Look in the glass, survey that cheek- Then turn to me,-turn with obliging eyes, Nor longer Nature's works, in miniature, despise. Young Ammon did the world subdue, Yet had not more external man than I; Ah! charmer, should I conquer you, With him in fame, as well as size, I'll vie. Then, scornful nymph, come forth to yonder ODE XI. ON TAKING A BACHELOR'S In allusion to Horace. Book iii, Ode 20 Exegi monumentum ære perennius, &c. 'Tis done: I tow'r to that degree, And catch such heav'nly fire, My name shall now attend, A nymph and priest ascend4. Ev'n in the schools I now rejoice, Where late I shook with fear, Nor heed the moderator's voice Loud thundering in my ears. Then with Eolian flute I blow A soft Italian lay", Or where Cam's scanty waters flow7, For Horace bids us challenge fame, An Ode on the 26th of January, being the Birth-My head with ample square-cap crown', Day of a Young Lady. ALL hail, and welcome joyous morn, Whether smooth calms thy face adorn, Sweet Nancy's voice shall soothe the sound; Tho' darkness shou'd invest the skies, Let but those lips their sweets disclose, Or on thy bosom let them rove ; His treasure-house there Cupid keeps, And hoards up, in two snowy heaps, His stores of choicest love. This day each warmest wish be paid To thee the Muse's pride, I long to see the blooming maid Chang'd to the blushing bride. So shall thy pleasure and thy praise Increase with the increasing days, And present joys exceed the past; To give and to receive delight, Shall be thy task both day and night, While day and night shall last. And deck with hood my shoulders. CAMBRIDGE. A MORNING PIECE, B.A. Strong Labour got up.-With his pipe in his He stoutly strode over the dale, [mouth, He lent new perfumes to the breath of the south, On his back hung his wallet and flail. Behind him came Health from her cottage of thatch, Where never physician had lifted the latch. First of the village Collin was awake, Last Honesty, full seemly drest Her morning hymn to Heav'n. All nature wakes-the birds unlock their throats, Full glad of the dawn, Sylvia and Sol arise,—and all is day Come, my mates, let us work, And all hands to the fork, While the Sun shines, our hay-cocks to make, So fine is the day, And so fragrant the hay, That the meadow's as blith as the wake. In the middle of the ring, By the rivulet on the rushes, Their scythes upon the adverse bank And court'sy to the courting breeze. Ah! Harriot! sovereign mistress of my heart, On a bank of fragrant thyme, Or where coy Daphne's thickest shade Night with all her negro train, Still holding her fingers seal'd to her lips. You could not see a sight, You could not hear a sound, And horrour deepen'd round. Beneath a myrtle's melancholy shade, And to the answ'ring wood these sounds convey'd: LONG, with undistinguish'd flame, But when you came, you stood confess'd For you eclips'd, supremely fair, In this ber mien, in that her grace, What can those tumid paps excel, Thus is silver Cynthia seen, When to sweet sounds your steps you suit, Heav'ns! how you glide!-her neck-her chestDoes she move, or does she rest? As those roguish eyes advance, Thus the bashful Pleiad cheats Like the ever-toying dove, Grant it with a begging nc, And let each rose that deeks your face ON THE FIFth of DECEMBER, BEING THE BIRTH-DAY OF A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY. ODE XVI. HAIL, eldest of the monthly train, December, in whose iron reign Expires the chequer'd year. Smile gladly on this blest of days. And May be crown'd with flow'rs; Eclips'd and vanquish'd, fade away: Tell August, thou canst let him see A richer, riper fruit than he, A sweeter flow'r than May. ODE FOR MUSIC ON SAINT CECILIA'S DAY. 1 fter Mr. Dryden and Mr. Pope, would be great authors, as He does not pretend to equal the very worst parts of the two celebrated performances already extant on the subject; which acknowledgment alone will, with the good-natured and judicious, acquit him of presumption; because these pieces, however excellent upon the whole, are not without their blemishes. There is in them both an exact unity of design, which though in compositions of another nature a beauty, is an impropriety in the Pindaric, which should consist in the vehemence of sudden and unlook'd for transitions: hence chiefly it derives that enthusiastic fire and wildness, which, greatly distinguish it from other species of poesy. In the first stanza of Dryden' and in the fifth of Pope2, there is an air, which is so far from being adapted to the majesty of an ode, that it would make no considerable figure in a ballad. And lastly, they both conclude with a turn which has something too epigrammatical in it. Bating these trifles, they are incomparably beautiful and great; neither is there to be found two more finish'd pieces of lyric poetry in our language, L'Allegro and Il Penseroso of Milton excepted, which