Gentleman's Magazine and Historical Review

756

Select Poetry, Ancient and Madern, for Auguft, 1791.

SON G*,

SUNG AT THE ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN
BY THE OFFICERS OF THE GARRISON
OF GIBRALTAR TO HIS ROYAL HIGH-
NESS PRINCE EDWARD, MAY 11, 1791.
SCENDING Calpé's ftately brow,
We fee fweet flow'rs fpontaneous
grow;

As thefe their mingling fcents difclose,
The rocky steeps their horror lose :
Regal'd, we turn our eyes to view
The diftant landscape's purple hue,
The liquid plain's transparent bound,
And fcenes for warlike deeds renown'd.

War's rugged paths have alfo flow'rs-
Gay mirth, and fong, and feftive hours;
And, from the steep afcent to Fame,
The profpect of a glorious name.

Sec, o'er yon Western mountain's fhade,
The evening's blushing radiance fade!
So fades our joy round Calpe's brow;
For ROYAL EDWARD leaves us now!
'Twas he who taught us how to bear
The foldier's toil, the leader's care;
Yet cheer'd fatigue with feftive hours,
And frew'd War's rugged paths with flow'rs.

Ye breezes, fafely waft him o'er,
To brave the cold Canadian thore!
To fpread afar his rifing fame,
And make his own a glorious name!

TRANSLATION

OF STRADA'S CONTEST BETWEEN THE
LUTANIST AND NIGHTINGALE.

HE fun now hafting to his Western
way,

And fhedding forth a milder, ev'ning ray;
A Lutanift, who fat near Tiber's stream,
With founding quill purfued his fav'rite theme,
In verdant mead, beneath a dark oak's fhade,
By which the fummer's heat was cooler made.
A Nightingale was near, and lift'ning ftood,
That harnlefs firen, fongfter of the wood;
Conceal'd in leaves, the ftill approach'd more
near,
The founds, foft murm'ring, drank with ra-
[vifh'd ear;
Thofe notes which he produc'd with varied
ftrain,

She foon with artful skill return'd again.
By her his notes were anfwer'd back ;-he

heard,

And was well-pleas'd to entertain the bird;
Then strove his lute with louder notes to fill,
Meant as a trial of their future skill;
With fingers fwift he ran o'er all the ftrings;
She too as fwift with varied accent fings,
Giving a fample of her future fong.

His right-hand then the trembling ftrings a-
mong

The Lutanift now ftrikes; like one in fcorn,
With equal, fimple stroke his hand is drawn:

* See p. 717.

Then by degrees the founding chords provokes

With flying fingers, and repeated strokes ; Then ftops. She thus, with fimple, rude Returns his art, then lengthens out her lays; effays, But, with fmooth cadence flowing from her No varied, winding, pleafing change expreft, breaft, [minute, Now warbling ftrains, with changes most Her trembling voice, to emulate the lute. The Lutanift, furpriz'd fo foft a note, So fweet, could iffue from fo fmall a throat, His ftrings attun'd with fkill, for higher ftrains; Now sharp, now deeper tones, with dextrous [pains, Sends forth, the hoarfe together mix'd with loud,

pear,

Such as in war rouse up the lazy crowd.
The fame to fing (weet Philomel prepares,
And modulates her pipe with equal airs;
Now fharp, now flat, her varied notes ap-
[clear.
Then loudly fings, as warlike trumpets
Abafh'd he stood, the bird indignant eyes,
"If this, Ominstrel, be return d (he cries),
I'll break my lute, and yield to thee the
prize."

This faid, inimitable strains he fings,
His hand flies fwiftly o'er the trembling
ftrings:
First these, then thofe harmonic numbers
[tries,
As to the lute his skilful hand he plies;
While from the chords he wakes extatic
founds,

The labour'd lute, full-ton'd, exulting bounds.
Then food expecting, if she would effay
Again to render back his matchlefs lay.
But fhe, her voice tho' spent, and quite unfit,
Call'd forth her pow'rs, impatient to fubmit,
In vain; for, while with such small pipe the
ftrove

To raise her voice the Lutanist above,
Subdued with grief, unequal to the strife,
She fail'd, and nobly lost her little life;
Upon the victor's lute, her tomb, she fell :-
In fuch small fouls may rival virtue dwell.
Cowbit.

Mr. URBAN,

J.M.

