TO HENRY ST. JOHN, ESQ. 1706'.
O THOU, from India's fruitful soil,
That dost that sovereign herb' prepare,
In whose rich fumes I lose the toil
Of life and every anxious care,
While from the fragrant lighted bowl
I suck new life into my soul.
Thou, only thou! art kind to view
The parching flames that I sustain,
Which with cool draughts thy casks subdue,
And wash away the thirsty pain
With wines, whose strength and taste we prize,
From Latian suns and nearer skies.
O! say, to bless thy pious love
What vows, what offerings shall I bring? Since I can spare, and thou
No other gift, O hear me sing!
In numbers Phoebus does inspire,
Who strings for thee the charming lyre.
Aloft, above the liquid sky
I stretch my wing, and fain would go Where Rome's sweet swan did whilom fly, And soaring left the clouds below;
The Muse invoking to endue
With strength his pinions as he flew.
1 This piece was translated by the Rev. Thomas Newcomb, M. A. of Corpus Christi College, Oxon.
Whether he sings great Beauty's praise,
Love's gentle pain, or tender woes,
Or choose the subject of his lays,
The blushing grape, or blooming rose;
Or near cool Cyrrha's rocky springs
Mæcenas listens while he sings:
Yet he, no nobler draught could boast
His Muse, or music to inspire,
Though all Falernum's purple coast
Flow'd in each glass, to lend him fire;
And on his tables used to smile
The vintage of rich Chio's isle.
Mæcena's deign'd to hear his songs,
His Muse extoll'd, his voice approved;
To thee a fairer fame belongs,
At once more pleasing, more beloved: Oh! teach my heart to bound its flame As I record thy love and fame.
Teach me the passion to restrain,
As I my grateful homage bring; And, last in Phœbus' humble train,
The first and brightest genius sing; The Muses' favourite pleased to live, Paying them back the fame they give.
But oh! as greatly I aspire
To tell my love, to speak thy praise; Boasting no more its sprightly fire,
My bosom heaves, my voice decays; With pain I touch the mournful string, And pant and languish as I sing.
Faint nature now demands that breath,
That feebly strives thy worth to sing;
And would be hush'd and lost in death,
Did not thy care kind succours bring.
Thy pitying casks my soul sustain,
And call new life in every vein.
The sober glass I now behold,
Thy health with fair Francisca's join,
Wishing her cheeks may long unfold
Such beauties, and be ever thine;
No chance the tender joy remove,
While she can please, and thou canst love.
Thus while by you the British arms
Triumphs and distant fame pursue,
The yielding fair resigns her charms,
And gives you leave to conquer too:
Her snowy neck, her breast, her eyes,
And all the nymph, becomes your prize.
What comely grace, what beauty smiles,
Upon her lips what sweetness dwells!
Not Love himself so oft beguiles,
Nor Venus' self so much excels; What different fates our passions share, While you enjoy and I despair!
Maria's3 form as I survey,
Her smiles a thousand wounds impart; Each feature steals my soul away,
Each glance deprives me of my heart; And, chasing thence each other fair,
Leaves her own image only there.
3 Miss Meers, daughter of the Principal of Brazen-Nose College, Oxon.
Although my anxious breast despair,
And, sighing, hopes no kind return;
Yet for the loved relentless fair
By night I wake, by day I burn;
Nor can thy gifts, soft sleep, supply,
Or sooth my pains or close my eye.
AN IMITATION OF MILTON, 1706.
Per ambages, Deorumque ministeria
Præcipitandus est liber spiritus.-PETRONIUS.
OF English tipple, and the potent grain,
Which in the conclave of celestial powers
Bred fell debate, sing, Nymph of heavenly stem!
Who on the hoary top of Penmanmaur
Merlin the seer didst visit, while he sate
With astrolabe prophetic, to foresee
Young actions issuing from the Fates' divan.
Full of thy power, infused by nappy Ale,
Darkling he watch'd the planetary orbs
In their obscure sojourn o'er heaven's high cope,
Nor ceased till the grey dawn with orient dew
Impearl'd his large mustaches, deep ensconced
Beneath his overshadowing orb of hat,
This poem was taken from a folio copy printed in 1706, and communicated from the Lambeth Library by Dr. Ducarel, in which the name of Philips was inserted in the hand-writing of Archbishop Tennison. It was published by T. Bennet, the bookseller for whom Blenheim was printed; a strong presumptive proof of this being by the same author.
And ample fence of elephantine nose;
Scornful of keenest polar winds, or sleet,
Or hail, sent rattling down from wintry Jove,
(Vain efforts on his sevenfold mantle made
Of Caledonian rug, immortal woof!)
Such energy of soul to raise the song,
Deign, Goddess! now to me; nor then withdraw
Thy sure presiding power, but guide my wing,
Which nobly meditates no vulgar flight.
Now from the' ensanguin'd Ister's reeking flood,
Tardy with many a corse of Boïan knight
And Gallic deep ingulf'd, with barbed steeds
Promiscuous, Fame to high Olympus flew,
Shearing the' expanse of heaven with active plume;
Nor swifter from Plinlimmon's steepy top
The staunch gerfalcon through the buxom air
Stoops on the steerage of his wings, to truss
The quarry, hern, or mallard, newly sprung
From creek, whence bright Sabrina bubbling forth,
Runs fast a Naïs through the flowery meads,
To spread round Uriconium's towers her streams.
Her golden trump the goddess sounded thrice,
Whose shrilling clang reach'd heaven's extremest
sphere.
Roused at the blast, the gods with winged speed
To learn the tidings came: on radiant thrones
With fair memorials and impresses quaint
Emblazon'd o'er they sat, devised of old
By Mulciber, nor small his skill I ween.
There she relates what Churchill's arm had wrought
On Blenheim's bloody plain. Up Bacchus rose,
By his plump cheek and barrel-belly known;
The pliant tendrils of a juicy vine
Around his rosy brow in ringlets curl'd;
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