And stamp, with gen'rous deed, its current worth. Here many a merchant turns adventurer, Encourag'd, not disgusted. Interest thus, On sordid minds, with stronger impulse works, Than virtue's heav'nly flame. Yet Providence Converts to gen'ral use man's selfish ends. Hence are the hungry fed, the naked cloth'd, The wintry damps dispell'd, and social mirth Exults, and glows before the blazing hearth.
When likely signs th' adventrous search invite, A cunning artist tries the latent soil: And if his subtle engine, in return, A brittle mass contains of sable hue, Straight he prepares th' obstructing earth to clear, And raise the crumbling rock. A narrow pass Once made, wide, and more wide the gloomy cave Stretches its vaulted isles, by num'rous hands Hourly extended. Some the pick-axe ply, Loos'ning the quarry from its native bed. Some waft it into light. Thus the grim ore, Here useless, like the miser's brighter hoard, Is from its prison brought, and sent abroad, The frozen hours to cheer, to minister To needful sustenance, and polish'd arts. Meanwhile the subterraneous city spreads Its covert streets, and echoes with the noise Of swarthy slaves, and instruments of toil. They, such the force of custom's pow'rful laws! Pursue their sooty labours, destitute
Of the Sun's cheering light, and genial warmth. And oft a chilling damp, or unctuous mist, Loos'd from the crumbly caverns, issues forth, Stopping the springs of life. And oft the flood, Diverted from its course, in torrents pours, Drowning the nether world. To cure these ills Philosophy two curious arts supplies,
To drain th' imprison'd air, and, in its place, More pure convey, or, with impetuous force, To raise the gath'ring torrents from the deep. One from the wind 3 its salutary pow'r Derives, thy charity to sick'ning crowds, From cheerful haunts, and Nature's balmy draughts Confin'd; O friend of man, illustrious Hales! That, stranger still! its influence owes to air 5, By cold and heat alternate now condens'd, Now rarefied. Agent! to vulgar thought How seeming weak, in act how pow'rful seen! So Providence, by instruments despis'd, All human force and policy confounds.
But who that fiercer element can rule? When, in the nitrous cave, the kindling flame, By pitchy vapours fed, from cell to cell, With fury spreads, and the wide fewell'd earth, Around, with greedy joy, receives the blaze. By its own entrails nourish'd, like those mounts Vesuvian, or Etnean, still it wastes, And still new fewel for its rapine finds Exhaustless. Wretched he! who journeying late, O'er the parch'd heath, bewilder'd, seeks his way. Oft will his snorting steed, with terrour struck, His wonted speed refuse, or start aside, With rising smoke, and ruddy flame annoy'd. While, at each step, his trembling rider quakes, Appall'd with thoughts of bog, or cavern'd pit,
Or treacherous earth, subsiding where they tread, Tremendous passage to the realms of death!
Yet want there not ev❜n here some lucid spots The smoky scene to cheer, and, by contrast, More fair. Such Dartmouth's cultivated lawns 7! Himself, distinguish'd more with ornament Of cultur'd manners, and supernal light! Such thine, O Bridgman! Such-but envioustime Forbids the Muse to these fair scenes to rove, Still minding her of her unfinish'd theme, From russet heaths, and smould'ring furnaces, To trace the progress of thy steely arts, Queen of the sounding anvil?! Aston 10 thee, And Edgbaston " with hospitable shade, And rural pomp invest. O! warn thy sons; When for a time their labours they forget, Not to molest these peaceful solitudes. So may the masters of the beauteous scene Protect thy commerce, and their toil reward. Nor does the barren soil conceal alone The sable rock inflammable. Oft-times More pond'rous ore beneath its surface lies, Compact, metallic, but with earthy parts Incrusted. These the smoky kiln consumes, And to the furnace's impetuous rage Consigns the solid ore. In the fierce heat The pure dissolves, the dross remains behind. This push'd aside, the trickling metal flows Through secret valves along the channel'd floor, Where in the mazy moulds of figur'd sand, Anon it hardens. Now the busy forge Reiterates its blows, to form the bar Large, massy, strong. Another art expands, Another yet divides the yielding mass To many a taper length, fit to receive The artist's will, and take its destin'd form.
