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218

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

A HYMN TO POVERTY.

O POVERTY! thou source of human art,
Thou great inspirer of the poet's song!
In vain Apollo dictates, and the Nine
Attend in vain, unless thy mighty hand
Direct the tuneful lyre. Without thy aid
The canvass breathes no longer. Music's charms,
Uninfluenc'd by thee, forget to please:

Thou giv'st the organ sound; by thee the flute
Breathes harmony; the tuneful viol owns
Thy pow'rful touch. The warbling voice is thine:
Thou gav'st to Nicolini every grace,
And every charm to Farinelli's song.

By thee the lawyer pleads. The soldier's arm
Is nerv'd by thee. Thy pow'r the gownman feels,
And, urg'd by thee, unfolds Heav'n's mystic truths.
The haughty fair, that swells with proud disdain,
And smiles at inischiefs, which her eyes have made,
Thou humblest to submit and bless mankind.

Hail, pow'r omnipotent! Me uninvok'd
Thou deign'st to visit, far, alas! unfit
To bear thy awful presence. O, retire!
At distance let me view thee; lest, too nigh,
I sink beneath the terrours of thy face!

THE LOVER AND THE FRIEND.

O THOU, for whom my lyre I string,
Of whom I speak, and think, and sing!
Thou constant object of my joys,
Whose sweetness every wish employs!
Thou dearest of thy sex attend,
And hear the lover and the friend.

Fear not the poet's flatt'ring strain;
No idle praise my verse shall stain;
The lowly numbers shall impart
The faithful dictates of my heart,
Nor humble modesty offend,
And part the lover from the friend.

Not distant is the cruel day,

That tears me from my hopes away;
Then frown not, fairest, if I try
To steal the moisture from your eye,
Or force your heart a sigh to send,
To mourn the lover and the friend.

No perfect joy my life e'er knew,
But what arose from love and you;
Nor can I fear another pain
Than your unkindness or disdain :
Then let your looks their pity lend,
To cheer the lover and the friend.

Whole years I strove against the flame,
And suffer'd ills, that want a name;
Yet still the painful secret kept,
And to myself in silence wept;
Till grown unable to contend,

I own'd the lover and the friend.

I saw you still. Your gen'rous heart In all my sorrows bore a part;

Yet while your eyes with pity glow'd,
No words of hope your tongue bestow'd,
But mildly bid me cease to blend
The name of lover with the friend.

Sick with desire, and mad with pain,
I seek for happiness in vain :
Thou lovely maid, to thee I cry,
Heal me with kindness, or I die!
From sad despair my soul defend,
And fix the lover and the friend.

Curs'd be all wealth that can destroy
My utmost hope of earthly joy!
Thy gifts, O Fortune! I resign,
Let her and poverty be mine!
And every year that life shall lend,
Shall bless the lover and the friend.

In vain, alas! in vain I strive
To keep a dying hope alive;
The last sad remedy remains,
'Tis absence that must heal my pains,
Thy image from my bosom rend,
And force the lover from the friend.

Vain thought! though seas between us roll,
Thy love is rooted in my soul;

The vital blood that warms my heart
With thy idea must depart.

And Death's decisive stroke must end
At once the lover and the friend.

SONGS.

SONG I.

THUS I said to my heart, in a pet t' other day,
"I had rather be hang'd than go moping this way;
No throbbings, no wishes your moments employ,
But you sleep in my breast without motion or joy.

"When Chloe perplex'd me 'twas sweeter by half, And at Thais's wiles I could often-times laugh; Your burnings and achings I strove not to cure, whore. Though one was a jilt, and the other a

"When I walk'd up the Mall, or stroll'd through the

street,

Not a petticoat brush'd me, but then you could beat,
Or if bang went the hoop against comer or post,
In the magical round you were sure to be lost.

"But now if a nymph goes as naked as Eve,
Like Adam, unfallen, you never perceive;
Or the seat of delight if the tippet should hide,
You tempt not my fingers to draw it aside.

"Is it caution, or dread, or the frost of old age,
That inclines you with beauty no more to engage?
Tell me quickly the cause, for it makes me quite inad,
In the summer's gay season to see you so sad.”

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"For Chloe I burnt with an innocent flame,
And beat to the music that breath'd out her name;
Three summers flew over the castles I built,
And beheld me a fool, and my goddess a jilt.

