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Oh, guard his meek sweet innocence from all
Th' innumerous ills, that rush around his life;
Mark the quick kite, with beak and talons prone,
Circling the skies to snatch him from the plain;
Observe the lurking crows; beware the brake,
There the sly fox the careless minute waits; 412
Nor trust thy neighbor's dog, nor earth, nor sky:
Thy bosom to a thousand cares divide.
Eurus oft sings his hail; the tardy fields
Pay not their promised food; and oft the dam
O'er her weak twins with empty udder mourns,
Or fails to guard, when the bold bird of prey
Alights, and hops in many turns around,
And tires her also turning: to her aid
Be nimble, and the weakest in thine arms
Gently convey to the warm cote, and oft,
Between the lark's note and the nightingale's,
His hungry bleating still with tepid milk:
In this soft office may thy children join,
And charitable habits learn in sport:
Nor yield him to himself, ere vernal airs
Sprinkle thy little croft with daisy flowers:
Nor yet forget him: life has rising ills:
Various as ether is the pastoral care:
Through slow experience, by a patient breast,
The whole long lesson gradual is attained,
By precept after precept, oft received
With deep attention: such as Nuceus sings
To the full vale near Soare's enamour'd brook,
While all is silence: sweet Hincklean swain!
Whom rude obscurity severely clasps:
The muse, howe'er, will deck thy simple cell
With purple violets and primrose flowers,
Well-pleased thy faithful lessons to repay. 440

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WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOR (1704-1754)

A SOLILOQUY

IN IMITATION OF HAMLET

My anxious soul is tore with doubtful strife,
And hangs suspended betwixt death and life;
Life! death! dread objects of mankind's debate;
Whether superior to the shocks of fate,
To bear its fiercest ills with stedfast mind,
To Nature's order piously resign'd,
Or, with magnanimous and brave disdain,
Return her back th' injurious gift again.
O! if to die, this mortal bustle o'er,
Were but to close one's eyes, and be no more;
From pain, from sickness, sorrows, safe withdrawn,
In night eternal that shall know no dawn;
This dread, imperial, wondrous frame of man,
Lost in still nothing, whence it first began:

ΙΟ

Yes, if the grave such quiet could supply,
Devotion's self might even dare to die,
Lest hapless victors in the mortal strife,
Through death we struggle but to second life.
But, fearful here, though curious to explore,
Thought pauses, trembling on the hither shore:
What scenes may rise, awake the human fear; 21
Being again resum'd, and God more near;
If awful thunders the new guest appal,
Or the soft voice of gentle mercy call.
This teaches life with all its ills to please,
Afflicting poverty, severe disease;

To lowest infamy gives power to charm,
And strikes the dagger from the boldest arm.
Then, Hamlet, cease; thy rash resolves forego;
God, Nature, Reason, all will have it so:
Learn by this sacred horror, well supprest,
Each fatal purpose in the traitor's breast.
This damps revenge with salutary fear,
And stops ambition in its wild career,
Till virtue for itself begin to move,
And servile fear exalt to filial love.

Then in thy breast let calmer passions rise,
Pleas'd with thy lot on earth, absolve the skies.
The ills of life see Friendship can divide;
See angels warring on the good man's side.
Alone to Virtue happiness is given,
On earth self-satisfied, and crown'd in Heaven.

DAVID MALLET (1705-1765)

WILLIAM AND MARGARET
'Twas at the silent solemn hour,
When night and morning meet;
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,
And stood at William's feet.
Her face was like an April morn
Clad in a wintry cloud;
And clay-cold was her lily hand
That held her sable shroud.

So shall the fairest face appear,

When youth and years are flown: Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown.

Her bloom was like the springing flower,
That sips the silver dew;

The rose was budded in her cheek,
Just opening to the view.

But love had, like the canker-worm, Consumed her early prime;

The rose grew pale, and left her cheek, She died before her time.

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FOR A WOMAN NEAR HER TRAVAIL

Full of trembling expectation,
Feeling much, and fearing more,
Author, God of my salvation,

I Thy timely aid implore.
Suffering Son of Man, be near me,
All my sufferings to sustain;
By Thy sorer griefs to cheer me,

By Thy more than mortal pain.
Call to mind that unknown anguish,
In Thy days of flesh below,
When Thy troubled soul did languish
Under a whole world of woe:
When Thou didst our curse inherit,
Groan beneath our guilty load,
Burthened with a wounded spirit,
Bruised by all the wrath of God.

By Thy most severe temptation
In that dark satanic hour;
By Thy last mysterious Passion,
Screen me from the adverse power.
By Thy fainting in the garden,

By Thy bloody sweat, I pray,
Write upon my heart the pardon;
Take my sins and fears away.

