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How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees, And oft have sallied out to pillage
Thy noontide shadow, and thy evening breeze ! The hen-roosts of some peaceful village,
His image thy forsaken bowers restore ;

Or, while their neighbors were asleep,
Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more; Have carried off a lowland sheep.
No more the summer in thy glooms allay'd,

“What boots thy high-born host of beggars, Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade. Mac-leans, Mac-kenzies, and Mac-gregors,

From other hills, however Fortune frown'd; With popish cut-throats, perjur'd ruffians, Some refuge in the Muse's art I found:

And Foster's troop of ragamuffins ? Reluctant now I touch the trembling string,

" In vain thy lads around thee bandy, Bereft of him, who taught me how to sing ;

Inflam'd with bagpipe and with brandy. And these sad accents, murmur'd o'er his urn, Doth not bold Sutherland the trusty, Betray that absence they attempt to mourn.

With heart so true, and voice so rusty, 0! must I then (now fresh my bosom bleeds, (A loyal soul) thy troops affright, And Craggs in death to Addison succeeds)

While hoarsely he demands the fight? The verse, begun to one lost friend, prolong, Dost thou not generous Ilay dread, And weep a second in th' unfinish'd song!

The bravest hand, the wisest head? These works divine, which, on his death-bed laid, Undaunted dost thou hear th' alarms To thee, O Craggs, th' expiring sage convey'd, Of hoary Athol sheath'd in arms? Great, but ill-omen'd, monument of fame,

" Douglas, who draws his lineage down Nor he surviv'd to give, nor thou to claim.

From thanes and peers of high renown, Swift after him thy social spirit flies,

Fiery, and young, and uncontrollid, And close to his, how soon! thy coffin lies.

With knights, and squires, and barons bold,
Blest pair! whose union future bards shall tell (His noble household-band) advances,
In future tongues : each other's boast! farewell, And on the milk-white courser prances.
Farewell! whom join'd in fame, in friendship tried, Thee Forfar to the combat dares,
No chance could sever, nor the grave divide. Grown swarthy in Iberian wars;

And Monroe, kindled into rage,
Sourly defies thee to engage;
He'll rout thy foot, though ne'er so many,

And horse to boot—if thou hadst any.
AN IMITATION

“But see Argyle, with watchful eyes,
OF THE PROPHECY OF NEREUS.

Lodg'd in his deep intrenchments lies,

Couch'd like a lion in thy way,
FROM HORACE. Book II. Ode XV. He waits to spring upon his prey ;

While, like a herd of timorous deer,
Dicam insigne, recens, adbuc
Indictum ore alio : non secus in jugis

Thy army shakes and pants with fear,
Ex somnis stupet Euias

Led by their doughty general's skill,
Hobrum prospiciens, et nive candidam

From frith to frith, from hill to hill.
Thracen, ac pede barbaro

“ Is thus thy haughty promise paid
Lustratam Rhodopen.

Hor.

That to the Chevalier was made, As Mar his round one morning took,

When thou didst oaths and duty barter, (Whom some call earl, and some call duke), For dukedom, generalship, and garter ? And his new brethren of the blade,

Three moons thy Jemmy shall command, Shivering with fear and frost, survey'd,

With Highland sceptre in his hand, On Perth's bleak hills he chanc'd to spy

Too good for his pretended birth, An aged wizard six feet high,

...Then down shall fall the king of Perth. With bristled hair and visage blighted,

“'Tis so decreed: for George shall reign Wall-ey'd, bare-haunch'd, and second-sighted. And traitors be forsworn in vain. The grisly sage in thought profound

Heaven shall for ever on him smile, Beheld the chief with back so round,

And bless him still with an Argyle. Then roll'd his eyeballs to and fro

While thou, pursu'd by vengeful foes, O'er his paternal hills of snow,

Condemn'd to barren rocks and snows, And into these tremendous speeches

And hinderd passing Inverlocky, Broke forth the prophet without breeches.