"Next Thais, the wanton, my wishes employ'd,
And the kind one repair'd what the cruel destroy'd:
Like Shadrach, I liv'd in a furnace of fire,
But, unlike him, was scorch'd and compell'd to retire.
"Recruited once more, I forgot all my pain,
And was jilted, and burnt, and bedevil'd again;
Not a petticoat fring'd, or the heel of a shoe,
Ever pass'd you by day-light, but at it I flew.

"Thus jilted, and wounded, and burnt to a coal,
For rest I retreated again to be whole;
But your eyes, ever open to lead me astray,
Have beheld a new face, and command me away.
"But remember, in whatever flames I may burn,
Twill be folly to ask for, or wish my return:
Neither Thais, nor Chloe, again shall inflame,
But a nymph more provoking than all you can
name."

This said, with a bound from my bosom he flew ;
O, Phyllis! these eyes saw him posting to you;
Enslav'd by your wit, he grows fond of his chain,
And vows I shall never possess him again.

COLLIN.

219

O'er hill, dale, and valley, my Phebe and I
Together will wander, and love shall be by:
Her Collin shall guard her safe all the long day,
And Phebe at night all his pains shall repay.,

PHEBE.

His kisses shall cheer me, his arm shall sustain;
By moonlight, when shadows glide over the plain,
The dark haunted grove I can trace without fear,
Or sleep in a church-yard, if Collin is near.

BOTH.

'Tis love, like the Sun, &c.

COLLIN.

Ye shepherds that wanton it over the plain,
How fleeting your transports, how lasting your pain!
Inconstancy shun, and reward the kind she,
And learn to be happy of Phebe and me.

PHEBE.

Ye nymphs, who the pleasures of love never try'd,
Attend to my strains, and take me for your guide;
Your hearts keep from pride and inconstancy free,
And learn to be happy of Collin and me.

BOTH.

'Tis love, like the Sun, that gives light to the year,
The sweetest of blessings that life can endear;
Our pleasures it brightens, drives sorrow away,
Gives joy to the night, and enlivens the day.

SONG II.

COLLIN.

Be still, O ye winds, and attentive, ye swains,
'Tis Phebe invites, and replies to my strains;
The Sun never rose on, search all the world through,
A shepherd so blest, or a fair one so true.

PHEBE.

Glide softly, ye streams, O ye nymphs, round me
throng,

'Tis Collin commands, and attends to my song;
Search all the world over, you never can find
A maiden so blest, or a shepherd so kind.

BOTH.

T's love, like the Sun, that gives light to the year,
The sweetest of blessings that life can endear;
Our pleasures it brightens, drives sorrow away,
Gives joy to the night, and enlivens the day.

COLLIN.

With Phebe beside me, the seasons how gay!
When Winter's bleak months seem as pleasant as
May;

The Summer's gay verdure springs still as she treads,
And linnets and nightingales sing through the meads.

PHEBE.

When Collin is absent 'tis Winter all round,
How faint is the sunshine, how barren the ground!
ustead of the linnet and nightingale's song,
hear the hoarse raven croak all the day long.

BOTIL.

To love, like the Sun, &.

SONG III.

As Phillis the gay, at the break of the day,
A clown lay asleep by a river so deep,
Went forth to the meadows a maying,

That round in meanders was straying.

His bosom was bare, and for whiteness so rare,
Her heart it was gone without warning,
With cheeks of such hue, that the rose wet with dew,
Ne'er look'd half so fresh in a morning.

She cull'd the new hay, and down by him she lay,
Her wishes too warm for disguising;
She play'd with his eyes, till he wak'd in surprise,
And blush'd like the Sun at his rising.

She sung him a song, as he lean'd on his prong,
And rested her arm on his shoulder;
She press'd his coy cheek to her bosom so sleek,
And taught his two arms to infold her.

The rustic grown kind, by a kiss told his mind,
And call'd her his dear and his blessing:
Together they stray'd, and sung, frolic'd, and play'd,
And what they did more there's no guessing.

SONG IV.

HE.

LET rakes for pleasure range the town,
Or misers doat on golden guineas,
Let plenty smile, or fortune frown,

The sweets of love are mine and Jenny's.

SHE.

Let wanton maids indulge desire,
How soon the fleeting pleasure gone is!
The joys of virtue never tire,

And such shall still be mine and Johnny's.

BOTH.

Together let us sport and play,

And live in pleasure where no sin is; The priest shall tie the knot to day,

And wedlock's bands make Johnny Jenny's.

HE.