Soon o'er thy furrow'd pavement, Bremicham! Ride the loose bars obstrep'rous; to the sons Of languid sense, and frame too delicate Harsh noise perchance, but harmony to thine. Instant innumerable hands prepare
To shape, and mould the malleable ore. Their heavy sides th' inflated bellows heave, Tugged by the pulley'd line, and, with their blast Continuous, the sleeping embers rouse, And kindle into life. Straight the rough mass, Plung'd in the blazing hearth, its heat contracts, And glows transparent. Now, Cyclopean chief! Quick on the anvil lay the burning bar, And with thy lusty fellows, on its sides Impress the weighty stroke. See, how they strain The swelling nerve, and lift the sinewy 1 arm In measur'd time; while with their clatt'ring blows, From street to street the propagated sound Increasing echoes, and, on ev'ry side, The tortur'd metal spreads a rad ant show'r.
"T is noise, and hurry all! The thronged street, The close-pil'd warehouse, and the busy shop! With nimble stroke the tinkling hammers move;
7 Sandwel, the seat of the right hon. the earl of Dartmouth.
8 Castle Bromwick, the seat of sir Henry Bridgman, bart.
9 Bremicham, alias Birmingham. 10 The seat of sir Lister Holt, bart. "The seat of sir Henry Gouch, bart.
12 Illi inter sese magnâ vi brachia tollunt
In numerum, versantque tenaci forcipe ferrum.
While slow and weighty the vast sledge descends, In solemn base responsive, or apart, Or socially conjoin'd in tuneful peal. The rough file 13 grates; yet useful is its touch, As sharp corrosives to the schirrhous flesh, 'Or, to the stubborn temper, keen rebuke.
How the coarse metal brightens into fame Shap'd by their plastic hands! what ornament! What various use! See there the glitt'ring knife Of temper'd edge! The scissars' double shaft, Useless apart, in social union join'd, Each aiding each! Emblem how beautiful Of happy nuptial leagues! The button round, Plain, or imbost, or bright with steely rays! Or oblong buckle, on the lacker'd shoe, With polish'd lustre, bending elegant In shapely rim. But who can count the forms That hourly from the glowing embers rise, Or shine attractive through the glitt'ring pane, And emulate their parent fires? what art Can, in the scanty bounds of measur'd verse 14, Display the treasure of a thousand mines To wondrous shapes by stubborn labour wrought? Nor this alone thy praise. Of various graius Thy sons a compound form, and to the fire Commit the precious mixture, if perchance
Before the silver ploughshare's glitt'ring point. Or would your gen'rous horses tread more safe On plated gold? Your wheels, with swifter force On golden axles move? Then grateful own, Britannia's sons! Heav'n's providential love, That gave you real wealth, not wealth in show, Whose price in bare imagination lies, And artificial compact. Thankful ply Your iron arts, and rule the vanquish'd world.