New King-freet, Bath, August 13. HE village of Aldbourn, in North Wilts, having fuffered by a dreadful fire a few years ago, a Clergyman wrote a it neceffary to obferve (according to the auPoem on the event. Some allufions render town, but is now much reduced. It is fituthor), that Aldbourn was formerly a market ated in a winding valley, through which a brook ufually flows for feveral months every year; and, if the fprings happen not to rife fidered as a bad omen to the publick. high enough to produce this effect, it is con

The fatal fire happened on a Sunday, foon after the conclufion of Morning Service: it began at the first house in the town to the wind

come;

Hoarfe ravens oft were heard with evil note, The fall was fpilt, the cream refus'd to [throat; The yard-dog howling food, with uplift With fcorching drought the babbling fpring was dumb.

Man blooms to-day, and fpreads green boughs around,

Raifing his glory to the garish fun; To-morrow ftrikes his honours to the ground, The curtain falls, and life's poor fhow is done.

On the dry roofs, embrown'd with many a fhow'r,

That faded foon the ftraw's primeval hue, Thewither'dhags exhauft their flaming pow'r,

The flames, as eagles on the quarries, flew. Vain all the pomp! the wild parade of man! His houfe, his goods, his varied arts of ease! Eternal preparation for a fpan,

Checquer'd with loffes, terrors, or disease! Down plunge the rav'nous flames, and next Burn the neat bowels of the reeking cot; The Bible, where is doubled down the text; Ah, doubled down, yet oft too foon forgot! The pond'rous bedstead-and the coffer [bought

Strong,

Of antient carving, by fome grandfire The wooden elbow-chair-the table longThe painted pictures, of the pedlar bought; The mantle ftor'd with earthen dishes bright, The rows of pewter polish'd all with care, The brazen tripod, folace of each night,

By trusty matron fill'd with homely fare; Melted in one black mafs-each form of ufe, Of fimple ornament, is gone and loft;

BY A YOUNG LADY, WHO, AT THE SAME
TIME THAT HER PARENT DIED, KE-
CEIVED AN ACCOUNT THAT HER Lo.
VER WAS MARRIED.

E filial forrows, unpolluted flow!
No vain regrets, no impious pangs
prefume;

No Spectres wild of complicated woe
Chafe the pure anguish on this facred tomb.
Precious remains! if once I dar'd repine,
And Paffion stole one figh from Piety;

In whofe laft Elegy, ftanza the second, line the first, for lucid, read lurid-ftauza the feventh, line the fecond, for lighs, read Well, be it jo! read Well, let it shine!—the fame, Light-ftanza the eighth, line the firft, for Ime the third, for 'raje, read wipe.

Now

758
Now "this rebellious heart" is wholly thine,
And ev'ry mournful thought is full of thee.
Ah, could thy gentle spirit hover near,
Sweet pray'rs infufe, and dreams of end-
lefs reft;
Could't thou be prefent whilst I pour the
[tear,
Ah, point the mansion where thyself art
bleft!

Sele Poetry, Ancient and Modern, for Auguft, 1791.

'Tis mine, alas, the gulph alone to fee!
Distance immenfe betwixt the bleft and me!
July.
A. W. S.

THE PRESENT STATE OF FRANCE.

ELIGION, King, and Honours (Merit's pay), [away; With Juftice, Law, and Commerce, done Gold, Silver vanifh'd, and the Arts destroy'd; The Fleet decay'd, the Mob with Murders

cloy'd:

Thefe of Philofophers the wife Exploits!
Their Gains are-Paper Coins and Copper
Doits.

With added heaps my days I'd guard,
With ev'ry joy my fate retard,
And, when the threaten'd time should come,
Rich prefents would avert my doon.
But if 'tis not to mortals giv'n,
To buy the choiceft gift of Heav'n,
Why therefore fhould I vainly groan,
Why heave one figh, or fruitless moan?
If Death must be each mortal's fate,
Will gold preferve fo frail a state?
Be 't mine to crown the flowing bowl,
To quaff the goblet's sparkling foul;
In draughts divine all forrow drown'd,
My chearful friends reclin'd around;
And, when th' empaflion'd hour invites,
Let Venus give her foft delights.

ΕΙΣ ΕΑΥΤΟΝ.

WHEN in wine my foul I steep,
Heart-tormenting forrows fleep;
Plaintive tears, or vain despair;
What have I to do with care,
Though unwilling I must die,
Why fhould life in error fly?
Let us drain the circling bowl
Bacchus gives to cheer the foul;
For, while we our fenfes steep,
Heart-tormenting forrows fleep.

ERE

SO N G.

RE Beauty with Fashion combin'd,
A cap that was fnug to her face,

WRITTEN IN MISS AW's Mu- My tafte and my fancy confin'd,

BEST

SICK-BOOK, OF YORK.

