Whilst young Affections lead the way
To the warm regions of the heart,
Whence selfish fiends of vice depart,
Like spectres at the' approach of day.
Should any infidel demand,
Who sneers at our poetic heaven,
Whether from ordination given
By prelates of the Thespian land,
Or inspiration from above
(As modern Mothodists derive
Their light from no divine alive),
I hold the great prerogative
To' interpret sage Anacreon's writ,
Or gloss upon Catullus' wit;
Prophets that heretofore were sent,
And finally require to see
Credentials of my embassy,
Before his faith could yield consent,
Convincing reasons I would give
From a short tale scarce credible
(But yet as true and plausible
As some which Catholics believe),
That I was call'd by Jove's behest
A Paphian and a Delphian priest.
Once when by Trent's pellucid streams,
In days of prattling infancy,
Led by young wondering ecstasy,
To view the sun's refulgent beams,
As on the sportive waves they play'd,
Too far I negligently stray'd,
The god of day his lamp withdrew,
Evening her dusky mantle spread,
And from her moisten'd tresses shed
Refreshing drops of pearly dew.
Close by the borders of a wood,
Where an old ruin'd abbey stood,
Far from a fondling mother's sight,
With toil of childish sport oppress'd,
My tender limbs sunk down to rest
Midst the dark horrors of the night:
As Horace erst by fabled doves
With spring's first leaves was mantled o'er,
A wanderer from his native groves
Alike regard the British loves
To me their future poet bore;
Nor left me guardianless alone.
For though no nymph or faun appear'd,
Nor piping satyr there was heard,
And here the dryads are unknown;
Yet, natives true of English ground,
Sweet elves and fays in mantles green,
By shepherds oft in moonlight seen,
And dapper fairies danced around:
The nightingale, her lovelorn lay
Neglecting on the neighbouring spray,
Strew'd with fresh flowers my turfy bed,
And at the first approach of morn
The redbreast stripp'd the fragrant thorn
On roses wild to lay my head.
Thus, as the wondering rustics say,
In smiling sleep they found me laid
Beneath a blossom'd hawthorn's shade,
Whilst sportive bees, in mystic play,
With honey fill'd my little lips,
Blent with each sweet that zephyr sips
From flowery cups in balmy May.
From that bless'd hour my bosom glow'd,
Ere vanity or fame inspired,
With unaffected transports fired,
And from my tongue untutor'd flow'd,
In childhood's inattentive days,
The lisping notes of artless lays.
Nor have these dear enchantments ceased,
For what in innocence began
Still with increasing years increased,
And youth's warm joys now charm the man.
Perhaps this fondly foster'd flame,
E'en when in dust my body's laid,
Will o'er the tomb preserve its fame,
And glow within my future shade;
If thus, as poets have agreed,
The soul when from the body freed,
In the' other world confines her bliss
To the same joys she loved in this,
Thine, when she's past the Stygian flood,
Shall, midst the patriot chiefs of old,
The wise, the valiant, and the good
(Great names in deathless archives roll'd!)
Strike with a master's mighty hand
Thy golden lyre's profoundest chords,
And fascinate the kindred band
With magic of poetic words.
Ravish'd with thy mellifluent lay,
Plato and Virgil shall entwine
Of olive and the Mantuan bay
A never fading crown for thee;
And learn'd Lucretius shall resign,
Among the followers of the Nine,
His philosophic dignity.
For though his faithful pencil drew
Nature's external symmetry,
Yet to the mind's capacious view,
That unconfined expatiates
O'er mighty Nature's wondrous whole,
Thy nicer stroke delineates
The finer features of the soul.
And whilst the Theban bard to thee
Shall yield the heart-elating lyre,
Horace shall hear attentively
Thy finger touch his softer wire
To more familiar harmony.
Meanwhile thy Aristippus' shade
Shall seek where sweet Anacreon plays,
Where Chapelle spends his festive days,
Where lies the vine-impurpled glade
By tuneful Chaulieu vocal made,
Or where our Shenstone's mossy cell,
Or where the fair Deshoulières strays,
Or Hammond and Pavillon dwell
And Gresset's gentle spirit roves,
Surrounded by a group of Loves,
With roses crown'd and asphodel.
Let the furr'd pedants of the schools,
In learning's formidable show,
Full of wise saws and bookish rules,
The meagre dupes of misery grow;
A lovelier doctrine I profess
Than their dull science can avow;
All that belongs to happiness
Their heads are welcome still to know;
My heart's contented to possess.
For in soft elegance and ease,
Secure of living whilst I live,
Each momentary bliss I seize,
Ere these warm faculties decay,
The fleeting moments to deceive
Of human life's alloted day.
And when the' invidious hand of time
By stealth shall silver o'er my head,
Still Pleasure's rosy walks I'll tread,
Still with the jocund Muses rhyme,
And haunt the green Idalian bowers,
Whilst wanton boys of Paphos' court
In myrtles hide my staff for sport,
And coif me, where I'm bald, with flowers.
Thus to each happy habit true,
Preferring happiness to power,
Will Aristippus e'en pursue
Life's comforts to the latest hour,
Till age (the only malady
Which thou and medicine cannot cure,
Yet what all covet to endure)
This innocent voluptuary
Shall, from the Laughs and Graces here,
With late and lenient change, remove
To regions of Elysian air,
Where shades of mortal pleasures rove;
Destined without alloy to share
Eternal joys of mutual love,
Which transitory were above.
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