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Role up, and with a graceful air
Or thro' th’entangled wood pursue Addrufs'i thc vifionary fair;
The foorteps of a traggling eive. Excus'd his morning-di habille,
jsy znete raigues he got at length Complain'd of late he had been ill.
Robustnets and athicric ftrength, In Thort, he gaz’d, he bow'd, lic figh'd, Spirits as light as fies the gale He fung, he Harter'd, prets’d, and ly'd,
diong the wry-lilve: 'd vale With such a witchers of art,
The cherub nealth, of duple fuck, That Fancy gave him all her heart,
Sat radiant on his rofy chack. Her catechilm quite to got,
And gave tach ilerle's elatise spring And waited on him to his grot.
The vigour of an eaglet's ving. In length of time the bere a son,
Time now had :olld, with 1 nooth career, As brilliant as his fire, the Sun.
Our heroihro' his tevent) year. Pure æther was the vital ray
Tho'in a ruttic cottage b.ed, That lighted up his finer clav;
The bulv innp had thought and read: The nyinphs, the rosv-finger'd hours,
He kneii Jindventures, one by one, The drvads of the woods and bow'rs,
Of Romlood and Little Jonn; The graces with their loofen'd zones,
Could fing with fruit, naimth, and grace, The inufes with their harps and crowns,
The woulul hunt of Chevy Chace; Young zephyrs of the loftet wing,
And how St. George, his fiery nag on, The loves that wait upon the spring,
Destroy'd the vast Egyptian dragon. Wit with his gay all cate Mirth,
Chich he adinir'd that learned piece Attended at the infaat's birth,
Wrote by the fabulift of Greece, And said, Let Genius be his name,
Where wisdoın 1peaks in croirs and cocks,, And his the fairer wreath of fame.
And cunning Incaks into a fox. The gollips gone, the chuiftning o'er, In thort, as now his op’ning parts, And Genius now twixt three and four, Ripe for the culture of the arts, Phæbus, according to the rule,
Becarne in ev'ry hour acuter, Refolv'd to send his son to Ichool:
Apollo lock'd out for a tutor ;
This artist of the human mind.
Among the doctors of Parnassus,
Old Lilly's elements of specch;
And knew as much of men and morals To fay his pravers, and get his creed As doctor Rock of ores and corals. Would often telt him of the iky,
At length, with much of thought and care, And what a crime it is to lve.
He found a master for his heir; She chid him when he did amnits,
A lcarned man, adroit to speak When well, the blefi'd hun weh a kiss.
Pure Latin, and your attic Greck; Her liter Temp’rance, fast and quiet,
Well known in all the courts of faine, Prelided at his meals and diet:
And Criticisin was his name. She watch'd him with relicious care,
Bencath a tutor keen and fine as And fed him with the fimpleti tale;
Or Arittotle or Longinus, Would never let the urchin cat
Beneath a lyry's eye that saw Of pickled pork, or butcher's mcat;
The ilıghteit literary faw, But what of aloient caith vields
Young Genius trod the path of knowledge, In garucns, orchards, woods, and fields; And yiew the wonder of the college, Whare'cr of vegetable wealth
Old author's wee his bofoin friends
He had thein at his tingers ends
Of truth, propriety, and nature ;
Diiplav'd in every just remak Indulg'd hiin with a Sunday's iurt.
The strong fagacity of Clark; A láty peafant charc'd to dusell
and pointed out the false and true, Hard by tnc folitary cell:
With all the run-beams of Boslu. His name was Labour.Ere the dawn
But though this critic-fage retin'd Had broke upon the upland-lawn,
Ilis pupil's intellectual mind, IIc hierd him to his daily toil,
And gave hiin all that keen difcerning To turn the głebe, or miend the foil.
Which marks the character of learning; Wisin niin voung Genius oft wou'd go
Vet, as he r'vad with much of glee
The trifles of anıkuity,
About the origin of whitiles !
The scholar took his master's trim,
And from their finish'd forms refin'd And grew identically him;
His own congenial warmth of mind, Employ'd a world of pains to teach us
And learn’d with happy skill to trace What nation first invented breeches;
The magic pow'rs of cale and grace: Afferted that the Roman focks
His style grew delicately fine, Were broider'd with a pair of clocks;
His numbers fiow'd along his line, That Capua ferv'd up with her victuals His periods manly, full, and strong, An olio of Venafran pickles;
Had all the harmony of tong. That Silygambis drets'd in blue,
Whene'er his images betray'd And wore her tresses in a queue.
