ECCE pharetratos, Mavortia pectora Scotos!
Hostibus ut fortes tela tremenda ferunt !
Nulla sagittiferos gens unquam impune lacesset,
Usque Caledoniis robor ac ardor inest:
Si quis Hamiltonium curvo dum fortis in arcu,
Dum victrix valida missa sagitta manu est,
Viderat insignem fida comitante catervâ,
Nobilis et turmæ, et fortia tela ducis.
Proclamet, dextrâ quantum pro civibus audet
Gentis Hamiltoniæ spesque decusque domus,
Juppiter ipse jubet, nunc cedes, Phæbe, sagittas
Huic, jubet ipsa Venus cedi Cupido tuas
Invictas acies, invictaque pectora cerno
Invictumque suum qualibet ire ducem.
Fata ferunt, nec sunt avibus prædicta sinistris
Dum Scotis arcus, dumque sagitta manet;
Ille Caledoniis arcebit finibus hostem
Et reddet patriæ pristina jura suæ.
Such souls, led on by his conducting hand,
Wou'd unresisted compass sea and land;
Nor Lybia's sands, nor frozen Scythia's snows,
Their arms cou'd baffle, or their march oppose;
If yet we may in fate's decisions trust,
While Scotsmen are to native virtuę just,
He shall his country guard from foreign pow'r,
Assert her freedom, and her rights restore;
Do justice to her long forgotten fame,
And prove the royal source from whence he came.
AU MADAMe la duchesse de LONGUEVILLE.
PLAISE à la duchesse tres bonne!
Aux yeux clairs, et bruns cheveux, Reine de flots de la Garonne, Dame de Loth, et de tous ceux, Qui jamais virent sa personne ! De laisser entrer franchement, Sans peine et sans empeschement, Un homme au lieu de sa demeure ; Qui s'il ne la vit promptement, Enragera dans un heure.
On a pour lui trop de rigueur
Chez vous, et tout haut il proteste Que par un larcin manifeste, On retient son ame et son cœur, En on ne veut point le reste.
L'un est dedans, l'autre dehors,
Et l'un et l'autre est tout en flame, Il est raisonable, madame, Ou que l'on recoive son corps, Ou que l'on luy rend son ame.
Il se voit pris comme un lacet,
Et souffre un estrange supplice; Mais le pauvret est sans malice, Ne refusez pas son placet,
Car sans doute il est de justice.
Il a trop souffert de moitie, Au nom de son ferme amitie,
Consolez son ame abbatuë; Ou dites au moins par pitie A votre Suisse qu'on le tuë.
SEE, Sons of Mars! the warrior Scots appear,
And by their sides their fatal weapons bear;
While the same fires their valiant breasts inflame,
"No pow'r unpunish'd shall provoke the name."
Who doubts of this, has surely never seen
Their mighty chief's inimitable mein,
As with triumphant air he march'd along,
Distinguish'd leader of the chosen throng:
Just to his worth-his very looks declare,
That Hamilton's illustrious hand shall dare
(Whene'er his country shall the service claim)
Deeds yet unknown to envy or to fame!
Now Phoebus yields, so Stative Jove commands,
His monster-killing bow to mortal hands;
And Venus, whom a nearer passion moves,
With her son's arrows arms the youth she loves;
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE COUNTESS OF EGLINTON,
WILL she with condescending goodness deign
To hear her most unhappy bard complain?
Beneath whose empire winding Garnock strays,
Whom every eye admires, and heart obeys!
Amidst the groves that grace her rural seat,
Say, will she grant the muse a kind retreat?
Who, if she fails to gain her wish'd complacence,
Will in a little time lose all her patience.
To tell the truth his case is very hard,
And from a breast like yours deserves regard;
That while his wishes and his heart are there,
His shadow is confin'd to linger here.
What can music not assuage?
Savages forgot their rage,
And submissive at his feet,
Lambs with harmless lions meet;
But not the magic of his lyre
Which could such a change inspire,
Nor all the virtues of his art,
Could ease the tortur'd poet's heart!
Seeking thus in vain relief,
Restless, raging, wild with grief!
Higher pow'rs his suit disdaining,
Down he went to Hell complaining.
There, with all the skill he took
From his mother's sacred book,
A-new he rais'd the solemn sound,
Which wak'd the dismal regions round!
Fix'd, attentive, to the song
The gliding ghosts unnumber'd throng;
Form round his steps an airy choir,
And hang upon the vocal lyre!
