpics,
Pleas'd with the cool, the calm refreshing hour,
And with hoarfe humming of unnumber'd flies.
Now ev'ry Paffion fleeps: defponding Love,
And pining Envy, ever-reftiefs Pride;
And holy Calm creeps o'er my peaceful foul,
Anger and mad Ambition's ftorms fubfide.
O modeft Evening! oft let me appear
A wandering votary in thy penfive train;
Lift'ning to every wildly-warbling note
That fills with farewel fweet thy darkening plain.

§ 116. Ifis. An Elegy. By Mr. MASON of Cambridge.

FAR from her hallow'd grot, where millly

bright

The pointed crystals fhot their trembling light, From dripping mofs where sparkling dew-drops fell, [thell, Where coral glow'd, where twin'd the wreathed

Pale Ifis lay; a willow's lowly fhade

Spread its thin foliage o'er the fleeping maid; Clos'd was her eye, and from her heaving breaft In carelefs folds loofe flow'd her zonelefs veft; While down her neck her vagrant treffes flow, In all the awful negligence of woe;

Her urn fuftain'd her arm, that fculptur'd vafe Where Vulcan's art had lavish'd all his grace. Here, full with life, was heaven-taught Science feen,

Known by the laurel wreath and mufing mien; There cloud-crown'd Fame, here Peace fedate and bland,

Swell'd the loud trump, and wav'd the olive wand; While folemn domes, arch'd fhades, and viftas

green,

At well-mark'd diftance clofe the facred fcene.
On this the goddess caft an anxious look,
Then dropp'd a tender tear, and thus she spoke:
Yes, I could once with pleas'd attention trace
The mimic charms of this prophetic vase;
Then lift my head, and with enraptur'd cyes
View on yon plain the real glories rise.
Yes, Ifis! oft haft thou rejoic'd to lead
Thy liquid treafures o'er yon fav'rite mead;
Oft haft thou stopp'd thy pearly car to gaze,
While ev'ry Science nurs'd its growing bays;
While ev'ry Youth, with fame's strong impulfe
Prefs'd to the goal, and at the goal untir'd [fir'd,
Snatch'd each celeftial wreath, to bind his brow,
The Mufes, Graces, Virtues could bestow.

E'en now fond Fancy leads th' ideal train, And ranks her troops on Memory's ample plain; See! the firm leaders of my patriot line, See! Sidney, Raleigh, Hampden, Somers fhine. See Hough, fuperior to a tyrant's doom, Smile at the menace of the flave of Rome: Each foul whom truth could fire, or virtue move, Each breaft ftrong panting with its country's love, All that to Albion gave their heart or head, That wifely counsell'd, or that bravely bled, All, all appear; on me they grateful fmile, The well-carn'd prize of every virtuous toil To me with filial reverence they bring, And hang fresh trophies o'er my honour'd spring. Ah I remember well yon becchen fpray, There Addifon first tun'd his polifh'd lay; 'Twas there great Cato's form firft met his eye, In all the pomp of free-born majefty; [awe, "My fon," he cried, "obferve this mien with "In folemn lines the ftrong resemblance draw; "The piercing notes fhall ftrike each British ear; "Each British eye fhall drop the patriot tear I "And, rous'd to glory by the nervous strain, "Each youth fhall fpurn at flavery's abject reign; "Shall guard with Cato's zeal Britannia's laws, And Ipeak, and aft, and bleed, in freedom's

"caufe."

Scarce ftole a breeze to wave the leafy spray,
Scarce trill'd fweet Philomel her fofteft lay,
When Locke walk'd mufing forth! e'en now I
Majeftic Wifdom thron'd upon his brow; [view
View Candour fmile upon his modeft cheek,
And from his eye all Judgment's radiance break.
'Twas here the fage his manly zcal exprefs'd,
Here ftripp'd vain Falsehood of her gaudy veft;
Here Truth's colicted beams firtt fill'd his mind,
Ere long to burst in bleffings on mankind;
Ere long to fhew to reafon's purged eye,
That" Nature's first beft gift was Liberty."

glade,

Proud of this wondrous foa, fublime I ftood
(While louder furges fwell'd my rapid flood);
Then, vain as Niobe, exulting cried,
Iliffus! roll thy fam'd Athenian tide;
Tho' Plato's fteps oft mark'd thy neighb'ring
Tho' fair Lyceum lent its awful fhade,
Tho' ev'ry Academic green imprefs'd
Its image full on thy reflecting breast,
Yet my pure ftream fhall boaft as proud a name,
And Britain's Ifis flow with Attic fame.
Alas! how chang'd! where now that Attic

boaft?

