EPISTLE III.

ΤΟ Α

FRIEND,

FROM

JOHN WHALEY, M. Ą.

RECAPITULATING THE PARTICULARS OF A

JOURNEY TO HOUGHTON.

SWEET Nymphs, that dwell on Pindus' verdant side,
And o'er the woods without a blush preside,
Celestial Muses, deign your Bard a lay,

As on the winding banks of Yare I stray.
Yet if the Nymphs from Pindus scorn to bow,
Nor deign to listen to a voice so low;

Their pride I will repay, and in despite,
While such my theme, of all the Muses write.

Recall we then, for still 'twill please, to mind
The morn we left dull Norwich smoke behind,
When, as the lofty spire just sunk from view,
To a fair verdant water'd vale we drew;
Where 'midst fair Liberty's all joyous plains
Popery still seems to hug her galling chains.

16

The dragon in Hesperian gardens old

Thus slumbering lay, and tasted not the gold;
Thus, 'midst th' eternal spring Judea keeps,
The lazy poison of Asphaltus sleeps.

Bend then, my Muse, thy flight to Weston's plains
(No verse can flow where papal Slavery reigns),20
Weston! whose groves not envy Pindus' shade,
Nor, blest with Ridley, want Apollo's aid.
Here Virtue reigns, and o'er the fruitful land
Religion walks, with Freedom hand in hand;
His little flock the pious priest informs,

And every breast with heaven-born doctrine warms;
Soft flows his stream of eloquence along,
And truths divine come mended from his tongue.
Here the known bounty of the place we blest,
And to our number join'd the chearful priest. 36

Through ancient Elmham next our way we take, And gravely nodding wise reflections make ; How strongest things destructive Time o'erturns, And the waste town its ravish'd mitre mourns; "Mitre ! repeats the priest with simpering leer, 'Twill fit at Norwich full as well as here."

But now, my Muse, in blushes hide thy face, Nor deign the next vile town in verse a place; Unless thou canst indite in Blackmore's strain, And say, we call'd full hungry at the Swan, 4 "But found not hay for horse, nor meat for man."

Dire hunger! that with meagre visage stalks,
And never fails to cross the poet's walks:

But three short miles soon brought us bounteous aid,
And Mileham's fulness Brisley's want o'erpaid.
See! the gay Unicorn the wood adorn,

Fair sign of plenty, with his ivory horn!
Here Ceres spread her fruits with lavish hand,.
And Bacchus laughing waited our command.

Hence pleas'd and satisfy'd we take our road, so And sometimes laugh and talk, but oftner nod. Yet this soft indolence not long we kept, But wak'd to see where others faster slept; Where Coke's remains beneath the marble rot, His cases and distinctions all forgot; His body honor'd and to Fame consign'd, For virtues flowing from th' immortal mind. What would avail this sumptuous mass of stone, Were he not from his works for ever known? Let the survivors of such great men's dust, b Ne'er think to add to Virtue by a bust; If false, posterity will find the lye,

If true, without it, it will never die,

But through succeeding ages shine the same,
Or from some Leicester catch a brighter flame.

But farewell death, and tombs, and moldering urns, Our eye with joy on neighb'ring Raynham turns; Where pleasures undecaying seem to dwell, Such as the happy in Elysium feel,

Where heroes, statesmen, and the virtuous crowd
Receive the great reward of being good.

Such pleasures ev'n on earth had heaven ordain'd,
For him who once our tottering state sustain'd;
Who join'd the glorious freedom-loving crew,
Fix'd to great Caesar what was Caesar's due,—
And then, dictator-like, to fields withdrew.
Fair ran the current of his age, serene

As the pure lake that bounds the various scene.
Here whate'er Nature beauteous boasts we find,
Charming when separate, but more charming join'd,
Pleasures, though chang'd, we meet where'er we rove,
On hill, in dale, on plain, in shady grove;
Here swell the hillocs crown'd with golden grain,
There, at their feet, fair flows the liquid plain,
O'er those the larks extend their labor'd note,–
On this the swans in snowy grandeur float.

To Houghton then we take our pleasing way, Thrice happy boundary of a well-spent day; Here chearful Plenty met the wearied guest, And splendid Welcome doubly crown'd our rest.

Thou then, Apollo, aid the Poet's lay, Thy beams gave lustre to the following day; When in one house more beauties join'd we found, Than e'er thou seest in al lthy glorious round; Where Walpole plac'd, with curious happy cost,

Whate'er magnificence or taste can boast,
Where, in what building noblest has, we find
Preserv'd, what painting liveliest e'er design'd.
See! Sculpture too her beauties here disclose,
Such as old Phidias taught and Rysbrack knows;
Laocoon here in pain still seems to breathe,
While round his limbs the poisonous serpents wreathe,
Life struggling seems through every limb to pass,
And dying torments animate the brass.

The pencil's power the proud saloon displays, And struck with wonder on the paint we gaze.

See! the proud Rabbins, at the sumptuous board, Frown on the wretch who kneels before her Lord, And the rich unguent, in devotion meet,

Pours, mix'd with tears, on her Redeemer's feet,
In vain with hypocritic rage they glow,

While mercy smooths the heavenly stranger's brow
He the true penitent with ease descries,
Sees the heart speaking in the melting eyes,
Bids every tear with full effect to stream,
And from his vengeance all her sins redeem.

On the next cloth behold Van Dyck display Celestial innocence, immortal day : His pencil here no more with nature vies, Above her plastic power his genius flies; Soars on Promethean wing aloft, and there Steals forms which heaven born cherubs only wear i

120