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With terrour shake, and pity move,
Give me, beneath a colder, changeful sky, Rouse with revenge, or melt with love ; My soul's best, only pleasure, Liberty ! O deign t' attend his evening walk,
What millions perish'd near thy mournful flood *, With him in groves and grottoes talk; When the red papal tyrant cry'd out “ Blood !" Teach him to scorn with frigid art
Less fierce the Saracen, and quiver'd Moor, Feebly to touch th' unraptur'd heart ; That dash'd thy infants 'gainst the stones of yore. Like lightning, let his mighty verse
Be warn’d, ye nations round; and trembling see The bosom's inmost foldings pierce;
Dire superstition quench humanity! With native beauties win applause
By all the chiefs in freedom's battles lost, Beyond cold critics' studied laws;
By wise and virtuous Alfred's aweful ghost ; O let each Muse's fame increase,
By old Galgacus' scythed, iron car,
That, swiftly whirling through the walks of war,
By holy Druids' courage-breathing songs ;
By fierce Bonduca's shield and foaming steeds ; WRITTEN AT MONTAUBAN IN FRANCE, 1750.
By the bold Peers that met on Thames's meads;
By the fifth Henry's helm and lightning spear ; Tarn, how delightful wind thy willow'd waves, O Liberty, my warm petition hear; But ah! they fructify a land of slaves !
Be Albion still thy joy! with her remain, In vain thy bare-foot, sun-burnt peasants hide Long as the surge shall lash her oak-crown'd plain! With luscious grapes yon hill's romantic side; No cups nectareous shall their toil repay,
Alluding to the persecutions of the Protestants, The priest's, the soldier's, and the fermier's prey : and the wars of the Saracens, carried on in the Vain glows this Sun, in cloudless glory drest, southern provinces of France. That strikes fresh vigour through the pining breast;
HOMAS Wakton, younger brother of the pre- lamented the death of George II., in somne lines a ceding, a distinguished poet, and a historian of dressed to Mr. Pitt, he continued the courty train poetry, was born at Basingstoke in 1728. Ile was in poems on the marriage of George III., and on the educated under his father till 1743, when he was birth of the Prince of Wales, both printed in the URL. admitted a commoner of Trinity college, Oxford. versity collection. In 1770 he gave an edition, in te Here he exercised his poetical talent to so much ad- volumes 4to., of the Greek poet Theocritus, stie! vantage, that, on the appearance of Mason's Elegy gave him celebrity in other countries besides les ont of Isis, which severely reflected on the disloyalty of | At what time he first employed himself with the base Oxford at that period, lie was encouraged by Dr. tory of English poetry, we are not informed, but : Huddesford, president of his college, to vindicate 1774 he had so far proceeded in the work as to put the cause of his university. This task he performed lish the first volume in 4to. He afterwards printre with great applause, by writing, in his twenty-first, a second in 1778, and a third in 1781 ; burt le year, “ The Triumph of Isis," a piece of much labour now became tiresome to himself, and the spirit and fancy, in which he retaliated upon the great compass which he had allotted to his plan ek bard of Cam, by satirising the courtly venality then so irksome, that an unfinished fourth volume 53 supposed to distinguish the rival university. His all that he added to it. “ Progress of Discontent,” published in 1750, ex The place of Camden professor of history, taas hibited to great advantage his powers in the familiar by the resignation of Sir William Scott
, was er style, and his talent for humour, with a knowledge close of his professional exertions ; but soon :: of human life, extraordinary at his carly age, espe- another engagement required his attention. Bi cially if composed, as it is said, for a college exer- His Majesty's express desire, the post of me cise in 1746. In 1750 he took the degree of M. A., laureat was offered to him, and accepted, and the and in the following year became a fellow of his determined to use his best endeavours for rendera college.
it respectable. Varying the monotony of anive'. His spirited satire, entitled “ Newmarket,” and sary court compliment by topics better scapatid! pointed against the ruinous passion for the turf ; his poetical description, he improved the style of tik « Ode for Music ;” and his “ Verses on the Death laureate odes, though his lyric strains interact of the Prince of Wales," were written about this some ridicule on that account. time; and, in 1753, he was the editor of a small
His concluding publication was an edition of te collection of poems, under the title of “ The juvenile poems of Milton, of which the first roles Union," which was printed at Edinburgh, and con- made its appearance in 1785, and the second in 179, tained several of his own performances. In 1754 a short time before his death. His constitutica e he made himself known by Observations on began to give way. In his sixty-second year Spenser's Faery Queen, in one volume, afterwards attack of the gout shattered his frame, and was enlarged to two; a work well received by the public, ceeded in May, 1790, by a paralytic seizure
, what and which made a considerable addition to his lite-carried him off
, at his lodgings in Oxford
. H rary reputation. So high was his character in the remains were interred, with every academical bota: 1 University, that in 1757 he was elected to the office in the chapel of Trinity college. of its poetry professor, which he held for the usual The pieces of Thomas Warton are very various a period of ten years, and rendered respectable by the subject, and none of them long, whence le ble erudition and tasty displayed in his lectures. only rank among the minor pocts; but scares xe
It does not appear necessary in this place to par- of that tribe bas noted wiili finer observatiun to ticularize all the prose compositions which, whether minute circumstances in rural vature that eier! grave or humorous, fell at this time from his pen ; pleasure in description, or has derived fruk az but it may be mentioned that verse continued occa- regions of fiction more animated and picturesti sionally to occupy his thoughts, and that having scenery.