Hail, native ore! without thy pow'rful aid, We still had liv'd in huts, with the green sod And broken branches roof'd. Thine is the plane, The chissel thine; which shape the well-arch'd The graceful portico, and sculptur'd walls. [dome, Would ye your coarse, unsightly mines exchange For Mexiconian hills? to tread on gold,
As vulgar sand? with naked limbs to brave The cold, bleak air? to urge the tedious chase, By painful hunger stung, with artless toil, Through gloomy forests, where the sounding axe, To the Sun's beam, ne'er op'd the cheerful glade, Nor culture's healthful face was ever seen? In squalid huts to lay your weary limbs, Bleeding and faint, and strangers to the bliss Of home-felt ease, which British swains can earn, With a bare spade; but ill alas! could earn,
Some glitt'ring mass may bless their midnight toil, | With spades of gold? Such the poor Indian's lot! Or glossy varnish, or enamel fair
To shame the pride of China, or Japan. Nor wanting is the graver's pointed steel, Nor pencil, wand'ring o'er the polish'd plate, With glowing tints, and mimic life endu'd. Thine too, of graceful form, the letter'd type! The friend of learning, and the poet's pride! Without thee what avail his splended aims, And midnight labours? Painful drudgery! And pow'rless effort! But that thought of thee Imprints fresh vigour on his panting breast, As thou ere long shalt on his work impress; And, with immortal fame, his praise repay. Hail, native British ore! of thee possess'd, We envy not Golconda's sparkling mines, Nor thine Potosi! nor thy kindred hills, Teeming with gold. What though in outward form Less fair, not less thy worth. To thee we owe More riches than Peruvian mines can yield, Or Motezuma's crowded magazines, And palaces could boast, though roof'd with gold. Splendid barbarity! and rich distress! Without the social arts, and useful toil; That polish life, and civilize the mind! These are thy gifts, which gold can never buy. Thine is the praise to cultivate the soil; To bare its inmost strata to the Sun; To break and meliorate the stiffen'd clay, And, from its close confinement, set at large Its vegetative virtue. Thine it is The with'ring hay, and ripen'd grain to sheer, And waft the joyous harvest round the land. Go now, and see if, to the silver's edge, The reedy stalk will yield its bearded store, In weighty sheafs. Or if the stubborn marle, In sidelong rows, with easy force will rise
13 Tum ferri rigor, et argutæ lamina serræ, Tum variæ venere artes, &c. Virg.
14 Sed neque quàm multæ species, nec nomina quæ sint,
Est numerus: neque enim numero comprêndere refert. Virg.
Who starves midst gold, like misers o'er their bags; Not with like guilt! Hail, native British ore! For thine is trade, that with its various stores Sails round the world, and visits ev'ry clime, And makes the treasures of each clime her own, By gainful commerce of her woolly vests, Wrought by the spiky comb; or steely wares, From the coarse mass, by stubborn toil, refin'd. Such are thy peaceful gifts! And war to thee Its best support, and deadliest horrour owes, The glitt'ring falchion, and the thund'ring tube! At whose tremendous gleam, and volley'd fire, Barbarian kings fly from their useless hoards, And yield them all to thy superior pow'r.
Evening walk along the hill to the N. E. point. Scene from thence. Dasset-hills. Farnborough. Wormleighton. Shuckburg. Leame and Ichene. Places near those two rivers. Bennones, or High Cross. Foss Way. Watling Street. Inland Navigation. Places of note. Return. Panegyric on the country. The scene moralized. Though beautiful, yet transient. Change by approach of winter. Of storms and pestilential seasons. Murrain. Rot amongst the sheep. General thoughts on the vanity and disorders of human life. Battle of Edge-Hill. Reflections. Conclusion.
In purple vestments clad, the temper'd sky Invites us from our hospitable roof, To taste her influence mild; while to the west The jocund Sun his radiant chariot drives,
With rapid course, untir'd. Ye nymphs and swains! Now quit the shade, and, with recruited strength, Along the yet untrodden terrace urge
Your vig'rous steps. With moderated heat, And ray oblique, the Sun shall not o'erpow'r, But kindly aid your yet unfinish'd search.
Not after sable night, in silence hush'd, More welcome is th' approach of op'ning morn, "With song of early birds," than the fresh breeze Of soften'd air succeeding sultry heat, And the wild tumult of the buzzing day.
Nor think, though much is past, that nought re- mains,
Or nought of beauty, or attractive worth, Save what the morning Sun, or noon-tide ray, Hath, with his rising beam, distinctly mark'd, Or more confus'dly, with meridian blaze, Daz'ling display'd imperfect. Downward he Shall other hills illumine opposite, And other vales as beauteous as the past; Suggesting to the Muse new argument, And fresh instruction for her closing lay.
