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To the mind's ear, and inward sight,

Nor sleepless mind the death-watch beat ; Their silence speaks, and shade gives light: In taper find no winding-sheet : While insects from the threshold preach,

Nor in burnt coal a coffin see, And minds dispos’d to musing teach :

Though thrown at others, meant for thee: Proud of strong limbs and painted hues,

Or when the coruscation gleams, They perish by the slightest bruise ;

Find out not first the bloody streams; Or maladies, begun within,

Nor in imprest remembrance keep Destroy more slow life's frail machine ;

Grim tap’stry figures wrought in sleep; From maggot-youth through change of state, Nor rise to see in antique hall They feel like us the turns of fate;

The moonlight monsters on the wall, Some born to creep have liv'd to fly,

And shadowy spectres darkly pass And change earth-cells for dwellings high ; Trailing their sables o'er the grass, And some that did their six wings keep,

Let vice and guilt act how they please Before they dy'd been forc'd to creep ;

In souls, their conquer'd provinces; They politics like ours profess,

By Heaven's just charter it appears, The greater prey upon the less :

Virtue's exempt from quartering fears, Some strain on foot huge loads to bring ;

Shall then arm'd fancies fiercely drest, Some toil incessant on the wing,

Live at discretion in your breast ? And in their different ways explore

Be wise, and panic fright disdain, Wise sense of want by future store ;

As notions, meteors of the brain ; Nor from their vigorous schemes desist

And sights perform’d, illusive scene! Till death, and then are never miss'd.

By magic lanthorn of the spleen. Some frolic, toil, marry, increase,

Come here, from baleful cares releas'd, Are sick and well, have war and peace,

With Virtue's ticket, to a feast, And, broke with age, in half a day

Where decent Mirth and Wisdom join'd Yield to successors, and away.

In stewardship, regale the mind. Let not prophane this sacred place,

Call back the Cupids to your eyes, Hypocrisy with Janus' face;

I see the godlings with surprise. Or Pomp, mixt state of pride and care ;

Not knowing home in such a plight, Court Kindness, Falsehood's polislı'd ware ; Fly to and fro, afraid to light. Scaudal disguis'd in Friendship's veil,

Far from my theme, from method far, That tells, unask'd, th' injurious tale ;

Convey'd in Venus' flying car, Or art politic, which allows

I go compellid by feather'd steeds, The jesuit-remedy for vows;

That scorn the rein, when Delia leads. Or priest, perfuming crowned head,

No daub of elegiac strain 'Till in a swoon Truth lies for dead

These holy wars shall ever stain ; Or tawdry critic, who perceives

As spiders Irish wainscot fee, No grace, which plain proportion gives,

Falsehood with them shall disagree ; And more than lineaments divine

This floor let not the vulgar tread, Admires the gilding of the shrine;

Who worship only what they dread : Or that self-haunting spectre Spleen,

Nor bigots who but one way see In thickest fog the clearest seen;

Through blinkers of authority. Or Prophecy, which dreams a lie,

Nor they who its four saints defame That fools believe and knaves apply;

By making virtue but a name; Or frolic Mirth, prophanely loud,

Nor abstract wit, (painful regale And happy only in a crowd;

To hunt the pig with slippery tail !) Or Melancholy's pensive gloom,

Artists, who richly chase their thought, Proxy in Contemplation's room.

Gaudy without, but hollow wrought; O Delia ! when I touch this string,

And beat too thin, and tool'd too much To thee my Muse directs her wing.

To bear the proof and standard touch: Unspotted fair! with downcast look

Nor fops to guard this sylvan ark, Mind not so much the murm'ring brook ;

With necklace bells in treble bark : Nor fixt in thought, with footsteps slow

Nor cynics growl and fiercely paw, Through cypress alleys cherish woe:

The mastiffs of the moral law. I see the soul in pensive fit,

Come, nymph, with rural honours drest, And moping like sick linnet sit.