Forget that e'er my rapt attention hung
Or on the Sage's or the Poet's tongue;
Calin and refign'd my humbler lot embrace,
And, pleas'd, prefer oblivion to disgrace.

§ 117. Epificlary Verfes to George Colman, E
written in the Year 1756. By Mr. ROBERT
LLOYD.

You know, dear George, I'm none of thofe
That condefcend to write in profe:
Infpir'd with pathos and fublime,

always foar-in doggrel rhyme;
And fearce can afk you how you do,
Without a jingling line or two.
Befides, I always took delight in
What bears the name of eafy writing ;
Perhaps the reafon makes it please
Is, that I find 'tis writ with cafe.

I vent a notion here in private,
Which public tafte can ne'er connive at,
Which thinks no wit or judgment greater
Than Additon and his Spectator;
Who fays (it is no matter where,
But that he fays it I can fwear)
With eafy verfe moft bards are smitten,
Because they think it's eafy written;
Whereas, the cafier it appears,
The greater marks of care it wears;
Of which to give an explanation,
Take this by way of illustration:
The fam'd Mat. Prior, it is faid,
Oft bit his nails, and fcratch'd his head,
And chang'd a thought a hundred times,
Because he did not like the rhymes :
To make my meaning clear, and please ye,
In fhort, he labour'd to write cafy.
And yet no Critic e'er defines
His poems into labour'd lines.
theI have a fimile will hit him;

See! Gothic Licence rage o'er all my coaft;
See! Hydra Faction fpread its impious reign,
Poifon each breaft, and madden ev'ry brain:
Hence frontlefs crowds that, not content to fright
The bluthing Cynthia from her throne of night,
Blaft the fair face of day; and, madly bold,
To Freedom's foes infernal orgies hold;
To Freedom's foes, ah! fee the goblet crown'd,
Hear plaufive fhouts to Freedom's foes refound;
The horrid notes my refluent waters daunt,
The Echoes groan, the Dryads quit their haunt;
Learning, that once to all diffus'd her beam,
Now fheds, by ftealth, a partial private gleam
In fome lone cloifter's melancholy fhade,
Where a firm few fupport her fickly head,
Defpis'd, infulted by the barb'rous train,
Who fcour like Thracia's moon-itruck rout
plain,

Sworn foes like them to all the Mufe approves,
All Phoebus favours, or Minerva loves.

Are thefe the fons my foft'ring breast muft rear,
Grac'd with my name, and nurtur'd by my care?
Muft thefe go forth from my maternal hand
To deal their infults thro' a peaceful land:
And boaft, while Freedom bleeds, and Virtue

groans,

That "Ifis taught Rebellion to her Sons?"
Forbid it, Heaven! and let my rifing waves
Indignant fwell, and whelm the recreant flaves!
In England's caufe their patriot floods employ,
As Xanthus delug'd in the caufe of Troy.
Is this denied; then point fome fecret way
Where far, far hence these guiltless streams may
ftray;

Some unknown channel lend, where Nature fpreads
Inglorious vales, and unfrequented meads:
There, where a hind scarce tunes his ruftic ftrain,
Where fcarce a pilgrim treads the pathlefs plain,
Content I'll flow; forget that e'er my tide
Saw yon majestic ftructures crown its fide;

His verfe, like clothes, was made to fit him;
Which (as no taylor e'er denied)
The better fit the more they 're tried.
Though I have mention'd Prior's name,
Think not I aim at Prior's fame.
'Tis the refult of admiration
To fpend itfelf in imitation;
If imitation may be faid,
Which is in me by nature bred,
And you have better proofs than these,
That I'm idolater of Eafe.

Who but a madman would engage
A Poet in the prefent age?
Write what we will, our works befpeak us
Imitatores, fervum Pecus.
Tale, Elegy, or lofty Ode,

We travel in the beaten road.