There Dasset's ridgy mountain courts the song. Scarce Malvern boasts his adverse boundary More graceful. Like the tempest-driven wave, Irregularly great, his bare tops brave The winds, and, on his sides, the fat'ning ox Crops the rich verdure. When at Hastings' field, The Norman conqueror a kingdom won In this fair isle, and to another race The Saxon pow'r transferr'd; an alien lord', Companion of his toil! by sov'reign grant, These airy fields obtain'd. Now the tall mount, By claim more just, a nobler master owns; To tyrant force, and slavish laws a foe. But happier lands, near Ouse's reedy shore, (What leisure ardent love of public weal Permits) his care employ; where Nature's charms With learned art combin'd; the richest domes, And fairest lawns, adorn'd with ev ry grace Of beauty, or magnificent design,
By Cobham's eye approv'd, or Grenville plann'd, The villas of imperial Rome outvie;
And form a scene of statelier pomp-a Stowe. Her walls the living boast, these boast the dead, Beneath their roof, in sacred dust entomb'd. Lie light, O earth! on that illustrious dame 2, Who, from her own prolific womb deriv'd, To people thy green orb, successive saw Sev'n times an hundred births. A goodlier train! Than that, with which the Patriarch journey'd erst From Padan-Aram, to the Mamrean plains: Or that more num'rous, which, with large increase, At Joseph's call, in wondrous caravans, Reviving sight! by Heav'n's decree prepar'd, He led to Goshen, Egypt's fruitful soil.
Where the tall pillar lifts its taper head, Her spacious terrace, and surrounding lawns, Deck'd with no sparing cost of planted tufts, Or ornamented building, Farnborough 3 boasts. Hear they her master's call? in sturdy troops, The jocund labourers hie, and, at his nod, A thousand hands or smooth the slanting hill,
2 Dame Hester Temple, of whom this is recorded by Fuller, in his account of Buckinghamshire, and who lies buried, with many of that ancient family, in the parish-church of Burton-Dasset. The seat of William Holbech, esq.
Or scoop new channels for the gath'ring flood, And, in his pleasures, find substantial bliss. Nor shall thy verdant pastures be unsung Wormleighton! erst th abode of Spenser's race, Their title now! What? though in height thou yield'st
To Dasset, not in sweet luxuriance
Of fat'ning herbage, or of rising groves; Beneath whose shade the lusty steers repose Their cumbrous limbs, mix'd with the woolly tribes, And leisurely concoct their grassy meal.
Her wood-capt summit Shuckburgh there displays;
Nor fears neglect, in her own worth secure, And glorying in the name her master bears. Nor will her scenes, with closer eye survey'd, Frustrate the searcher's toil, if steepy hills, By frequent chasms-disjoin'd, and glens profound, And broken precipices, vast and rude, Delight the sense; or Nature's lesser works, Though lesser, not less fair! or native stone, Or fish, the little astroit's doubtful race, For starry rays, and pencil'd shades admir'd! Invite him to these fields, their airy bed.
Where Leame and Ichene own a kindred rise, And haste their neighb'ring currents to unite, New hills arise, new pastures green, and fields With other harvests crown'd; with other charms Villas, and towns, with other arts adorn'd. There Ichington its downward structures views In Ichene's passing wave, which, like the mole, Her subterraneous journey long pursues, Ere to the Sun she gives her lucid stream. Thy villa, Leamington 7! her sister nymph In her fair bosom shows; while, on her banks, As further she her liquid course pursues, Amidst surrounding woods his ancient walls Birb'ry & conceals, and triumphs in the shade:
Not such thy lot, O Bourton! nor from sight Retirest thou, but, with complacent smile, Thy soc al aspect courts the distant eye, And views the distant scene reciprocal, Delighting and delighted. Dusky heaths Succeed, as oft to mirth, the gloomy hour! Leading th' unfinish'd search to thy fam'd seat Bennones ! where two military ways Each other cross, transverse from sea to sea, The Romans hostile paths! There Newnham's' walls With graceful pride ascend, th' inverted pile In her clear stream, with flow'ry margin grac'd, Admiring. Newbold 2 there her modest charms More bashfully unveils, with solemn woods And verdant glades enamour'd. Here her lawns, And rising groves for future shelter form'd, Fair Coton wide displays. There Addison, With mind serene, his moral theme revolv'd, Instruction dress'd in learning's fairest form!
