If to thy fair beginnings nobly true,

These, thy best wealth, with curious choice combin'd,
Now treasur'd here, shall form the studious mind:
To wits unborn the wanted succours give,
And fire the bard, whom Genius means to live.
"But, teach thy sons the gentle laws of peace;
Let low Self-love and pedant Discord cease:
Their object truth, utility their aim,
One social spirit reign, in all the same.
Thus aided arts shall with fresh vigour shoot;
Their cultur'd blossoms ripen'd into fruit;
Thy faded star dispense a brighter ray,
And each glad Muse renew her noblest lay."

VERSES

OCCASIONED BY DR. FRAZER'S REBUILDING PART OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF ABERDEEN.

In times long past, ere Wealth was Learning's foe,
And dar'd despise the worth he would not know;
Fre mitred Pride, which arts alone had rais'd,
Those very arts, in others saw, unprais'd;
Friend to mankind', a prelate, good and great,
The Muses courted to this safe retreat:
Fix'd each fair virgin, decent, in her cell,
With learned Leisure, and with Peace to dwell.
The fabric finish'd, to the sovereign's fame 2,
His own neglecting, he transferred his claim.
Here, by successive worthies, well was taught
Whate'er enlightens, or exalts the thought.
With labour planted, and improv'd with care,
The various tree of knowledge flourish'd fair:
Soft and serene the kindly seasons roll'd,
And Science long enjoy'd her age of gold.

Now, dire reverse! impair'd by lapse of years,
A falling waste the Muses' seat appears.
O'er her gray roofs, with baneful ivy bound,
Time, sure destroyer, walks his hostile round:
Silent, and slow, and ceaseless in his toil,
He mines each wall, he moulders every pile!
Ruin hangs hovering o'er the fated place:
And dumb Oblivion comes with mended pace.
Sad Learning's genius, with a father's fear,
Beheld the total desolation near:
Beheld the Muses stretch the wing to fly;
And fix'd on Heaven his sorrow-streaming eye!
From Heaven, in that dark hour, commission'd
Mild Charity, ev'n there the foremost name. [came
Swift Pity flew before her, softly bright;
At whose felt influence, Nature smil'd with light.
"Hear, and rejoice!"-the gracious power begun
"Already, fir'd by me, thy favourite son
This ruin'd scene remarks with filial eyes;
And, from its fall, bids fairer fabrics rise.
Ev'n now, behold! where crumbling fragments gray,
In dust deep-bury'd, lost to memory lay,
The column swells, the well-knit arches bend,
The round dome widens, and the roofs ascend!
"Nor ends the bounty thus: by him bestow'd,
Here, Science shall her richest stores unload.
Whate'er, long-hid, Philosophy has found;
Or the Muse sung, with living laurel crown'd;
Or History descry'd, far-looking sage,

In the dark doubtfulness of distant age;

PROLOGUE

TO THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.

SPOKEN BY LORD SANDWICH.

WHEN arts and arms, beneath Eliza's smile,
Spread wide their influence o'er this happy isle;
A golden reign, uncurst with party rage,
That foe to taste, and tyrant of our age;
Ere all our learning in a libel lay,
And all our talk, in politics, or play:

The statesman oft would soothe his toils with wit,
What Spenser sung, and Nature's Shakspeare writ;
Or to the laurell'd grove, at times, retire,
There, woo the Muse, and wake the moving lyre.
As fair examples, like ascending morn,
The world at once enlighten and adorn;
From them diffus'd, the gentle arts of peace
Shot brightening o'er the land, with swift increase:
Rough Nature soften'd into grace and case;
Sense grew polite, and Science sought to please.
Reliev'd from yon rude scene of party-din,
Where open Baseness vies with secret Sin,
And safe embower'd in Woburn's 3 airy groves
Let us recall the times our taste approves;
Awaken to our aid the mourning Muse;
Through every bosom tender thought infuse;
Melt angry Faction into moral sense,
And to his guests a Bedford's soul dispense.
And now,

