Or call to my transported eyes
Happier scenes, for lovers made;
Bid the twilight grove arisc,

Lead the rivulet through the glade.
In some flowering arbour laid,
Where opening roses taste the honey'd dew,
And plumy songsters carol through the shade,
Recall my long-lost wishes to my view.

Bid Time's inverted glass return

The scenes of bliss, with hope elate,
And hail the once expected morn,
And burst the iron bands of fate
Graced with all her virgin charms,
Attractive smiles and past, responsive flame,
Restore my ***** to my arms,

Just to her vows and faithful to her fame.

VIII.

Hymen's torch, with hallow'd fire,

Rising beams the auspicious ray.
Wake the dance, the festive lyre
Warbling sweet the nuptial lay;
Gay with beauties, once alluring,
Bid the bright enchantress move,
Eyes that languish, smiles of rapture,
And the rosy blush of love.
On her glowing breast reclining,
Mid that paradise of charms,
Every blooming grace combining,
Yielded to my circling arms,

I clasp the fair, and, kindling at the view,
Press to my heart the dear deceit, and think the
transport true.

IX.

Hence, false, delusive dreams,

Fantastic hopes and mortal passions vain

Ascend, my soul, to nobler themes Of happier import and sublimer strain. Rising from this sphere of night, Pierce yon blue vault, ingemm'd with golden fires: Beyond where Saturn's languid car retires, Or Sirius keen outvies the solar ray, To worlds from every dross terrene refined, Realms of the pure, ethereal mind,

Warm with the radiance of unchanging day: Where cherub-forms and essences of light, With holy song and heavenly rite, From rainbow clouds their strains immortal pour; An earthly guest, in converse high, Explore the wonders of the sky,

From orb to orb with guides celestial soar, And take, through heaven's wide round, the universal tour;

X.

And find that mansion of the blest,

Where, rising ceaseless from this lethal stage, Heaven's favourite sons, from earthly chains released,

In happier Eden pass the eternal age.

The newborn soul beholds the angelic face Of holy sires, that throng the blissful plain, Or meets his consort's loved embrace, Or clasps the son, so lost, so mourn'd in vain. There, charm'd with each endearing wile, Maternal fondness greets her infant's smile; Long-sever'd friends, in transport doubly dear, Unite and join the interminable train

And, hark! a well-known voice I hear I spy my sainted friend! I meet my Howe* again!

XI.

Hail, sacred shade! for not to dust consign'd, Lost in the grave, thine ardent spirit lies,

Nor fail'd that warm benevolence of mind To claim the birthright of its native skies.

What radiant glory and celestial grace, Immortal meed of piety and praise! Come to my visions, friendly shade, 'Gainst all assaults my wayward weakness arm, Raise my low thoughts, my nobler wishes aid, When passions rage, or vain allurements charm; The pomp of learning and the boast of art, The glow, that fires in genius' boundless range, The pride, that wings the keen, satiric dart, And hails the triumph of revenge. Teach me, like thee, to feel and know Our humble station in this vale of wo, Twilight of life, illumed with feeble ray, The infant dawning of eternal day;

With heart expansive, through this scene improve The social soul of harmony and love;

To heavenly hopes alone aspire and prize The virtue, knowledge, bliss, and glory of the skies.

Rev. JOSEPH HOWE, pastor of a church in Boston; some time a fellow-tutor with the author at Yale College. He died in 1775. The conclusion of the ode was varied, by inserting this tribute of affection.

THE COUNTRY CLOWN.*

BRED in distant woods, the clown Brings all his country airs to town; The odd address, with awkward grace, That bows with all-averted face; The half-heard compliments, whose note Is swallow'd in the trembling throat; The stiffen'd gait, the drawling tone, By which his native place is known; The blush, that looks, by vast degrees, Too much like modesty to please; The proud displays of awkward dress, That all the country fop express: The suit right gay, though much belated, Whose fashion's superannuated; The watch, depending far in state, Whose iron chain might form a grate The silver buckle, dread to view, O'ershadowing all the clumsy shoe; The white-gloved hand, that tries to peep From ruffle, full five inches deep; With fifty odd affairs beside, The foppishness of country pride.