4 An estate, an ancient seat, belonging to the right hon. earl Spenser.
5 The seat of sir Ch. Shuckburgh, bart. The astroits, or star-stones, found here.
7 The seat of sir William Wheeler, bart.
8 The seat of sir Theophilus Biddulph, bart. 9 The seat of John Shuckburgh, esq. 10 A Roman station, where the Foss-way and Watling-street cross each other.
The seat of the right hon. the earl of Denbeigh. 12 The seat of sir Francis Skipwith, bart. 13 The seat of Dixwell Grimes, esq.
The gravest wisdom with the liveliest wit Attemper'd! or, beneath thy roof retir'd, O Bilton 4! much of peace and liberty Sublimely mus'd, on Britain's weal intent, Or in thy shade the coy Pierians woo'd.
Another theme demands the varying song. Lo! where but late the flocks and heifers graz'd, Or yellow harvests wav'd, now, through the vale, Or o'er the plain, or round the slanting hill, A glitt'ring path attracts the gazer's eye, Where sooty barks pursue their liquid track Through lawns, and woods, and villages remote From public haunt, which wonder as they pass. The channel'd road still onward moves, and still With level course the flood attendant leads. Hills, dales oppose in vain. A thousand hands Now through the mountain's side a passage ope, Now with stupendous arches bridge the vale, Now over paths and rivers urge their way Aloft in air. Again the Roman pride Beneath thy spacious camp embattled hill, O Brinklow's! seems with gentler arts return'd. But Britain now no bold invader fears, No foreign aid invokes. Alike in arts Of peace, or war renown'd. Alike in both She rivals ancient Rome's immortal fame.
Still villas fair, and populous towns remainPolesworth and Atherstone, and Eaton's walls To charity devote! and, Tamworth, thine To martial fame! and thine, O Merival 16! Boasting thy beauteous woods, and lofty scite ! And Coleshill 17! long for momentary date Of human life, though for our wishes short, Repose of Digby's honourable age!
The Goths no longer here their empire hold. The shaven terrac'd hill, slope above slope, And high impris'ning walls to Belgia's coast Their native clime retire.-In formal bounds The long canal no more confines the stream Reluctant.-Trees no more their tortur'd limbs Lament-no more the long-neglected fields, Like outlaws banish'd for some vile offence, Are hid from sight-from its proud reservoir Of amplest size, and fair indented form, Along the channel'd lawn the copious stream With winding grace the stately current leads. The channel'd lawn its bounteous stream repays, With ever-verdant banks, and cooling shades, And wand'ring paths, that emulate its course. On ev'ry side spreads wide the beauteous scene, Assemblage fair of plains, and hills, and woods, And plants of od'rous scent-plains, hills, and woods, And od❜rous plants rejoice, and smiling hail The reign of Nature, while attendant Art Submissive waits to cultivate her charms.
Hail happy land! which Nature's partial smile Hath robed profusely gay! whose champaigns wide With plenteous harvests wave; whose pastures swarm With horned tribes, or the sheep's fleecy race; To the thronged shambles yielding wholesome food, And various labour to man's active pow'rs, Not less benign than to the weary rest. Nor destitute thy woodland scenes of wealth, Or sylvan beauty! there the lordly swain His scantier fields improves; o'er his own realms Supreme, at will to sow his well-fenc'd glebe, With grain successive; or with juicy herbs, To swell his milky kine; or feed, at ease,
Nor may the Muse, though on her homeward way His flock in pastures warm. His blazing hearth, Intent, short space refuse his alleys green, And decent walls with due respect to greet On Blythe's fair stream, to whose laborious toil She many a lesson owes, his painful search Enjoying without pain, and, at her ease, With equal love of native soil inspir'd, Singing in measur'd phrase her country's fame.
Nor, Arbury 19! may we thy scenes forget, Haunt of the Naiads, and each woodland nymph! Rejoicing in his care, to whom adorn'd With all the graces which her schools expound, The gowny sons of Isis trust their own And Britain's weal. Nor shall thy splendid walls, O Packington ! allure the Muse in vain.