Virtue's exterior form confest, With dewy eye, and moulting wing,

With charms untarnish’d, innocence Unperch'd, averse to fly or sing;

Display, and Eden shall commence; I see the favourite curls begin

When thus you come in sober fit, (Disus'd to toilet discipline)

And wisdom is preferr'd to wit; To quit their post, lose their smart air,

And looks diviner graces tell, And grow again like common hair ;

Which don't with giggling muscles dwell ; And tears, which frequent kerchiefs dry,

And beauty like the ray-clipt Sun, Raise a red circle round the eye;

With bolder eye we look upon; And by this bur about the Moon,

Learning shall with obsequious mien Conjecture more ill weather soon.

Tell all the wonders she has seen; Love not so much the doleful knell:

Reason her logic armour quit, And news the boding night-birds tell ;

And proof to mild persuasion sit; Nor watch the wainscot's hollow blow;

Religion with free thought dispense, And hens portentous when they crow;

And cease crusading against sense ;


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Philosophy and she embrace,
And their first league again take place :
And Morals pure, in duty bound,
Nymph-like the sisters chief surround
Nature shall smile, and round this cell
The turf to your light pressure swell,
And knowing Beauty by her shoe,
Well air its carpet from the dew.
The Oak, while you his umbrage deck,
Lets fall his acorns in your neck;
Zephyr his civil kisses gives,
And plays with curls instead of leaves :
Birds, seeing you, believe it spring,
And during their vacation sing ;
And flow'rs lean forward from their seats,
To traffic in exchange of sweets ;
And angels bearing wreaths descend,
Preferr'd as vergers to attend
This fane, whose deity entreats
The fair to grace its upper seats.

O kindly view our letter'd strife,
And guard us through polemic life ;
From poison vehicled in praise,
For Satire's shots but slightly graze;
We claim your zeal, and find within,
Philosophy and you are kin.

What virtue is we judge by you;
For actions right are beauteous too;
By tracing the sole female mind,
We best what is true nature find:
Your vapours bred from fumes declare,
How steams create tempestuous air,
Till gushing tears and hasty rain
Make Heav'n and you serene again.
Our travels through the starry skies
Were first suggested by your eyes ;
We, by the interposing fan,
Learn how eclipses first began :
The vast ellipse from Scarbro's home,
Describes how blazing comets roam :
The glowing colours of the cheek
Their origin from Phæbus speak;
Our watch how Luna strays above
Feels like the care of jealous love;
And all things we in science know
From your known love for riddles flow.

Father! forgive, thus far I stray,
Drawn by attraction from my way.
Mark next with awe the foundress well
Who on these banks delights to dwell ;
You on the terrace see her plain,
Move like Diana with her train.
If you then fairly speak your mind,
In wedlock since with Isis join'd,
You'll own, you never yet did see,
At least in such a high degree,
Greatness delighted to undress;
Science a sceptr'd hand caress;
A queen the friends of freedom prize ;
A woman wise men canonize.

The doctor us'd his oily art

Of strong emetic kind, Th' apothecary play'd his part,

And engineer'd behind.

When physic ceas'd to spend its store,

To bring away the stone, Dicky, like people given o'er,

Picks up, when let alone

His eyes dispell’d their sickly dews,

He peck'd behind his wing ; Lucia recovering at the news,

Relapses for the ring. Meanwhile within her beauteous breast

Two different passions strove;
When av'rice ended the contest,

And triumph'd over love.
Poor little, pretty, fluttering thing,

Thy pains the sex display,
Who, only to repair a ring,

Could take thy life away.
Drive av'rice from your breasts, ye fair,

Monster of foulest mien :
Ye would not let it harbour there,

Could but its form be seen.

It made a virgin put on guile,

Truth's image break her word, A Lucia's face forbear to smile,

A Venus kill her bird,



Thomas Tickell, a poet of considerable ele Gentleman at Avignon." Both these are selected gance, born at Bridekirk, near Carlisle, in 1686, for the purpose of the present volume.

