OF THE LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS
Begun September 1791: finished March 1792.
TO CHARLES DEODATI.
T length, my friend, the far fent letters
Charged with thy kindness, to their def
tined home;
They come, at length, from Deva's Western fide,
Where prone the feeks the falt Vergivian tide.
she
Trust me, my joy is great that thou fhouldft be,
Though born of foreign race, yet born for me,
And that my fprightly friend, now free to roam,
Muft feek again fo foon his wonted home.
I well content, where Thames with influent tide
My native city laves, meantime refide,
Nor zeal nor duty now my fteps impel
To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell.
Nor aught of pleasure in thofe fields have I,
That to the musing bard all shade deny.
'Tis time that I a pedant's threats disdain,
And fly from wrongs my foul will ne'er sustain.
If peaceful days, in letter'd leisure spent
Beneath my father's roof, be banishment,
Then call me banish'd, I will ne'er refuse
A name expreffive of the lot I choose.
I would that, exiled to the Pontic shore,
Rome's hapless bard had suffer'd nothing more.
He then had equal'd even Homer's lays,
And, Virgil! thou hadst won but second praise :
For here I woo the Mufe, with no control,
And here my books--my life-absorb me whole.
Here too I vifit, or to smile or weep,
The winding theatre's majestic sweep;
The grave or gay colloquial scene recruits
My spirits, spent in learning's long pursuits;
Whether fome fenior fhrewd, or spendthrift heir,
Suitor, or foldier, now unarm'd, be there,
Or fome coif'd brooder o'er a ten years' caufe,
Thunder the Norman gibberish of the laws.
The lacquey, there, oft dupes the
wary fire,
And, artful, speeds the enamour'd fon's defire.
There, virgins oft, unconscious what they prove,
What love is know not, yet, unknowing, love.
Or, if impaffion'd Tragedy wield high
The bloody fceptre, give her locks to fly
Wild as the winds, and roll her haggard eye,
gaze, and grieve, still cherishing my grief,
At times, e'en bitter tears yield sweet relief:
As, when from bliss untafted torn away,
Some youth dies, hapless, on his bridal day;
Or when the ghost, sent back from shades below,
Fills the affaffin's heart with vengeful woe;
When Troy, or Argos, the dire fcene affords,
Or Creon's hall laments its guilty lords.
Nor always city-pent, or pent at home,
I dwell; but, when fpring calls me forth to roam,
Expatiate in our proud fuburban fhades
Of branching elm that never fun pervades.
Here many a virgin troop I may descry,
Like ftars of mildeft influence, gliding by.
Oh forms divine! Oh looks that might infpire
E'en Jove himself, grown old, with
Oft have I gazed on gem-furpaffing eyes,
Out-fparkling every star that gilds the skies;
Necks whiter than the ivory arm bestow'd
By Jove on Pelops, or the milky road!
Bright locks, Love's golden fnare! these falling low, Thofe playing wanton o'er the graceful brow! Cheeks, too, more winning fweet than after shower Adonis turn'd to Flora's favourite flower!
Yield, heroines, yield, and ye who shared the
embrace
Of Jupiter in ancient times, give place!
Give place, ye turban'd fair of Perfia's coast!
And ye, not lefs renown'd, Affyria's boaft!
Submit, ye nymphs of Greece! ye, once the bloom
Of Ilion! and all ye, of haughty Rome,
Who fwept, of old, her theatres with trains
Redundant, and still live in claffic strains!
To British damfels beauty's palm is due;
Aliens! to follow them is fame for you.
Oh city, founded by Dardanian hands,
Whofe towering front the circling realm commands,
Too bleft abode! no loveliness we fee
In all the earth, but it abounds in thee.
The virgin multitude that daily meets,
Radiant with gold and beauty, in thy streets,
Outnumbers all her train of ftarry fires
With which Diana gilds thy lofty fpires.
Fame fays that, wafted hither by her doves,
With all her hoft of quiver-bearing loves,
Venus, preferring Paphian scenes no more,
Has fix'd her empire on thy nobler shore.
But, left the fightless boy enforce my stay,
I leave these happy walls while yet I may.
Immortal Moly fhall fecure my heart
From all the forcery of Circæan art,
And I will e'en repafs Cam's reedy pools
To face once more the warfare of the schools.
Meantime accept this trifle! rhymes though few,
Yet fuch as prove thy friend's remembrance true!
ON THE DEATH OF THE UNIVERSITY BEADLE AT CAMBRIDGE.
HEE, whofe refulgent staff and fummons
Minerva's flock long time was wont to
Although thyfelf a herald, famous here,
The laft of heralds, Death, has fnatch'd away. He calls on all alike, nor even deigns To fpare the office that himself fuftains.
Thy locks were whiter than the plumes display'd
By Leda's paramour in ancient time;
But thou waft worthy ne'er to have decay'd,
Or, Æfon-like, to know a second prime.
Worthy, for whom fome goddess should have won
New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's fon.
Commiffion'd to convene with hafty call
The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou ftand!
So stood Cyllenius erft in Priam's hall,
Wing-footed meffenger of Jove's command!
And fo Eurybates, when he addrefs'd
To Peleus' fon, Atrides' proud behest.
Dread queen of fepulchres! whose rigorous laws And watchful eyes run through the realms below, Oh, oft too adverfe to Minerva's caufe!
Too often to the Mufe not lefs a foe!
Choose meaner marks, and with more equal aim Pierce useless drones, earth's burthen, and its
Flow, therefore, tears for him from every eye; All ye difciples of the Muses, weep! Affembling all in robes of fable dye,
Around his bier lament his endless sleep!
And let complaining Elegy rehearse
every school her sweetest, faddeft verse.
|