Alas! no more that joyous morn appears That led the tranquil hours of spotless fame; For I have steep'd a father's couch in tears, And ting'd a mother's glowing cheek with shame. "The vocal birds that raise their matin strain, The sportive lambs, increase my pensive moan; All seem to chase me from the cheerful plain, And talk of truth and innocence alone. "If through the garden's flowery tribes I stray, Where bloom the jasmines that could once allure, Hope not to find delight in us, they say, For we are spotless, Jessy; we are pure. "Ye flowers! that well reproach a nymph so frail; "Now the grave old alarm the gentler young; And all my fame's abhorr'd contagion flee: Trembles each lip, and falters every tongue, That bids the morn propitious smile on me. "Thus for your sake I shun each human eye; I bid the sweets of blooming youth adieu; To die I languish, but I dread to die, Lest my sad fate should nourish pangs for you. "Raise me from earth; the pains of want remove, "Be but my friend; I ask no dearer name; Be such the meed of some more artful fair; Nor could it heal my peace, or chase my shame, That pity gave, what love refus'd to share. "Force not my tongue to ask its scanty bread; Haply, when Age has silver'd o'er my hair, Malice may learn to scorn so mean a spoil; Envy may slight a face no longer fair; And pity, welcome, to my native soil.' She spoke-nor was I born of savage race; Nor could these hands a niggard boon assign; Grateful she clasp'd me in a last embrace, And vow'd to waste her life in prayers for mine. "I saw her foot the lofty bark ascend; I saw her breast with every passion heave; I left her-torn from every earthly friend; Oh! my hard bosom, which could bear to leave! "-Brief let me be; the fatal storm arose ; The billows rag'd, the pilot's art was vain; O'er the tall mast the circling surges close; My Jessy-floats upon the watery plain! "And see my youth's impetuous fires decay; Seek not to stop Reflection's bitter tear; But warn the frolic, and instruct the gay, From Jessy floating on her watery bier!" A PASTORAL BALLAD, IN FOUR PARTS. 1743. Arbusta humilesque myricæ.-Virg. I. ABSENCE. YE shepherds so cheerful and gay, Oh! call the poor wanderers home. Nor talk of the change that ye find; None once was so watchful as I; I have left my dear Phyllis behind. Now I know what it is, to have strove With the torture of doubt and desire; What it is to admire and to love, And to leave her we love and admire. Ah! lead forth my flock in the morn, And the damps of each evening repel; Alas! I am faint and forlorn : -I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell. Since Phyllis vouchsaf'd me a look, I never once dreamt of my vine: May I lose both my pipe and my crook, If I knew of a kid that was mine! I priz'd ev'ry hour that went by, Beyond all that had pleas'd me before; But now they are past, and I sigh; And I grieve that I priz'd them no more. But why do I languish in vain ; Why wander thus pensively here? Oh! why did I come from the plain, Where I fed on the smiles of my dear? They tell me, my favorite maid, The pride of that valley, is flown; Alas! where with her I have stray'd, I could wander with pleasure, alone. When forc'd the fair nymph to forego, What anguish I felt at my heart! Yet I thought-but it might not be so'Twas with pain that she saw me depart. She gaz'd, as I slowly withdrew; My path I could hardly discern; I thought that she bade me return. Is happy, nor heard to repine. And my solace wherever I go. II. HOPE. My banks they are furnish'd with bees, I seldom have met with a loss, Such health do my fountains bestow: My fountains all border'd with moss, Where the hare-bells and violets grow. Not a pine in my grove is there seen, But a sweet-brier entwines it around. But it glitters with fishes of gold. One would think she might like to retire To prune the wild branches away. From the plains, from the woodlands and groves, In a concert so soft and so clear, As she may not be found to resign. I have found out a gift for my fair; I have found where the wood-pigeons breed: But let me that plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed. Such tenderness fall from her tongue. I have heard her with sweetness unfold How that pity was due to-a dove: That it ever attended the bold; And she call'd it the sister of love. But her words such a pleasure convey, So much I her accents adore, Let her speak, and whatever she say, Methinks I should love her the more. Can a bosom so gentle remain Unmov'd when her Corydon sighs? Soft scenes of contentment and ease? But where does my Phyllida stray? And where are her grots and her bowers? Are the groves and the valleys as gay, And the shepherds as gentle as ours? The groves may perhaps be as fair, And the face of the valleys as fine; The swains may in manners compare, But their love is not equal to mine. III. SOLICITUDE. WHY will you my passion reprove? With her mien she enamours the brave; O you that have been of her train, For when Paridel tries in the dance Might she ruin the peace of my mind! In ringlets he dresses his hair, And his crook is bestudded around; And his pipe-oh my Phyllis, beware Of a magic there is in the sound. "Tis his with mock passion to glow, "Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, How her face is as bright as the snow, And her bosom, be sure, is as cold. How the nightingales labor the strain, With the notes of his charmer to vie; How they vary their accents in vain, Repine at her triumphs, and die. To the grove or the garden he strays, He throws it at Phyllis's feet. What is eglantiné after a shower? "Then the lily no longer is white; The rose is depriv'd of its bloom; Then the violets die with despite, And the woodbines give up their perfume Thus glide the soft numbers along, And he fancies no shepherd his peer; -Yet I never should envy the song, Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear. Let his crook be with hyacinths bound, IV. DISAPPOINTMENT. YE shepherds, give ear to my lay, And take no more heed of my sheep; They have