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To the mind's ear, and inward sight,
Nor sleepless mind the death-watch beat ; Their silence speaks, and shade gives light :
In taper find no winding-sheet : While insects from the threshold preach,
Nor in burnt coal a coffin see, And minds dispos'd to musing teach :
Though thrown at others, meant for thee : Proud of strong limbs and painted hues,
Or when the coruscation gleams, They perish by the slightest bruise ;
Find out not first the bloody streams; Or maladies, begun within
Nor in imprest remembrance keep Destroy more slow life's frail machine ;
Grim tap'stry figures wrought in sleep; From maggot-youth through change of state, Nor rise to see in antique hall They feel like us the turns of fate;
The moonlight monsters on the wall, Some born to creep have liv'd to fly,
And shadowy spectres darkly pass And change earth-cells for dwellings high;
Trailing their sables o'er the grass, And some that did their six wings keep,
Let vice and guilt act how they please Before they dy'd been forc'd to creep;
In souls, their conquer'd provinces; They politics like ours profess,
By Heaven's just charter it appears, The greater prey upon the less :
Virtue's exempt from quartering fears, Some 'strain on foot huge loads to bring ;
Shall then arm'd fancies fiercely drest, Soine toil incessant on the wing,
Live at discretion in your breast ? And in their different ways explore
Be wise, and panic fright disdain, Wise sense of want by future store;
As notions, meteors of the brain ; Nor from their rigorous schemes desist
And sights perform'd, illusive scene! Till death, and then are never miss'd.
By magic lanthorn of the spleen. Some frolic, toil, marry, increase,
Come here, from baleful cares releas'd, Are sick and well, have war and peace,
With Virtue's ticket, to a feast, And, broke with age, in half a day
Where decent Mirth and Wisdom join'd Yield to successors, and away.
In stewardship, regale the mind. Let not prophane this sacred place,
Call back the Cupids to your eyes, Hypocrisy with Janus' face;
I see the godlings with surprise. Or Pomp, mixt state of pride and care ;
Not knowing home in such a plight, Court Kindness, Falsehood's polish'd ware ; Fly to and fro, afraid to light. Scandal disguis'd in Friendship's veil,
Far from my theme, from method far, That tells, unask'd, th' injurious tale ;
Convey'd in Venus' Aying car, Or art politic, which allows
I go compell’d by feather'd steeds, The jesuit-remedy for vows;
That scorn the rein, when Delia leads. Or priest, perfuming crowned head,
No daub of elegiac strain 'Till in a swoon Truth lies for dead
These holy wars shall ever stain ; Or tawdry critic, who perceives
As spiders Irish wainscot flee, No grace, which plain proportion gives,
Falsehood with them shall disagree ; And more than lineaments divine
This floor let not the vulgar tread, Admires the gilding of the shrine;
Who worship only what they dread : Or that self-haunting spectre Spleen,
Nor bigots who but one way see In thickest fog the clearest seen ;
Through blinkers of authority. Or Prophecy, which dreams a lie,
Nor they who its four saints defame That fools believe and knaves apply;
By making virtue but a name; Or frolic Mirth, prophanely loud,
Nor abstract wit, (painful regale And happy only in a crowd;
To hunt the pig with slippery tail !) Or Melancholy's pensive gloom,
Artists, who richly chase their thought, Prory in Contemplation's room.
Gaudy without, but hollow wrought; O Delia ! when I touch this string,
And beat too thin, and tool'd too much To thee my Muse directs her wing.
To bear the proof and standard touch: Unspotted fair! with downcast look
Nor fops to guard this sylvan ark, Mind not so much the murm'ring brook ;
With necklace bells in treble bark : Nor fixt in thought, with footsteps slow
Nor cynics growl and fiercely paw, Through cypress alleys cherish woe:
The mastiffs of the moral law. I see the soul in pensive fit,
Come, nymph, with rural honours drest, And moping like sick linnet sit.
Virtue's exterior form confest, With dewy eye, and moulting wing,
With charms untarnish'd, innocence Unperch'd, averse to fly or sing ;
Display, and Eden shall commence; I see the favourite curls begin
When thus you come in sober fit, (Disus'd to toilet discipline)
And wisdom is preferr'd to wit; To quit their post, lose their smart air,
And looks diviner graces tell, And grow again like common hair ;
Which don't with giggling muscles dwell; And tears, which frequent kerchiefs dry,
And beauty like the ray-clipt Sun, Raise a red circle round the eye;
With bolder eye we look upon; And by this bur about the Moon,
Learning shall with obsequious mien Conjecture more ill weather soon.
Tell all the wonders she has seen; Love not so much the doleful knell :
Reason her logic armour quit, And news the boding night-birds tell;
And proof to mild persuasion sit ; Nor watch the wainscot's hollow blow;
Religion with free thought dispense, And hens portentous when they crow;
And cease crusading against sense ;
THE SPARROW AND DIAMOND.
I LATELY saw, what now I sing,
Fair Lucia's hand display'd; This finger grac'd a diamond ring,
On that a sparrow play'd.