Let roving swains young hearts invade,
The pleasure ends in shame and folly;
So Willy woo'd, and then betray'd
The poor, believing, simple Molly.

SHE.

So Lucy lov'd, and lightly toy'd,
And laugh'd at harmless maids who marry;
But now she finds her shepherd cloy'd,

And chides too late her faithless Harry.

BOTH.

But we 'll together sport and play,

And live in pleasure where no sin is; The priest shall tie the knot to day,

And wedlock's bands make Johnny Jenny's.

HE.

By cooling streams our flocks we 'll feed,
And leave deceit to knaves and ninnies;
Or fondly stray where love shall lead,
And every joy be mine and Jenny's,

SHE.

Let guilt the faithless bosom fright,

The constant heart is always bonny; Content, and peace, and sweet delight, And love shall live with me and Johnny,

BOTH

Together still we 'll sport and play,

And live in pleasure where no sin is : The priest shall tie the knot to day, And wedlock's bands make Johnny Jenny's.

SONG V.

STAND round, my brave boys, with heart and with
And all in full chorus agree;
[voice,
We'll fight for our king, and as loyally sing,
And let the world know we 'll be free,

CHORUS.

The rebels shall fly, as with shouts we draw nigh,
And Echo shall victory ring;

Then safe from alarms, we 'll rest on our arms,
And chorus it, long live the king!

Then commerce once more shall bring wealth to our
And plenty and peace bless the isle; [shore,
The peasant shall quaff off his bowl with a laugh,
And reap the sweet fruits of his toil.
CHORUS. The rebels, &c.

Kind love shall repay the fatigues of the day, And melt us to softer alarms;

Coy Phillis shall burn at her soldier's return, And bless the brave youth in her arms.

CHORUS.

The rebels shall fly, as with shouts we draw nigh, And Echo shall victory ring;

Then safe from alarms, we 'll rest on our arms, And chorus it, long live the king!

SONG VI.

To make the wife kind, and to keep the house still, You must be of her mind, let her say what she will; In all that she does you must give her her way, For tell her she's wrong, and you lead her astray.

CHORUS.

Then, husbands, take care, of suspicion beware,
Your wives may be true, if you fancy they are;
With confidence trust them, and be not such elves,
As to make by your jealousy horns for yourselves.
Abroad all the day if she chooses to roam,
Seem pleas'd with her absence, she'll sigh to come
home;

The man she likes best, and longs most to get at,
Be sure to commend, and she 'll hate him for that.

CHORUS. Then, husbands, &c.

What virtues she has, you may safely oppose, Whatever her follies are, praise her for those; Applaud all her schemes that she lays for a man, For accuse her of vice, and she 'll sin if she can,

CHORUS.

Then, husbands, take care, of suspicion beware, Your wives may be true, if you fancy they are; With confidence trust them, and be not such elves, As to make by your jealousy horns for yourselves.

SONG VII,

DAMON.

HARK, hark, o'er the plains, how the merry bells
Asleep while my charmer is laid!
[ring,
The village is up, and the day on the wing,
And Phillis may yet die a maid.

PHILLIS.

Tis hardly yet day, and I cannot away,

O, Damon, I'm young and afraid; To morrow, my dear, I'll to church without fear, But let me to night lie a maid.

DAMON.

The bridemaids are met, and mamma's on the fret
All, all my coy Phillis upbraid;
Come open the door, and deny me no more,
Nor cry to live longer a maid.

PHILLIS.

Dear shepherd, forbear, and to morrow I swear,
To morrow I'll not be afraid;
I'll open the door, and deny you no more,
Nor cry to live longer a maid.

DAMON.

No, no, Phillis, no, on that bosom of snow
To night shall your shepherd be laid;
By morning my dear shall be eas'd of her fear,
Nor grieve she's no longer a maid.

PHILLIS.

Then open the door, 'twas unbolted before, His bliss silly Damon delay'd;

To church let us go, and if there I say no, O then let me die an old maid.

SONG VIII.

THAT Jenny's my friend, my delight, and my pride,
I always have boasted, and seek not to hide;
I dwell on her praises wherever I go,
They say I'm in love, but I answer no, no.

At ev'ning oft-times with what pleasure I see
A note from her hand, "I'll be with you at tea!"
My heart how it bounds, when I hear her below!
But say not 'tis love, for I answer no, no.

She sings me a song, and I echo each strain,
Again I cry, Jenny! sweet Jenny, again!
I kiss her soft lips, as if there I could grow,
And fear I'm in love, though I answer no, no.