while Spring extends her smiling reign,
Green on the mountain, flowery in the plain;
While genial Nature breathes, from hill and dale,
Health, fragrance, gladness, in the living gale;
The various softness, stealing through the heart,
Impressions sweetly social, will impart.
When sad Eudocia pours her hopeless woe,
The tear of pity will unbidden flow!
Holds up himself, a mirror for mankind;
When erring Phocyas, whom wild passions blind,
An equal eye on our own hearts we turn,
Where frailties lurk, where fond affections burn:
And, conscious, Nature is in all the same,
We mourn the guilty, while the guilt we blame!

EPILOGUE

TO THE BROTHERS,

A TRAGEDY, BY DR. YOUNG.

To woman, sure, the most severe affliction
Is, from these fellows, point-blank contradiction.

3 The Siege of Damascus was acted at Woburn, by the duke of Bedford, the earl of Sandwich, and

Still whirl'd, by every rising whim,
From that to this, from her to him;
And when he hath his circle run,
He ends-just where he first begun.

ON AN AMOROUS OLD MAN.
STILL hovering round the fair at sixty-four,
Unfit to love, unable to give o'er;

A flesh-fly, that just flutters on the wing,
Awake to buz, but not alive to sting;

Brisk where he cannot, backward where he can ;
The teazing ghost of the departed man.

ON I. H., ES2.

THE youth had wit himself, and could afford
A witty neighbour his good word.

Though scandal was his joy, he would not swear:
An oath had made the ladies stare;
At them he duly dress'd, but without passion:
His only mistress was the fashion.

His verse with fancy glitter'd, cold and faint;
His prose, with sense, correctly quaint.
Trifles he lov'd; he tasted arts:
At once a fribble, and a man of parts.

A FRAGMENT. ***

FAIR morn ascends: soft zephyr's wing O'er hill and vale renews the spring: Where, sown profusely, herb and flower, Of balmy smell, of healing power, Their souls in fragrant dews exhale, And breathe fresh life in every gale. Here, spreads a green expanse of plains, Where, sweetly pensive, Silence reigns; And there, at utmost stretch of eye, A mountain fades into the sky; While winding round, diffus'd and deep, A river rolls with sounding sweep. Of human art no traces near,

I seem alone with Nature here!

Here are thy walks, O sacred Health!

The monarch's bliss, the beggar's wealth; The seasoning of all good below! The sovereign friend in joy or woe! O thou, most courted, most despis'd, And but in absence duly priz'd! Power of the soft and rosy face! The vivid pulse, the vermil grace, The spirits when they gayest shine, Youth, beauty, pleasure, all are thine! O Sun of life! whose heavenly ray Lights up, and cheers, our various day, The turbulence of hopes and fears, The storm of Fate, the cloud of years, Till Nature, with thy parting light, Reposes late in Death's calm night: Fled from the trophy'd roofs of state, Abodes of splendid Pain and Hate; Fled from the couch, where, in sweet sleep, Hot Riot would his anguish steep,

But tosses through the midnight shade,

Of death, of life, alike afraid;

For ever fled to shady cell,

Where Temperance, where the Muses dwell;
Thou oft art seen, at early dawn,
Slow-pacing o'er the breezy lawn:
Or on the brow of mountain high,
In silence feasting ear and eye,

With song and prospect, which abound
From birds, and woods, and waters round.
But when the Sun, with noontide ray,
Flames forth intolerable day;

While Heat sits fervent on the plain,
With Thirst and Languor in his train;
All nature sickening in the blaze:
Thou, in the wild and woody maze,
That clouds the vale with umbrage deep,
Impendent from the neighbouring steep,
Will find betimes a caltn retreat,
Where breathing Coolness has her seat.
There, plung'd amid the shadows brown,
Imagination lays him down;
Attentive, in his airy mood,
To every murmur of the wood:
The bee in yonder flowery nook;
The chidings of the headlong brook,
The green leaf shivering in the gale;
The warbling hill, the lowing vale;
The distant woodman's echoing stroke;
The thunder of the falling oak.
From thought to thought in vision led,
He holds high converse with the dead;
Sages, or poets. See they rise!
And shadowy skim before his eyes.
Hark! Orpheus strikes the lyre again,
That softens savages to men:
Lo! Socrates, the sent of Heaven,
To whom its moral will was given.
Fathers and friends of human kind,
They form'd the nations, or refin'd;
With all that mends the head and heart,
Enlightening truth, adorning art.