LEST Book! whofe leaves the hands of
Beauty deign
(gage,

With Mufick's foft, refiftless pow'r t'en May no foul blot, or verse unhallow'd, stain The fnowy whiteness of each valued page! 'Tis Laura's hand, that hand the choicest boon Which bounteous Heaven could on man beftow;

Chafte as the luftre of the filver Moon,
Which paints each leaf, and bids each stanza
glow.

Should the, thro' thee, my anguish read,
In pity to a lover's pray'r,
Tell her, that heart the dooms to care
Would freely for a Mistress bleed;
Nor feel one joy fo great, or grief severe,
As that her fmiles can give, or frowns can
AMATOR.

wear.

No art to her head-dress was lent,
Gave Delia fuperlative grace.
Without any fuccour it bent,
No heat to folicit the curl;

If a flip of plain gauze on her breaft
Or fpontaneously rose in a furl.

Might stand for an emblem of pride,
The fame on her head was confeft,
In a knot that was carelessly tied.

Lefs amiable does the appear,

No jewels are feen on her head ?
Or is the to Damon lefs dear,

Her neck with no diamonds is fpread ?

The study of virtue's her aim,

Her heart in good-nature attir'd
Begets her more permanent fame,

And makes her fincerely admir'd.
Fantastical Beauties, despair!

;

Your charms to my Delia are faint
For innocence brightens her air,
Beyond all your pearls and your paint!
MALLING.

Gave to the child his much-lov'd fire,
That long had felt his Prince's ire,
Unknown by features of his face,
The inroads of his long difgrace,
And bent with age and narrow cell,
Whence none furviv'd their tale to tell.
Baftille! thy iron mask 's no more,
Thy walls lie level with the shore ;
The widow'd wife fhall ceafe her grief,
And blefs the hand that fent relief,
That refcued from thy dungeon's cave,
Where Virtue's fons oft found a grave,
That brought her much-lov'd lord to light,
Immur'd in worse than Stygian night.
Thrice bleft the day thy towers fell!
When Tyranny pour'd forth her yell,
And Cruelty, with gnathing teeth,
Pin'd at the fight her feet beneath;
Whilft Torture writh'd his neck with pain,
And Slav'ry burft his bloody chain.
Oh! could I eternize yon band
Diffufing freedom thro' the land!
Whofe generous deeds uniting flow
To fcatter mis'ry, grief, and woe,
To raise the poor's depreffed head,
And bleffings on the orphans fhed;
To teach the haughty nobles fear,
And make dread tyrants laws revere ;
To Heav'n eternal vows I'd pay,
And kifs the altar night and day.
Hertford, Aug. 1.

JAMES MORE,

Mafter of the Grammar-fchool.

SONNET

ON VIEWING AN ANCIENT FORTRESS,

ARMORY, &C.

HESE princely towers, majestic in de-
cline,

To fome may give a retrospective eye
To the proud times of antient chivalry,

Or when the goblets foam'd with gen'rous wine.

Targe, helm, or battle-axe, th' afpiring mind May with a noon-tide fervency infpire, And feats of thofe long fince to duft confign'd In fouls congenial wake a kindred fire; But who from life is wean'd by long diftrefs, Pleasures more calm and foothing shall beguile;

He moft the vestiges of Time shall blefs,— For that he'll think the hands that rais'd this pile

Sorrow and anxious cares no more await,
Beneath the wail of woe, above the reach of
fate.
W. HAMILTON REID.

SONNET то THE SUN, FROM THE FRENCH OF DRELINCOURT. BY W. HAMILTON REID.

IFE of the univerfe, and parent ray, Globe or of gold, or fire, or center'd light, All-charming portrait of th' Eternal Day,

ENVY.

BY MR. CUMBERLAND.

H! never let me fee that shape again!

Exile me rather to fome favage den, Far from the focial haunts of men ! Horrible phantom! pale it was as death,

Confumption fed upon its meagre cheek And ever as the fiend effay'd to fpeak, Dreadfully fteam'd its peftilential breath! Fang'd like the wolf it was, and all agaunt,

Rolling its fquinting eyes aikaunt,
And still it prowl'd around us and around,

Wherever human happiness was found.

Furious thereat, the felf tormenting sprite Drew forth an asp, and (terrible to fight) To its left pap th' envenom'd reptile preft, Which gnaw'd and worm'd into its tortur'd breaft.

The defperate fuicide, with pain, Writh'd to and fro, and yell'd amain; And then, with hollow dying cadence, cries"It is not of this afp that ENVY dies; 'Tis not this reptile's tooth that gives the (mart; 'Tis others' happiness that gnaws my heart."

L
The grand Firft Caufe! Love, Nature's H

chier delight!