The feather'd play-thing she caress’d,
She stroak'd its head and wings; And while it nestled on her breast,
She lisp'd the dearest things.
With chisel'd bill a spark ill-set
He loosen'd from the rest,
The easier to digest.
Her diamond to descry : 'Twas gone ! she sicken'd at the sight,
Moaning her bird would die.
The tongue-ty'd knocker none might use,
The curtains none undraw,
The street was laid with straw.
Philosophy and she embrace,
The Oak, while you his umbrage deck,
O kindly view our letter'd strife,
What virtue is we judge by you;
Father! forgive, thus far I stray,
The doctor us’d his oily art
Of strong emetic kind, Th' apothecary play'd his part,
And engineer'd behind.
When physic ceas'd to spend its store,
To bring away the stone, Dicky, like people given o'er,
Picks up, when let alone,
His eyes dispell’d their sickly dews,
He peck'd behind his wing; Lucia recovering at the news,
Relapses for the ring.
Meanwhile within her beauteous breast
Two different passions strove; When av'rice ended the contest,
And triumph'd over love.
Poor little, pretty, fluttering thing,
Thy pains the sex display, Who, only to repair a ring,
Could take thy life away.
Monster of foulest mien :
Could but its form be seen.
It made a virgin put on guile,
Truth's image break her word, A Lucia's face forbear to smile,
A Venus kill her bird.
Tuomas TICXELL, a poet of considerable ele- Gentleman at Avignon." Both these are selected gance, born at Bridekirk, near Carlisle, in 1686, for the purpose of the present volume. He was was the son of a clergyman in the county of Cum- about this time taken to Ireland, by Addison, who berland. He was entered of Queen's College, went over as secretary to Lord Sunderland. When Oxford, in 1701, and having taken the degree of Pope published the first volume of his translation of M. A. in 1708, was elected fellow of his college, the Iliad, Tickell gave a translation of the first first obtaining from the crown a dispensation from book of that poem, which was patronized by the statute requiring him to be in orders. He then Addison, and occasioned a breach between those came to the metropolis, where he made himself eminent men. Tickell's composition, however, known to several persons distinguished in letters. will bear no poetical comparison with that of Pope, When the negotiations were carrying on which and accordingly he did not proceed with the task. brought on the peace of Utrecht, he published a On the death of Addison, he was entrusted with poem entitled “The Prospect of Peace," which the charge of publishing his works, a distinction ran through six editions. Addison, with whom he which he repaid by prefixing a life of that celebrated had ingratiated himself by an elegant poem on his man, with an elegy on his death, of which Dr. Johnopera of Rosannond, speaks highly of “ The Pro son says, “ That a more sublime or elegant funeral spect of Peace,” in a paper of the Spectator, in which poem is not to be found in the whole compass of he expresses himself as particularly pleased to find | English literature." Another piece, which might that the author had not amused himself with fables be justly placed at the head of sober lyrics, is his out of the Pagan theology. This commendation “ Ode to the Earl of Sunderland," on his instalTiekell amply repaid by bis lines on Addison's lation as a knight of the Garter ; which keeping Cato, which are superior to all others on that sub within the limits of truth, consigns a favourite name ject, with the exception of Pope's Prologue. to its real honours.
Tickell, being attached to the succession of the Tickell is represented as a man of pleasing manHouse of Hanover, presented George I. with a poein ners, fond of society, very agreeable in conversation, entitled “ The Royal Progress ;" and more effec- and upright and honourable in his conduct. He tually served the cause by two pieces, one called was married, and left a family. His death took “ An Imitation of the Prophecy of Nereus ;" the place at Bath, in 1740, the 54th year of his age. other, " An Epistle from a Lady in England, to al
To-morrow, in the church to wed,
| Oh, gone for ever ; take this long adieu ; Impatient, both prepare !
And sleep in peace, next thy lov'd Montague. But know, fond maid ; and know, false man, To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine, That Lucy will be there!
A frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine ;
Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, “ Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear, And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone. This bridegroom blithe to meet,
If e'er from me thy lov'd memorial part,
May shame afflict this alienated heart;
Of thee forgetful if I form a song,
My grief be doubled from thy image free,
And mirth a torment, unchastis'd by thee.
Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown,
What worthies form the hallow'd mould below; The bridesmen flock'd round Lucy dead, Proud names, who once the reins of empire held; And all the village wept.
In arms who triumph'd; or in arts excell'd; Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,
Chiefs, grac'd with scars, and prodigal of blood; At once his bosom swell:
Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood; The damps of death bedew'd his brow, Just men, by whom impartial laws were given; He shook, he groan'd, he fell.
And saints who taught, and led, the way to heaven;
Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest, From the vain bride, ah, bride no more! Since their foundation, came a nobler guest; The varying crimson fled,
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd
A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.
In what new region, to the just assign'd,
What new employments please th' unbody'd mind? Convey'd by trembling swains,
A winged Virtue, through th' etherial sky, One mould with her, beneath one sod, From world to world unweary'd does he Ay? For ever he remains.
