ON RUNNYMEAD, AS I PASSED OVER IT, APRIL 22, 1810.
(Part of it is used for the Egham Race.)
HERE England's ancient Barons, firm and bold, A wholesome lesson to a Sovereign told;
That Rights are free, and spurn the Tyrant's chain,
That upon England's Throne-the People reign.
Peers of another stamp, since they retir'd,
For new achievements have the scene acquir'd;
In the keen science of the Turf adept,
At Races only have the Charter kept;
With dirty Knaves unite the loving hand,
And feel their Coat of Arms a rope of sand;
They are no Heroes of a Martial air;
But are as knowing as the boots they wear.
THE RIVER, A SIMILE.
THE limpid River's brilliant waves
Their lustre hide in desert caves,
And seem the open vales to shun,
As if their terror was the Sun.
In their own purity retir'd,
Unenvy'd pass, though unadmir'd;
The light abjure with no regret,
And cultur'd Flora's lap forget.
But still the murmurs that I hear
Explain to the instructed ear,
That, if in caverns now they roam,
The Ocean is their destin'd home.
Ev'n thus a Life that's here obscure
Can immortality ensure;
And cheers its transitory doom
With hopes that fly beyond the tomb.
ON Turnham Green's enchanted grove
The Nine their tuneful branches love,
In Sappho's glowing strains;
Her Wit, by Sense and Taste refin'd,
The fugitives and jilts can bind
With unsuspected chains.
The Laurel, though Apollo's tree,
Is pale, the Rival's crown to see,
And courts the Poplar's grace:
The amorous and blooming Rose
Around his waist a girdle throws,
And springs to his embrace.
The Muse has bless'd the vocal tree;
And Sappho's Harp, that's tun'd for me,
The boughs with music shakes;
To Inspiration-Friendship's claim
Commends her animated flame,
And mine- the Poplar makes.
ANOTHER INSCRIPTION TO THE SAME TREE.
I LOVE the Poplar's trembling leaf:
'Tis Man! between his joy and grief,
His fluttering hope and fear;
The lightest breath its wings can move,
It whispers like the note of Love,
And claims the passing tear.
*Mrs. Moody, the lady here described by the name of Sappho, and of whom more hereafter, had a Poplar screen in front of her villa at Turnham Green.
† A Poplar tree, round which a Rose had formed a belt.
Its numbers can the leaf insure,
Against the wind and rain secure,
It glitters to the Sun :-
Ev'n thus Humility is blest,
And children guard the halcyon-rest,
By rustic labour won.
With rapid growth of screen and shade,
Its careful planter is repaid,
Nor covets Elm nor Oak:
'Tis thus embattled hosts can rise
For him that help to want supplies,
And soothes Oppression's yoke.
The Nightingale, as Virgil sung,
To Poplar-boughs devoted hung,
Of all her youth bereft :
A Nightingale the Poplars now
Can boast upon their classic bough,
Which He must there have left.
THE POPLAR TO A BIRCH TREE IN THE SAME ROW, BUT WHICH HAD NO BUSINESS THERE.
INTRUDER, hence!-the Pedant's tool!
Away to culprits lash'd at school!
Nor scare with menac'd pain and grief
The votaries of the Aspen leaf,
- That whispers to the note of Love,
And prompts the music of the Dove;
Or tunes the air to Sappho's lyre,
Whom Fancy and the Muse inspire.
ON A WILLOW IN FRONT OF MY WINDOW.
RECLIN'D on Pleasure's rosy pillow,
I saw the melancholy Willow;
Diffus'd its lank and pendent hair,
Wav'd as the banner of Despair.
But soon the heart-enlivening Muse
In pensive scenes delight renews;
Poetic Fancy took her scope
To Willows that enchanted Pope;
When, careless of the busy world,
Her sail with him the Muse unfurl'd:
I seem to catch Belinda's hair,
Nor Criticks fear, nor Edmund * spare;
My thoughts of Death repel with scorn,
And live again-to Fancy born.
THE ALPINE SIMILE.
THE simple Peasant of the Alpine steep,
Oft as the Torrents by Aquarius made
The Valleys with a new-born Ocean sweep,
Doubts if the Sea itself is more display'd.
But when, descending from the Mountain's height,
His eye the Ocean's boundless realm explores;
Expanding Genius emulates the sight,
Nor deigns to mark the Giant of the shores.
The soul, enraptur'd with an earthly scene,
A vision deems it of the realms above:
But, soon as their delights, and crowns, are seen,
Disdains the pageant, and abjures the love.
* Edmund Malone, whom I had ridiculed.
ON A PASSING VIEW OF THE ROUND CASTLE
AT WIGMORE.
ANOTHER Castle is in view,
That once had something else to do,
The tournament's up-lifted lance,
And martial spirit of Romance,
Are into dust and ruin hurl'd-
An emblem of the fading world.
TRANSLATION OF GRAY'S LYRIC ODE,
AT THE CHARTREUSE, IN DAUPHINE'.
MAJESTIC Spirit of this gloomy Vale,
Reflected in the stream- propitious hail!
Here in thy native streams—thy ancient groves,
As Fancy with illumin'd vision roves
On devious cliffs around the summits pil'd,
The roaring torrents, and the deserts wild.
More present more conspicuous the God,
Than where his glittering pavements we have trod.
Hail!-if in pious orisons to thee
pray for holy rest, from passion free;
But, if those envy'd shades, to silence dear,
I must abandon for another sphere;
If, toss'd in billows ill-fated youth
Abjures by force the lov'd abodes of Truth;
At least, in AGE, by follies unreprov'd,
May the sad Pilgrim, from the world remov'd,
In solitudes like these, with sacred fire,
His glowing visions of the Muse inspire;
Above the tumults of the vulgar throng,
To thee devote his elevated song.
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