Ah! who to pomp or grandeur would aspire? Kings are not rais'd above misfortune's frown: That form so graceful even in mean attire, Sway'd once a sceptre, once sustain'd a crown. From filial rage and strife,
To screen his closing life, He quits his throne, a father's sorrow feels, And in the lap of want his patient head conceals. More yet remain'd-but lo! the pensive queen Appears confest before my dazzled sight; Grace in her steps, and softness in her mien, The face of sorrow mingled with delight.
Not such her nobler frame,
When kindling into flame,
And bold in virtue's cause, her zeal aspires To waken guilty pangs, or breathe heroic fires. Aw'd into silence, my rapt soul attendsThe power, with eyes complacent, saw my And, as with grief ineffable she bends, [fear; These accents vibrate on my listening ear. "Aspiring son of art,
Know, tho' thy feeling heart Glow with these wonders to thy fancy shown, Still may the Delian god thy powerless toils dis
"A thousand tender scenes of soft distress May swell thy breast with sympathetic woes; A thousand such dread forms on fancy press, As from my dreary realms of darkness rose; Whence Shakspeare's chilling fears, Whence Otway's melting tears That awful gloom, this melancholy plain, The types of every theme that suits the tragic strain.
"But dost thou worship Nature night and morn, And all due honour to her precepts pay? Canst thou the lure of affectation scorn, Pleas'd in the simpler paths of truth to stray? Hast thou the Graces fair Invok'd with ardent prayer? "Tis they attire, as Nature must impart, The sentiment sublime, the language of the heart. "Then, if creative Genius pour his ray, Warm with inspiring influence on thy breast; Taste, judgment, fancy, if thou canst display, And the deep source of passion stand confest: Then may the listening train, Affected, feel thy strain; Feel grief or terrour, rage or pity move; Change with the varying scenes, and every scene approve."
Humbled before her sight, and bending low,
I kiss'd the borders of her crimson vest; Eager to speak, I felt my bosom glow, But fear upon my lip her seal imprest. While awe-struck thus I stood, The bowers, the lawn, the wood, The form celestial, fading on my sight,
Dissolv'd in liquid air, and fleeting gleams of light.
ON HIS FIRST ARRIVAL AT THE LEASOWS, 1754.
The woods? or waves there not a magic wand O'er the translucent waters? Sure, unseen, Some favouring power directs the happy lines That sketch these beauties; swells the rising bills, And scoops the dales to Nature's finest forms, Vague, undetermin'd, infinite: untaught By line or compass, yet supremely fair." So spake Philemon, as with raptur'd gaze He travers'd Damon's farm. From distant plains He sought his friend's abode; nor had the fame Of that new-form'd Arcadia reach'd his ear.
And thus the swain, as o'er each hill and dale, Thro' lawn or thicket he pursued his way: "What is it gilds the verdure of these meads With lines more bright than fancy paints the flowers Of Paradise? what Naiad's guiding hand Leads, thro' the broider'd vale, these lucid rills, That murmuring as they flow, bear melody Along their banks; and thro' the vocal shades, Improve the music of the woodland choir? What pensive Dryad rais'd yon solemn grove, Where minds contemplative, at close of day Retiring, muse o'er Nature's various works, Her wonders venerate, or her sweets enjoy? What room for doubt? some rural deity, Presiding, scatters o'er th' unequal lawns, In beauteous wildness, yon fair-spreading trees: And mingling woods and waters, bills and dales, And herds and bleating flocks, domestic fowl, And those that swim the lake, sees rising round More pleasing landscapes than in Tempe's vale Penèus watered. Yes, some sylvan god Spreads wide the varied prospect; waves the woods, Lifts the proud hills, and clears the shining lakes: While, from the congregated waters pour'd, The bursting torrent tumbles down the steep lu foaming fury; fierce, irregular, Wild, interrupted, cross'd with rocks and roots And interwoven trees; till, soon absorb'd, An open cavern all its rage entombs. So vanish human glories! such the pomp Of swelling warriors, of ambitious kings, Who fret and strut their hour upon the stage Of busy life, and then are heard no more!