Or curious trace the long laborious maze
Of Heaven's decrees, where wondering angels gaze? Oft at this grave, the constant hind
Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell
How Michael battl'd, and the dragon fell;
In hymns of love, not ill essay'd below?
A task well suited to thy gentle mind?
Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend :
To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend !
Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before,
Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.
That awful form, which, so the Heavens decree, ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON.
Must still be lov'd and still deplor'd by me;
In nightly visions seldom fails to rise,
If business calls, or crowded courts invite,
If in the stage I seek to sooth my care,
I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there ;
His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove;
'Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong, Can I forget the dismal night that gave
Clear'd some great truth, or rais'd some serious song: My soul's best part for ever to the grave!
There patient show'd us the wise course to steer, How silent did his old companions tread,
A candid censor, and a friend severe; By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead, There taught us how to live ; and (oh ! too high Through breathing statues, then unheeded things, The price for knowledge) taught us how to die. Through rows of warriors, and through walks of Thou Hill, whose brow the antique structures kings!
grace, What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire; Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race, The pealing organ, and the pausing choir ; Why, once so lov'd, whene'er thy bower appears, The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate pay'd; . O'er my dim eye-balls glance the sudden tears! And the last words that dust to dust convey'd! How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair, While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, Thy sloping walks, and unpolluted air ! Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend.
How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees,
And oft have sally'd out to pillage
Or, while their neighbours were asleep,
Have carry'd off a lowland sheep. No more the summer in thy glooms allay'd,
“ What boots thy high-born host of beggers, Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade.
Mac-leans, Mac-kenzies, and Mac-gregors, From other hills, however Fortune frown'd; With popish cut-throats, perjur'd ruffians, Some refuge in the Muse's art I found :
And Foster's troop of raggamuffins ? Reluctant now I touch the trembling string,
“ In vain thy lads around thee bandy, Bereft of him, who taught me how to sing ;
Inflam'd with bag-pipe and with brandy. And these sad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn, Doth not bold Sutherland the trusty, Betray that absence they attempt to mourn.
With heart so true, and voice so rusty, 0! must I then (now fresh my bosom bleeds,
(A loyal soul) thy troops affright, And Craggs in death to Addison succeeds)
While hoarsely he demands the fight? The verse, begun to one lost friend, prolong,
Dost thou not generous Ilay dread, And weep a second in th' unfinish'd song!
The bravest hand, the wisest head ? These works divine, which, on his death-bed laid, Undaunted dost thou hear th' alarms To thee, O Craggs, th' expiring sage convey'd, Of hoary Athol sheath'd in arms ? Great, but ill-omen'd, monument of fame,
“ Douglas, who draws his lineage down Nor he surviv'd to give, nor thou to claim.
From thanes and peers of high renown, Swift after him thy social spirit flies,
Fiery, and young, and uncontrollid, And close to his, how soon! thy coffin lies.
With knights, and squires, and barons bold,
Grown swarthy in Iberian wars;
He'll rout thy foot, though ne'er so many,
And horse to boot - if thou hadst any.
“ But see Argyll, with watchful eyes,
Lodg'd in his deep intrenchments lies,
He waits to spring upon his prey;
While, like a herd of timorous deer,
Thy army shakes and pants with fear,
Led by their doughty general's skill,
From frith to frith, from hill to hill.
“ Is thus thy haughty promise paid
That to the Chevalier was made, As Mar his round one morning took,
When thou didst oaths and duty barter, (Whom some call earl, and sume call duke) For dukedom, generalship, and garter ? And his new brethren of the blade,
Three moons thy Jemmy shall command, Shivering with fear and frost, survey'd,
With Highland sceptre in his hand, On Perth's bleak hills he chanc'd to spy
Too good for his pretended birth, An aged wizard six feet high,
... Then down shall fall the king of Perth. With bristled hair and visage blighted,
" 'Tis so decreed: for George shall reign, Wall-ey'd, bare-haunch’d, and second-sighted. And traitors be forsworn in vain. The grisly sage in thought profound
Heaven shall for ever on him smile, Beheld the chief with back so round,
And bless him still with an Argyll. Then roll'd his eye-balls to and fro
While thou, pursued by vengeful foes, O'er his paternal hills of snow,
Condemn’d to barren rocks and snows, And into these tremendous speeches
And hinder'd passing:Inverlocky, Broke forth the prophet without breeches.
Shall burn the clan, and curse poor Jocky.”
FROM A LADY IN ENGLAND TO À GENTLEMAN AT I see them drest in bonnets blue
AVIGNON. (The spoils of thy rebellious crew); I see the target cast away,
To thee, dear rover, and thy vanquish'd friends, And chequer'd plaid become their prey,
The health, she wants, thy gentle Chloe sends. The cheguer'd plaid to make a gown
Though much you suffer, think I suffer more, For many a lass in London town.
Worse than an exile on my native shore. “ In vain thy hungry mountaineers
| Companions in your master's flight you roam, Come forth in all thy warlike geers,
Unenvy'd by your haughty foes at home; The shield, the pistol, durk, and dagger,
For ever near the royal outlaw's side In which they daily wont to swagger,
| You share his fortunes, and his hopes divide,