Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, and SmollettThus waked to rage, by Music's dreadful power, He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour.
Had Stella's gentler touches moved the lyre, Soon had the monarch felt a n.o.bler fire: No more delighted with destructive war, Ambitious only now to please the fair; Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms, And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms. 20
PARAPHRASE
OF PROVERBS, CHAP. IV. VERSES 6-11.
"Go to the ant, thou sluggard!"
Turn on the prudent ant thy heedless eyes, Observe her labours, sluggard! and be wise.
No stern command, no monitory voice Prescribes her duties or directs her choice; Yet, timely provident, she hastes away, To s.n.a.t.c.h the blessings of a plenteous day; When fruitful Summer loads the teeming plain, She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain.
How long shall Sloth usurp thy useless hours, Unnerve thy vigour, and unchain thy powers? 10 While artful shades thy downy couch inclose, And soft solicitation courts repose, Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight, Year chases year with unremitted flight; Till Want now following, fraudulent and slow, Shall spring to seize thee like an ambush'd foe.
HORACE,
LIB. IV. ODE VII. TRANSLATED.
The snow, dissolved, no more is seen, The fields and woods, behold! are green.
The changing year renews the plain, The rivers know their banks again; The sprightly Nymph and naked Grace The mazy dance together trace; The changing year's successive plan Proclaims mortality to man.
Rough Winter's blasts to Spring give way, Spring yields to Summer's sovereign ray; 10 Then Summer sinks in Autumn's reign, And Winter chills the world again: Her losses soon the moon supplies, But wretched man, when once he lies Where Priam and his sons are laid, Is nought but ashes, and a shade.
Who knows if Jove, who counts our score, Will toss us in a morning more?
What with your friend you n.o.bly share, At least you rescue from your heir. 20 Not you, Torquatus, boast of Rome, When Minos once has fix'd your doom, Or eloquence, or splendid birth, Or virtue, shall restore to earth.
Hippolytus, unjustly slain, Diana calls to life in vain; Nor can the might of Theseus rend The chains of h.e.l.l that hold his friend.
ON SEEING A BUST OF MRS MONTAGUE.
Had this fair figure which this frame displays, Adorn'd in Roman time the brightest days, In every dome, in every sacred place, Her statue would have breathed an added grace, And on its basis would have been enroll'd, 'This is Minerva, cast in Virtue's mould.'
ANACREON, ODE NINTH.
Lovely courier of the sky!
Whence and whither dost thou fly?
Scattering, as thy pinions play, Liquid fragrance all the way; Is it business? is it love?
Tell me, tell me, gentle dove!
Soft Anacreon's vows I bear, Vows to Myrtale the fair; Graced with all that charms the heart, Blushing nature, smiling art. 10 Venus, courted by an ode, On the bard her dove bestow'd: Vested with a master's right, Now Anacreon rules my flight; His the letters that you see, Weighty charge, consign'd to me: Think not yet my service hard, Joyless task without reward; Smiling at my master's gates, Freedom my return awaits; 20 But the liberal grant in vain Tempts me to be wild again.
Can a prudent dove decline Blissful bondage such as mine?
Over hills and fields to roam, Fortune's guest without a home; Under leaves to hide one's head, Slightly shelter'd, coa.r.s.ely fed: Now my better lot bestows Sweet repast, and soft repose: 30 Now the generous bowl I sip, As it leaves Anacreon's lip: Void of care and free from dread, From his fingers s.n.a.t.c.h his bread; Then with luscious plenty gay, Round his chamber dance and play; Or from wine as courage springs, O'er his face extend my wings; And when feast and frolic tire, Drop asleep upon his lyre. 40 This is all, be quick and go, More than all thou canst not know; Let me now my pinions ply, I have chatter'd like a pye.
LINES
WRITTEN IN RIDICULE OF CERTAIN POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1777.
Wheresoe'er I turn my view, All is strange, yet nothing new; Endless labour all along, Endless labour to be wrong; Phrase that time has flung away, Uncouth words in disarray, Trick'd in antique ruff and bonnet, Ode, and elegy, and sonnet.
PARODY OF A TRANSLATION
FROM THE MEDEA OF EURIPIDES.
1 Err shall they not, who resolute explore Time's gloomy backward with judicious eyes; And, scanning right the practices of yore, Shall deem our h.o.a.r progenitors unwise.
2 They to the dome where smoke with curling play Announced the dinner to the regions round, Summon'd the singer blithe, and harper gay, And aided wine with dulcet-streaming sound.
3 The better use of notes, or sweet or shrill, By quivering string or modulated wind, Trumpet or lyre--to their harsh bosoms chill, Admission ne'er had sought, or could not find.
4 Oh! send them to the sullen mansions dun, Her baleful eyes where Sorrow rolls around; Where gloom-enamour'd Mischief loves to dwell, And Murder, all blood-bolter'd, schemes the wound.
5 When cates luxuriant pile the s.p.a.cious dish, And purple nectar glads the festive hour; The guest, without a want, without a wish, Can yield no room to music's soothing power.
BURLESQUE
ON THE MODERN VERSIFICATION OF ANCIENT LEGENDARY TALES: AN IMPROMPTU.
The tender infant, meek and mild, Fell down upon the stone; The nurse took up the squealing child, But still the child squeal'd on.
EPITAPH FOR MR HOGARTH.
The hand of him here torpid lies, That drew the essential form of grace; Here closed in death the attentive eyes, That saw the manners in the face.
TRANSLATION
OF THE TWO FIRST STANZAS OF THE SONG 'RIO VERDE, RIO VERDE,' PRINTED IN BISHOP PERCY'S 'RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH POETRY:' AN IMPROMPTU.