Shall burn the clan, and curse poor Jocky'
“Into what ills betray'd, by thee,
This ancient kingdom do I see !
Her realms unpeopled and forlorn!
Wae's me! that ever thou wert born!

AN EPISTLE
Proud English loons (our clans o'ercome)
On Scottish pads shall amble home;
I see them drest in bonnets blue
(The spoils of thy rebellious crew);
I see the target cast away,

To thee, dear rover, and thy vanquish'd friends, And chequer'd plaid become their prey, The health, she wants, thy gentle Chloe sends. The chequer'd plaid to make a gown

Though much you suffer, think I suffer more, For many a lass in London town.

Worse than an exile on my native shore. " In vain thy hungry mountaineers

Companions in your master's flight, you roam, Come forth in all thy warlike gears,

Unenvied by your haughty foes at home;
The shield, the pistol, dirk, and dagger, For ever near the royal outlaw's side,
In which they daily wont to swagger,

You share his fortunes, and his hopes divide,

FROM A LADY IN ENGLAND TO A GENTLEMAN

AT AVIGNON.

On glorious schemes and thoughts of empire dwell, Nor fears the hawker in her warbling note
And with imaginary titles swell.

To vend the discontented statesman's thought,
Say, for thou know'st I own his sacred line, Though red with stripes, and recent from the thong
The passive doctrine, and the right divine, Sore smitten for the love of sacred song,
Say, what new succors does the chief prepare ? The tuneful sisters still pursue their trade,
The strength of armies ? or the force of prayer ? Like Philomela darkling in the shade.
Does he from Heaven or Earth his hopes derive ? Poor Trott attends, forgetful of a fare,
From saints departed, or from priests alive? (stand, And hums in concert o'er his easy chair.
Nor saints nôr priests can Brunswick's troops with- Meanwhile, regardless of the royal cause,
And beads drop useless throu the zealot's hand; His sword for James no brother sovereign draws.
Heaven to our vows may future kingdoms owe, The pope himself, surrounded with alarms,
But skill and courage win the crowns below. To France his bulls, to Corfu sends his arms,

Ere to thy cause, and thee, my heart inclin'd, And though he hears his darling son's complaint, Or love to party had seduc'd my mind,

Can hardly spare one tutelary saint, In female joys I took a dull delight,

But lists them all to guard his own abodes, Slept all the morn, and punted half the night: And into ready money coins his gods. But now, with fears and public cares possest, The dauntless Swede, pursued by vengeful foes, The church, the church, for ever breaks my rest. Scarce keeps his own hereditary snows; The postboy on my pillow I explore,

Nor must the friendly roof of kind Lorrain And sift the news of every foreign shore, With feasts regale our garter'd youth again. Studious to find new friends, and new allies; Safe, Bar-le-Duc, within thy silent grove What armies march from Sweden in disguise ; The pheasant now may perch, the hare may rove. How Spain prepares her banners to unfold, The knight, who aims unerring from afar, And Rome deals out her blessings, and her gold: Th' adventurous knight, now quits the sylvan war: Then o'er the map my finger, taught to stray, Thy brinded boars may slumber undismay'd, Cross many a region marks the winding way; Or grunt secure beneath the chestnut shade. From sea to sea, from realm to realm I rove, Inconstant Orleans (still we mourn the day And grow a mere geographer by love:

That trusted Orleans with imperial sway) But still Avignon, and the pleasing coast Far o'er the Alps our helpless monarch sends, That holds thee banish'd, claims my care the most : Far from the call of his desponding friends. Oft on the well-known spot I fix my eyes, Such are the terms, to gain Britannia's grace! And span the distance that between us lies. And such the terrors of the Brunswick race!

Let not our James, though foil'd in arms, despair, Was it for this the Sun's whole lustre failid, Whilst on his side he reckons half the fair : And sudden midnight o'er the Moon prevailid ! In Britain's lovely isle a shining throng

For this did Heaven display to mortal eyes War in his cause, a thousand beauties strong. Aërial knights and combats in the skies ! Th' unthinking victors vainly boast their powers;

Was it for this Northumbrian streams look'd red! Be theirs the musket, while the tongue is ours. And Thames driv'n backward show'd his secret bed We reason with such fluency and fire,

False auguries! th' insulting victor's scorn! The beaux we baffle, and the learned tire, Ev'n our own prodigies against us turn! Against her prelates plead the church's cause, O portents construed on our side in vain! And from our judges vindicate the laws.