The proverb still sticks closely by us,
Nil dictum, quod non dictum prius.
The only comfort that I know
Is, that 'twas faid an age ago,
Ere Milton foar'd in thought fublime,
Erc Pope refin'd the chink of rhyme,

Ere Colman wrote in ftyle fo pure,
Or the great Two the Connoiffeur;
Ere I burlefqu'd the rural cit,
Proud to hedge in my fcraps of wit;
And, happy in the clofe connection,
T'acquire fome name from their reflection :
So (the fimilitude is trite)

The moon ftill fhines with borrow'd light;
And, like the race of modern beaux,
Ticks with the fun for her lac'd clothes.
Methinks there is no better time
To fhew the ufe I make of rhyme,
Than now, when I, who from beginning
Was always fond of couplet-finning,
Prefuming on good-nature's fcore,
Thus lay my bantling at your door.
The fift advantage which I fee,
Is, that I ramble loofe and free:
The bard indeed full oft complains

That rhymes are fetters, links, and chains;
And, when he wants to leap the fence;
Still keeps him prifoner to the sense.
Howe'er in common-place he rage,
Rhyme's like your fetters on the stage,
Which when the player once hath wore,
It makes him only firut the more,
While, raving in pathetic ftrains,
He fhakes his legs to clank his chains.
From rhyine, as from a handfome face,
Nonfenfe acquires a kind of grace;
I therefore give it all its scope,
That fenfe may unperceiv'd elope.
So M- -rs of bafest tricks

(I love a fling at politics)
Amufe the nation, court, and king,

With breaking F-kes, and hanging Byng;
And make cach puny rogue a prey,
While they, the greater, flink away.
This fimile perhaps would ftrike,
If match'd with fomething more alike;
Then take it drefs'd a fecond time
In Prior's Eafe, and my Sublime.
Say, did you never chance to meet
A mob of people in the street,
Ready to give the robb'd relief,
And all in hafte to catch a thief;
While the fly rogue, who filch'd the
Too close befet to run away,
Stop thief! ftop thief! exclaims aloud,
And fo efcapes among the crowd?
So Minifters, &c.

prey,

O England, how I mourn thy fate! For fure thy loffes now are great; Two fuch what Briton can endure, Minorca, and the Connoiffeur !

To-day, or e'er the fun goes down, Will die the Cenfor, Mr. Town! He dies, whoe'er takes pains to con him, With blushing honours thick upon him :

O may his name thefe verfes fave,
Be thefe infcrib'd upon his grave !

"Know, Reader, that on Thursday died, "The Connoiffeur, a Suicide!

"Yet think not that his foul is fled,
"Nor rank him 'mongft the vulgar dead.
"Howe'er defunct you fet him down,
"He's only going out of Town,"

§ 118. Ode to Arthur Onflow, Efq. †

THIS goodly frame what virtue fo approves,
And teftifies the pure ethereal fpirit,
As mild Benevolence?

She with her fifter Mercy ftill awaits
Befide th' eternal throne of Jove,

And measures forth with unwithdrawing hand
The bieffings of the various year,
Sunshine or fhow'r, and chides the madding
tempeft.

With her the heaven-bred nymph, meek Charity, Shall fashion Onflow forth in fairest portrait; And with recording care

Weave the fresh wreath that flow'ring virtue claims.

But, oh, what mufe fhall join the band?
He long has fojourn'd in the facred haunts,
And knows each whip'ring grot and
glade

Trod by Apollo, and the light-foot Graces.
How then fhall awkward gratitude,
And the prefumption of untutor'd duty,

Attune my numbers, all too rude?
Little he recks the mecd of fuch a fong;
Yet will I ftretch aleof,
And when I tell of Courtefy,
Of well-attemper'd Zeal,

Of awful Prudence foothing fell Contention,
Where fhall the lincaments agree

But in thee, Onflow? You your wonted leave Indulge me, nor mifdeem a foldier's bold em

prize,

Who, in the diffonance of barb'rous war Long train'd, revifits oft the facred treasures Of antique memory;

Or where fage Pindar reins his fiery car, Through the vaft vault of Heaven fecure, Or what the Attic mufe that Homer fill'd, Her other fon, thy Milton taught, Or range the flow'ry fields of gentle Spenfer. And, ever as I go, allurements vain Cherish a feeble fire, and feed my idle Fancy: oh could I once

Charm to their melody my fhrilling reeds!

To Henries and to Edwards old,

Dread names! I'd meditate the faithful fong;

Or tell what time Britannia,

September 30th, 1756, when Mr. Town, author of the Connoiffeur, a periodical Effay (fince published in four volumes, printed for R. Baldwin, London), took leave of his readers, with an humourous account of himfelf.