He was was the son of a clergyman in the county of Cum- about this time taken to Ireland, by Addison, who berland. He was entered of Queen's College, went over as secretary to Lord Sunderland. When Oxford, in 1701, and having taken the degree of Pope published the first volume of his translation of M. A. in 1708, was elected fellow of his college, the Iliad, Tickell gave a translation of the first first obtaining from the crown a dispensation from book of that poem, which was patronized by the statute requiring him to be in orders. He then Addison, and occasioned a breach between those came to the metropolis, where he made himself eminent men. Tickell's composition, however, known to several persons distinguished in letters. will bear no poetical comparison with that of Pope, When the negotiations were carrying on which and accordingly he did not proceed with the task. brought on the peace of Utrecht, he published a On the death of Addison, he was entrusted with poem entitled “ The Prospect of Peace,” which the charge of publishing his works, a distinction ran through six editions. Addison, with whom he which he repaid by prefixing a life of that celebrated had ingratiated himself by an elegant poem on his man, with an elegy on his death, of which Dr. Johnopera of Rosamond, speaks highly of “ The Pro son says, “ That a more sublime or elegant funeral spect of Peace,” in a paper of the Spectator, in which poem is not to be found in the whole compass of he expresses himself as particularly pleased to find English literature.” Another piece, which might that the author had not amused himself with fables be justly placed at the head of sober lyrics, is his out of the Pagan theology. This commendation “ Ode to the Earl of Sunderland," on his instalTickell amply repaid by his lines on Addison's lation as a knight of the Garter ; which keeping Cato, which are superior to all others on that sub- within the limits of truth, consigns a favourite name ject, with the exception of Pope's Prologue. to its real honours.

Tickell, being attached to the succession of the Tickell is represented as a man of pleasing manHouse of Hanover, presented George I. with a poem ners, fond of society, very agreeable in conversation, entitled “ The Royal Progress ;” and more effec- and upright and honourable in his conduct. He tually served the cause by two pieces, one called was married, and left a family. His death took “ An Imitation of the Prophecy of Nereus ;" the place at Bath, in 1740, the 54th year of his age. other, “ An Epistle from a Lady in England, to a



Three times, all in the dead of night,

A bell was heard to ring;
And shrieking at her window thrice,

The raven flap'd his wing.
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew

The solemn boding sound:
And thus, in dying words, bespoke

The virgins weeping round :

Or Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,

Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream

Reflect so sweet a face :
Till luckless love, and pining care,

Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lips, and damask cheeks,

And eyes of glossy blue.
Oh! have you seen a lily pale,

When beating rains descend ?
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid,

Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of Alattering swains

Take heed, ye easy fair :
Of vengeance due to broken vows,

Ye perjur'd swains, beware.

“ I hear a voice, you cannot hear,

Which says, I must not stay ;
I see a hand, you cannot see,

Which beckons me away.
By a false heart, and broken vows,

In early youth I die :
Was I to blame, because his bride

Was thrice as rich as I ?

“ Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows,

Vows due to me alone :
Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss,
Nor think hiin all thy own.


To-morrow, in the church to wed,

Oh, gone for ever ; take this long adieu ;
Impatient, both prepare !

And sleep in peace, next thy lov'd Montague. But know, fond maid; and know, false man, To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine, That Lucy will be there!

A frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine ;

Mine with true siglis thy absence to bemoan, “ Then bear my curse, my comrades, bear, And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone. This bridegroom blithe to meet,

If e'er from me thy lov'd inemorial part,
He in his wedding-trim so gay,

May shame afflict this alienated heart;
I in my winding-sheet."

Of thee forgetful if I form a song,
She spoke, she dy'd, her corse was borne, My lyre be broken, and untun'd my tongue,
The bridegroom blithe to meet,

My grief be doubled from thy image free,
He in his wedding trim so gay,

And mirth a torment, unchastis'd by thee.
She in her winding-sheet.

Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,

Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown,
Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts ? Along the walls where speaking marbles show
How were these nuptials kept ?

