314

"See yonder bill, so green, so round,
Its brow with ambient beeches crown'd!
'Twould well become thy gentle care
To raise a dome to Venus there :
Pleas'd would the nymphs thy zeal survey;
And Venus, in their arms, repay.
'Twas such a shade, and such a nook,
In such a vale, near such a brook;
From such a rocky fragment springing;
That fam'd Apollo chose, to sing in.
There let an altar wrought with art
Engage thy tuneful patron's heart.
How charming there to muse and warble
Beneath his bust of breathing marble!
With laurel wreath and mimic lyre,
That crown a poet's vast desire.
Then, near it, scoop the vaulted cell
Where Music's 3 charming maids may dwell;
Prone to indulge thy tender passion,
And make thee many an assignation.
Deep in the grove's obscure retreat
Be plac'd Minerva's sacred seat;
There let her awful turrets rise,
(For Wisdom flies from vulgar eyes:)
There her calm dictates shalt thou hear
Distinctly strike thy listening ear:
And who would shun the pleasing labour,
To have Minerva for his neighbour?"

In short, so charm'd each wild suggestion,
Its truth was little call'd in question:
And Damon dreamt he saw the Fauns,
And Nymphs, distinctly, skim the lawns;
Now trac'd amid the trees, and then
Lost in the circling shades again.
With leer oblique their lover viewing-
And Cupid-panting-and pursuing-
"Fancy, enchanting fair," he cried,
"Be thou my goddess! thou my guide!
For thy bright visions I despise
What foes may think or friends advise.
The feign'd concern, when folks survey
Expense, time, study, cast away;
The real spleen, with which they see:
I please myself, and follow thee."

Thus glow'd his breast by fancy warm'd;
And thus the fairy landscape charm'd.
But most he hop'd his constant care
Might win the favour of the fair;
And, wandering late through yonder glade,
He thus the soft design betray'd:

"Ye doves! for whom I rear'd the grove,
With melting lays salute my love!
My Delia with your notes detain,
Or I have rear'd the grove in vain!
Ye flowers! which early spring supplies,
Display at once your brightest dyes!
That she your opening charms may see:
Or what were else your charms to me?
Kind Zephyr! brush each fragrant flower,
And shed its odours round my bower;
Or ne'er again, O gentle wind!
Shall 1, in thee. refreshment find:
Ye streams, if e'er your banks I lov'd,
If e'er your native sounds improv'd,
May each soft murmur sooth my fair;
Or, oh, 't will deepen my despair!
Be sure, ye willows! you be seen
Array'd in liveliest robes of green;
3 The Muses.

Or I will tear your slighted boughs,
And let them fade around my brows.
And thou, my grot! whose lonely bounds
The melancholy pine surrounds!
May she admire thy peaceful gloom,
Or thou shalt prove her lover's tomb."
And now the lofty domes were rear'd;
Loud laugh'd the 'squires, the rabble star'd.
"See, neighbours, what our Damon's doing!
I think some folks are fond of ruin!

I saw his sheep at random stray-
But he has thrown his crook away-
And builds such huts, as in foul weather

Are fit for sheep nor shepherd neither."
"Whence came the sober swain misled?"
Why, Phoebus put it in his head.
Phoebus befriends him, we are told;
And Phoebus coins bright tons of gold.
'Twere prudent not to be so vain on't,
I think he'll never touch a grain on 't.
And if, from Phoebus, and his Muse,
Mere earthly laziness ensues;
'Tis plain, for aught that I can say,
The Devil inspires, as well as they."
So they while fools of grosser kind,
Less weeting what our bard design'd,
Impute his schemes to real evil;
That in these haunts he met the Devil.

He own'd, though their advice was vain,
It suited wights who trod the plain:
For dulness--though he might abhor it-
In them he made allowance for it:
Nor wonder'd, if, beholding mottos,

And urns, and domes, and cells, and grottos,
Folks, little dreaming of the Muses,
Were plagued to guess their proper uses.

But did the Muses haunt his ceil?