"Yes, 'tis enchantment all-and see, the spells, The powerful incantations, magic verse, Inscrib'd on every tree, alcove, or urn.— Spells!incantations!-ah, my tuneful friend! Thine are the numbers! thine the wond'rous work! Yes, great magician! now I read thee right, And lightly weigh all sorcery, but thine. No Naiad's leading step conducts the rill: Nor sylvan god presiding skirts the lawn In beauteous wildness, with fair spreading trees; Nor magic wand has circumscrib'd the scene. 'Tis thine own taste, thy genius, that presides, Nor needs there other deity, nor needs [swain, More potent spells than they."- -No more the For lo, his Damon, o'er the tufted lawn Advancing, leads him to the social dome.
"How shall I fix my wand'ring eye? where find To his royal highness the prince of Wales,
The source of this enchantment? Dwells it in
this attempt to delineate such objects of public
virtue, as best may deserve the attention of a British prince, is, with the profoundest respect, most humbly inscribed, by his royal highness's most devoted, most obedient, and most humble servant,
bandry to be encouraged, as it is the source of wealth and plenty. Advice to landlords not to oppress the farmer. The farmer's three great virtues. His instruments of husbandry. His servants. Description of a country statute. Episode of the fair milkmaid. The farm-yard described. The pleasures of a rural life. Address to the great to study Agriculture. An allegory, attempting to explain the theory of vegetation.
If the writer of the following piece could hope to produce any thing in poetry, worthy the pub- lic attention; it would give him particular plea- sure to lay the foundation of his claim to such a distinction in the happy execution of this work. But he fears it will be thought, that the projected building is too great for the abilities of the archi- tect; and that he is not furnished with a variety of materials sufficient for the proper finishing and embellishment of such a structure. And when it is further confessed, that he hath entered on this design without the assistances of learning, and that his time for the execution of it was either snatched from the hours of business, or stolen from those of rest; the mind in either case not likely to be in the happiest disposition for poetry; his pro- spect of success will grow still more clouded, and the presumption against him must gather addi-Oh wake the breast of her aspiring son, tional strength.
Or culture, and the various fruits of earth; Of social commerce; of the nobler arts, Which polish and adorn the life of man: Objects demanding the supreme regard Of that exalted monarch, who sustains The sceptre of command o'er Britain's sons; The Muse, disdaining idle themes, attempts To sing. O thou, Britannia's rising hope! The favourite of her wishes! thou, O prince, On whom her fondest expectations wait, Accept the verse; and, to the humblest voice That sings of public virtue, lend an ear.
Under these and many other disadvantages, which he feels and laments; conscious of all his deficiencies, and how unequal he is to the task of executing this plan, even up to his own ideas; what shall he plead in excuse for his temerity in persisting thus far to prosecute the attempt? All he can say is, that he hath taken some pains to furnish himself with materials for the work; that he hath consulted men as well as books, for the knowledge of his subjects, in which he hopes he hath not been guilty of many mistakes; that it hath not been an hasty performance; nor is it at last obtruded on the public, without the approbations of several persons, whose judgments, were it not probable they may have received a bias from the partiality of friendship, he could have no reason to doubt. But that he may know with certainty whether this is not the case, to the public he submits it; willing to receive from thence his determination to prosecute or suppress the remainder of his plan1. If he here receives a check, he will quietly acquiesce in the general opinion; and must submit to be included anong those who have mistaken their talent. But as the difficulties he had to struggle with would in case of success have increased his reputation, he hopes if he hath failed they will soften his disgrace.
The author's original design was to have written a poem, intitled, Public Virtue, in three books, 1. Agriculture. 2. Commerce. 3. Arts. The first book was all he ever executed.
Genius of Britain! pure Intelligence! Guardian, appointed by the One Supreme, With influential energy benign, To guide the weal of this distinguish'd isle;
Inform his numbers, aid his bold design, Who, in a daring flight, presumes to mark The glorious track her monarchs should pursue. From cultivation, from the useful toils Of the laborious hind, the streams of wealth And plenty flow. Deign then, illustrious youth! To bring th' observing eye, the liberal hand, And with a spirit congenial to your birth, Regard his various labours thro' the year: So shall the labourer smile, and you improve The happy country you are born to rule.
The year declining, now hath left the fields Divested of their honours: the strong glebe, Exhausted, waits the culture of the plough, To renovate her powers. 'Tis now, intent On honest gain, the cautious husbandman Surveys the country round, solicitous
To fix his habitation on a soil Propitious to his hopes, and to his cares.