Too strong a light, too ak a shade, In short, he knew what Paulus Jovius,
Or in the graceful and the grand Salinasius, Grævius, and Gronovius
Confess'd inelegance of hand, Ha.e said in fifty folio volumes,
His noble matter, who could spy Printed by Elzevir in columns.
The flightest fault with half an eye, Apollo faw, with pride and joy,
Set right by one ethereal touch,
What lccm'd too little or too much;
Arofe fupremely full and fair.
GENIUS was now among his betters And rurn him out a letter'd dunce.
Distinguish'd as a man of letters. He saw the lad had fill'd his sense
There wanted still, to make him please, With things of little consequence;
The splendor of address and eale, That tho' he read, with application,
The loul-enchanting inien and air, The wits of every age and nation,
Such as we see in Grosvenor-Square, And could, with nice precision, reach
When Lady Charlotte freaks and mores, The boldest metaphors of speech; .
Attended by a swarm of loves.
A manner aukward and uncouth;
Sære fate of all who love to dwell A mere mechanic in the arts,
In wifiom's folitary cell: That measures with a rule and line
So much a clown in gait and laugh, What nature meant for great and fine,
He wanted but a ferip and staff; Phæbus, who saw it right and wife was And such a beard as hung in candles To counteract this fatal bias,
Down to Diogenes's sandals, Took home his fon with mighty hafte,
And planted all his chin so thick, And sent him to the school of Taste.
To be like him a dirty cynic. This school was built by wealth and peace, Apollo, who to do him righ Some ages fince, in Elder Greece,
Was always perfectly polite, Just when the Stagyrite had writ
Chagrin'd to lec his son and heir His lectures on the pow’rs of wit.
Dishonour'd by his gape and stare, Here, Auth'd in all the bloom of youth, Refolv'd to lend him to Versailles, Sat Beauty in the shrine of truth.
To learn a minuet of Marseilles : Here at the finer arts were teen
But Venus, who had deeper reading Asanbl'd round their virgin-queen.
In all the mysteries of breeding, Here sculpture, on a bolder plan
Obferv'd to Phæbus, that the name Ennobled marble into man.
Ofl'p and Frenchman was the same. Herc, music, with a foul on fire,
French inanners were, ihe said, a thing which Impallion'd, breath'd along the lyre;
Those grave misguided fools, the Englitii, And here, the painter-muse display'd
Had, in cefpite of common sense, Diviner forins of light and thade.
Miftook for nanly excellence; But such the fate, as Hefiod fings,
By which their natiou ftrangely funk is, Of all our fublunary things,
And half their nobles turn'd to monkies. When now the Tuik, with sword and halters, She thought it better, as the case was, Had drove religion from her altars,
To send young Genius to the graces : And delug'd with a fea of blood
Those fiveet divinities, the faid, The academic dome and wood;
Would forin him in the myrtle shade; Affrighted Taste, with winys unfurld, And teach him more, in half an hour, Took refuge in the western world;
Than Lewis or his Pompadour. And settled on the Tuscan main,
Phæbus agreed the Graces took With all the muses in his train.
Their noble pupil froin his book, In this calm scene, where Taste wirdrew, Allow'd him at their fide to rove And Science trimm'd her lamp anew;
Along their own domestic grove, Young Genius rag'd in every part
Amidst the found of melting lyies, The visiopary worlds of art,
Soft-wreathing liniles, and young desires :
And when confin'd by winds or show'rs, These, these are joys alone, I cry;
'Tis here, divine Philosophy, They taught him with address and skill
Thou deign'st to fix thy throne ! To thine at ombre and quadrillc;
Here Contemplation points the road Or let him read an ode or play,
Thro' Nature's charns to Nature's God! To wing the gloomy hour away.