The Furies, in their gloomy seat,
Feel their ceaseless rage abate;
And amidst the toils of Hell,
Suspended stand to hear the spell:
The dog, whose yell with horrid fright
Wakes the remotest cells of night,
Now charm'd to silence as he hears,
Wishes his tongues were chang'd to ears!
Old Charon, proud of such a guest,
Taking him in forgets the rest,
Leaves in haste the crowded shores,
And with softly moving oars
Steals along the dusky lake;
Afraid to stir, afraid to speak,
Slow he rows his heavy boat,
Concern'd to lose the weakest note!
Tantalus might have eaten now
At large of the suspended bough;
But he, all thoughts of hunger past,
To feed his hearing starv'd his taste.
Ixion felt no more his wheel,
And Sysiphus for once stood still;
While from Prometheus, endless prey!
The tort'ring vultures turn'd away!
And now at Pluto's awful throne,
Orpheus arriv'd renews his moan;
And increasing with his woe,
More sublime his numbers flow!
Matchless numbers! surely bless'd
Which cou'd touch that iron breast,
That ne'er before had pity felt,
Yet now constrain'd was forc'd to melt;
And yielding to his pow'rful prayer,
Give him back the long-sought fair:
Displeas'd to see a form of day,
So far intrude beneath his sway,
"Cease," the sullen tyrant cry'd,
"Take restor'd your much lov'd bride!
But one restraint a gift must bind,
That never shall be match'd in kind;
Till you reach the bounds of light,
Command your looks-avert your sight:
For if within our awful coast
You once look back-the prize is lost!"
So said the god his eyes withdrew,
And shunn'd a mortal's hated view!
But who to lovers rules can draw?
Love to himself alone is law!
As well he might forbear to give,
Since not to look was not to live:
Fond Orpheus, now his wish bestow'd,
Returns with joy the gloomy road;
And now they left the gloom of night,
Now saw the distant glimpse of light,
When he, no longer able now
To check his sight, or keep his vow,
A backward glance impatient cast,
That look his fondest-but his last!
For now o'er the retreating shade
New-gath'ring clouds of darkness spread,
And now his eyes in vain explore,
The fleeting form he saw before,
Eurydice is now no more!
In vain her name he fondly cries,
Her name the winding vault replies;
And wild he leaves the hated coast,
His pains, his hopes, his treasure lost!
THE moral of th' instructive tale be this,
That all below who seek for certain bliss;
Whether ambition, riches, love, or fame
Give the vain passion its distinguish'd name!
Will equal grief and disappointment find,
And sighing leave the shadowy joy behind:
EPITAPHIUM AMICI OPTIME MERENTIS.
SPE.IMMORTALITATIS.PLENA
HIC.JUXTA.CONDITE. SUNT.RELIQUIE. MORTALES JUVENIS. PRESTANTISSIMI
MALCOLMI. STARK
JOHANNIS.STARK.ARMIGERI.CIVITATIS
HUJUS.MERCATORIS.NEC.NON.NUPER. PRÆTORIS FILII.PRIMOGENITI.ET DIGNISSIMI
CONSUMMATUS.IN.BREVI.EXPLEVIT
TEMPORA. MULTA
INGENII.SUAVITATE.CARUS
MORUM.CANDORE.CARIOR VITAQUE.MIRA.INTEGRITATE.CARISSIMUS
CUM.PARENTIBUS.PIE
CUM.AMICIS. PLACIDE
CUM.CONCIVIBUS. CANDIDE
HEU.QUAM.BREVE.DESIDERATUS
VIXIT
NE.MALITIA.EVI.JAM. DEGENERANTIS
INTELLECTUM.MUTARET
VEL.MOLLITIES. INNOCENTIAM.CORRUMPERET
RAPTUS.EST.IN.COELESTEM.PATRIAM
DIE.MAII.28.A.D.MDCCXXX.
CARISSIMO.ET.AMANTISSIMO.FILIO
MOESTI.PARENTES
HOC,LUCTUS.ET.AMORIS. MONUMENTUM
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I ASK not Phoebus, nor the fabled nine,
To rule the verse, or favour my design:
Of nature's beauties, ravish'd, while I sing;
Aid me, thou matchless pow'r from whom they
spring!
By whose supreme command, profuse they rise,
And in a thousand forms attract our eyes.
Shall Windsor's groves when all their bloom is lost,
In sacred verse unfading verdure boast ?
Shall Cooper's Hill, for ever dear to fame,
Preserve its honours lasting as its name?