O ye, whom Fortune in her silken robe Inwraps benign; whom Plenty's bounteous hand Hath favour'd with distinction: Oh look down, With smiles indulgent, on his new designs; Assist his useful works, facilitate His honest aims, nor in exaction's gripe Enthrall th' endeavouring swain. Think not his Were meant alone to foster you in ease And pamper'd indolence: nor grudge the meed, Which Heaven in mercy gives to cheer the hand, The labouring hand of useful industry. Be yours the joy to propagate content; With bounteous Heav'n co-operate, and reward The poor man's toil, whence all your riches spring. As in a garden, the enlivening air
Is fill'd with odours, drawn from those fair flowers Which by its influence ise: so in his breast Benevolent who gives the swains to thrive, Reflected live the joys his virtues lent.
But come, young farmer, though by fortune fix'd On fields luxuriant, where the fruitful soil Gives labour hope; where sheltering shades arise, Hus-Thick fences guard, and bubbling fountains flow;
The proposition. Address to the prince of Wales. Invocation to the Genius of Britain.
Where arable and pasture duly mix; Yet, ere thy toils begin, attend the Muse, And catch the moral lessons of her song. Be frugal and be blest; frugality
Will give thee competence; thy gains are small, Too small to bear profusion's wasteful hand. Make temperance thy companion, so shall health Sit on thy brow, invigorating thy frame To every useful work. And if to these Thou happily shalt join one virtue more, The love of industry, the glowing joy
Felt from each new improvement; then fair Peace, With modest Neatness, in her decent garb, Shall walk around thy dwelling: while the great, Tir'd with the vast fatigue of indolence, Fill'd with disease by luxury and sloth, Impatient curse the dilatory day,
And look with envy on thy happier state. Prepar'd with these plain virtues, now the swain With courage enters on his rural works. First he provides the needful implements. Of these, the honour'd plough claims chief regard. Hence bread to man, who heretofore on mast Fed with his fellow-brute, in woods and wilds, Himself uncultur'd as the soil he trod. The spiked harrow next, to break the clods, And spread the surface of the new-plough'd field: Nor is the roller's friendly aid unsought, Hoes he provides, with various arms prepar'd, T'encounter all the numerous host of weeds, Which rise malignant, menacing his hopes. The sweeping scythe's keen edge he whets for grass, And turns the crooked sickle for his corn. The fork to spread, the gathering rake to save With providential care he treasures up. His strong capacious wain, the dull slow ox Drags on, deep loaden, grinding the rough ruts: While with his lighter team, the sprightly horse Moves to the music of his tinkling bells. Nor will his foresight lack the whirling flail, Whose battering strokes force from the loosen'd sheaves
Their hidden stores profuse; which now demand The quick rotation of the winnowing fan, With blasts successive, wafting far away The worthless chaff, to clear the golden grain. And now compell'd to hire assistant strength, Away he hastens to some neighbouring town, Where willing Servitude, for mutual wants Of hand and farmer, holds her annual feast. 'Tis here the toiling hand of industry
Distinguish'd well with fleecy locks, expects Observance; skill'd in wool, and lesson'd deep In all diseases of the bleating flock. Mixt with the rustic throng, see ruddy maids, Some taught with dext'rous hand to twirl the wheel, Or stroke the swelling udder; some expert To raise from leaven'd wheat the kneaded loaf; To mash the malted barley, and extract
Its flavour'd strength; or with a housewife's care, To keep the decent habitation neat. But now let loose to revelry and sport, In clamorous mirth, indelicate and rude, The boisterous swains, and hoyden nymphs, pro- Outrageous merriment.-Yet not alike Is every swain, nor every sylvan maid; As Verulam the pleasing tale records. When Patty, lovely Patty, grac'd the crowd, Pride of the neighbouring plains. Who hath not heard
Of Patty, the fair milkmaid? Beautiful As an Arcadian nymph, upon her brow Sat virgin Modesty, while in her eyes Young Sensibility began to play
With Innocence. Her waving locks fell down On either side her face in careless curls, Shading the tender blushes in her cheek. Her breath was sweeter than the morning gale, Stolen from the rose or violet's dewy leaves. Her ivory teeth appear'd in even rows, Thro' lips of living coral. When she spoke Her features wore intelligence: her words Were soft, with such a smile accompany'd, As lighted in her face resistless charms. Her polish'd neck rose rounding from her breast, With pleasing elegance :-That lovely breast!- Ah! Fancy, dwell not there, lest gay Desire, Who smiling hovers o'er th' enchanting place, Tempt thy wild thoughts to dangerous extasy. Her shape was moulded by the hand of Ease; Exact proportion harmoniz'd her frame; While Grace, following her steps, with secret art Stole into all her motions. Thus she walk'd In sweet simplicity; a snow-white pail Hung on her arm, the symbol of her skill In that fair province of the rural state, The dairy; source of more delicious bowls Than Bacchus from his choicest vintage boasts. How great the power of beauty! The rude swains
Grew civil at her sight; and gaping crowds Wrapt in astonishment, with transport gaze,
Employment seeks. The skilful ploughman, lord Whispering her praises in each other's ear.
