I

Scarce ftole a breeze to wave the leafy spray,
Scarce trill'd fweet Philomel her fofteft lay,
When Locke walk'd mufing forth! e'en now
Majeftic Wildom thron'd upon his brow; [view
View Candour fmile upon his modeft cheek,
And from his eye all Judgment's radiance break.
'Twas here the fage his manly zeal exprefs'd,
Here ftripp'd vain Falfehood of her gaudy veft;
Here Truth's collected beams first fill'd his mind,
Ere long to burft in bleffings on mankind;
Ere long to fhew to reafon's purged eye,
That "Nature's firft beft gift was Liberty."
Proud of this won'drous fon, fublime I ftood,
(While louder furges fwell'd my rapid flood);
Then, vain as Niobe, exulting cried,
Iliffus! roll thy fam'd Athenian tide;
Tho' Plato's fteps oft mark'd thy neighb'ring
Tho' fair Lyceum lent its awful fhade, [glade,
Tho' ev'ry Academic green imprefs'd
Its image full on thy reflecting breast,
Yet my pure ftream fhall boast as proud a name,
And Britain's Ifis flow with Attic fame.
Alas! how chang'd! where now that Attic
boaft?

See! Gothic Licence rage o'er all my coaft;
See! Hydra Faction fpreads its impious reign,
Poifon each breaft, and madden ev'ry brain:
Hence frontless crowds that,not content to fright
The blushing Cynthia from her throne of night,
Blaft the fair face of day; and, madly bold,
To Freedom's foes infernal orgies hold;
To Freedom's foes, ah fee the goblet crown'd,
Hear plaufive fhouts to Freedom's foes refound,
The horrid notes my refluent waters daunt,
The Echoes groan, the Dryads quit their haunt;
Learning, that once to all diffus'd her beam,
Now fheds, by stealth, a partial private gleam
In fome lone cloifter's melancholy fhade,
Where a firm few fupport her fickly head,
Defpis'd, infulted, by the barb'rous train,
Who fcour, like Thracia's moon-ftruck rout,
the plain,

Sworn foes, like them, to all the Mufe approves,
All Phoebus favours, or Minerva loves.

Are thefe the fons my foft'ring breast muft rear,
Grac'd with my name, and nurtur'd by my care?
Muft thefe go forth from my maternal hand
To deal their infults thro' a peaceful land;
And boaft, while Freedom bleeds, and Virtue

groans,

That Is taught Rebellion to her Sons?"
Forbid it, Heaven! and let my rifing waves
Indignant fwell, and whelm the recreant flaves!
In England's caufe their patriot floods employ,
As Xanthus delug'd in the caufe of Troy.
Is this denied; then point fome fecret way
Where far, far hence thefe guiltless itre ms may
ftray;

I

Forget that e'er my wrapt attention hung
Or on the Sage's or the Poet's tongue;
Calm and refign'd my humbler lot embrace,
And, pleas'd, prefer oblivion to disgrace.

§117. Epiftolary Verfes to George Colman, Efq.
written in the Year 1756. By Mr. ROBERT
LLOYD.

You know, dear George, I'm none of thofe
That condefcend to write in profc:
Infpir'd with pathos and fublime,
always foar-in doggrel rhyme;
And fcarce can ask you how you do,
Without a jingling line or two.
Befides, I always took delight in
What bears the name of eafy writing;
Perhaps the reason makes it please
Is, that I find 'tis writ with ease.

I vent a notion here in private,
Which public tafte can ne'er connive at,
Which thinks no wit or judgment greater
Than Addison, and his Spectator;
Who fays (it is no matter where,
But that he fays it I can swear)
With eafy verfe moft bards are smitten,
Because they think it 's easy written;
Whereas, the easier it appears,
The greater marks of care it wears;
Of which to give an explanation,
Take this, by way of illustration:
The fam'd Mat. Prior, it is faid,
Oft bit his nails, and scratch'd his head,
And chang'd a thought a hundred times,
Because he did not like the rhymes:
To make my meaning clear, and please ye,
In fhort, he labour'd to write easy.
And yet no Critic e'er defines
His poem's into labour'd lines.
I have a fimile will hit him;
His verfe, like clothes, was made to fit him;
Which (as no taylor e'er denied)
The better fit the more they 're tried.

