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Yet the silly wandering mind,
Loth to be too much confin'd,
Roves and takes her daily tours,
Coasting round her narrow shores,
Narrow shores of flesh and sense,
Picking shells and pebbles thence:
Or she sits at fancy's door,
Calling shapes and shadows to her,
Foreign visits still receiving,
And t' herself a stranger living.
Never, never would she buy
Indian dust, or Tyrian dye,
Never trade abroad for more,
If she saw her native store;
If her inward worth were known,
She might ever live alone.

LOOKING UPWARD.

THE heavens invite mine eye, The stars salute me round; Father, I blush, I mourn to lie Thus grovelling on the ground.

My warmer spirits move, And make attempts to fly; I wish aloud for wings of love To raise me swift and high.

Beyond those crystal vaults,
And all their sparkling balls;
They're but the porches to thy courts,
And paintings on thy walls.

Vain world, farewell to you;
Heaven is my native air:
I bid my friends a short adieu,
Impatient to be there.

I feel my powers releas'd
From their old fleshy clod;
Fair guardian, bear me up in haste,
And set me near my God.

JOHN PHILIPS, the son of Dr. Stephen Philips, Archdeacon of Salop, was born at Bampton, Oxfordshire, in 1676. He was educated at Winchester school, from whence he removed to Christ Church College, Oxford, where he obtained a very high character, and where he employed his time in studying the older poets,-directing his more especial attention to the Paradise Lost.

His intention was to adopt the profession of physic; and he had devoted much of his care to botany, and other branches of natural history; but this pursuit he abandoned, when, in 1703, he published the Splendid Shilling. It gave him at once the reputation which science so much more tardily achieves, and introduced him to Bolingbroke, at whose request, and in whose house, he wrote the poem commemorating the battle of Blenheim. It was published in 1705, and obtained considerable popularity, although Addison had already enlightened the town by verse upon the same subject. The great theme, however, inspired neither of the two Poets. Blenheim is a dull, heavy, and spiritless composition; and the reader is at times persuaded that the author was indulging his taste for the burlesque rather than the heroic. Indeed the writer appears to be aware of his unfitness for the task, and speaks of himself as having

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A subject more within the scope of his genius was soon afterwards presented to him. In 1706 he published the poem upon Cider, written on the model of the Georgics-a poem of which Dr. Johnson, usually so chary of praise, has said, "it need not shun the presence of the original." A wide popularity followed the appearance of this work; but the writer did not long live to enjoy it. He died of consumption, at Hereford, in 1708, and was buried in the cathedral of that city; a monument was erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey.

He was a man modest, blameless, and pious; who bore narrowness of fortune without discontent, and a tedious and painful illness without impatience; beloved by all who knew him, but not ambitious to be known. He died honoured and lamented, in the full zenith of his fame. Such is the character drawn of him by his friend Dr. Sewell. A poet, Edmund Smith, has preserved one equally favourable.

"Though learn'd, not vain, and humble though admir'd,

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To all sincere; though earnest to commend,
Could praise a rival, or condemn a friend!"

We have named the three poems on which depend the fame of John Philips. He wrote but one other,-Cerealia,—an encomium upon the influence of "nappy ale." It is weak, and there is no certainty that it emanated from his pen. The Splendid Shilling, the earliest of our parodies, is still considered as one of the happiest specimens of the burlesque. On its first appearance it startled the world as something new. Its humour is quiet and droll; the treatment of so rude a subject in the lofty Miltonic style and measure, was a bold attempt; but as the writer was then totally unknown, the risk of failure which he incurred was very slight. We cannot find in it the talent that others have found; while his poem of Cider, which has been generally regarded as of far less merit, to us appears a production of the highest and rarest order. It is at once"a book of entertainment and of science." It communicates a vast quantity of knowledge in a form the most agreeable and impressive; there is, indeed, no point or circumstance connected with the subject upon which the author has not offered some comment, and given some explanation; passing from essays on the nature and culture of the soil, to rural sports, when labour is over,--from the seasons, their changes and effects, to the industry of the husbandman and the skill of the mechanic,-from the growth of the tree to the treatment of the varied fruit it bears, and always with a grace, easy, unforced, and natural. The poem is, like the subject of it, essentially English-the style is nervous, clear and comprehensive; the writer, if rarely enthusiastic, is always satisfactory; and the reader derives exceeding pleasure as well as ample information from its perusal.