What worthies form the hallow'd mould below; The bridesmen flock'd round Lucy dead, Proud names, who once the reins of empire held; And all the village wept.

In arms who triumph'd; or in arts excell'd; Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,

Chiefs, grac'd with scars, and prodigal of blood; At once his bosom swell:

Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood; The damps of death bedew'd his brow, Just men, by whom impartial laws were given; He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

And saints who taught, and led, the way to heaven;

Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest, From the vain bride, ah, bride no more! Since their foundation, came a nobler guest; The varying crimson Hed,

Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd
When, stretch'd before her rival's corse, A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.
She saw her husband dead.

In what new region, to the just assign'd,
Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,

What new employments please th' unbody'd inind? Convey'd by trembling swains,

A winged Virtue, through th' etherial ský,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,

From world to world unweary'd does he fly?
For ever he remains.

Or curious trace the long laborious maze

Of Heaven's decrees, where wondering angels gaze? Oft at this grave, the constant hind

Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell
And plighted maid are seen;

How Michael battl'd, and the dragon fell;
With garlands gay, and true love knots, Or, mix'd with milder cherubim, to glow
They deck the sacred green:

In hymns of love, not ill essay'd below ?
But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art, Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind,
This hallow'd spot forbear;

A task well suited to thy gentle mind?
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,

Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend :
And fear to meet him there.

To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend !
When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms,
When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms,
In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart,
And turn from ill, a frail and feeble heart;

Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before,

Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more.

That awful form, which, so the Heavens decree,
Must still be lov'd and still deplor'd by me;

In nightly visions seldom fails to rise,
If, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stay'd, Or, rous d by Fancy, meets my waking eyes
And left her debt to Addison unpaid,

If business calls, or crowded courts invite,
Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan,

Tl'unblemish'd statesman seems to strike my sight;
And judge, oh judge, my bosom by your own. If in the stage I seek to sooth my care,
What mourner ever felt poetic fires !

I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there;
Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires : If pensive to the rural shades I rove,
Grief unaffected suits but ill with art,

Yis shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove ;
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart. 'Twas there of just and good he reason'd strong,
Can I forget the dismal night that gave

Clear'd some great truth, or rais'd some serious soog: My soul's best part for ever to the grave !

There patient show'd us the wise course to steer, How silent did his old companions tread,

A candid censor, and a friend severe; By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead, There taught us how to live ; and (oh! too high Thrcugh breathing statues, then unheeded things, The price for knowledge) taught us how to die. Through rows of warriors, and through walks of Thou Hill, whose brow the antique structures kings!

grace, What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire; Rear'd by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race, The pealing organ, and she pausing choir ; Why, once so lovod, whene'er thy bower appears, Tne duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate pay’d; O’er my dim eye-balls glance the sudden tears! And the last words that dust to dust convey'd ! How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair, While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, Thy sloping walks, and unpolluted air! Accept these tears, thou dvar departed friend.




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

Or, while their neighbours were asleep,
Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more; Have carry'd 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 raggamuffins ? 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 bag-pipe 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 inilk-white courser prances.
Farewell! whom join'd in fame, in friendship try'd, 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.

« But see Argyll, with watchful eyes,

Lodg'd in his deep intrenchments lies,
FROM HORACE. Boor II. ODE XV. Couch'd like a lion in thy way,
Dicam insigne, recens, adhuc

He waits to spring upon his prey;
Indictum ore alio : non secus in jugis

While, like a herd of timorous deer,
Ex somnis stupet Euias

Thy army shakes and pants with fear,
Hebrum prospiciens, et nive candidam

Led by their doughty general's skill,
Thracen, ac pede barbaro

From frith to frith, from hill to hill.
Lustratam Rhodopen.


“ Is thus thy haughty promise paid

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 sume 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-baunch'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 Argyll. Then roll'd his eye-balls to and fro

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

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

And hinder'd passing Inverlocky, Broke forth the prophet without breeches.

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

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'al 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 geers,

Unenvy'd by your haughty foes at home;
The shield, the pistol, durk, 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,



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