Though I have mentioned Prior's name,
Think not aim at Prior's fame.
'Tis the refolt of admiration
To fpend itself in imitation;
If imitation may be faid,
Which is in me by nature bred,
And you have better proots than these

That I'm idolater of Eafe.

Who, but a madman would engage
A Poet in the prefent age?
Write what we will, our works befpeak us
Imitatores, fera um Pecus.
Tale, Flegy, or lofty Ode,
[reads] We travel in the beaten road:

Some unknown channel lend, where Nature
Inglorious vales, and unfrequented meads:
There,where a bind scarces tunes his ruftic train.
Where fcarce a pilgrim treads the pathlets plain,
Content I'll flow; forget that e'er my tide
Saw yon majeltic fructures crown its fide;

The proverb fill ticks closely by us,
Nil dictum, quod non diétum prius.
The only comfort that i know
Is, that 'twas faid an age ago,
Ere Milton fear'd in thought fublime,
Ere Pope rean'd the chink of rhyme,

Ere

*September 30th, 1756, when Mr. Town, author of the Connoisseur, a periodical Essay, (since published in four volumes, printed for R. Baldwin, London), took leave of his readers, with an hu mourous account of himself.

+ This elegant Poem was written by a Gentleman well known in the learned world, as a token of gratitude for favours conferred on his father during the last war, whose character he has therein assumed; LI

Be Care's deep engines on the foul impress'd; Beneath the hemlet's keen refulgent blaze Let Grief fit pining in the canker'd breast. Let Love's gay fons, a fmiling train, appear, with beauty pierc'd-yet heedless of the darts While, clofely couch'd,pale, fick'ningEnvy near Whets her fell fting, and points it at the heart. Perch'd, like a raven, on fome blafted yew, Let Guilt revolve the thought-diftracting fin; [roam, Scar'd-while her eyes furvey th' ethereal blue, Left heaven's ftrong lightning burft the dark

Her pale rays tremble thro' the dusky gloom. Then paint, impending o'er the maddening deep

O bear me, Goddefs, to thy peaceful feat!
Whether to Hecla's cloud-wrapt brow convey'd,
Orlodg'dwheremountains fcreen thydeep retreat,
Or wand'ring wild thro' Chili's boundless fhade.
Say, rove thy fteps o'er Libya's naked waste?
Or feek fome distant folitary fhore?

Or, on the Ande's topmoft mountain plac'd,
Doft fit, and hear the folemn thunder roar?

Stood firm of foul-then from the dizzy steep
Impetuous fprung, and dash'd the boiling wave.
Here, wrapt in ftudious thought, let Fancy rove,
Still prompt to mark Sufpicion's fecret fnare;
To fee where Anguish nips the bloom of Love,
Or trace proud Grandeur to the domes of Care.
Should e'er Ambition's tow'ring hopes inflame,
Let judging reafon draw the veil afide;
Or, fir'd with envy at fome mighty name,
Pours her long wail from fome lamented tomb? Read o'er the monument that tells-He died.

Fix'd on fome hanging rock's projected brow,
Hear'ft thou low murmurs from the diftantdome?
Or ftray thy feet where pale, dejected Woe

What are the enfigns of imperial fway?
What all that Fortune's lib'ral hand has brought?
Teach they the voice to pour a fweeter lay?
Or roufe the foul to more exalted thought?
When bleeds the heart as Genius blooms un-
known?

When melts the eye o'erVirtue's mournful bier?
Not wealth, but pity, fwells the burfting groan?
Not pow'r, but whifp'ring Nature, prompts the

tear.

Say, gentle mourner, in yon mouldy vault,
Where the worm fattens on fome fceptered brow,
Beneath that roof with fculptur'dmarble fraught,
Why fleeps unmov'd the breathlefs duft below?
Sleeps it more fweetly than the fimple swain
Beneath fome mofly turf that refts his head;
Where the lone widow tells the night her pain,
And eve with dewy tears embalms the dead?
The lily, fcreen'd from ev'ry ruder gale,
Courts not the cultur'd spot where rofes fpring;
But blows neglected in the peaceful vale,
And scents the zephyr's balmy breathing wing.
The bufts of grandeur, and the pomp of pow'r,
Can thefe bid Sorrow's gufhing tears fubfide?
Can these avail in that tremendous hour, [tide?
When Death's cold hand congeals the purple
Ah no! the mighty names are heard no more:
Pride's thought fublime, and Beauty's kindling]
bloom,