Let never Tory trust eclipse again! Then mourn not, hapless prince, thy kingdoms lost; Run clear, ye fountains! be at peace, ye skies ! A crown, though late, thy sacred brows may boast; And, Thames, henceforth to thy green borders rise Heaven seems through us thy empire to decree; To Rome then must the royal wanderer go, Those who win hearts, have given their hearts to thee. And fall a suppliant at the papal toe?

Hast thou not heard that when, profusely gay, His life in sloth inglorious must he wear, Our well-drest rivals grac'd their sovereign's day, One half in luxury, and one in prayer? We stubborn damsels met the public view His mind perhaps at length debauch'd with ease, In lothesome wormwood, and repenting rue ? The proffer'd purple and the hat may please. What Whig but trembled, when our spotless band Shall he, whose ancient patriarchal race In virgin roses whiten'd half the land !

To mighty Nimrod in one line we trace, Who can forget what fears the foe possest, In solemn conclave sit, devoid of thought, When oaken-boughs mark'd every loyal breast ! And poll for points of faith his trusty vote ! Less scar'd than Medway's stream the Norman stood, Be summond to his stall in time of need, When cross the plain he spied a marching wood, And with his casting suffrage fix a creed ! Till, near at hand, a gleam of swords betray'd Shall he in robes on stated days appear. The youth of Kent beneath its wandering shade ? And English heretics curse once a year!

Those who the succors of the fair despise, Garnet and Faux shall he with prayers invoke, May find that we have nails as well as eyes. And beg that Smithfield piles once more may smoke! Thy female bards, O prince by fortune crost, Forbid it, Heaven! my soul, to fury wrought, At least more courage than thy men can boast : Turns almost Hanoverian at the thought. Our sex has dar'd the mug-house chiefs to meet, From James and Rome I feel my heart decline, And purchas'd fame in many a well-fought street. And fear, O Brunswick, 'twill be wholly thine ; From Drury-Lane, the region of renown,

Yet still his share thy rival will contest, The land of love, the Paphos of the town, And still the double claim divides my breast. Fair patriots sallying oft have put to flight The fate of James with pitying eyes I view, With all their poles the guardians of the night, And wish my homage were not Brunswick's due: And bore, with screams of triumph, to their side To James my passion and my weakness guide, The leader's staff in all its painted pride. But reason sways me to the victor's side.

Where Britain's foremost names are found,
In peace belov’d, in war renown'd,
Who made the hostile nations moan,
Or brought a blessing on their own.

Once more a son of Spencer waits. A name familiar to thy gates ; Sprung from the chief whose prowess gain'd The Garter while thy founder reign'd, He offer'd here his dinted shield, The dread of Gauls in Cressi's field, Which, in thy high-arch'd temple rais'd, For four long centuries hath blaz’d.

These seats our sires, a hardy kind, To the fierce sons of war confin'd, The flower of chivalry, who drew With sinew'd arm the stubborn yew : Or with heav'd pole-ax clear'd the field ; Or who, in joust and tourneys skill’d, Before their ladies' eyes renown'd, Threw horse and horseman to the ground.

Though griev'd I speak it, let the truth appear!
You know my language, and my heart, sincere.
In vain did falsehood his fair fame disgrace:
What force had falsehood when he show'd his face !
In vain to war our boastful clans were led
Heaps driv'n on heaps, in the dire shock they fled :
France shuns his wrath, nor raises to our shame
A second Dunkirk in another name:
In Britain's funds their wealth all Europe throws,
And up the Thames the world's abundance flows:
Spite of feign'd fears and artificial cries,
The pious town sees fifty churches rise :
The hero triumphs as his worth is known,
And sits more firmly on his shaken throne.