are the finest in any. Dryden's is the more sublime and magnificent; but Pope's is the more elegant and correct; Dryden has the tire and spirit of Pindar, and Pope has the terse 'Happy, happy, happy pair, None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserve the fair. 2 Thus song cou'd prevail A conquest how hard and how glorious! ness and purity of Horace. Dryden's is certainly the more elevated performance of the two, but by no means so much so as people in general will have it. There are few that will allow any sort of comparison to be made between them. This is in some measure owing to that prevailing but absurd custom which has obtained from Horace's3 time even to this day, viz. of preferring authors to the bays by seniority. Had Mr. Pope written first, the mob, that judge by this rule, would have given him the preference; and the rather, because in this piece he does not deserve it. It would not be right to conclude, without taking notice of a fine subject for an ode on St. Cecilia's Day, which was suggested to the author by his friend the learned and ingenious Mr. Comber, late of Jesus College in this university; that is David's playing to king Saul when he was troubled with the evil spirit. He was much pleased with the hint at first, but at length was deterred from improving it by the greatness of the subject, and he thinks not without reason. The chusing too high subjects has been the ruin of many a tolerable genius. There is a good rule which Fresnoy prescribes to the painters; which is likewise applicable to the poets. Supremam in tabulis lucem captare dici Insanus labor artificum; cum attingere tan(lucem; tum Non pigmenta queant: auream sed Vespere actam Post hyemen nimbis transfuso sole caducam; Seu nebulis sultam accipient, tonitruque rubentem. THE ARGUMENT. Stanza I, II. Invocation of men and angels to join in the praise of S. Cecilia. The divine origin of music. Stanza III. Art of music, or it's miraculous power over the brute and inanimate creation exemplified in Waller, and Stanza IV, V, in Arion. Stanza VI. the nature of music, or it's power over the passions. Instances of this in it's exciting pity. Stanza VII. In promoting courage and military virStanza VIII. Excellency of church music. Air to the memory of Mr. Purcell.Praise of the crgan and it's inventress Saint Cecilia. tue. Hither Paradise remove Spirits of Harmony and Love! Thou too, divine Urania, deign t' appear, To the grand argument the numbers suit ; Charm th' enraptur'd souls above. Mix on your ambrosial tongue Weight of sense with sound of song, CHORUS. Disdainful, &c. &c. II. And you, ye sons of Harmony below, How little less than angels, when ye sing! With emulation's kindling warmth shall glow, And from your mellow-modulating throats The tribute of your grateful notes In union of piety shall bring. Shall Echo from her vocal cave Repay each note, the shepherd gave, And shall not we our mistress praise And give her back the borrow'd lays? But farther still our praises we pursue; For ev'n Cecilia, mighty maid, Let the winged numbers climb: Solemn, sacred, and sublime: CHORUS. Higher swell the sound, &c. &c. Music's a celestial art; Cease to wonder at it's pow'r, Tho' lifeless rocks to motion start, Tho' trees dance lightly from the bow'r, In Fenhurst's plains when Waller, sick with love, He lays his careless limbs without reserve, nerve Of his resounding shell. In all the woods, in all the plains And weave their way thro' labyrinths green; And answers from the neighbouring bay. In uncomplaining anguish pines: Neptune in the boisterous seas Spreads the placid bed of peace, Or breathes it's last, Or just does sigh a symphony and cease. IV. Behold Arion on the stern he stands Pall'd in theatrical attire, To the mute strings he moves th' enliv'ning hands, He thus accosts the mistress of the main : Where love, and joy, and Neptune dwell And hesitates into a gem ; By thy kindred wat'ry gods, The lakes, the riv'lets, founts and floods, Great Amphitrite (for thou can'st bind Hence waft ine, fair goddess, oh, waft me away, CHORUS. Great Amphitrite, &c. &c. V. He sung-The winds are charm'd to sleep, The Tritons and the Nereids sigh And all the audience of waters weep. Pleas'd to obey, the beauteous monster flies, And on his scales as the gilt Sun-beams play, Ten thousand variegated dies In copious streams of lustre rise, Rise o'er the level main and signify his wayAnd now the joyous bard, in triumph bore, Rides the voluminous wave, and makes the wish'd for shore. Come, ye festive, social throng Who sweep the lyre, or pour the song, Such as becomes the mouth of joy, With bright expression richly wrought, CHORUS. Come, ye festive, &c. &c. 4 Fabulantur Græci hanc perpetuam Deis virginitatem vobisse: sed cum a Neptuno sollicitaretur ad Atlantem confugisse, ubi a Delphino persuasa Neptuno assensit. Lilius Gyraldus. |