Or where the violet pale

Droops o'er the green-embroider'd stream;
Or where young Zephyr ftirs the rustling sprays,
Lies all diffolv'd in fairy dream.
O'er yon bleak defert's unfrequented round
Seeft thou where Nature treads the deep'ning
gloom,

Sits on yon hoary tow'r with ivy crown'd,
or wildly wails o'er thy lamented tomb?
Hear'it thou the folemn mufic wind along?[fong?
Or thrills the warbling note in thy melliflous
I. 2.

Oft, while on earth, 'twas thine to rove
Where'er the wild-eyed goddess lov'd to roam,
To trace ferene the gloomy grove,
Or haunt meek Quiet's fimple dome;
That pour the foul transporting ftrain;
Still hovering round the Nine appear,
Join'd to the Loves' gay train,

The light wing'd gales that lead the vernal year,
The loose rob'd Graces, crown'd with flow'rs,
O'er all bright Fancy's beamy radiance fhone,
And wake the rofy-featur'd hours.
How flam'd thy bofom as her charms reveal!
Her traces loofe, that wanton'd on the gale;
Her fire-clad eye fublime, her starry zone,
On thee the goddess fix'd her ardent look,
Then from her glowing lips these melting ac-

Serve but to sport one flying moment o'er,
And fwell with pompous verse th' efcutcheon'd"
tomb.

cents broke:

I. 3. "To thee, my favourite son, belong The lays that steal the liftening hour; "To pour the rapture-darting fong, "To paint gay Hope's Elyfian bower. "From Nature's hand to fnatch the dart, "To cleave with pangs the bleeding heart; "Or lightly fweep the trembling ftring, "And call the Loves with purple wing "From the blue deep, where they dwell "With Naiads in the pearly cell. «Soft on the fea-born goddess gazet; "Or in the loofe robes' floating maze, "Diffolv'd in downy flumbers reft; Or wild to melt the yielding foul, "Or flutter o'er her panting breast. "Let Sorrow, clad in fable ftole, « Or penfive Pity, pale; "Slow to thy mufing thought appear; "Or Love's defponding tale [tear." "Call from th' intender'd heart the sympathetic II. 1.

For me-may Paffion ne'er my foul invade,
Nor be the whims of tow'ring Phrenzy giv'n;
Let Wealth ne'er court me from the peaceful
fhade
[ven!
Where Contemplation wings the foul to Hea-
Oh guard me safe from Joy's enticing fnare!
With each extreme that Pleasure tries to hide,
The poifon'd breath of flow-confuming Care,
The noise of Folly, and the dreams of Pride.
But oft, when midnight's fadly folemn knell
Sounds long and diftant from the sky-topt tow'r,«
Calm let me fit in Profper's lonely cell*,
Or walk with Milton thro' the dark obfcure.
Thus, when the tranfient dream of life is fled,
May fome fad friend recall the former years;
Then, ftretch'd in filence o'er my dusty bed,
Pour the warin gush of fympathetic tears.

120. Ode to the Genius of Shakespeare.

I. 1.

from

of mortal

OGILVIE.

Say, whence the magic of thy mind?
Why thrills thy mufic on the fprings of thought?
Why, at thy pencil's touch refin'd,
Starts into life the glowing draught?

On

Say, burfts thy Genius to the world of Where beauty pours eternal bloom, Seeks it yon ftar-befpangled fky?

Or skims its fields with rapid flight?
Or, mid yon plains where Fancy ftrays,
Courts it the balmy breathing gale?

And zephyr breathes perfume;

There nightly to the tranced eye

Profuse the radiant goddefs ftood difplay'd,
With all her fmiling offspring nigh.

II. 2.

The pale ey'd Genius of the shade
Led thy bold step to Profper's magic bow'r;
Whofe voice the howling winds obey'd,
Whose dark spell chain'd the rapid hour:
Then rose ferene the fea-girt ifle;
Gay scenes, by Fancy's touch refin'd,
Glow'd to the mufing mind:
Such vifions blefs the hermit's dream,
When hovering angels prompt his placid fmile,
Or paint fome high ecftatic theme.
Then flam'd Miranda on th' enraptur'd gaze,
Then fail'd bright Ariel on the bat's fleet wing:
Or starts the lift'ning throng in still amaze,
The wild note trembling on the aërial string!
The form, in heaven's refplendent vesture gay,
Floats on the mantling cloud, and pours the
melting lay*.