And leader of the rustic band; who claims His boy attendant, conscious of his worth And dignity superior; boasting skill To guide with steadiness the sliding share, To scatter with an equal hand the seed, And with a master scythe to head the train When the ripe meadow asks the mower's hand. Here too the thresher, brandishing his flail, Bespeaks a master, whose full barns demand A labouring arm, now ready to give up Their treasure, and exchange their hoarded grain For heaps of gold, the meed of honest toil. The sun-burnt shepherd too, his slouching hat
This is called in the country a statute; and is held annually at most market towns in England, where servantsof all kinds resort in quest of places and employment.
As when a gentle breeze, borne thro' the grove, With quick vibration shakes the trembling leaves, And hushing murmurs run from tree to tree; So ran a spreading whisper thro' the crowd. Young Thyrsis hearing, turn'd aside his head, And soon the pleasing wonder caught his eye. Full in the prime of youth, the joyful heir Of numerous acres, a large freehold farm, Thyrsis as yet from beauty felt no pain, Had seen no virgin he could wish to make His wedded partner. Now his beating heart Feels new emotion; now his fixed eye With fervent rapture dwelling on her charms, Drinks in delicious draughts of new-born love. No rest the night, no peace the following day Brought to his struggling heart: her beauteous Her fair perfections playing on his mind, [form, With pleasing anguish torture him. In vain
He strives to tear her image from his breast; Each little grace, each dear bewitching look, Returns triumphant, breaking his resolves, And binding all his soul a slave to love.
Ah! little did he know, alas, the while, Poor Patty's tender heart, in mutual pain, Long, long for him had heav'd the secret sigh. For him she drest, for him the pleasing arts She studied, and for him she wish'd to live. But her low fortunes, nursing sad despair, Check'd the young hope; nor durst her modest
Indulge the smallest glances of her flame, Lest curious malice, like a watchful spy, Should catch the secret, and with taunts reveal. Judge then the sweet surprise when she at length
Beheld him, all irresolute, approach; And gently taking her fair trembling hand, Breathe these soft words into her listening ear: "O Patty! dearest maid! whose beauteous form Dwells in my breast, and charms my soul to love, Accept my vows; accept a faithful heart, Which from this hour devotes itself to thee: Wealth has no relish, life can give no joy, If you forbid my hopes to call you mine." Ah! who the sudden tumult can describe Of struggling passions rising in her breast? Hope, fear, confusion, modesty, and love Oppress her labouring soul:-She strove to speak, But the faint accents died upon her tongue: Her fears prevented utterance.-At length- "Can Thyrsis mock my poverty? can he Be so unkind? O no! yet I, alas,
Too humble even to hope"-No more she said; But gently, as if half unwilling, stole Her hand from his; and, with sweet modesty, Casting a look of diffidence and fear, To hide her blushes, silently withdrew. But Thyrsis read, with rapture, in her eyes The language of her soul. He follow'd, woo'd, And won her for his wife. His lowing herds Soon call her mistress; soon their milky streams Coagulated, rise in circling piles
Of harden'd curd; and all the dairies round, To her sweet butter yield superior praise.