Poor Dick! though first thy airs provoke The obstreperous laugh and scornful joke Doom'd all the ridicule to stand,

While each gay dunce shall lend a hand;
Yet let not scorn dismay thy hope
To shine a witling and a fop.
Blest impudence the prize shall gain,
And bid thee sigh no more in vain.
Thy varied dress shall quickly show
At once the spendthrift and the beau.
With pert address and noisy tongue,
That scorns the fear of prating wrong
'Mongst listening coxcombs shalt thou shine,
And every voice shall echo thine.

THE FOP.†

How blest the brainless fop, whose praise
Is doom'd to grace these happy days,
When well-bred vice can genius teach,
And fame is placed in folly's reach;
Impertinence all tastes can hit,
And every rascal is a wit.

The lowest dunce, without despairing,
May learn the true sublime of swearing;
Learn the nice art of jests obscene,
While ladies wonder what they mean;
The heroism of brazen lungs,
The rhetoric of eternal tongues;
While whim usurps the name of spirit,
And impudence takes place of merit,
And every money'd clown and dunce
Commences gentleman at once.

For now, by easy rules of trade,
Mechanic gentlemen are made!
From handicrafts of fashion born;
Those very arts so much their scorn.

* From the "Progress of Dulness."
+ From the same.

To tailors half themselves they owe,
Who make the clothes that make the beau.
Lo! from the seats, where, fops to bless,
Learn'd artists fix the forms of dress,
And sit in consultation grave

On folded skirt, or straiten'd sleeve,
The coxcomb trips with sprightly haste,
In all the flush of modern taste;
Oft turning, if the day be fair,
To view his shadow's graceful air;
Well pleased, with eager eye runs o'er
The laced suit glittering gay before;*
The ruffle, where from open'd vest
The rubied brooch adorns the breast;
The coat, with lengthening waist behind,
Whose short skirts dangle in the wind;
The modish hat, whose breadth contains
The measure of its owner's brains;
The stockings gay, with various hues;
The little toe-cncircling shoes;
The cane, on whose carved top is shown
A head, just emblem of his own;
While, wrapp'd in self, with lofty stride,
His little heart elate with pride,
He struts in all the joys of show
That tailors give, or beaux can know.

And who for beauty need repine,
That's sold at every barber's sign;
Nor lies in features or complexion,
But curls disposed in meet direction,
With strong pomatum's grateful odour,
And quantum sufficit of powder?
These charms can shed a sprightly grace
O'er the dull eye and clumsy face;
While the trim dancing-master's art
Shall gestures, trips, and bows impart,
Give the gay piece its final touches,
And lend those airs, would lure a duchess.
Thus shines the form, nor aught behind,
The gifts that deck the coxcomb's mind;
Then hear the daring muse disclose
The sense and piety of beaux.

То grace his speech, let France bestow A set of compliments for show. Land of politeness! that affords The treasure of new-fangled words, And endless quantities disburses Of bows and compliments and curses; The soft address, with airs so sweet, That cringes at the ladies' feet; The pert, vivacious, play-house style, That wakes the gay assembly's smile; Jests that his brother beaux may hit, And pass with young coquettes for wit, And prized by fops of true discerning, Outface the pedantry of learning. Yet learning too shall lend its aid To fill the coxcomb's spongy head; And studious oft he shall peruse The labours of the modern muse. From endless loads of novels gain Soft, simpering tales of amorous pain,

* This passage alludes to the mode of dress ther in fashion.

With double meanings, neat and handy,
From ROCHESTER and TRISTRAM SHANDY.
The blundering aid of weak reviews,
That forge the fetters of the muse,
Shall give him airs of criticising

On faults of books, he ne'er set eyes on.
The magazines shall teach the fashion,
And commonplace of conversation,
And where his knowledge fails, afford
The aid of many a sounding word.