11. 3.
Oh lay me near yon limpid stream,
Whose murmur fooths the ear of woe!
There in fome sweet poetic dream
Let Fancy's bright Elyfium glow!
'Tis done-o'er all the blushing mead
The dark wood thakes his cloudy head:
Below, the lily-fringed dale

Breathes its mild fragrance on the gale;
While, in paftime all unfeen,
Titania, rob'd in mantle green,
Sports on the moffy bank: her train
Skims light along the gleaming plain;
Or to the flutt ring breeze unfold
The blue wing streak'd with beamy gold;
Its pinions op'ning to the light!-
Say, burfts the vision on my fight?
Ah, no! by Shakespeare's pencil drawn,
The beauteous fhapes appear;
While meek-eyed Cynthia near

Illumes with streamy ray the filver-mantled

III. 1.

But hark! the tempeft howls afar!

Hears not the mourner's unvailing moan:
Heart-pierc'd he bleeds; and, ftung with wild
[hair.
defpair,
Bares his time-blasted head, and tears his filver
III. 2.

Lo! on yon long-refounding fhore,
Where the rock totters o'er the headlong deep;
What phantoms bath'd in infant gore
Stand mutt'ring on the dizzy steep!
Their murmur fhakes the zephyr's wing!
The storm obeys their powerful spell;
See from his gloomy cell

Fierce Winter ftarts! his fcowling eye
Blots the fair mantle of the breathing Spring,
And lowers along the ruffled fky,
To the deep vault the yelling harpies run§;
Its yawning mouth receives th' infernal crew,
Dim thro' the black gloom winks the glimmering

fun,

And the pale furnacegleams withbrimstone blue,
Hell howls; and fiends, that join the dire acclaim,
Dance on the bubbling tide, and point the
livid flame.

III.

3.
But, ah! on Sorrow's cyprefs bough
Can Beauty breathe her genial bloom!
On Death's cold cheek will paffion glow?
Or Mufic warble from the tomb?
There fleeps the Bard, whofe tuneful tongue
Pour'd the full stream of mazy fong.
Young Spring, with lip of ruby, here
Show'rs from her lap the blushing year
While, along the turf reclin'd,
The loofe wing fwimming on the wind
The Loves, with forward gefture bold,
Sprinkle the fod with spangling gold:
And oft the blue-eyed Graces trim
Dance lightly round on downy limbą
Oft too, when eve, demure and still,
Chequers the green dalc's purling rill,
Sweet Fancy pours the plaintive train;
Or, wrapt in foothing dream,
[the plain.
By Avon's ruffied stream,
Hears the low-murmuring gale that dies along

[lawn.+

121. Ode to Time; occafioned by feng Ruins of an old Cafile.

the OGILVIE

[wafte!

0

Bursts the loud whirlwind o'er the pathlefs
What cherub blows the trump of war?
What demon rides the ftormy blast?
Red from the lightning's livid blaze,
The bleak heath rushes on the fight;
Then, wrapt in sudden night
Diffolves. But, ah! what kingly form
Roams the tone defert's defolated maze
Unaw'd, nor heeds the sweeping storm?
Ye pale-ey'd lightnings, fpare the cheek of age!
Va. with tho anguish heaves theburtinggroan,
Deaf as the flint, the marble ear of rage

* Anel: see the Tempest.

1. 1.

THOU,who mid the world-involving gloomy
Sitt it on yon folitary fpire!

Or flowly fhak'ft the founding dome,
Or hear it the wildly warbling lyre;
Say, when thy musing foul
Bids diftant times unrol,

And marks the flight of each revolving year,
Of years whofe flow-confuming pow'r
Has clad with mofs yon leaning tow'r,
That faw the race of Glory run,
That mark'd Ambition's letting fun,
That thook old Empire's tow'ring pride,
That fwept them down the floating tide-
+ Lear.
+ See the Midsummer Night's Dream.
The Witches in Macbeth.

Say