ODE TO THE FIRST OF APRIL.
With dalliance rude young Zephyr wooes
Mindful of disaster past,
Scant along the ridgy land
The swallow, for a moment seen,
Fraught with a transient, frozen shower,
Where in venerable rows
Musing through the lawny park,
Towers distinguish'd from the rest,
Within some whispering osier isle,
O'er the broad downs, a novel race,
His free-born vigour yet unbroke
Yet, in these presages rude,
Bound for holy Palestine,
“ Syrian virgins, wail and weep,
* The Glym is a small river in Oxfordshire, flowing through Warton's parish of Kiddington, or Cuddington, and dividing it into upper and lower town. It is described by himself in his account of Cuddington, as a deep but narrow stream, winding through willowed meadows, and abounding in trouts, pikes, and wild-fowl. It gives name to the village of Glymton, which adjoins to Kiddington.
The radiant range of shield and lance
We bid the spectre-shapes avaunt,
Ashtaroth, and Termagaunt! +
With many a demon, pale of hue,
Doom'd to drink the bitter dew,
That drops from Macon's sooty tree,
Mid the dread grove of ebony.
Nor magic charms, nor fiends of Hell,
The Christian's holy courage quell
Salem, in ancient majesty
Arise, and lift thee to the sky !
Soon on thy battlements divine
Shall wave the badge of Constantine
Ye barons, to the Sun unfold
Our cross with crimson wove and gold !"
Blondel led the tuneful band,
PROGRESS OF DISCONTENT.
When now mature in classic knowledge, Soon we kiss'd the sacred earth
The joyful youth is sent to college, That gave a murder'd Saviour birth ;
His father comes, a vicar plain, Then with ardour fresh endu'd,
At Oxford bred — in Anna's reign, Thus the solemn song renew'd.
And thus, in form of humble suitor, “ Lo, the toilsome voyage past,
Bowing accosts a reverend tutor : Heaven's favour'd hills appear at last!
“ Sir, I'm a Glo'stershire divine, Object of our holy vow,
And this my eldest son of nine; We tread the Tyrian valleys now.
My wife's ambition and my own From Carmel's almond-shaded steep
Was that this child should wear a gown: We feel the cheering fragrance creep:
I'll warrant that his good behaviour O'er Engaddi's shrubs of balm
Will justify your future favour ; Waves the date-empurpl'd palm:
And, for his parts, to tell the truth, See Lebanon's aspiring head
My son 's a very forward youth ; Wide his immortal umbrage spread!
Has Horace all by heart - you 'd wouder Hail Calvary, thou mountain hoar,
And mouths out Homer's Greek like thunder. Wet with our Redeemer's gore !
If you 'd examine - and admit him, Ye trampled tombs, ye fanes forlorn,
A scholarship would nicely fit him; Ye stones, by tears of pilgrims worn;
That he succeeds 't is ten to one ; Your ravish'd honours to restore,
Your vote and interest, sir !" - 'T is done. Fearless we climb this hostile shore !
Our pupil's hopes, though twice defeated, And thou, the sepulchre of God;
Are with a scholarship completed : By mocking pagans rudely trod,
A scholarship but half maintains, Bereft of every aweful rite,
And college-rules are heavy chains: And quench'd thy lamps that beam'd so bright; In garret dark he smokes and puns, For thee, from Britain's distant coast,
A prey to discipline and duns; Lo, Richard leads his faithful host !
And now, intent on new designs, Aloft in his heroic hand,
Sighs for a fellowship — and fines. Blazing like the beacon's brand,
When nine full tedious winters past , O'er the far-affrighted fields,
That utmost wish is crown'd at last : Resistless Kaliburn * he wields.
But the rich prize no sooner got, Proud Saracen, pollute no more
Again he quarrels with his lot: The shrines by martyrs built of yore !
“ These fellowships are pretty things From each wild mountain's trackless crown We live indeed like petty kings : In vain thy gloomy castles frown:
But who can bear to waste his whole age Thy battering engines, huge and high,
Amid the dullness of a college, In vain our steel-clad steeds defy ;
Debarr'd the common joys of life, And, rolling in terrific state
And that prime bliss - a loving wife! On giant-wheels harsh thunders grate.