To my sad thought no beam of hope appears
Through the long prospect of succeeding years.
The son, aspiring to his father's fame,
Shows all his sire: another and the same.
He, blest in lovely Carolina's arms,
To future ages propagates her charms:
With pain and joy at strife, I often trace
The mingled parents in each daughter's face ;
Half sickening at the sight, too well I spy
The father's spirit through the mother's eye:
In vain new thoughts of rage I entertain,
And strive to hate their innocence in vain.

O princess! happy by thy foes confest!
Blest in thy husband! in thy children blest!
As they from thee, from them new beauties born,
While Europe lasts, shall Europe's thrones adorn.
Transplanted to each court, in times to come,
Thy smile celestial and unfading bloom,
Great Austria's sons with softer lines shall grace,
And smooth the frowns of Bourbon's haughty race.
The fair descendants of thy sacred bed,
Wide-branching o'er the western world, shall spread
Like the fam'd Banian tree, whose pliant shoot
To earthward bending of itself takes roos,
Till, like their mother plant, ten thousand stand
In verdant arches on the fertile land ;
Beneath her shade the tawny Indians rove,
Or hunt, at large, through the wide echoing grove.

O thou, to whom these mournful lines I send, My promis'd husband, and my dearest friend; Since Heaven appoints this favor'd race to reign, And blood has drench'd the Scottish fields in vain; Must I be wretched, and thy flight partake? Or wilt not thou, for thy lov'd Chloe's sake, Tir'd out at length, submit to fate's decree? If not to Brunswick, O return to me! Prostrate before the victor's mercy bend : What spares whole thousands, may to thee extend. Should blinded friends thy doubtful conduct blame, Great Brunswick's virtue shall secure thy fame: Say these invite thee to approach his throne, And own the monarch Heaven rouchsafes to own : The world, convinc'd, thy reasons will approve; Say this to them; but swear to me 'twas love.

In after-times, as courts refin'd, Our patriots in the list were join'd. Not only Warwick stain'd with blood, Or Marlborough near the Danube's flood, Have in their crimson crosses glow'd; But, on just lawgivers bestow'd, These emblems Cecil did invest, And gleam'd on wise Godolphin's breast

So Greece, ere arts began to rise, Fix'd huge Orion in the skies, And stern Alcides, fam'd in wars, Bespangled with a thousand stars ; Till letter'd Athens round the Pole Made geniler constellations roll ; In the blue heavens the lyre she strung, And near the Maid the Balance* hung.

Then, Spencer, mount amid the band, Where knights and kings promiscuous stand. What though the hero's flame repress'd Burns calmly in thy generous breast ! Yet who more dauntless to oppose In doubtful days our home-bred foes ! Who rais'd his country's wealth so high, Or view'd with less desiring eye!

The sage, who, large of soul, surveys The globe and all its empires weighs, Watchful the various climes to guide, Which seas,

and tongues, and faiths, divide, A nobler name in Windsor's shrine Shall leave, if right the Muse divine, Than sprung of old, abhorr'd and vain, From ravag'd realms and myriads slain.

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JAMES HAMMOND.

JAMES HAMMOND, a popular elegiac poet, was the Elegies” were published soon after his death by second son of Anthony Hammond, Esq. of Somer- Lord Chesterfield, and have been several times sham place, in Huntingdonshire. He was born in reprinted. It will seem extraordinary that the no1710, and was educated in Westminster school, ble editor has only once mentioned the name of where at an early age he obtained the friendship of Tibullus, and has asserted that Hammond, sincere several persons of distinction, among whom were in his love, as in his friendship, spoke only the Lords Cobham, Chesterfield, and Lyttleton. He genuine sentiments of his heart, when there are so was appointed equerry to Frederic, Prince of Wales, many obvious imitations of the Roman poet, even and upon his interest was brought into parliament so far as the adoption of his names of Neera, Cyn. in 1741, for Truro in Cornwall. This was nearly thia, and Delia. It must, however, be acknow. .he last stage of his life, for he died in June 1742, ledged, that he copies with the hand of a master, at the seat of Lord Cobham, at Stowe. An unfor- and that his imitations are generally managed with tunate passion for a young lady, Miss Dashwood, a grace that almost conceals their character. Still who was cold to his addresses, is thought to have as they are, in fact, poems of this class, however disordered his mind, and perhaps contributed to his skilfully transposed, we shall content ourselves with premature death.

