Suicide" is the most powerful; and that "On Leaving a Favourite Village in Hampshire" is filled with the sweetest imagery. His humorous pieces are mostly clever centos of Pope, Young, and Swift. His elegies, odes, &c., written in his capacity of Poet Laureate, are better than the run of such productions, and neither add to nor detract much from his fame. Altogether, looking at his poems in the light of effusions poured out in the intervals of laborious research and critical discussion, they are worthy of all acceptation; and we feel justified in binding the Poetical Works of Warton in the same volume with those of Goldsmith and Collins. They are certainly three among the truest and most refined of our minor poets.
OCCASIONED BY "ISIS, AN ELEGY."
Quid mihi nescio quam, proprio cum Tybride, Romam
Semper in ore geris? Referunt si vera parentes,
Hanc urbem insano nullus qui marte petivit,
Lætatus violasse redit. Nec numina sedem
Destituunt.
ON closing flowers when genial gales diffuse
The fragrant tribute of refreshing dews;
When chants the milk-maid at her balmy pail,
And weary reapers whistle o'er the vale;
Charm'd by the murmurs of the quivering shade,
O'er Isis' willow-fringed banks I stray'd:
And calmly musing through the twilight way,
In pensive mood I framed the Doric lay.
When lo! from opening clouds a golden gleam.
Pour'd sudden splendours o'er the shadowy stream;
And from the wave arose its guardian queen,
Known by her sweeping stole of glossy green;
While in the coral crown that bound her brow,
Was wove the Delphic laurel's verdant bough.
The triumph of Isis.' For an account of the occasion on which this poem was written, and of the circumstances connected with it, see the memoir prefixed to this edition.
As the smooth surface of the dimply flood
The silver-slipper'd virgin lightly trod;
From her loose hair the dropping dew she press'd,
And thus mine ear in accents mild address'd:
No more, my son, the rural reed employ,
Nor trill the tinkling strain of empty joy;
No more thy love-resounding sonnets suit
To notes of pastoral pipe, or oaten flute.
For hark! high-throned on yon majestic walls,
To the dear Muse afflicted Freedom calls:
When Freedom calls, and Oxford bids thee sing,
Why stays thy hand to strike the sounding string?
While thus, in Freedom's and in Phoebus' spite,
The venal sons of slavish Cam unite;
To shake yon towers when Malice rears her crest,
Shall all my sons in silence idly rest?
Still sing, O Cam, your favourite Freedom's cause ;
Still boast of Freedom, while you break her laws:
To Power your songs of gratulation pay,
To Courts address soft flattery's servile lay.
What though your gentle Mason's plaintive verse
Has hung with sweetest wreaths Musæus' hearse ;1
What though your vaunted Bard's ingenuous woe,
Soft as my stream, in tuneful numbers flow;
Yet strove his Muse, by fame or envy led,
To tear the laurels from a Sister's head?—
Misguided youth! with rude unclassic rage
To blot the beauties of thy whiter page!
A rage that sullies even thy guiltless lays,
And blasts the vernal bloom of half thy bays.
Let Granta2 boast the patrons of her name,
Each splendid fool of fortune and of fame :
1 Museus' hearse:' alluding to Mason's Musæus,' a Monody to the memory of Pope. - Granta:' Cambridge. The Saxon name of the town was Grantan Bridge, or Grantabridge.
Still of preferment let her shine the queen,
Prolific parent of each bowing dean:
Be hers each prelate of the pamper'd cheek,
Each courtly chaplain, sanctified and sleek:
Still let the drones of her exhaustless hive
On rich pluralities supinely thrive :
Still let her senates titled slaves revere,
Nor dare to know the patriot from the peer;
No longer charm'd by Virtue's lofty song,
Once heard sage Milton's manly tones among,
Where Cam, meandering through the matted reeds,
With loitering wave his groves of laurel feeds.
"Tis ours, my son, to deal the sacred bay,
Where honour calls, and justice points the way;
To wear the well-earn'd wreath that merit brings,
And snatch a gift beyond the reach of kings.
Scorning and scorn'd by courts, yon Muse's bower
Still nor enjoys, nor seeks, the smile of Power.
Though wakeful Vengeance watch my crystal spring,
Though Persecution wave her iron wing,
And, o'er yon spiry temples as she flies,
"These destined seats be mine," exulting cries;
Fortune's fair smiles on Isis still attend:
And, as the dews of gracious Heaven descend
Unask'd, unseen, in still but copious showers,
Her stores on me spontaneous Bounty pours.
See, Science walks with recent chaplets crown'd;
With Fancy's strain my fairy shades resound;
My Muse divine still keeps her custom'd state,
The mien erect, and high majestic gait :
Green as of old each olived portal smiles,
And still the Graces build my Grecian piles :
My Gothic spires in ancient glory rise,
And dare with wonted pride to rush into the skies. 80
Even late, when Radcliffe's delegated train1 Auspicious shone in Isis' happy plain;
When yon proud dome, fair Learning's amplest shrine,
Beneath its Attic roofs received the Nine;
Was Rapture mute, or ceased the glad acclaim,
To Radcliffe due, and Isis' honour'd name?
What free-born crowds adorn'd the festive day,
Nor blush'd to wear my tributary bay!
How each brave breast with honest ardours heaved,
When Sheldon's fane 2 the patriot band received;
While, as we loudly hail'd the chosen few,
Rome's awful senate rush'd upon the view!
O may the day in latest annals shine,
That made a Beaufort and a Harley mine:
That bade them leave the loftier scene awhile,
The pomp of guiltless state, the patriot toil,
For bleeding Albion's aid the sage design,
To hold short dalliance with the tuneful Nine.
Then Music left her silver sphere on high,
And bore each strain of triumph from the sky;
Swell'd the loud song, and to my chiefs around
Pour'd the full pæans of mellifluous sound.
My Naiads blithe the dying accents caught,
And listening danced beneath their pearly grot:
In gentler eddies play'd my conscious wave,
And all my reeds their softest whispers gave;
1 'Even late, when Radcliffe's delegated train,' &c. The Radcliffe Library was dedicated on the 13th April 1749, the same year in which this poem was written. The ceremony was attended by Charles Duke of Beaufort, Edward Earl of Oxford, and the other trustees of Dr Radcliffe's will; and a speech upon the occasion was delivered in the Theatre by Dr King, Principal of St Mary Hall, and Public Orator of the University. In order to make some allusions in the poem more intelligible, it is necessary to add, that the 'Sage' complimented in ver. 111, is Dr King; and the Puny Champion,' and the 'Parricide,' of ver. 131 and 136, were designed for another member of the University, with whom Dr King was engaged in a controversy. - 'Sheldon's fane: the Theatre, built by Archbishop Sheldon about 1670.
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