Or in his dome did Venus dwell?
Did Pallas in his counsels share?
The Delian god reward his prayer?
Or did his zeal engage the fair?
When all the structures shone complete;
Not much convenient, wondrous neat ;
Adorn'd with gilding, painting, planting,
And the fair guests alone were wanting;
Ah, ine! ('twas Damon's own confession) ·
Came Poverty, and took possession.

PART THE FOURTH.

Now, of a rose enamour'd, prove
The wild solicitudes of love!
Now, in a lily's cup enshrin'd,
Forgo the commerce of mankind!

As in these toils he wore away
The calm remainder of his day;
Conducting sun, and shade, and shower,
As most might glad the new-born flower,
So Fate ordain'd-before his eye
Starts up the long-sought butterfly !
While, fluttering round, her plumes unfold
Celestial crimson dropt with gold.

Adieu, ye bands of flowerets fair!
The living beauty claims his care,
For this he strips-nor bolt, nor chain,
Could Damon's warm pursuit restrain.

See him o'er bill, morass, or mound,
Where'er the speckled game is found,
Though bent with age, with zeal pursue;
And totter tow'rds the prey in view.

Nor rock, nor stream, his steps retard,
Intent upon the blest reward!
One vassal fly repays the chase!
A wing, a film, reward the race!
Reward him, though Disease attend,
And in a fatal surfeit end.

So fierce Camilla skimm'd the plain.
Smit with the purple's pleasing stain,
She eye'd intent the glittering stranger,
And knew, alas! nor fear, nor danger;
Till deep within her panting heart
Malicious Fate impell'd the dart!

How studious he what favourite food
Regales dame Nature's tiny brood!
What junkets fat the filmy people!
And what liqueurs they choose to tipple!
Behold him, at some crise, prescribe,
And raise with drugs the sickening tribe!
Or haply, when their spirits fau'ter,
Sprinkling my Lord of Cloyne's tar-water.

When Nature's brood of insects dies, See how he pimps for amorous flies ! See him the timely succour lend her, And help the wantons to engender!

Or see him guard their pregnant hour; Exert his soft obstetric power; And, lending each his lenient hand, With new-born grubs enrich the land!

O Wilks 4! what poet's loftiest lays
Can match thy labours, and thy praise?
Immortal sage! by Fate decreed

To guard the moth's illustrious breed;
Till fluttering swarms on swarms arise,
And all our wardrobes teem with flies!

And must we praise this taste for toys?
Admire it then in girls and boys.
Ye youths of fifteen years, or more,
Resign your moths-the season 's o'er.
'Tis time more social joys to prove;
'T were now your nobler task-to love.
Let ****'s eyes more deeply warm;
Nor, slighting Nature's fairest form,
The bias of your souls determine
Towards the mean love of Nature's vermin.
But, ah! how wondrous few have known,

To give each stage of life its own!

• Alluding to moths and butterflies, delineated by Benjamin Wilks. See his very expensive proposals.

'Tis the prætexta's utmost bound,
With radiant purple edg'd around,
To please the child; whose glowing dyes
Too long delight maturer eyes:
And few, but with regret, assume
The plain-wrought labours of the loom,
Ah! let not me by fancy steer,
When life's autumnal clouds appear;
Nor e'en in learning's long delays
Consume my fairest, fruitless days:
Like him, who should in armour spend
The sums that armour should defend.
A while in Pleasure's myrtle bower,
We share her smiles, and bless her power;
But find at last, we vainly strive
To fix the worst coquette alive.

O you! that with assiduous flame
Have long pursued the faithless dame,
Forsake her soft abodes a while,

And dare her frown, and slight her smile:
Nor scorn, whatever wits may say,
The foot-path road, the king's high-way,
No more the scrupulous charmer tease,
But seek the roofs of honest Ease;
The rival fair, no more pursued,
Shall there with forward pace intrude;
Shall there her every art essay,
To win you to her slighted sway;
And grant your scorn a glance more fair
Than e'er she gave your fondest prayer.
But would you happiness pursue?
Partake both ease, and pleasure too?
Would you, through all your days, dispense
The joys of reason, and of sense?
Or give to life the most you can,
Let social virtue shape the plan.
For does not to the virtuous deed
A train of pleasing sweets succeed;
Or, like the sweets of wild desire,
Did social pleasures ever tire?