But turn, my Muse, nor let th' alluring form Of beauty lead too far thy devious steps. See where the farmer, with a master's eye, Surveys his little kingdom, and exults In sov'reign independence. At a word, His feathery subjects in obedience flock Around his feeding hand, who in return Yield a delicious tribute to his board, And o'er his couch their downy plumage spread. The peacock here expands his eyeful plumes, A glittering pageant, to the mid-day Sun: In the stiff awkwardness of foolish pride, The swelling turkey apes his stately step, And calls the bristling feathers round his head. There the loud herald of the morning struts Before his cackling dames, the passive slaves Of his promiscuous pleasure. O'er the pond, See the grey gander, with his female train, Bending their lofty necks; and gabbling ducks, Rejoicing on the surface, clap their wings; Whilst wheeling round, in airy wanton flights, The glossy pigeons chase their sportive loves, Or in soft cooings tell their amorous tale. Here stacks of hay, there pyramids of corn,
These his amusements, his employment these; Which still arising in successive change, Give to each varied hour a new delight. Peace and contentment with their guardian wings Enclose his nightly slumbers. Rosy health, When the gay lark's sweet matin wakes the morn, Treads in bis dewy foot-steps round the field; And cheerfulness attends his closing day. No racking jealousy, nor sullen hate, Nor fear, nor envy, discompose his breast. His only enemies the prowling fox, Whose nightly murders thin the bleating fold; The hardy badger; the rapacious kite, With eye malignant on the little brood, Sailing around portentous; the rank stote Thirsting, ah, savage thirst! for harmless blood; The corn-devouring partridge; timorous hare; Th' amphibious otter bold; the weasel sly, Pilfering the yolk from its enclosing shell; And moles, a dirty undermining race. These all his foes, and these, alas, compar'd With man to man, an inoffensive train. 'Gainst these, assisted by th' entangling net, Th' explosive thunder of the levell'd tube, Or toils unweary'd of his social friend The faithful dog, he wages rural war, And health and pleasure in the sportive field Obtaining, he forgives their venial crimes.
O happy he! happiest of mortal men! Who far remov'd from slavery as from pride, Fears no man's frown, nor cringing waits to catch The gracious nothing of a great man's nod: Where the lac'd beggar bustles for a bribe, The purchase of his honour; where deceit, And fraud, and circumvention, drest in smiles, Hold shameful commerce; and beneath the mask Of friendship and sincerity, betray.
Him, nor the stately mansion's gilded pride, Rich with whate'er the imitative arts, Painting or sculpture, yield to charm the eye; Nor shining heaps of massy plate, enwrought With curious, costly workmanship, allure. Tempted nor with the pride nor pomp of power, Nor pageants of ambition, nor the mines Of grasping av'rice, nor the poison'd sweets Of pamper'd luxury, he plants his foot With firmness on his old paternal fields, And stands unshaken. There sweet prospects rise Of meadows smiling in their flow'ry pride, Green hills and dales, and cottages embower'd, The scenes of innocence and calm delight. There the wild melody of warbling birds, And cool refreshing groves, and murmuring springs,
Invite to sacred thought, and lift the mind From low pursuits to meditate the God!
Turn then, at length, O turn, ye sons of wealth, And ye who seek, thro' life's bewildering maze,
To tread the paths of happiness, O turn! And trace her footsteps in the rural walk; In those fair scenes of wonder and delight, Where, to the human eye, Omnipotence Unfolds the map of Nature, and displays The matchless beauty of created things. Turn to the arts, the useful pleasing arts Of cultivation; and those fields improve Your erring fathers have too long despis'd. Leave not to ignorance, and low-bred hinds, That noblest science, which in ancient time The minds of sages and of kings employ'd, Solicitous to learn the ways of God, And read his works in Agriculture's school. Then hear the Muse, now entering, hand in hand With sweet Philosophy, the secret bowers Of deep mysterious Nature; there t' explore The causes of fecundity, and how The various elements, earth, water, air, And fire united; the enlivening ray Diurnal; the prolific dews of night; With all the rolling seasons of the year; In vegetation's work their power combine.