+ This elegant Poem was written by a Gentleman well known in the learned world, as a token of gratitude for favours conferred on his father during the laft war, whole character he has therein affumed. LI

Whilom

Whilom the fairest daughter of old Ocean,

In loathly difarray, dull eyes,
And faded check, wept o'er her abject fons:
Till Willant, great deliverer,
Led on the comely train, gay Liberty,
Religion, matron staid,

With all her kindred goddeffes;
Juftice with fteady brow,

Trim Plenty, laureat Peace, and green-hair'd
Commerce,

In flowing veft of thousand hues. Fain would I thadow out old Bourbon's pile Tott'ring with doubtful weight, and threat'ning cumb'rous fall;

Or trace our navy, where in tow'ring pride O'er the wide-fwelling wafte it rolls avengeful. As when collected clouds

Forth from the gloomy fouth, in deep array, Athwart the dark'ning landfcape throng, Fraught with loud ftorms, and thunder's dread. ful peal,

At which the murd'rer ftands aghaft, And wafting Riot ill diffembles terror.

How headlong Rhone and Ebro, erft diftain'd With Moorish carnage, quakes thro' all her

branches!

Soon thall I

the morn,

greet When Europe fav'd, Britain and George's name, Shall found o'er Flandria's level field, Familiar in domeftic merriment;

Or by the jolly mariner

Be carol'd loud adown the echoing Danube.
The juft memorial of fair deeds
Still flourishes, and, like th' untainted foul,
Bluffoms in fresheft age, above

The weary flesh, and envy's rankling wound.
Such, after years mature,

In full account fhall be thy meed.`

Oh may your rifing hope

Well principled in ev'ry virtue bloom!

Till a froth-fpringing flock implore With infant hands a grandfire's pow'rful pray'r, Or round your honour'd couch their prattling fports purfue.

OGILVIE.

$119. Ode to Melancholy. HAIL, queen of thought fublime! propitious

pow'r,

Who o'er th' unbounded wafte art joy'd to roam,
Led by the moon, when at the midnight hour
Her pale rays tremble thro' the dufky gloom.
O bear me, goddefs, to thy peaceful feat!
Whether to Hecia's cloud-wrapt brow convey'd,
Or lodg'd where mountains fcreen thy deep retreat,
Or wand ring wild thro' Chili's boundless fhade.
Say, rove thy fteps o'er Libya's naked waste >
Or feek fome diftant folitary fhore?
Or, on the Andes' topmost mountain plac'd,
Doft fir, and hear the folemn thunder roar ›
Fix'd on fome hanging rock's projected brow,
Hear'ft thou low murmurs from the diftant dome?
Or ftray the feet where pale dejected Woe
Pours her long wail from tome lamented tomb?

Hark! yon deep echo ftrikes the trembling ear! See night's dun curtain wraps the darkfome pole? J'er heaven's blue arch yon rolling worlds ap

pear,

And roufe to folemn thought th' aspiring foul.
O lead my fteps beneath the moon's dim rav,
Where Tadmor ftands all defert and alone!
While from her time-fhook tow'rs the bird of
prey

Sounds thro' the night her long-refounding mean.
Or bear me far to yon dark difmal plain,
Where fell-eyed tigers, all athirst for blood,
Howl to the defert, while the horrid train
Roams o'er the wild where once great Babel
ftood;

That queen of nations! whofe fuperior call
Rous'd the broad Eaft, and bid her arms defire!
When warm'd to mirth,let judgment mark her fal,
And deep reflection dash the lip of joy.
Short is Ambition's gay deceitful dream;
Though wreaths of blooming laurel bind her

brow;

Calm thought difpels the vifionary fcheme, And Time's cold breath diffolves the withering bough.

Slow as fome miner faps th' aspiring tow`r, When working fecret with deftructive aim, Unteen, unheard, thus moves the ftealing hour, But works the fall of empire, pomp, and name. Then let thy pencil mark the traits of man; Full in the draught be keen-eyed Hope pr tray'd:

Let flutt'ring Cupids crowd the growing plan: Then give one touch, and dafh it deep with fhade. Beneath the plume that flames with glancing

rays

Be Care's deep engines on the foul imprefs'd;
Beneath the helmet's keen refulgent blaze
Let Grief fit pining in the canker'd breaft.
Let Love's gay fons, a smiling train, appear,
With Beauty pierc'd-yet heedlefs of the dart.
While, clofely couch'd, pale fick'ning Envy ned
Whets her fell fting, and points it at the heart.
Perch'd like a raven on fome blasted yew,

Let Guilt revolve the thought-distracting fin;
Scar'd-while her eyes furvey th' ethereal bl
Left heaven's ftrong lightning burft the dat
within.