Yet midst the group be some preferr'd,
Be some abhorr'd-for Damon err'd:
And such there are-of fair address-
As 't were unsocial to caress.

O learn by Reason's equal rule
To shun the praise of knave, or fool!
Then, though you deem it better still
To gain some rustic 'squire's good will;
And souls, however mean or vile,
Like features, brighten by a smile;
Yet Reason holds it for a crime,
The trivial breast should share thy time:
And Virtue, with reluctant eyes,
Beholds this human sacrifice!

Through deep reserve, and air erect,
Mistaken Damon won respect;
But could the specious homage pass,
With any creature, but an ass?
If conscious, they who fear'd the skin,
Would scorn the sluggish brute within.
What awe-struck slaves the towers enclose,
Where Persian monarchs eat and doze!
What prostrate reverence all agree
To pay a prince they never see!
Mere vassals of a royal throne!
The sophi's virtues must he shown
To make the reverence his own.

As for Thalia-wouldst thou make her Thy bride without a portion?-take her,

316

She will with duteous care attend,
And all thy duteous hours befriend;
Will swell thy joys, will share thy pain;
With thee rejoice, with thee complain;
Will smooth thy pillow, pleat thy bowers;
And bind thy aching head with flowers.
But be this previous maxim known,
If thou canst feed on love alone:
If, blest with her, thou canst sustain
Contempt, and poverty, and pain:
If so then rifle all her graces-
And fruitful be your fond embraces!

Too soon, by caitiff-spleen inspir'd,
Sage Damon to his groves retir'd:
The path disclaim'd by sober Reason;
Retirement claims a later season;
Ere active youth and warm desires
Have quite withdrawn their lingering fires.
With the warm bosom ill agree
Or limpid stream or shady tree.
Love lurks within the rosy bower,
And claims the speculative hour;
Ambition finds his calm retreat,
And bids his pulse too fiercely beat.
E'en social Friendship duns his ear,
And cites him to the public sphere.
Does he resist their genuine force?
His temper takes some froward course;
Till Passion, misdirected, sighs
For weeds, or shells, or grubs, or flies!
Far happiest he, whose early days,
Spent in the social paths of praise,
Leave, fairly printed on his mind,
A train of virtuous deeds behind:
From this rich fund, the memory draws
The lasting mead of self-applause.

Such fair ideas lend their aid
To people their sequester'd shade.
Such are the Naiads, Nymphs, and Fauns,
That haunt his floods, or cheer his lawns.
If, where his devious ramble strays,
He Virtue's radiant form surveys;
She seems no longer now to wear
The rigid mien, the frown severe 5;
To show him her remote abode;
To point the rocky arduous road:
But from each flower, his fields allow,
She twines a garland for his brow.

ECONOMY.

A RHAPSODY,

Addressed to Young Poets.

PART THE FIRST.

Whose wily arts, by creeping Time matur'd,
Advance them high on Power's tyrannic throne:
To lord it there in gorgeous uselessness,
And spurn successless Worth that pines below!
See the rich churl, amid the social sons
Of wine and wit, regaling; hark he joins
In the free jest delighted! seems to show
A meliorated heart! he laughs! he sings!
Songs of gay import, madrigals of glee,
And drunken anthems set agape the board.
Like Demea, in the play, benign and mild,
And pouring forth benevolence of soul,
Till Micio wonders: or, in Shakespeare's line,
Obstreperous Silence; drowning Shallow's voice,
And startling Falstaff, and his mad compeers.

He owns 't is prudence, ever and anon,
To smooth his careful brow! to let his purse
Ope to a sixpence's diameter!

He likes our ways; he owns the ways of wit
Are ways of pleasaunce, and deserve regard.
True we are dainty good society,

But what art thou? Alas! consider well,
Thou bane of social pleasure, know thyself.