She tells me her faults, as she sits on my knee,
I chide her, and swear she's an angel to me:
My shoulder she taps, and still bids me think so;
Who knows but she loves, though she tells me, no
no?

Yet such is my temper, so dull am I grown,

I ask not her heart, but would conquer my own:
Her bosom's soft peace shall I seek to o'erthrow,
And wish to persuade, while I answer no, no?
From beauty, and wit, and good-humour, ah! why
Should prudence advise, and compel me to fly?
Thy bounties, O Fortune! make haste to bestow,
And let me deserve her, or still I say no.

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All this has been told me by twenty before,
But he that would win me, must flatter me more.

If beauty from virtue receive no supply,
Or prattle from prudence, how wanting am I!
My ease and good-humour short raptures will bring,
And my voice, like the nightingale's, know but a
spring.

For charms such as these then, your praises give o'er,
To love me for life, you must love me for more.

Then talk to me not of a shape or an air,
For Chloe, the wanton, can rival me there:
'Tis virtue alone that makes beauty look gay,
And brightens good-humour, as sunshine the day;
For that if you love me, your flame shall be true,
And I, in my turn, may be taught to love too.

SONG X.

How blest has my time been, what days have I known,

Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jesse my own!
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain,
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain.

Through walks, grown with woodbines, as often we stray,

Around us our boys and girls frolic and play; How pleasing their sport is the wanton ones see, And borrow their looks from my Jesse and me.

In revels all day with the nymphs of the green; To try her sweet temper sometimes am I seen Though painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles, And meets me at night with compliance and smiles.

What though on her cheek the rose loses its hue, Her ease and good-humour bloom all the year through;

Time still as he flies brings increase to her truth, And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.

Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare, And cheat with false vows the too credulous fair, In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam! To hold it for life, you must find it at home.

SONG XI.

HARK! hark! 'tis a voice from the tomb! “Come, Lucy," it cries, "come away! The grave of thy Collin has room,

To rest thee beside his cold clay."
"I come, my dear shepherd, I come;
Ye friends and companions, adieu;
I haste to my Collin's dark home,
To die on his bosom so true."

All mournful the midnight bell rung,
When Lucy, sad Lucy arose;
And forth to the green-turf she sprung,
Where Collin's pale ashes repose.
All wet with the night's chilling dew,
Her bosom embrac'd the cold ground,
While stormy winds over her blew,

And night-ravens croak'd all around.

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No wanton taint her bosom knew,
Her hours in heav'nly vision flew,

Her knees were worn with midnight pray'rs,
And thus she breath'd divinest airs.

AIR.

In hallow'd walks, and awful cells,
Secluded from the light and vain,
The chaste-ey'd maid with virtue dwells,
And solitude, and silence reign.
The wanton's voice is heard not here,
To Heav'n the sacred pile belongs;
Each wall returns the whisper'd pray'r,
And echoes but to holy songs.

RECITATIVE.

Alas, that pamper'd monks should dare

Intrude where sainted vestals are!

Ah, Francis! Francis! well I weet
Those holy looks are all deceit.
With shame the Muse prolongs her talė,
The priest was young, the nun was frail,
Devotion faulter'd on her tongue,
Love tun'd her voice, and thus she sung.

AIR.

"Alas, how deluded was I,

To fancy delights as I did!
With maidens at midnight to sigh,
And love, the sweet passion, forbid!
O, father! my follies forgive,

And still to absolve me be nigh;
Your lessons have taught me to live,
Come teach me, O! teach me to die!"

To her arms in a rapture he sprung, Her bosom, half-naked, met his; Transported in silence she hung, And melted away at each kiss. Ah, father!" expiring she cry'd, "With rapture I yield up my breath!" "Ah, daughter!" he fondly reply'd, "The righteous find comfort in death."

SOLOMON, A SERENATA:

SET TO MUSIC BY DR. BOYCE.

PART I

CHORUS.

BEHOLD, Jerusalem, thy king,
Whose praises all the nations sing!
To Solomon the Lord has giv'n
All arts and wisdom under Heav'n:
For him the tuneful virgin throng
Of Zion's daughters swell the song:
While young and old their voices raise,
And wake the Echoes with his praise.

RECITATIVE.

SHE. From the mountains, lo! he comes, Breathing from his lips perfumes; While zephyrs on his garments play, And sweets through all the air convey.

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