WHEN thy beauty appears
In its graces and airs,
All bright as an angel new dropped from the sky,
At a distance I gaze and am awed by my fears,
So strangely you dazzle my eye.
But when without art
Your kind thoughts you impart,
When your love runs in blushes through every vein; When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your heart; Then I know you're a woman again.
"There's a passion and pride
In our sex" (she replied).
"And thus, might I gratify both, I would do:
Still an angel appear to each lover beside,
But still be a woman to you."
VERSES ON THE DEATH OF HIMSELF.
Occasioned by reading the following maxim in Rochefoucauld.
"Dans l'adversité de nos meilleurs amis nous trouvous toujours quelque choses, qui ne nous deplaist pas.'
"In the adversity of our best friends we always find something that doth not dis please us.
As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew
From nature, I believe them true :
They argue no corrupted mind
In him; the fault is in mankind.
This maxim, more than all the rest,
Is thought too base for human breast:-
"In all distresses of our friends
We first consult our private ends;
While nature, kindly bent to ease us,
Points out some circumstance to please us."
If this, perhaps, your patience move,
Let reason and experience prove.
We all behold with envious eyes
Our equal raised above our size.
I love my friend as well as you;
But why should he obstruct my view?
Then let me have the higher post:
Suppose it but an inch at most.
If in a battle you should find
One, whom you love of all mankind,
Had some heroic action done,—
A champion killed or trophy won;
Rather than thus be overtopt,
Would you not wish his laurels cropt?
Dear honest Ned is in the gout,
Lies racked with pain, and you without;
How patiently you hear him groan !
How glad the case is not your own!
Some country squire to Lintot goes,
Inquires for Swift in verse and prose,
Says Lintot, "I have heard the name;
He died a year ago.”
"" "The same."
He searches all the shop in vain.
"Sir, you may find them in Duck Lane;
I sent them, with a load of books,
Last Monday to the pastrycook's.
To fancy they could live a year!
I find you're but a stranger here.
The Dean was famous in his time,
And had a kind of knack at rhyme.
His way of writing now is past:
The town has got a better taste.
I keep no antiquated stuff,
But spick-and-span I have enough.
Jonathan Swift, 1667-1744.
STELLA'S BIRTHDAY.
THIS day, whate'er the fates decree,
Shall still be kept with joy by me:
This day then let us not be told
That you are sick, and I grown old;
Nor think on our approaching ills,
And talk of spectacles and wills:
To-morrow will be time enough
To hear such mortifying stuff.
Yet, since from reason may be brought
A better and more pleasing thought,
Which can, in spite of all decays,
Support a few remaining days,
From not the gravest of divines
Accept for once some serious lines.
ON THE DEATH OF ADDISON.
Can I forget the dismal night that gave My soul's best part forever to the grave? How silent did his old companions tread, By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead, Through breathing statues, then unheeded things, Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings ! What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire; The pealing organ, and the pausing choir; The duties by the lawn-robed prelate paid : And the last words, that dust to dust convey'd ! While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend. Oh, gone forever I take this long adieu; And sleep in peace, next thy loved Montague. To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine, A frequent pilgrim at thy sacred shrine; Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone. If e'er from me thy loved memorial part, May shame afflict this alienated heart; Of thee forgetful if I form a song, My lyre be broken, and untuned my tongue, My grief be doubled from thy image free, And mirth a torment, unchastised by thee !
Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone, Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknowr.,
Along the walls where speaking marbles show
What worthies form the hallow'd mould below;
Proud names, who once the reins of empire held;
In arms who triumph'd ; or in arts excell'd ;
Chiefs, graced with scars, and prodigal of blood;
Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood;
Just men, by whom impartial laws were given;
And saints, who taught and led the way to heaven;
Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest,
Since their foundation came a nobler guest;
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd
A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.
Thomas Tickell, 1686-1740
Timely blossom, infant fair,
Fondling of a happy pair,
Every morn and every night
Their solicitous delight;
Sleeping, waking, still at ease,
Pleasing, without skill to please.
Little gossip, blithe and hale,
Tattling many a broken tale,
Singing many a tuneless song,
Lavish of a heedless tongue :
Simple maiden, void of art,
Babbling out the very heart,
Yet abandon'd to thy will,
Yet imagining no ill,
Yet too innocent to blush;
Like the linnet in the bush,
To the mother-linnet's note
Moduling her slender throat;
Chirping forth thy petty joys,
Wanton in the change of toys,
Like the linnet green in May
Flitting to each bloomy spray;
Wearied then and glad of rest,
Like the linnet in the nest.
This thy present happy lot,
This in time will be forgot;
Other pleasures, other cares,
Ever-busy Time prepares;
And thou shalt in thy daughters see,
This picture once resembled thee.
Ambrose Philips, 1671-1749.
THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND EVERY.
BODY.
Lest men suspect your tale untrue,
Keep probability in view.
The traveller leaping o'er those bounds,
The credit of his book confounds.
Who with his tongue hath armies routed,
Makes even his real courage doubted :
But flattery never seems absurd ;
The flattered always takes your word:
Impossibilities seem just.
They take the strongest praise on trust.
Hyperboles, though ne'er so great.
Will still come short of self-conceit.
John Gay, 1688—1732.
THE MONKEY WHO HAD SEEN THE WORLD.
The hairy sylvans round him press,
Astonished at his strut and dress.
Some praise his sleeve; and others gloat
Upon his rich embroidered coat;
His dapper periwig commending,
With the black tail behind depending;
His powdered back, above, below,
Like hoary frost, or fleecy snow;
But all with envy and desire
His fluttering shoulder-knot admire.
Hear and improve," he pertly cries;
"I come to make a nation wise.
Weigh your own words; support your place;
The next in rank to human race.
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