Thy fell approach, like some invasive damp [caves,
Breath'd through the pores of earth from Stygian
Destroys the lamp of mirth; the lamp which we
Its flamens boast to guard: we know not how,
But at thy sight the fading fiame assumes
A ghastly blue, and in a stench expires. [ensky'd;
True, thou seem'st chang'd; all sainted, all
The trembling tears that charge thy melting eyes.
Say thou art honest, and of gentle kind.
But all is false! an intermitting sigh

Condemns each hour, each moment giv'n to smiles,
And deems those only lost, thou dost not lose.
F'en for a demi-groat, this open'd soul,
This boon companion, this elastic breast
Revibrates quick; and sends the tuneful tongue
To lavish music on the rugged walls

Of some dark dungeon. Hence, thou caitiff, fy!
Touch not my glass, nor drain my sacred bowl,
Monster, ingrate! beneath one common sky [roof
Why shouldst thou breathe? beneath one common
Thou ne'er shalt harbour: nor my little boat
Receive a soul with crimes to press it down.
Go to thy bags, thou recreant! hourly go,
And, gazing there, bid them be wit, be mirth,
Be conversation. Not a face that smiles
Admit thy presence; not a soul that glows
With social purport, bid or ev'n or morn
Invest thee happy! but when life declines,
May thy sure heirs stand tittering round thy bed,
And, ushering in their favourites, burst thy locks,
And fill their lamps with gold; till Want and Care
With joy depart, and cry, "We ask no more."
Ah never never may th' harmonious mind
Endure the worldly! Poets, ever void
Of guile, distrustless, scorn the treasur'd gold,
And spurn the miser, spurn his deity.
Balanc'd with friendship, in the poet's eye
The rival scale of interest kicks the beam,
From his cavern'd store
Than lightning swifter.
The sordid soul, with self applause, remarks
The kind propensity; remarks and smiles,
And hies with impious haste to spread the snare.
Him we deride, and in our comic scenes
Contemn the niggard form Moliere has drawn.
We loathe with justice; but alas the pain
To bow the knee before this calf of gold;
Implore his envious aid, and meet his frown!

But 't is not Gomez, 't is not he whose heart
Is crusted o'er with dross, whose callous mind
Is senseless as his gold, the slighted Muse
Intensely loathes. T is sure no equal task
To pardon him, who lavishes his wealth
On racer, fox-hound, hawk or spaniel, all
But human merit; who with gold essays
All, but the noblest pleasure, to remove
The want of genius, and its smiles enjoy.

But you, ye titled youths! whose nobler zeal
Would burnish o'er your coronets with fame;
Who listen pleas'd when poet tunes his lay;
Permit him not, in distant solitudes,

To pine, to languish out the fleeting hours
Of active youth! then virtue pants for praise.
That season unadorn'd, the careless bard
Quits your worn threshold, and like honest Gay
Contemns the niggard boon ye time so ill.
Your favours then, like trophies given the tomb,
Th' enfranchis'd spirit soaring not perceives,
Or scorns perceiv'd; and execrates the smile
Which bade his vigorous bloom, to treacherous hopes
And servile cares a prey, expire in vain!—
Two lawless powers, engag'd by mutual hate
In endless war, beneath their flags enroll
The vassal world. This Avarice is nam'd,
That Luxury; 't is true their partial friends
Assign them softer names; usurpers both;
That share by dint of arms the legal throne
Of just Economy; yet both betray'd