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THUS naught is useless made; nor is there land But what or of itself or else compell'd

Affords advantage. On the barren heath
The shepherd tends his flock, that daily crop
Their verdant dinner from the mossy turf
Sufficient; after them the cackling goose,
Close grazer, finds wherewith to ease her want.
What should I more? Ev'n on the cliffy height
Of Penmenmaur, and that cloud-piercing hill
Plinlimmon, from afar the traveller kens
Astonish'd how the goats their shrubby browse
Gnaw pendent; nor untrembling canst thou see

How from a scraggy rock whose prominence
Half overshades the ocean hardy men,
Fearless of rending winds and dashing waves,
Cut samphire, to excite the squeamish gust
Of pamper'd luxury. Then let thy ground
Not lie unlabour'd; if the richest stem
Refuse to thrive, yet who would doubt to plant
Somewhat that may to human use redound,
And penury the worst of ills remove?

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The farmer's toil is done; his cades mature
Now call for vent; his lands exhaust permit
T' indulge awhile. Now solemn rites he pays
To Bacchus, author of heart-cheering mirth.
His honest friends at thirsty hour of dusk
Come uninvited; he with bounteous hand
Imparts his smoking vintage, sweet reward
Of his own industry; the well-fraught bowl,
Circles incessant, whilst the humble cell
With quav'ring laugh and rural jests resounds.
Ease and content, and undissembled love,
Shine in each face; the thoughts of labour past
Increase their joy: as, from retentive cage,
When sullen Philomel escapes, her notes
She varies, and of past imprisonment
Sweetly complains; her liberty retriev'd

Cheers her sad soul, improves her pleasing song:
Gladsome they quaff, yet not exceed the bounds
Of healthy temp'rance, nor encroach on night,
Season of rest, but well bedew'd repair
Each to his home with unsupplanted feet.
Ere heav'n's emblazon'd by the rosy dawn,
Domestic cares awake them; brisk they rise,
Refresh'd, and lively with the joys that flow
From amicable talk and mod'rate cups
Sweetly interchang'd.

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Sturdy swains

In clean array for rustic dance prepare,

Mixt with the buxom damsels; hand in hand They frisk and bound, and various mazes weave, Shaking their brawny limbs, with uncouth mien Transported, and sometimes an oblique leer Dart on their loves, sometimes an hasty kiss

Steal from unwary lasses; they with scorn
And neck reclin'd resent the ravish'd bliss:
Mean-while blind British bards with volant touch
Traverse loquacious strings, whose solemn notes
Provoke to harmless revels.

THE SPLENDID SHILLING.

HAPPY the man who, void of cares and strife,
In silken or in leathern purse retains
A Splendid Shilling! he nor hears with pain
New oysters cry'd, nor sighs for cheerful ale;
But with his friends, when nightly mists arise,
To Juniper's Magpie, or Town-Hall, repairs,
Where, mindful of the nymph whose wanton eye
Transfix'd his soul and kindled amorous flames,
Cloe or Phillis, he each circling glass

Wisheth her health, and joy and equal love;
Mean-while he smokes and laughs at merry tale
Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint:
But I, whom griping penury surrounds
And hunger, sure attendant upon want,
With scanty offals and small acid tiff
(Wretched repast!) my meagre corpse sustain :
Then solitary walk, or doze at home
In garret vile, and with a warming puff
Regale chill'd fingers; or from tube as black
As winter chimney, or well-polish'd jet
Exhale mundungus, ill perfuming scent!
Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size,
Smokes Cambro-Briton (vers'd in pedigree
Sprung from Cadwallador and Arthur, kings
Full famous in romantic tale) when he
O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff
Upon a cargo of fam'd Cestrian cheese
High over-shadowing rides, with a design
To vend his wares, or at th' Arvonian mart
Or Maridunum, or the ancient town
Yclep'd Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream
Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil!
Whence flow nectareous wines that well
With Massic, Setin, or renown'd Falern.

may

vie

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