O! what 's a table richly spread,
Without a woman ‘at its head ?
+ Ashtaroth is mentioned by Milton as a general Haunt us on the tented plain :
name of the Syrian deities : Par. Lost, i. 49. Am
Termagaunt is the name given in the old round Kaliburn is the sword of king Arthur; which, to the god of the Saracens. See Percy's Relaps as the monkish historians say, came into the posses- vol. i. p. 74. sion of Richard I., and was given by that monarch, The scholars of Trinity are superannuated of in the Crusades, to Tancred king of Sicily, as a royal they do not succeed to fellowships in nine years present of inestiinable value, about the year 1190. after their election to scholarships.
Would some snug benefice but fall,
“ Why did I sell my college life,” Ye feasts, ye dinners ! farewell all!
He cries, “ for benefice and wife? To offices I'd bid adieu,
Return, ye days, when endless pleasure Of dean, vice præs. of bursar too;
I found in reading, or in leisure ! Come joys, that rural quiet yields,
When calm around the common room Come, tythes, and house, and fruitful fields !” I puff”d my daily pipe's perfume! Too fond of freedom and of ease
Rode for a stomach, and inspected, A patron's vanity to please,
At annual bottlings, corks selected : Long time he watches, and by stealth,
And din'd untax'd, untroubled, under Each frail incumbent's doubtful health;
The portrait of our pious founder! At length, and in his fortieth year,
When impositions were supply'd A living drops — two hundred clear !
To light my pipe - or soothe my pride With breast elate beyond expression,
No cares were then for forward peas, He hurries down to take possession,
A yearly-longing wife to please ; With rapture views the sweet retreat
My thoughts no christ'ning dinners crost, • What a convenient house! how neat!
No children cry'd for butter'd toast; For fuel here 's sufficient wood :
And ev'ry night I went to bed, Pray God the cellars may be good!
Without a modus in my head !” The garden — that must be new-plann'd
Oh! trifling head, and fickle heart ! Shall these old-fashion'd yew-trees stand ?
Chagrin'd at whatsoe'er thou art ; D'er yonder vacant plot shall rise
A dupe to follies yet untry'd, The flow'ry shrub of thousand dyes :
And sick of pleasures, scarce enjoy'd ! Yon wall, that feels the southern ray,
Each prize possess'd, thy transport ceases, Shall blush with ruddy fruitage gay:
And in pursuit alone it pleases.
INSCRIPTION IN A HERMITAGE,
AT ANSLEY HALL IN WARWICKSHIRE. An avenue so cool and dim Shall to an arbour at the end,
BENEATH this stony roof reclin'd, In spite of gout, entice a friend.
I soothe to peace my pensive mind; My predecessor lov'd devotion
And while, to shade my lowly cave, But of a garden had no notion.”
Embowering elms their umbrage wave; Continuing this fantastic farce on,
And while the maple dish is mine, He now commences country parson.
The beechen cup, unstain'd with wine ; To make his character entire,
I scorn the gay licentious crowd, He weds — a cousin of the 'squire ;
Nor heed the toys that deck the proud. Not over-weighty in the purse, But many doctors have done worse :
Within my limits lone and still And though she boasts no charms divine,
The blackbird pipes in artless trill ; Yet she can carve and make birch wine.
Fast by my couch, congenial guest, Thus fixt, content he taps his barrel,
The wren has wove her mossy nest; Exhorts his neighbours not to quarrel;
From busy scenes, and brighter skies, Finds his church-wardens have discerning
To lurk with innocence, she flies : Both in good liquor and good learning ;
Here hopes in safe repose to dwell,
Nor aught suspects the sylvan cell.
At morn I take my custom'd round,
To mark how buds yon shrubby mound, Rides a sleek mare with purple housing,
And every opening primrose count, To share the monthly club's carousing ;
That trimly paints my blooming mount : Of Oxford pranks facetious tells,
Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude, And — but on Sundays — hears no bells;
That grace my gloomy solitude, Sends presents of his choicest fruit,
I teach in winding wreaths to stray
Fantastic ivy's gadding spray.
At eve, within yon studious nook,
I ope my brass-embossed book, Keeps Bantam cocks, and feeds his turkies;
Pourtray'd with many a holy deed Builds in his copse a fav’rite bench,
Of martyrs, crown'd with heavenly meed: And stores the pond with carp and tench.
Then as my taper waxes dim, But ah! too soon his thoughtless breast
Chant, ere I sleep, my measur'd hymn; By cares domestic is opprest;
And at the close, the gleams behold
Of parting wings bedropt with gold.
While such pure joys my bliss create,
Who but would smile at guilty stale ?