Thefe, thcse are joys alone! GENTUS was charm d-divinely plac'd Adieu, ye vain low-thoughted cares, 'Midst beauty, wit, politeness, taite;
Yc human hopes and huinan fcars, And, having every hour before him
Ye pleasures and ye pains !" The finest models of decorum,
While thus I spakc, o'er all my soul His manners took a fairer ply,
A philofophic calmness stole, Expression kindled in his cye;
A stoic ftilnefs reigns. His getture disengag'd, and closn,
The tyrant pafsions all fubfide, Set off a finc majestic mien ;
Fear, anger, pity, shame and pride And gave his happy pow'r to please
No more my bosom move; The noblest elegance of case.
Yet still I felt, or scem'd to feel, Thus, by the discipline of art,
A kind of vifionary zcal
Of universal love.
'Twas Reason whisper'd in my car He knew the scientific page
These monitory Itrains: Of every clime and every age;
“What mean'ít thou man? would'st thou unbind Had learnt with critic-skill to rein
The ties which constitute thy kind, The wildness of his native vein;
The pleasures and the pains That critic-skill, tho' cool and chatte,
The same Almighty Power unseen, Retin'd beneath the eye of Taste;
Who spreads the gay or soleinn scene His unforbidding mien ard air,
To Contemplation's eve, His aukward gait, his haughty stare,
Fix'd every inovement of the soul, And every stain that wit dibales,
Taught every with its destin'd goal, Were melted off among the graces;
And quicken'd every joy. And Genius rose, in form and mind,
He bids the tyrant paflions rage, The first, the grcateft of mankind.
He bids them war eternal wage,
And combat cach his foc :
Till from dissensions concords rise, & 94. The Enthufiafl. An Ode. WHITEHEAD. And beauties from deformities,
And happiness from woe. ONCE, I remember well the day,
Art thou not man, and dar'lt thou find 'Twas ere the blooming livects of May A blits which leans not to mankind ? Had lost their frcihcft hues,
Presumptuous thought and vain! When every flower on every hill,
Each bliss unshar'd is unenjoy'd, In every vale had drank its fill
Each power is weak, unless employ'd
Sonic social good to gain.
With those exalted joys compare
Which a£tive Virtue feels! And doubting mortals hardly know,
When on the drags as lawful prize, By whose command the breezes blow
Contempt, and Indolence, and Vice, Which fan the smiling land.
At ler triumphant wheels. 'Twas then, befide a green-wood shade,
As reft to labour still succeeds
Employ his toilsome day;
Are merely Life's refrething springs, So wond'rous bright the day.
To footh him on his way. And now my cyes with transport rove
Enthusiast go, unftring thy lyre, O'er all the blue expanfe above,
In vain thou fing'it if none adınire, Unbroken by a cloud!
How fweet foe'er the strain. And now beneath delighted pass,
And is not thy o'erflowing inind, Where winding thro' the deep green grass Uniess thou mixest with thy kind, A full-brim'd river flow'd.
Benevolent in vain? I fop, I gaze; in accents rude,
Enthusiast go, cry every sense, To thec, Terencst folitude,
If not thy bliss, thy excellence, Burit forth th'unbidden lay;
Thou yet hast learn'd to scan; " Begone, vile world, the learn'd, the wise, At least thy wants, thy wcakness know, The great, the busy, I detpile,
And see them all uniting thow, did picy c'en the gay.
That man was made for man." Father
97. Father Francis's Prover, in a Hermitage.
$99. Erilioane Trare:lic: JE gay attire, ne marble hall,
Or, the Dethe of Syy Curles Baudin. Ne arched roof, ne picturd wall,
CHATTERTON, under the name of ROWLEY e cook of Fraunce ne dainty board, stow'd with pyes of perigord,
THE feather'd fong ter chaunticleer
Hlad wounde hys bu: le horne, e pow'r, ne such like idle fancies,
And told the carte villarer veet Agnes ! grant to Father Francis:
The crnynge of the morne ; it me ne more myself deceive, e more regret the tovs I leave;
Kynge Edwarle fave the rudie it reakcs he world I quit, the proud the vain,
Of lyghte eclypie the grele; . orruption's and Ambition's train,
And heide the raren's cukynge throte ut not the good perdie ! nor fair;
Proclayme the fated daie. jainst them I make ne vow, ne pray'r; “ Thou're ryght," quod hoc, “ for, by the ut such aye welcome to my cell,
“ That fytts enthron'd on hvghe! [Godde nd oft, not always, with me dwell:
“ Charles Bawdin, and his fellowes twaine, hen calt, sweet Saint! a circle round,
“ To-daie shall surelie die." nd bless from fools this holy ground,
Then wythe a jugge of napry
ale rom all the foes to worth and truth, rom wanton old and homely youth,
Hys Knyghres dydd onne humm waitt; 'he gravely dull and pertly gay:
“ Goe, tell the traytour, thatt to-daie h! banith these; and by my fay
“ Hee leaves tlfys mortall state.” ight well I wveen, that in this age
Syr Canterlone thenne bendedd lowe, line house shall prove an hermitage.