Whither, O whither dost thou lead my steps, Divine Philosophy? What scenes are these, Which strike my wondering senses? Lo! enthron'd Upon a solid rock great Nature sits; Her eyes to Heaven directed, as from thence, Receiving inspiration. Round her head A mingled wreath of fruits and flowers entwines. Her robe, with every motion changing hue, Flows down in plenteous foldings, and conceals Her secret footsteps from the eyes of men. "List! list! what harmony, what heavenly sounds Enchant my ravish'd ear? 'Tis ancient Pan3, Who on his seven-fold pipe, to the rapt soul Conveys the fancied music of the spheres. See by his strains the elements inspir'd, Join in mysterious work; their motions led By active fire, in windings intricate, But not perplext, nor vague. And who are they? What pair obeying in alternate rounds The tuneful melody? Majestic one, And grave, lifting her awful forehead, moves In shadowy silence, borne on raven wings, Which, waving to the measur'd sounds, beat time A veil obscures her face; a sable stole, Bedeck'd with sparkling gems, conceals her form; And wreaths of bending poppy crown her brow. The other, rais'd on swan-like spreading plumes, Glides gayly on; a milk-white robe invests His frame transparent; in his azure eyes
Dwells brightness; while around his radiant head, A shining glory paints his flying robe, With all the colours of the wat'ry bow.
Proceeding now, in more majestic steps, The varying Seasons join the mystic train.
Mythologists have thought the universal nature of things to be signified by this god; and that his pipe, composed of seven reeds, was the symbol of the seven planets, which they say make the harmony of the spheres.
According to Dr. Boerhaave and other modern philosophers, all the motion in nature arises from fire; and taking that away all things would become fixt and immovable: fluids would become solid; a man would harden into a statue; and the very air would cohere into a firm and rigid
In all the blooming hues of florid youth, Gay Spring advances smiling: on her head A flow'ry chaplet, mixt with verdant buds, Sheds aromatic fragrance thro' the air; While little Zephyrs, breathing wanton gales, Before her flutter, turning back to gaze, With looks enamour'd, on her lovely face. Summer succeeds, crown'd with the bearded ears Of ripening harvest; in her hand she bears A shining sickle; on her glowing cheek The fervent heat paints deep a rosy blush: Her thin light garment, waving with the wind, Flows loosely from her bosom, and reveals To the pleas'd eye the beauties of her form. Then follows Autumn, bearing in her lap The blushing fruits, which Summer's sultry brea Had mellow'd to her hand. A clustering wreath Of purple grapes, half hid with spreading leaves, Adorns her brow. Her dew-besprinkled locks Begin to fall, her bending shoulders sink, And active vigour leaves her sober steps. Winter creeps on, shrivell'd with chilling cold, Bald his white crown, upon his silver beard Shines the hoar frost, and icicles depend. Rigid and stern his melancholy face; Shivering he walks, his joints benumm'd and stiff; And wraps in northern furrs his wither'd trunk. And now, great Nature, pointing to the train Her Heaven-directed hand, they all combine, In measur'd figures, and mysterious rounds, To weave the mazy dance; while to the sound Of Pan's immortal pipe, the goddess join'd Her voice harmonious; and the listening Muse, Admiring, caught the wonders of her theme 5.
"To God, Supreme Creator! great and good! All-wise, almighty Parent of the World! In choral symphonies of praise and love, Let all the powers of Nature raise the song
'The wat'ry signs forsaking, see, the Sun, Great father of the vegetable tribes,
Darts from the Ram his all-enlivening ray. When now the genial warmth Earth's yielding
Unfolds. Her latent salts, sulphureous oils, And air, and water mixt; attract, repel, And raise prolific ferment. Lo! at length The vital principle begins to wake:
Th' emulgent fibres, stretching round the root, Seek their terrestrial nurture; which, convey'd In limpid currents thro' th' ascending tubes, And strain'd and filter'd in their secret cells; To its own nature every different plant Assimilating, changes. Awful Heaven! How wond'rous is thy work! To thee! to thee! Mysterious power belongs! Summer's fierce heat Increasing, rarifies the ductile juice. See, from the root, and from the bark imbib'd,
Th' elastic air impels the rising sap. Swift thro' the stem, thro' every branching arm, And smaller shoot, the vivid moisture flows, Protruding from their buds the opening leaves: Whence, as ordain'd, th' expiring air flows out In copious exhalations; and from whence Its noblest principles the plant inhales.
5 The philosophy of this hymn is built on that experimental foundation, laid by the learned and ingenious Dr. Hales, in his Vegetable Statics.
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