And shall oblivion still a scene conceal?
That yields to neither, were it known as well.
But how shall words the varied plan disclose,
Like native life, what faint resemblance glows!
Yet would the Muse, enamour'd of her theme,
As pleas'd she roves on Esca's mazy stream,
The blooming wonders that surround her sing,
And touch once more the long unpractis'd string.
Nor thou illustrious prince! whom Heaven ordains
Lord of these groves, and all the neighb'ring swains
Disdain the verse,-but mild the Muse receive,
And to her rural notes attention give,
That faithful would th' united charms repeat,
Which art and nature lend thy princely seat.
Clasp'd in the arms of two surrounding floods, Compass'd with gentle bills and rising woods, VOL. XIV.
On a green bank the beauteous fabric stands,
And the subjected stream with pride commands.
What tho' no lofty domes project in air,
Or lengthen'd colonnades with pomp appear;
Yet is the whole in simple state design'd,
Plain and majestic, like her mighty mind;
From Gothic ruin, and obscure disgrace,
Who rais'd the slumb'ring genius of the place,
And fix'd the mansion of her future race.
Within collected, all the beauties lie
That art can form, or foreign lands supply:
Here the fair pillar rears its polish'd height,
And with its harmony detains the sight;
There the great works the master pencil drew
Start from the walls, and swell to meet the view!
How just each stroke! how soft each flowing line
In every piece, what strong perfections shine!
I ask, whence light and shade such pow'r derive,
And think the animated figures live!
Thro' ev'ry part, delighted, as I stray,
New beauties catch me, and retard my way.
Now India's rich grotesques, with vivid dyes,
In gay confusion play before my eyes;
And the bright labours of the artful loom,
With painted grace, embellish every room:
While shining mirrors, with a silver gleam,
Reflect the hanging trees and winding stream:
But all so rang'd, so elegantly plac'd,
As shows the cost inferior to the taste.
Proud of the treasures it conceal'd within,
So have I, unadorn'd, a casket seen,
Which, open'd, did surprising wealth unfold,
India's bright gems, and bright Peruvian gold.
Preserv'd by time, here beauty seems to breathe,
And mocks the spite of age, and darts of Death;
Renew'd by Lely's, or by Kneller's hand,
Angelic forms! the British charmers stand!
And such the force of life-resembling art,
Still touch the soul, and triumph o'er the heart. There plac'd on high the royal youth ap
Whose early fate demands the Muse's tears;
Beneath the chief the generous courser rears,
And seems transported with the weight he bears:
How sweet his look, how gallant is his air!
Warlike as Mars, and as Adonis fair!
But doom'd, alas, by destiny, to prove
Ambition's victim, and the slave of love!
With all the gifts adorn'd that man could boast,
His opening virtues just display'd, and lost.
Lost in eternal night his rising fame,
And not a Muse to vindicate his name;
Heroic Monmouth! could my feeble lay
Thy early dawn of excellence display;
With sacred laurels should thy temples shine,
And yield a slender wreath to shelter mine.
So does the Sun his orient beams display,
And gives the promise of a smiling day;
When e'er he reach his fair meridian height,
Opposing clouds conceal him from our sight;
Till lost in darkness to his fall he bends,
And veil'd in night his mournful progress ends.
But see what beauties bless th' adjacent ground,
What wild romantic prospects rise around!
In silence here, unrival'd Nature reigns,
Blooms in the wood, and smiles along the plains;
With all her native charms allures the heart,
And far disdains the mimic force of art.
Here when Aurora with her crimson dyes Proclaims the day, and stains the blushing skies;
While the bright dew bespangles all the plain,
And soft the wakeful lark renews her strain;
On some fair bank, where circling waters play,
The placid scene attentive I survey;
While round my head the balmy zephyrs breathe,
And the clear stream in murmurs flow beneath:
From these my passions gently learn to move,
And leave my soul compos'd to peace and love.
'Tis hot-and Phoebus shines intensely bright;
The dark recesses of the wood invite:
Where ancient oaks their sacred branches spread,
And court the wand'rer to the solemn shade;
With conscious awe I view the gloom around,
And softly tread along the peaceful ground.
There the steep precipice, with craggy brow,
Hangs o'er the deep, and forms an arch below!
Scarce the lost eye perceives the winding flood,
From woods that rises,-and is lost in wood.
With noise unheard it rolls its crystal waves,
And faintly glitters thro the quiv'ring leaves:
While distant hills a varied prospect yield,
And golden harvests float along the field.