AIL! pallid Queen of Night, whofe filver beams

Play on the babbling furface of the brook,

That

Select Poetry, Ancient and Modern, for Auguft, 1791.

That shews through yonder brake its lucent

ftreams,

[look!

Which forrowing willows mournfully o'erAnd you, ye ftars! whose dazzling splendor mocks

All mortal ken, are witness to my vows: Yegloomy fhades, ye hills, and pendent rocks! All know how oft my cheek with brine o'erflows.

Ye winged Zephyrs! waft my foft-breath'd figh;

Tell the fair maid that here I nightly wail;
Tell her how oft in love-lorn ftate I lie

Or by the murm'ring tide, or on the ver-
dant vale.

Then bid her to my faithful vows attend,
And all my rending pangs and forrows end.
Aug. 8.
J.LD.

SONNET,

FOR THE NOVEL OF CELESTINA.

HROUGH this lone ifle, whose rude,

Tunshapen cliffs

Hang o'er the waters of the billowy main, Penfive I roam, and reftlefs tell my griefs To the wild winds; while, lingering in her wane,

[wave
The pale moon glimmers o'er the fwelling
And this drear pile, and icarcely fhews be-
neath
[heath,
The mouldering monuments, and thickened
Where reft the filent tenants of the grave.

Theirs is eternal peace, eternal reit;
While I, pale Misery's victim, on the verge
Of dread defpair, hear life's impetuous furge
Around me thunder-On thy quiet breaft,
Eternal Night! let my fad foul repose,
Loft in oblivion of its former woes.

SONNET,

H. H.

ON THE CONSTERNATION OCCASIONED
IN THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY BY THE
GERMAN CONFEDERACY.

BY JOSEPH WESTON.

ARK'D ye the Eagle, in his dread
Career?

GLANC'D on your haggard Eye, with threat'ning Glare, [the Air Th'impatient Lightning?-Echoing thro' Portentous Murmurs, did your startled Ear CONFESS th'approaching Thunder?-Slaves to Fear, [greatly dare Though freed from Shame! (Who could fo To brave the gen'rous Lies-in the Snare!) WELL may ye tremble-for your Hour is [Shame! He comes! th' Avenger of his Servants Whofe Altars ye defile-whofe aweful Name [cenus Few Blafpheme!-BEHOLD HIM!-If the rgbATONE not-wrapp'd in inftantaneous Flame,

near !

Ye perish!-Yawning Earthdevours C Hideous with many a Stain, that SODOM ver knew!

France

Wild Anarchy exulting ftands,
And female Fiends around her dance,
With fatal Lamp-cords in their Hands;
CHORUS. We Britons ftill united fing,

Old England's Glory, CHURCH and
KING.

Poor France! whom Bleffings could not blefs,
By too much Liberty undone ;
Defect is better than Excefs,

For having all is having none.
CHORUS. Let Britons then, &c.
True Freedom is a temp rate Treat,

Not favage Mirth, nor frantic Noife;
'Tis the brifk Pulfe's vital Heat,

And not a Fever that deftroys.
CHORUS. Let Britons then, &c.

The Gallic Lilies droop and die,

Her Clubs command, her Nobles fly,
Profan'd by many a Patriot Krave;

Her Church a Martyr-King a Slave.
CHORUS. While Britons ftill, &c.
While pillow'd on his People's Breast,
Our Sov'reign fleeps fecure, ferene,
Unhappy Louis knows no rest,

But mourns his more unhappy Queen,
CHORUS. Let Britons then, &c.
He finds his Palace a Baftille,

Amidst the Shouts of Liberty;
Doom'd ev'ry heartfelt Pang to feel,
For merely striving to be free.
CHORUS. While Britons ftill, &c.

Go, Democratic Demons, go!

In FRANCE your horrid Banquet keep! Feast on degraded Prelates' Woe,

And drink the Tears that Monarchs weep I
CHORUS. While Britons still, &c.

Our Church is built on Truth's firm Rock,
And mocks each facrilegious Hand;
In Spite of each electric Shock,

The Heav'n-defended Steeples ftand.
CHORUS. While Britons true, &c.
Old British Senfe, and British Fire,

Though PRIESTLEY Write-though PAYNE
Shall guard that Freedom we poffefs;
confpire,

CHORUS. While Britons ftill united fing,
We ask no more-we fear no lefs.

Old England's Glory, CHURCH and
KING.

Alluding to the behaviour of the deteftable Fishwomen, fo ftrongly painted by Mr. Burke, in his account of the journey from

* See the firft Sonnet in our Magazine Versailles to Paris. for July, p. 660.

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