By fraudful ministers. The niggard chief,
Listening to want, all faithless, and prepar'd
To join each moment in his rival's train,
His conduct models by the needless fears
The slave inspires; while Luxury, a chief
Of amplest faith, to Plenty's rule resigns [sounds
His whole campaign. 'Tis Plenty's flattering
Engross his ear; 'tis Plenty's smiling form
Moves still before his eyes. Discretion strives,
But strives in vain, to banish from the throne
The perjur'd minion. He, secure of trust,
With latent malice to the hostile camp,
Day, night, and hour, his monarch's wealth conveys.
Ye towering minds! ye sublimated souls!
Who, careless of your fortunes, seal and sign,
Set, let, contract, acquit, with easier mien
Than fops take snuff! whose economic care
Your green-silk purse engrosses! easy, pleas'd,
To see gold sparkle through the subtle folds;
Lovely, as when th' Hesperian fruitage smil'd
Amid the verdurous grove! who fondly hope
Spontaneous harvests! harvests all the year!
Who scatter wealth, as though the radiant crop
Glitter'd on every bough; and every bough
Like that the Trojan gather'd, once avuls'd
Were by a splendid successor supplied
Instant, spontaneous ! listen to my lays.
For 't is not fools, whate'er proverbial phrase
Have long decreed, that quit with greatest ease
The treasur'd gold. Of words indeed profuse,
Of gold tenacious, their torpescent soul
Clenches their coin, and what electral fire
Shall solve the frosty gripe, and bid it flow?
'Tis Genius, Fancy, that to wild expense
Of health of treasure! stimulates the soul:
These, with officious care, and fatal art,
Improve the vinous flavour; these the smile
Of Cloe soften; these the glare of dress
Illume; the glittering chariot gild anew,
And add strange wisdom to the furs of power.

Alas! that be, amid the race of men,
That he, who thinks of purest gold with scorn,
Should, with unsated appetite, demand
And vainly court the pleasure it procures !
When fancy's vivid spark impels the soul
To scorn quotidian scenes, to spurn the bliss
Of vulgar minds, what nostrum shall compose
Its fatal tension? in what lonely vale
Of balmy medicine's various field aspires
The blest refrigerant? Vain, ah vain the hope
Of future peace, this orgasm uncontrol'd!
Impatient, hence, of all the frugal mind
Requires; to eat, to drink, to sleep, to fill
A chest with gold, the sprightly breast demands
Incessant rapture; life, a tedious load
Denied its continuity of joy.

But whence obtain? Philosophy requires
No lavish cost; to crown its utmost prayer
Suffice the root-built cell, the simple fleece,
The juicy viand, and the crystal stream.
E'en mild Stupidity rewards her train
With cheap contentment. Taste alone requires
Entire profusion! Days, and nights, and hours,
Thy voice, hydropic Fancy! calls aloud
For costly draughts, inundant bowls of joy,
Rivers of rich regalement ! seas of bliss!
Seas without shore! infinity of sweets!

And yet, unless sage Reason join her hand
In pleasure's purchase, pleasure is unsure:
And yet, unless Economy's consent
Legitimate expense, some graceless mark,
Some symptom ill-conceal'd, shall, soon or late,
Burst like a pimple from the vicious tide
Of acid blood, proclaiming want's disease,
Amidst the bloom of show. The scanty stream
Slow-loitering in its channel, seems to vie
With Vaga's depth; but should the sedgy power,
Vain-glorious, empty his penurious urn

O'er the rough rock, how must his fellow streams

Deride the tinklings of the boastive rill!

I not aspire to mark the dubious path
That leads to wealth, to poets mark'd in vain!
But ere self-flattery sooth the vivid breast
With dreams of fortune ne'er allied to fame,
Reflect how few, who charm'd the listening ear
Of satrap or of king, her smiles enjoy'd!
Consider well, what meagre alms repaid
The great Maconian, sire of tuneful song,
And prototype of all that soar'd sublime,
And left dull cares below; what griefs impell'd
The modest bard of learn'd Eliza's reign
To swell with tears his Mulla's parent stream,
And mourn aloud the pang " to ride, to run,
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone."
Why should I tell of Cowley's pensive Muse
Belov'd in vain? too copious is my theme!
Which of your boasted race might hope reward
Like loyal Butler, when the liberal Charles,
The judge of wit, perus'd the sprightly page,
Triumphant o'er his foes? Believe not Hope,
The poet's parasite; but learn alone
To spare the scanty boon the Fates decree.
Poet and rich! tis solecism extreme!
'Tis heighten'd contradiction! in his frame,
In every nerve and fibre of his soul,
The latent seeds and principles of Want
Has Nature wove; and Fate confirm'd the clue.
Nor yet despair to shun the ruder gripe

Of Penury; with nice precision learn