Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

O let me, let an hapless wretch depart,

[ocr errors]

Unwept, unnotic'd, to the filent grave!

And may the thousand pangs that rive my heart,

[ocr errors][merged small]

Long were to tell the ftory of my shame!'-
As from her dying lips these accents fell,
Convulfive fighs diffolv'd her tender frame,
And her foul fled-whither, ah! who can tell?

SONNE T.

TO BRITANNIA.

R

BY JOHN SCOTT, ESQ.

ENOWN'D Britannia! lov'd parental land, Regard thy welfare with a watchful eye: Whene'er the weight of Want's afflicting hand

Wakes o'er thy vales the poor's perfuafive cry;

When flaves in office freemen's rights withstand,
When wealth enormous fets th' oppreffor high,

And bribes thy ductile fenators command;

Then mourn for then thy fate approacheth nigh.

Not from perfidious Gaul, or haughty Spain,
Nor all the neighbouring nations of the main,
Tho' leagu'd in war tremendous round thy fhore;
But from thyself thy ruin muft proceed:

Nor boast thy power; for know, it is decreed,
Thy freedom gone, thy power shall be no more.

ODE

[blocks in formation]

Confult the blue expanse on high,
The blush that paints the morning sky,

The cloud that nimbly rides;

The orbs that mark with luftre bright
The fpangled mantle of the night,
Who there fupreme refides.

Question the gaudy flowers around,
That fcent the air, or paint the ground,
Whofe influence they obey;

Whose hand imparts the various dyes,
At whofe command they bud and rise,
At whofe command decay.

Say ye, on down, or mountain fteep,
That ftately tread, or lowly creep;
And ye aërial throng,

That chear the woodland fcene and fields
With vocal ftrains; whofe bounty yields,
Or fuftenance or fong?

Who, in the ocean's wafte domain,
The tenants of the wat'ry plain

With liberal hand supplies ?
The floods in icy fetters binds,
Smoothes the rough furge, and lulls the winds,
Or bids the tempeft rife?

Nature, in ev'ry myftick scene

Declares a plaftick Author's reign:

Above the morning's wings,

Beyond the fea's remotest tides,
Beneath the Dædal earth, resides

Th' Almighty King of kings.

AN

[blocks in formation]

INCE, dearest Harry! you will needs request.

SINCE

A fhort account of all the Mufe poffefs'd,
That, down from Chaucer's days to Dryden's times,
Have spent their noble rage in British rhymes;
Without more preface, writ in formal length,
To fpeak the undertaker's want of ftrength,
I'll try to make their fev'ral beauties known,
And fhew their verfes worth, tho' not my own.
Long had our dull forefathers flept fupine,
Nor felt the raptures of the tuneful Nine,
Till Chaucer firft, a merry bard, arose,
And many a story told in rhyme and profe;
But age has rufted what the poet writ,
Worn out his language, and obscur'd his wit;
In vain he jests in his unpolish'd strain,
And tries to make his readers laugh in vain.
Old Spenfer next, warm'd with poetick rage,
In ancient tales amus'd a barb'rous age;
An age that, yet uncultivate and rude,
Where'er the poet's fancy led, purfu'd,
Thro' pathlefs fields and unfrequented floods,
To dens of dragons and enchanted woods.
But now the mystick tale, that pleas'd of yore,
Can charm an understanding age no more;
The long-fpun allegories fulfome grow,
While the dull moral lies too plain below.

* Afterwards Dr. Sacheverell.

We

We view, well pleas'd, at diftance all the fights
Of arms and palfries, battles, fields, and fights,
And damfels in distress, and courteous knights;
But when we look too near the shades decay,
And all the pleasing landscape fades away.

Great Cowley, then, (a mighty genius!) wrote,
O'er-run with wit, and lavish of his thought:
His turns too closely on the reader press ;
He more had pleas'd us, had he pleas'd us lefs.
One glitt❜ring thought no fooner strikes our eyes
With filent wonder, but new wonders rife e;
As in the Milky-way a fhining white
O'erflows the heav'ns with one continu'd light,
That not a fingle star can fhew his rays,
Whilft jointly all promote the common blaze.
Pardon, great poet! that I dare to name

Th' unnumber'd beauties of thy verse with blame :
Thy fault is only wit in it's excefs;

But wit like thine in any fhape will please.
What Mufe but thine can equal hints inspire,
And fit the deep-mouth'd Pindar to thy lyre?
Pindar! whom others, in a labour'd ftrain,
And forc'd expreffion, imitate in vain ?

Well pleas'd in thee he foars with new delight,

}

And plays in more unbounded verse, and takes a nobler flight. Blefs'd man! whofe fpotlefs life and charming lays

Employ'd the tuneful prelate in thy praise;

Blefs'd man! who now fhall be for ever known,

In Sprat's fuccessful labours, and thy own.

But Milton next, with high and haughty stalks,
Unfetter'd, in majestick numbers walks :
No vulgar hero can his Mufe engage,

Nor earth's wide fcene confine his hallow'd rage.
See! fee! he upward fprings; and, tow'ring high,

Spurns the dull province of mortality;
30

Shakes

« ZurückWeiter »