By the travail of Thy spirit,

By Thine outcry on the tree,
By Thine agonizing merit,

In my pangs remember me!
By Thy Death I Thee conjure,
A weak, dying soul befriend;
Make me patient to endure,

Make me faithful to the end.

SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784)

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This, only this, the rigid law pursues;
This, only this, provokes the snarling muse.
The sober trader at a tatter'd cloak
Wakes from his dream, and labours for a joke;
With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze,
And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways.
Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest;
Fate never wounds more deep the gen'rous heart,
Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart.
Has heaven reserv'd, in pity to the poor,
No pathless waste, or undiscover'd shore?
No secret island in the boundless main?
No peaceful desert yet unclaim'd by Spain?
Quick let us rise, the happy seats explore,
And bear oppression's insolence no more.
This mournful truth is ev'ry where confess'd,
Slow rises worth, by poverty depress'd;
But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold,
Where looks are merchandise, and smiles are
sold;

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FROM THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES

Let observation, with extensive view,
Survey mankind, from China to Peru;
Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife,
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life:
Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate, 5
O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate,
Where wav'ring man, betray'd by vent'rous pride
To tread the dreary paths without a guide,
As treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude,
Shuns fancied ills, or chases diry good;
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant
voice;

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How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress' s'd When Vengeance listens to the fool's request. Fate wings with ev'ry wish th' afflictive dart, 15

On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly,
And all be mine beneath the polar sky."
The march begins in military state,

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And nations on his eye suspended wait;
Stern Famine guards the solitary coast,
And Winter barricades the realms of Frost:
He comes; nor want nor cold his course delay;
Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day:
The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands,
And shows his miseries in distant lands;
Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait,
While ladies interpose and slaves debate.
But did not Chance at length her error mend?
Did no subverted empire mark his end?
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound?
Or hostile millions press him to the ground?
His fall was destin'd to a barren strand,
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand.

He left the name, at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

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The gen'ral fav'rite as the gen'ral friend:
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end?
Yet ev'n on this her load Misfortune flings,
To press the weary minutes' flagging wings; 300
New sorrow rises as the day returns,

A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns.

Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier,
Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear.
Year chases year, decay pursues decay,
Still drops some joy from with'ring life away;
New forms arise, and diff'rent views engage,
Superfluous lags the vet'ran on the stage,
Till pitying Nature signs the last release,
And bids afflicted worth retire to peace.

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Still raise for good the supplicating voice,
But leave to heav'n the measure and the choice;
Safe in his pow'r, whose eyes discern afar
The secret ambush of a specious pray'r.
Implore his aid, in his decisions rest,
Secure, whate'er he gives, he gives the best.
Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resign'd;
For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
For patience, sov'reign o'er transmuted ill;
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat:
These goods for man the laws of heav'n
ordain;
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These goods He grants, who grants the pow'r to gain;

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With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind,

And makes the happiness she does not find.

WILLIAM SHENSTONE (1714-1763) WRITTEN AT AN INN AT HENLEY

To thee, fair freedom! I retire

From flattery, cards, and dice, and din;
Nor art thou found in mansions higher
Than the low cot, or humble inn.

'Tis here with boundless pow'r I reign;
And every health which I begin,
Converts dull port to bright champagne;
Such freedom crowns it, at an inn.
I fly from pomp, I fly from plate!

I fly from falsehood's specious grin!
Freedom I love, and form I hate,

And choose my lodgings at an inn.
Here, waiter! take my sordid ore,

Which lacqueys else might hope to win;
It buys, what courts have not in store;
It buys me freedom at an inn.
Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Where'er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think he still has found
The warmest welcome, at an inn.

FROM THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS

IN IMITATION OF SPENSER

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Ah me! full sorely is my heart forlorn, To think how modest worth neglected lies; While partial fame doth with her blasts adorn Such deeds alone, as pride and pomp disguise; Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous emprize: Lend me thy clarion, goddess! let me try To sound, the praise of merit, ere it dies; Such as I oft have chaunced to espy, Lost in the dreary shades of dull obscurity.

In ev'ry village mark'd with little spire, Embow'r'd in trees, and hardly known to fame, There dwells, in lowly shed, and mean attire, A matron old, whom we school-mistress name; Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame; They grieven sore, in piteous durance pent, Aw'd by the pow'r of this relentless dame; And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent, For unkempt hair, or talk unconn'd, are sorely shent.

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And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree,
Which learning near her little dome did stowe;
Whilom a twig of small regard to see,
Tho' now so wide its waving branches flow;
And work the simple vassals mickle woe;