Then paint impending o'er the maddening deep That rock where heart-ftruck Sappho, va brave,

Stood firm of foul-then from the dizzy fteep Impetuous fprung, and dafh'd the boiling wave Here wrapt in ftudious thought let Fancy rov Still prompt to mark Sufpicion's fecret trare; To fee where Anguin nips the bloom of Leve, Or trace proud Grandeur to the domes of Cat. Should e'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes inflame, et judging Reafon draw the veil aside;

, ur'd with envy at fome mighty name. Read o'er the monument that tells-He

What

Say, genile mourner, in yon mouldy vault,
Where the worm fattens on fome fceptred brow,
Beneath that roof with fculptur'd marble fraught.
Why fleeps unmov'd the breathlefs duft below?
Sleeps it more fweetly than the fimple fwain,
Beneath fome moffy turf that refts his head;
Where the lone widow tells the night her pain,
And eve with dewy tears embalms the dead?
The lily, fereen'd from ev'ry ruder gale,
Courts not the cultur'd foot where rofes fpring;
But blows neglected in the peaceful vale,
And scents the zephyr's balmy breathing wing.
The busts of grandeur and the pomp of pow'r,
Can thefe bid Sorrow's gufhing tears fubfide?
Can thefe avail in that tremendous hour,

When Death's cold hand congeals the purple tide:
Ah no! the mighty names are heard no more:
Pride's thought fublime, and Beauty's kindling
bloom,

Serve but to fport one flying moment o'er,
And fwell with pompous verfe th' elcutcheon'd
tomb.

For me-may Paffion ne'er my foul invade,
Nor be the whims of tow`ring Phrenty giv'n;
Let Wealth ne'er court me from the peaceful
fhade,

Where Contemplation wings the foul to Heaven!
Oh guard me fafe from Joy's enticing fnare!
With each extreme that Pleafure tries to hide,
The poifon'd breath of low-confuming Care,
The noife of Folly, and the dreams of Pride.
But oft, when midnight's fadly folemn knell
Sounds long and diftant from the fky-topt tow'r,
Calm let me fit in Profper's lonely cell
Or walk with Milton thro' the dark obfcure.
Thus, when the tranfient dream of life is fled,
May fome fad friend recall the former years;
Then, ftretch'd in filence o'er my dufty bed,
Pour the warm guth of fympathetic tears!

Where'er the wild-eyed goddefs lov'd to roam,
To trace ferene the gloomy grove,
Or haunt meek Quiet's fimple dome;
Still hovering round the Nine appear,
That pour the foul-transporting strain;
Join'd to the Loves' gay train,

Oft while on earth 'twas thine to rove

The loofe-rob'd Graces crown'd with flow'rs,
The light-wing'd gales that lead the vernal year,
And wake the roly-featur'd hours.
O'er all bright Fancy's beamy radiance shone,
How flam'd thy bofom as her charms reveal!
Her fire-clad eye fublime, her ftarry zone,
Her treffes loofe that wanton'd on the gale;
On thee the goddefs fix'd her ardent look,
Then from her glowing lips thefe melting accents
bioke:
I. 3.

"To thee, my favourite fon, belong
"The lays that steal the liftening hour;
"To pour the rapture-darting fong,
"To paint gay Hope's Elyfian bow'r.
"From Nature's hand to fnatch the dart,
"To cleave with pangs the bleeding heart;
"Or lightly fweep the trembling firing,
"And call the Loves with purple wing

From the blue deep, where they dwell "With Naiads in the pearly cell,

Soft on the fea-born goddess gaze † ; "Or in the loofe robe's floating maze, "Diffolv'd in downy flumbers reft; "Or flutter o'er her panting breast. Or wild to melt the yielding foul,

Let Sorrow, clad in fable tole,

Slow to thy mufing thought appear;

Or penfive Pity pale;

Or Love's defponding tale

II. 1.

[tear."

Call from th' intender'd heart the fympathetic

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