The deer now seek the shelter of the grove,
Or thro' the forest unmolested rove:
Some lie repos'd, while others careless stray,
And their young sportive fawns around them play.
How happy they, who here enjoy, at ease,
Nature's first blessings, liberty and peace!
Touch'd with her plaintive woe, to her alone
I listen, and conceive her griefs my own.
From grateful toil repos'd, I gently rest;
And all, unmix'd, the sweets of nature taste:
Sweets that for ever please, but never cloy,
And fill the virtuous mind with constant joy!
Nature, thou pow'r divinely fair and young,
Like the Great Being from whose word thou sprung!
Unwearied still, the blessings I explore,
Which o'er the earth thy hands incessant pour :
And while I view thy works with fond delight,
Wealth and ambition vanish from my sight:
I lothe the giddy pleasures of the town;
I long to taste thy purer joys alone;
I court the gloom, and sigh to be unknown!
With envious eyes behold the shepherd's lot,
In shades who dwells contented, tho' forgot;
And wish the bliss, from noise and business free,
To live in silence and converse with thee!
Beneath the shade of Windsor's lofty grove,
On silver Thames, as Eaton's Muses rove;
Nor do the Nine on Esca's bank disdain
To choose a shelter, and renew their strain:
While these fair scenes to learned ease invite,
And heighten contemplation to delight!
Within this bless'd retreat the British youth
Are taught the love of virtue, and of truth:
And from the patterns of preceding days,
While wretched man, the slave of hopes and fears, Learn by just merit to arrive at praise:
Thro' life sustains a train of endless cares.
Round the fair park the guardian rivers glide',
Now seem to meet, and now their arms divide:
Like some coy nymph the southern Naiade plays,
And thro' the meads and groves forgetful strays;
With wanton grace she bathes her flow'ry shores,
And each new object seems to change her course:
But like some vigorous lover, fond and young,
The northern water swiftly rolls along;
Thro' rocks and woods precipitates his pace,
And seizes unobserv'd the secret place,
From whence he rushes to the nymph's embrace:
Swell'd with his prize he proudly cuts the plain,
And flows exulting to his parent main.
Close by the wid'ning river's verdant side
See lovely Smeaton rise with rural pride2 !
As waits some favourite Grace on beauty's queen,
At distance so the charming bow'r is seen;
Pomona here her endless treasures pours,
And Flora smiles along the flow'ry shores!
Here greatness, wearied with its rooms of state,
Finds oft the secret charms of a retreat;
Within the soft recess reclines its head,
And feels the calmness of the peaceful shade.
The length'ning shadows, and the cooler air,
The soft approach of evening now declare.
In a fair vale, that courts the setting Sun,
I end the pleasures that the day begun,
Before my eye a rising grove appears;
The purling waters sooth my ravish'd ears;
The warbling birds their tuneful songs repeat,
And the sad turtle murmurs for her mate:
The park is surrounded by the two rivers of North and South Esk, which meet at the lower end of it, and fall together into the sea at Musselburgh.
2 A beautiful retreat built at the extremity of the park, below the confluence of the two rivers, and surrounded with fine gardens; to which his Grace has lately added considerable improvements
From ancient heroes catch the noble fire,
Inflam'd, to practise what they first admire;
While healthful exercise the mind unbends,
And health and study serve each other's ends:
I view the happy school,-and thence presage
The fair succession of a rising age.
And now descending from her short-liv'd height,
Th' advent'rous Muse restrains her further flight:
Reluctant, closes the unequal strain,
And leaves with lingering steps the lovely plain;
Pleas'd, that the beauties of a place so fair
Have first, tho' faintly, been describ'd by her.
Her humbler numbers if the critics blame,
Before they censure, let them view her theme:
Where nothing nice or regular has part,
But all is nature, undisguis'd with art.
VERSES WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1718.
Non bene conveniunt, nec in una sede morantur
Majestas et amor-
Or passions widely different and extreme,
Sing, Muse, regardless of the critic's blame,
Love and ambition be the daring theme.
In lights distinct the jarring natures show,
And how united fatally they glow.
How can ambition fire the soften'd soul,
Where love enervating enjoys the whole?
How can the pride of arbitrary sway
Quit all its boasted glories to obey?
Can empire deign to stoop so meanly down,
And beauty trample on the sov'reign crown?
And yet will love no pow'r superior bear, Robb'd of distinction, all are equals there! There all agree to quit the shows of state, Princes are slaves, and kings no longer great;
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