Then, lest religion he should need,
Of pious HUME he'll learn his creed,
By strongest demonstration shown,
Evince that nothing can be known;
Take arguments, unvex'd by doubt,
On VOLTAIRE's trust, or go without;
'Gainst Scripture rail in modern lore,
As thousand fools have rail'd before;
Or pleased a nicer art display
To expound its doctrines all away,
Suit it to modern tastes and fashions
By various notes and emendations;
The rules the ten commands contain,
With new provisos well explain;
Prove all religion was but fashion,
Beneath the Jewish dispensation.
A ceremonial law, deep hooded
In types and figures long exploded;
Its stubborn fetters all unfit

For these free times of gospel light,
This rake's millennium, since the day
When Sabbaths first were done away;
Since pander-conscience holds the door,
And lewdness is a vice no more;
And shame, the worst of deadly fiends,
On virtue, as its squire, attends.

Alike his poignant wit displays
The darkness of the former days,
When men the paths of duty sought,
And own'd what revelation taught;
Ere human reason grew so bright,
Men could see all things by its light,
And summon'd Scripture to appear,
And stand before its bar severe,
To clear its page from charge of fiction,
And answer pleas of contradiction;
Ere miracles were held in scorn,
Or BOLINGBROKE, or HUME were born.
And now the fop, with great energy,
Levels at priestcraft and the clergy,
At holy cant and godly prayers,
And bigots' hypocritic airs;
Musters each veteran jest to aiu,
Calls piety the parson's trade;
Cries out 't is shame, past all abiding,
The world should still be so priest-ridden;
Applauds free thought that scorns control.
And generous nobleness of soul,

That acts its pleasure, good or evil,

And fears nor deity nor devil.
These standing topics never fail

To

prompt our little wits to rail,

STERNE'S Tristram Shandy was then in the highest vague, and in the zenith of its transitory reputation.

With mimic drollery of grimace,

And pleased impertinence of face,
'Gainst virtue arm their feeble forces,
And sound the charge in peals of curses.
Blest be his ashes! under ground

If any particles be found,

Who, friendly to the coxcomb race,
First taught those arts of commonplace,
Those topics fine, on which the beau
May all his little wits bestow,
Secure the simple laugh to raise,
And gain the dunce's palm of praise.
For where 's the theme that beaux could hit
With least similitude of wit,

Did not religion and the priest
Supply materials for the jest;
The poor in purse, with metals vile
For current coins, the world beguile;
The poor in brain, for genuine wit
Pass off a viler counterfeit ;

While various thus their doom appears,
These lose their souls, and those their cars;
The want of fancy, whim supplies,
And native humour, mad caprice;
Loud noise for argument goes off,
For mirth polite, the ribald's scoff;
For sense, lewd drolleries entertain us,
And wit is mimick'd by profaneness.

CHARACTER OF McFINGAL.*

WHEN Yankees, skill'd in martial rule,
First put the British troops to school;
Instructed them in warlike trade,
And new manoeuvres of parade;
The true war-dance of Yankee-reels,
And manual exercise of heels;
Made them give up, like saints complete,
The arm of flesh, and trust the feet,
And work, like Christians undissembling,
Salvation out by fear and trembling;
Taught Percy fashionable races,
And modern modes of Chevy-Chaces:†
From Boston, in his best array,
Great SQUIRE MCFINGAL took his way,
And, graced with ensigns of renown,
Steer'd homeward to his native town.

His high descent our heralds trace
To Ossian's famed Fingalian race;
For though their name some part may lack,
Old FINGAL Spelt it with a Mac;
Which great MCPHERSON, with submission,
We hope will add the next edition.

His fathers flourish'd in the Highlands

Of Scotia's fog-benighted island;
Whence gain'd our squire two gifts by right,
Rebellion and the second-sight.

From "McFingal."