transcribing one which introduces the name of his Hammond was a man of an amiable character, principal patron with peculiarly happy effect. and was much regretted by his friends. His " Love

What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain,
And clasp a fearful mistress to my breast !

Or lull'd to slumber by the beating rain,
ELEGY.

Secure and happy, sink at last to rest!
He imagines himself married to Delia, and that, Or, if the Sun in flaming Leo ride,

content with each other, they are retired into the By shady rivers indolently stray, country.

And with my Delia, walking side by side,

Hear how they murmur, as they glide away! Let others boast their heaps of shining gold, What joy to wind along the cool retreat, And view their fields, with waving plenty crown'd, To stop, and gaze on Delia as I go! Whom neighboring foes in constant terror hold, To mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet, And trumpets break their slumbers, never sound. And teacb my lovely scholar all I know! While calmly poor I trifle life away,

Thus pleas'd at heart, and not with fancy's dieam Enjoy sweet leisure by my cheerful fire,

In silent happiness I rest unknown; No wanton hope my quiet shall betray,

Content with what I am, not what I seem, But, cheaply blest, I'll scorn each vain desire. I live for Delia and myself alone.

Ah, foolish man, who thus of her possest,
Could float and wander with ambition's wind,
And if his outwar) trappings spoke him blest,
Not heed the sickness of his conscious mind!

With timely care I'll gow my little field,
And plant my orchard with its master's hand,
Nor blusb to spread the hay, the hook to wield,
Or range my sheaves along the sunny land.
If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam,
I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb,
Under my arm I'll bring the wanderer home,
And not a little chide its thoughtless dam.

With her I scorn the idle breath of praise,

Nor trust to happiness that's not our own;
The smile of fortune might suspicion raise,
But here I know that I am lov'd alone.

Stanhope, in wisdom as in wit divine,

Delia alone can please, and never tire, May rise, and plead Britannia's glorious cause, Exceed the paint of thought in true delight; With steady rein his eager wit confine,

With her, enjoyment wakens new desire, While manly sense the deep attention draws. And equal rapture glows through every night : Let Stanhope speak his listening country's wrongs, Beauty and worth in her alike contend, My humble voice shall please one partial maid ; To charm the fancy, and to fix the mind; For her alone I pen my tender song,

In her, my wife, my mistress, and my friend, Securely sitting in his friendly shade.

I taste the joys of sense and reason join'd. Stanhope shall come, and grace his rural friend, On her I'll gaze, when others loves are o'er, Delia shall wonder at her noble guest,

And dying press her with my clay-cold handWith blushing awe the riper fruit commend, Thou weep'st already, as I were no more, And for her husband's patron call the best. Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand Hers be the care of all my little train,

Oh, when I die, my latest moments spare, While I with tender indolence am blest,

Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill, The favorite subject of her gentle reign,

Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair. By love alone distinguish'd from the rest. Though I am dead, my soul shall love thee still: For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plow,

Oh, quit the room, oh, quit the deathful bed. In gloomy forests tend my lonely flock;

Or thou wilt die, so tender is thy heart; For her a goat-herd climb the mountain's brow, Oh, leave me, Delia, ere thou see me dead, And sleep extended on the naked rock.

These weeping friends will do thy mournful part: Ah, what avails to press the stately bed,

Let them, extended on the decent bier, And far from her midst tasteless grandeur weep, Convey the corse in melancholy state,

By marble fountains lay the pensive head, Through all the village spread the tender tear, · And, while they murmur, strive in vain to sleep? | While pitying mrids our wondrous loves relate.

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