14 The seat of the right hon. Joseph Addison,
is The canal designed for a communication between the cities of Oxford and Coventry, passes through Brinklow, where is a magnificent aqueduct, consisting of twelve arches, with a high bank of earth at each end, crossing a valley beneath the vestiges of a Roman camp and tumulus, on the Foss-way.
16 The seat of the late Edward Stratford, esq. an extensive view to Charley Forest and Bosworth Field.
17 Seat of the late right hon. lord Digby, commonly called, the good lord Digby.
18 Blythe Hall, the seat of sir William Dugdale, now belonging to Richard Geast, esq.
19 The seat of sir Roger Newdigate, bart. member of parliament for the university of Oxford. 20 The seat of the right hon. the earl of Ayles
With copious fewel heap'd, defies the cold; And housewife-arts or tease the tangled wool, Or, from the distaff's hoard, the ductile thread With sportive hand entice; while to the wheel The sprightly carol join'd, or plaintive song Diffuse, and artless sooths th' untutor'd ear With heartfelt strains, and the slow task beguiles. Nor hath the Sun, with less propitious ray, Shone on the masters of the various scene. Witness the splendid train! illustrious names, That claim precedence on the lists of fame, Nor fear oblivious time! enraptur'd bards! Or learned sages! gracing, with their fame, Their native soil, and my aspiring verse.
Say, now my dear companions! for enough Of leisure to descriptive song is giv'n; Say, shall we, ere we part, with moral eye, The scene review, and the gay prospect close With observation grave, as sober eve Hastes now to wrap in shades the closing day? Perhaps the moral strain delights you not! Perhaps you blame the Muse's quick retreat; Intent to wander still along the plain, In coverts cool, lull'd by the murm'ring stream, Or gentle breeze; while playful fancy skims, With careless wing, the surfaces of things: For deep research too indolent, too light For grave reflection. So the syren queen Tempted Alcides, on a flow'ry plain, With am'rous blandishment, and urg'd to waste His prime inglorious: but fair Virtue's form Rescued the yielding youth, and fir'd his breast To manly toil, and glory's well-earn'd prize. O! in that dang'rous season, O! beware Of vice, envenom'd weed! and plant betimes
The seeds of virtue in th' untainted heart. So on its fruit th' enraptur'd mind shall feast When, to the smiling day, and mirthful scene Night's solemn gloom, cold Winter's chilling blasts, And pain, and sickness, and old age succeed. Nor slight your faithful guide, my gentle train! But, with a curious eye, expatiate free O'er Nature's moral plan. Though dark the theme, Though formidable to the sensual mind; Yet shall the Muse, with no fictitious aid, Inspir'd, still guide you with her friendly voice, And to each seeming ill some greater good Oppose, and calm your lab'ring thoughts to rest. Nature herself bids us be serious,
Bids us be wise; and all her works rebuke The ever-thoughtless, ever-titt'ring tribe. What though her lovely hills and valleys smile To day, in beauty dress'd? yet, ere three moons Renew their orb, and to their wane decline, Ere then the beauteous landscape all will fade; The genial airs retire; and shiv'ring swains Shall, from the whiten'd plain and driving storm, Avert the smarting cheek and humid eye.
So some fair maid to time's devouring rage Her bloom resigns, and, with a faded look, Disgusts her paramour; unless thy charms, O Virtue! with more lasting beauty grace Her lovelier mind, and, through declining age, Fair deeds of piety, and modest worth, Still flourish, and endear her still the more.
Nor always lasts the landscape's gay attire Till surly Winter, with his ruffian blasts, Benumbs her tribes, and dissipates her charms. As sickness oft the virgin's early bloom Spoils immature, preventing hoary age, So blasts and mildews oft invade the fields In all their beauty, and their summer's pride. And oft the sudden show'r or sweeping storm 21 O'erflows the meads, and to the miry glebe Lays close the matted grain; with awful peal, While the loud thunder shakes a guilty world, And forked lightnings cleave the sultry skies.