+ LORD PERCY commanded the party that was first opposed by the Americans at Lexington. This allusion to the family renown of Chevy-Chace arose from the precipitate manner of his quitting the field of battle, and returning to Boston.

Straight fell in love with-at first sight;
Whose gracious speech, with aid of pensions,
Hush'd down all murmurs of dissensions,
And with the sound of potent metal,
Brought all their blust'ring swarms to settle;
Who rain'd his ministerial mannas,
Till loud sedition sung hosannas;
The good lords-bishops and the kirk
United in the public work;

Rebellion from the northern regions,

With BUTE and MANSFIELD swore allegiance,
And all combined to raze, as nuisance,
Of church and state, the constitutions;
Pull down the empire, on whose ruins
They meant to edify their new ones;
Enslave the American wildernesses,
And tear the provinces in pieces.

For these our squire, among the valiant'st,
Employ'd his time, and tools, and talents;
And in their cause, with manly zeal,
Used his first virtue-to rebel;
And found this new rebellion pleasing
As his old king-destroying treason.

Nor less avail'd his optic sleight,
And Scottish gift of second-sight.
No ancient sibyl, famed in rhyme,
Saw deeper in the womb of time;
No block in old Dodona's grove
Could ever more oracular prove.
Nor only saw he all that was,
But much that never came to pass;
Whereby all prophets far outwent he,
Though former days produced a plenty :
For any man with half an eye
What stands before him may espy;
But optics sharp it needs, I ween,
To see what is not to be seen.
As in the days of ancient fame,
Prophets and poets were the same,
And all the praise that poets gain
Is but for what they invent and feign:
So gain'd our squire his fame by seeing
Such things as never would have being;
Whence he for oracles was grown
The very tripod of his town.
Gazettes no sooner rose a lie in,
But straight he fell to prophesying;
Made dreadful slaughter in his course,
O'erthrew provincials, foot and horse;
Brought armies o'er by sudden pressings
Of Hanoverians, Swiss, and Hessians;*

* This prophecy, like some of the prayers of Homer's heroes, was but half accomplished. The Hanoverians, &c., indeed came over, and much were they feasted with blood; but the hanging of the rebels and the dividing their estates remain unfulfilled. This, however, cannot be the fault of the hero, but rather the British minister, who left off the war before the work was completed.

Feasted with blood his Scottish clan,
And hang'd all rebels to a man;
Divided their estates and pelf,
And took a goodly share himself.
All this, with spirit energetic,
He did by second-sight prophetic.

Thus stored with intellectual riches,
Skill'd was our squire in making speeches,
Where strength of brains united centres
With strength of lungs surpassing Stentor's.
But as some muskets so contrive it,
As oft to miss the mark they drive at,
And, though well aim'd at duck or plover,
Bear wide and kick their owners over:
So fared our squire, whose reas'ning toil
Would often on himself recoil,
And so much injured more his side,
The stronger arguments he applied;
As old war-elephants, dismay'd,
Trod down the troops they came to aid,
And hurt their own side more in battle
Than less and ordinary cattle:
Yet at town meetings ev'ry chief
Pinn'd faith on great McFINGAL's sleeve
And, as he motioned, all, by rote,
Raised sympathetic hands to vote.

The town, our hero's scene of action, Had long been torn by feuds of faction; And as each party's strength prevails, It turn'd up different heads or tails; With constant rattling, in a trice Show'd various sides, as oft as dice: As that famed weaver, wife to Ulysses, By night each day's work pick'd in pieces And though she stoutly did bestir her. Its finishing was ne'er the nearer : So did this town, with steadfast zeal, Weave cobwebs for the public weal; Which when completed, or before, A second vote in pieces tore. They met, made speeches full long-winded, Resolved, protested, and rescinded; Addresses sign'd, then chose committees, To stop all drinking of Bohea-teas; With winds of doctrine veer'd about, And turn'd all Whig committees out. Meanwhile our hero, as their head, In pomp the Tory faction led, Still following, as the squire should please Successive on, like files of geese.