Wythe hart brymm-fulle of woe ;
Hee journey'd to the castle-gate, 98. Songe to Ælla, Lorde of the Caffe of Brre And to Syr Charles dydd god. storve ynne daies of yore. From CHATTER. But whenne hee cainc, his children twaine, TON, under the name of ROWLEY.
And eke hys lovynge wyfe, H thou, orr what remaynes
Wythe brinie tears dydd weit the foore, Ælla, the darlynge of futurity,
For goode Syr Charleses lyfe. .elt thys mie fonge bolde as thie courage be, As everlastynge to posteritve.
“O goode Syr Charles !” fayd Canterlone, Vhanne Dacya's sonnes, wholc hayres of bloude
“ Badde tydyngs I doe brynge.”
Speke boldlie, manne,' sayd brave Syr Charles, ychc kynge-cuppes brastynge wythe the morn
Whatte favs thic traytor kynge
“I greeve to telle, before ronne sonne predde farre and wyde onne Watchet's shore; “ Does fromme the welkinne flyc, Than dyddit thou furiouse ftande,
“ Hee hath uponne hys honour sworne, And bic thie valvante hande
" Thatt thou falt Turelic die. Jeetprengedd all the mees wythe gore.
"Wee all must die,' quod brave Syr Charles ; Drawne bie thyne anlace felle,
TOf thatte I'm not aftcarde ; Downe to the depth of helle
• What bootes to lyve a little space ? Thousandes of Dacyannes went ;
• Thanke Jesu, I'm prepard : Brvstowannes, menne of mygbte,
• Butt telle thye kynge, for myne hee's not, Y dar'd the bloudie fyghte,
I'de fuoner die to-daie And actedd deeds full quent.
"Thanne lyve hvs Nave, as manic are, Oh thou, wherecr (thie boncs att reste) • Tho' I should lyve for aic,'
Thye Spryte to haunte del ghreth beste, Whetherr upponne the bloude - einbrewedd
Tilcone Canterlone hce dvdd goc out,
To tells the major firaite
The dviinall crve of warre, [Neyne ;
For goode Syr Charleses tatc.
Thenne Maisterr Canynge faughte the kynge, Orr feest the hatchedd ftcde,
And felle down onne hys knec,
“ I'm come,” quod hec, "unto your grace
clemencye.” Orr ynne blacke armoure ftulke arounde,
Embattel'd Brystowe, once thie grounde Thenne quod the kynge, Your tale speke out, And glowe ardurous on the Castle ítceres ; - You have been in uch oure friende ; Or fierye round the mynferr glare;
"Whatever your requeft may bee, Let Brystowe style be made this care; [fyre;
"Wee wylle to ytte attende.' Guarde ytt fromme focmenne and consum ynge
“ Mv pobile liege! all my request Lyche Avones ítreme ensyrke ytte rounde,
Ys for a nobile knvghte, Ne lette a fame enharine the grounde, (pyre.
os Who, tho' mayhap he has donne wronge, Tylle ynne one Hame all the whole worlde ex Hee thought ytte fylle was reshate : 4
** Hcc has a spouse and children twaine,
Thenne drie the terres thatt out thyne eye “ Alle rewyn’d are for aie;
• From godlie fountaines fprynge; “ Yif thatt you are resolv'd to lett
• Dethe I despise, and alle the pow'r 6. Charles Baudin dic to daie,"
·0: Edwarde, traytor kynge. • Speke nott of such a traytour vile,
• Whan throgh the tyrant's welcoin means • The kynge ynne fury fayde;
• I lhall refigne my lyfe, • Before the ev’ning starre doth sheenc, "The Godde i serve wylle foon provydo • Bawdin thall loote hys hedde:
• For bothe inye fonnes and wyte. • Justice does loudlıe for hym calle,
• Before I sawe the lyghtsome sunne, • And hoe thall !are bys mcede :
• This was appointed mee. Speke, Maister Canynge! Whatte thynge else «Shall inortal inanne repyne or grudge * Att present doc you neede?"