nothing to do but to stray; I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove; She was fair-and my passion begun; She smil'd-and I could not but love; She is faithless-and I am undone. Perhaps I was void of all thought: Perhaps it was plain to foresee, That a nymph so complete would be sought She is faithless, and I am undone ; Ye that witness the woes I endure, Let reason instruct you to shun What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain Amid nymphs of a higher degree: It is not for me to explain How fair, and how fickle, they be. Alas! from the day that we met, What hope of an end to my woes? When I cannot endure to forget The glance that undid my repose. The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, The sound of a murmuring stream, Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme. High transports are shown to the sight, But we're not to find them our own; Fate never bestow'd such delight, As I with my Phyllis had known. O ye woods, spread your branches apace; I would hide with the beasts of the chase; Erewhile, in sportive circles round She saw him wheel, and frisk, and bound; Pleas'd on his various freaks to dwell, She tells with what delight he stood To trace his features in the flood; Then skipp'd aloof with quaint amaze, And then drew near again to gaze. She tells me how with eager speed His every frolic, light as air, But knows my Delia, timely wise, How soon this blameless era flies? While violence and craft succeed; Unfair design, and ruthless deed! Soon would the vine his wounds deplore, No more those bowers might Strephon see, Each wayward passion soon would tear Then mourn not the decrees of Fate, That gave his life so short a date; And I will join thy tenderest sighs, To think that youth so swiftly flies! THE REV. CHARLES CHURCHILL THE REV. CHARLES CHURCHILL, a poet, once of ❘ name. Churchill was now at once raised from ob great repute, was the son of a curate of St. John's, scurity to eminence; and the Rosciad, which we Westminster, in which parish he was born in 1731. have selected as his best work, is, in fact, the only He received his early education at the celebrated one of his numerous publications on which he bepublic school in the vicinity, whence he was sent to stowed due labor. The delineations are drawn Oxford; but to this university he was refused ad- with equal energy and vivacity; the language and mission on account of deficient classical knowledge. versification, though not without inequalities, are Returning to school, he soon closed his further superior to the ordinary strain of current poetry, and education by an early and imprudent marriage. many of the observations are stamped with sound Receiving holy orders from the indulgence of Dr. judgment and correct taste. Sherlock, he went down to a curacy in Wales, The remainder of his life, though concurring where he attempted to remedy the scantiness of his with the period of his principal fame, is little worthy income, by the sale of cider; but this expedient of notice. He became a party writer, joining with only plunged him deeper in debt. Returning to Wilkes and other oppositionists, and employed his London, he was chosen, on his father's death, to pen assiduously in their cause. With this was succeed him as curate and lecturer of St. John's. joined a lamentable defect of moral feeling, exHis finances still falling short, he took various hibited by loose and irregular manners. Throwing methods to improve them; at the same time he dis-off his black suit, he decorated his large and clumsy played an immoderate fondness for theatrical ex-person with gold lace; and dismissing his wife, he hibitions. This latter passion caused him to think debauched from her parents the daughter of a of exercising those talents which he was conscious tradesman in Westminster. His writings at length of possessing; and in March, 1761, he published, though anonymously, a view of the excellencies and defects of the actors in both houses, which he entitled "The Rosciad." It was much admired, and a second edition appeared with the author's became mere rhapsodies; and taking a journey to France for the purpose of visiting Mr. Wilkes, then an exile in that country, he was seized with a fever, which put a period to his life on November 4, 1764, at the age of 34. THE ROSCIAD. Roscius deceas'd, each high aspiring play'r But though bare merit might in Rome appear What can an actor give? In ev'ry age They can't, like candidate for other seat, Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat. The town divided, each runs sev'ral ways, From galleries loud peals of laughter roll, Whilst to six feet the vig'rous stripling grown. When place of judgment is by whim supplied, At length agreed, all squabbles to decide, For Johnson some, but Johnson, it was fear'd, "At Friendship's call," (thus oft with trait'rous aim But lest, transfus'd, the spirit should be lost, Who can-But Woodward came,-Hill slipp'd away, Melting like ghosts, before the rising day. With that low cunning, which in fools supplies To qualify the blockhead for a knave; With that smooth falsehood, whose appearance charms, And reason of each wholesome doubt disarms, "Thanks to my friends.-But to vile fortunes born, O'er its pale cheeks, the horrid manly red. No robes of fur these shoulders must adorn. Much did it talk, in its own pretty phrase, Of genius and of taste, of play'rs and plays; Much too of writings, which itself had wrote, Twice (curs'd remembrance !) twice I strove to gain Of special merit, though of little note; Admittance 'mongst the law-instructed train, With sleek appearance, and with ambling pace, Knows any one so well-sure no one knows, * John Coan, a dwarf, who died in 1764. C. For Fate, in a strange humor, had decreed Nor shall the Muse (for even there the pride This severe character was intended for Mr. Fitzpatrick, a person who had rendered himself remarkable by his activity in the playhouse riots of 1763, relative to the taking half prices. He was the hero of Garrick's Fribbleriad. E. |