EXTREME HUMANITY.*

THUS GAGE's arms did fortune bless
With triumph, safety, and success:
But mercy is without dispute
His first and darling attribute;
So great, it far outwent, and conquer'd,
His military skill at Concord.
There, when the war he chose to wage,
Shone the benevolence of GAGE;

*From "McFingal."

Sent troops to that ill-omen'd place
On errands mere of special grace,
And all the work he chose them for
Was to prevent a civil war;
And for that purpose he projected
The only certain way to effect it,
To take your powder, stores, and arms,
And all your means of doing harms:
As prudent folks take knives away,
Lest children cut themselves at play.
And yet, though this was all his scheme,
This war you still will charge on him;
And though he oft has swore and said it,
Stick close to facts, and give no credit,

Think you, he wish'd you'd brave and beard
him?

Why, 'twas the very thing that scared him.
He'd rather you should all have run,
Than stay'd to fire a single gun.
And for the civil law you lament,

Faith, you yourselves must take the blame in't;
For had you then, as he intended,
Given up your arms, it must have ended;
Since that's no war, each mortal knows,
Where one side only gives the blows,
And the other bear 'em; on reflection
The most you'll call it, is correction.
Nor could the contest have gone higher,
If you had ne'er return'd the fire;
But when you shot and not before,
It then commenced a civil war.
Else GAGE, to end this controversy,
Had but corrected you in mercy:
Whom mother Britain, old and wise,
Sent o'er the colonies to chastise;
Command obedience on their peril
Of ministerial whip and ferule,
And, since they ne'er must come of age,
Govern'd and tutor'd them by GAGE.
Still more, that this was all their errand,
The army's conduct makes apparent.
What though at Lexington you can say
They kill'd a few they did not fancy,
At Concord then, with manful popping,
Discharg'd a round, the ball to open-
Yet, when they saw your rebel-rout
Determined still to hold it out;
Did they not show their love to peace,
And wish that discord straight might cease,
Demonstrate, and by proofs uncommon,
Their orders were to injure no man?
For did not every regular run
As soon as e'er you fired a gun?

Take the first shot you sent them greeting,
As meant their signal for retreating;

And fearful, if they stay'd for sport,
You might by accident be hurt,
Convey themselves with speed away
Full twenty miles in half a day;
Race till their legs were grown so weary,
They'd scarce suffice their weight to carry'
Whence GAGE extols, from general hearsay,
The great activity of LORD PERCY,
Whose brave example led them on,
And spirited the troops to run;
And now may boast, at royal levees,
A Yankee chace worth forty Chevys.
Yet you, as vile as they were kind,
Pursued, like tigers, still behind;
Fired on them at your will, and shut
The town, as though you'd starve them out;
And with parade preposterous hedged,
Affect to hold him there besieged.

THE DECAYED COQUETTE.*
NEW beauties push her from the stage;
She trembles at the approach of age,
And starts to view the alter'd face
That wrinkles at her in her glass:
So Satan, in the monk's tradition,
Fear'd, when he met his apparition.
At length her name each coxcomb cancels
From standing lists of toasts and angels;
And slighted where she shone before,
A grace and goddess now no more,
Despised by all, and doom'd to meet
Her lovers at her rival's feet,
She flies assemblies, shuns the ball,
And cries out, vanity, on all;
Affects to scorn the tinsel-shows
Of glittering belles and gaudy beaux;
Nor longer hopes to hide by dress
The tracks of age upon her face.
Now careless grown of airs polite,
Her noonday nightcap meets the sight;
Her hair uncomb'd collects together,
With ornaments of many a feather;
Her stays for easiness thrown by,
Her rumpled handkerchief awry,
A careless figure half undress'd,
(The reader's wits may guess the rest;)
All points of dress and neatness carried,
As though she'd been a twelvemonth married,
She spends her breath, as years prevail,
At this sad wicked world to rail,

To slander all her sex impromptu,
And wonder what the times will come to.

*From the "Progress of Dulness."