Nor does the verdant mead or bearded field Alone the rage of angry skies sustain. Oft-times their influence dire the bleating flock Or lowing herd assails, and mocks the force Of costly medicine, or attendant care. Such late the wrathful pestilence, that seiz'd In pastures far retir'd, or guarded stalls, The dew-lap'd race! with plaintive lowings they, And heavy eyes, confess'd the pois nous gale, And drank infection in each breath they drew. Quick through their veins the burning fever ran, And from their nostrils stream'd the putrid rheum Malignant; o'er their limbs faint languors crept, And stupefaction all their senses bound. In vain their master, with officious hand, From the pil'd mow the sweetest lack presents; Or anxiously prepares the tepid draught Balsamic; they the proffer'd dainty loath, And Death exulting claims his destin'd prey
21 Sæpe etiam immensum cælovenit agmena quarum, Et fædam glomerant tempestatem imbribus atris Collectæ ex alto nubes; ruit arduus æther, Et pluviâ ingenti sata læta, boumque labores Diluit.
Nor seldom coughs and watry rheums afflict The woolly tribes 23, and on their vitals seize; Thinning their folds; and, with their mangled limbs, And tatter'd fleeces, the averted eye Disgusting, as the squeamish traveller, With long-suspended breath, hies o'er the plain. And is their lord, proud man! more safe than they? More privileg'd from the destroying breath, That, through the secret shade, in darkness walks, Or smites whole pastures at the noon of day? Ah! no, Death mark'd him from his infant birth; Mark'd for his own, and, with envenom'd touch, His vital blood defil'd. Through all his veins The subtle poison creeps; compounded joins Its kindred mass to his increasing bulk; And, to the rage of angry elements, Betrays his victim, poor, ill-fated man ; Not surer born to live, than born to die! In what a sad variety of forms Clothes he his messengers? Deliriums wild! Inflated dropsy! slow consuming cough! Jaundice, and gout, and stone; convulsive spasms; The shaking head, and the contracted limb; And ling'ring atrophy, and hoary age; And second childhood, slack'ning ev'ry nerve, To joy, to reason, and to duty dead!
I know thee, who thou art, offspring of Sin, And Satan! nurs'd in Hell, and then let loose To range, with thy accursed train, on Earth, When man, apostate man! by Satan's wiles, From life, from bliss, from God, and goodness fell! Who knows thee not? who feels thee not within, Plucking his heart-strings? whom hast thou not
Of parent, wife, or friend, as thou hast me? Glutting the grave with ever-crowding guests, And, with their image, sad'ning ev'ry scene, Less peopled with the living than the dead!
Through populous streets the never-ceasing bell Proclaims, with solemn sound, the parting breath; Nor seldom from the village-tow'r is heard Alike the grassy ridge, The mournful knell.
With osiers bound, and vaulted catacomb, His spoils enclose. Alike the simple stone, And mausoleum proud, his pow'r attest, In wretched doggrel, or elab'rate verse.
Perhaps the peasant's humble obsequies; The flowing sheet, and pall of rusty hue, Alarm you not. You slight the simple throng; And for the nodding plumes, and scutcheon'd hearse, Your tears reserve. Then mark, o'er yonder plain, The grand procession suited to your taste. I mock you not. The sable pursuivants Proclaim th' approaching state.
Lo! now the [pear! The nodding plumes and scutcheon'd hearse ap- And clad in mournful weeds, a long sad train Of slowly-moving pomp, that waits on death! Nay-yet another melancholy train! Another triumph of the ghastly fiend Succeeds! 'T is so. Perhaps ye have not heard The mournful tale. Perhaps no messenger Hath warn'd you to attend the solemn deed! Then from the Muse the piteous story learn;
23 Non tam creber agens hyemem ruit æthere turbo, Quam multæ pecudum pestes, nec singula morbi Corpora corripiunt, sed tota æstiva repentè Spemque, gregemque simul, cunctamque ab Virg. origine gentem.
22 Hinc lætis vituli vulgo moriuntur in herbis, Et dulces animas plena ad præsepia reddunt. VOL. XVII.
« PreviousContinue » |