• Whatt Godde ordeynes to bee? “ My nobile liege!' goode Canynge fayde, • Howe oft ynne battaile have I ftoode, Leave justice to our Godde,
• Whan thousands dy'd arounde ; “ And lave the yronne rule afydc;
• Whan smok ynge treems of crimton bloode “ Be thyne the olyve rodde.
• Imbrew'd the fatton'd grounde : “ Was Godde to fcirhe our hertes and rcines, How dydd I knowe that ev'ry darte, " The best were synners grete;
«That cuite the aire waie, 6. Christ's vycarr only knowes ne synnc, • Myghte nott finde passage toe my harte; “ Ynne alle thys mortall state:
• And close myne eyes for aie? “ Lett mercie rulc thync infante reigne, • And shall I now, for fuere of dethe,
'Twyle falte thye crowne fulle fure; • Lookc wanne and bee dyfmayde? “ From race to race thy familie
"Ne! fromın my herte fie chiloşile fcere, “ Alle lov’reigns Thall endure:
• Bee alle the manne display'd. 6 But yff wythe bloode ann Nauglitcr thou "Ah, goddelyke Hensie! Godde forefendeg Beginne thy infante reigne,
• And guarde thee and thye fonne, “ Thy crownc uponnc thy childrennes brows • Yff 'tis hy: wylle; but yil 'tis nett, “ Wylle never lonng remayne.”
· Why thennc hys wylle be donne. • Canyngc, awaic! thys traytour vile
• My honcfte friende, my faulte has beenc • Has ícorn’d my power and mce;
To serve Godde and mye prynce; • Howe canst thou thenne for such a manne And that I no tymc-ferrer am, • Intreate my clemencye $!
• My dethe wylle soone convynce. “ My nobile liege! the truly brave
Ynne Londonne citye was I borne, • Wylle val'rous actions prize;
Of parents of grete note; « Respect a brave and nobile mynde,
• My fadyre dydd a nobile arms “ Altho' ynne cnemies."
• Emblazon onne hys cotc: "Canynge, awaie! By Godde vnne Hear'n, "I make ne doubtc butt hce ys gone "That didu mce beinge gyve,
- Where foone I hope to goe; + I wvile rot tasie a bite of breade
• Where wee for ever ihall bee blcft, • Whilst thys Syr Charles dothe lyve.
• From oute the reech of woe : • B: Maric, and all Scinetes ynne Heav'n, • Hee taught mee justice and the laws *This funue shall be hys lalte.'
• Wyth pitie to unite; Theme Canvnge dropt a brinie tcare,
. And eke hee taughte ice howe to knows And from the presence pafto.
• The wronge cause fromm the ryghte: With hertc brrının-fulle of gnawynge grief, • Hee taughte mee wythe a prudent hande Hee to Sur Charles dydd goe,
"To fecde the hungrie poere, And fate hymm downe uponne a stoole,
Ne lette mye servants drive awaie And tcares beganne to flowc.
• 'The hungrie fromme my doore:
• Whatte bootes ytie howe or whenne! • I have hys wordyes ayc kepi;
· And fumm’d the actions of the daie
• Eche nyghte before I ilept. • Save why, my friende, thic honcst fou! • I have a spouse, goe ałke of her, • Runns overr at thy ne eve;
'YA'I dcfyld her bedde? • Is ytre for my most welcome doome
• I have a kynge, and none can laie • That thou doft child-lyke crye ??
• Blacke treafon onne my hedde. Quod godlie Canynge, “ I doc weepe,
Ynne Lent, and onne the holic cve, * Thalt thou foc foone muft dve,
• Fromm fethe I dydd refrayne; “ And leave thy fonnes and helpless wy fe; " Whic should I thenne appeare dismay'd “ 'Tis thys that wettes myne eye."
* To leave thys worlde of payne!