While thus I mus'd beneath the shade,
At once the sounding breeze was laid:
And Nature, by the unknown law,
Shook deep with reverential awe.
Dumb Silence grew upon the hour:
A browner night involv'd the bower:
When, issuing from the inmost wood,
Appear'd fair Freedom's genius good.
O Freedom! sovereign boon of Heaven;
Great charter, with our being given;
For which the patriot, and the sage,
Have plann'd, have bled through every age!
High privilege of human race,
Beyond a mortal monarch's grace:
Who could not give, nor can reclaim,
What but from God immediate came!

CUPID AND HYMEN;
OR, THE

WEDDING-DAY.

THE rising morn, serenely still,

Had brightening spread o'er vale and hill, Not those loose beams that wanton play, To light the mirth of giddy May;

Nor such red heats as burn the plain,
In ardent Summer's feverish reign:
But rays, all equal, soft and sober,
To suit the second of October;
To suit the pair, whose wedding-day
This Sun now gilds with annual ray.

Just then, where our good-natur'd Thames is
Some four short miles above St. James's,
And deigns, with silver-streaming wave,
Th' abodes of earth-born Pride to lave,
Aloft in air two gods were soaring;
While Putney-cits beneath lay suoring,
Plung'd deep in dreams of ten per cent.
On sums to their dear country lent:
Two gods of no inferior fame,
Whom ancient wits with reverence name;
Though wiser moderns much disparage-
I mean the gods of love and marriage.
But Cupid first, his wit to show,
Assuming a mere modern beau,
Whose utmost aim is idle mirth,
Look'd-just as coxcombs look on Earth:
Then rais'd his chin, then cock'd his hat,
To grace this common-place chit-chat.

"How! on the wing, by break of dawn!
Dear brother"-there he forc'd a yawn-
"To tell men, sunk in sleep profound,
They must, ere night, be gag'd and bound!
Who, having once put on thy chain,
'Tis odds, may ne'er sleep sound again.
So say the wits: but wiser folks
Still marry, and contemn their jokes:
They know, each better bliss is thine,
Pure nectar, genuine from the vine!
And Love's own hand that nectar pours,
Which never fails, nor ever sours;
Well, be it so: yet there are fools,
Who dare demur to former rules;
Who laugh profanely at their betters,
And find no freedom plac'd in fetters;
But, well or ill, jog on through life
Without that sovereign bliss, a wife.
Leave these at least, these sad dogs free,
To stroll with Bacchus and with me;
And sup, in Middlesex, or Surrey,
On coarse cold beef, and Fanny Murray."
Thus Cupid-and with such a leer,
You would have sworn 'twas Ligonier.
While Hymen soberly reply'd,
Yet with an air of conscious pride:

"Just come from yonder wretched scene,
Where all is venal, false, and mean,"
(Looking on London as he spoke)
"I marvel not at thy dull joke;
Nor, in such cant to hear thee vapour,
Thy quiver lin'd with South-sea paper;
Thine arrows feather'd, at the tail,
With India-bonds, for hearts on sale;
Their other ends too, as is meet,

Tipp'd with gold points from Lombard-street.
But could'st thou for a moment quit
These airs of fashionable wit,

And re-assume thy nobler name

Look that way, where I turn my flame-"
He said, and held his torch inclin'd,
Which, pointed so, still brighter shin'd-
"Behold yon couple, arm in arm,

Whom I, eight years, have known to charm;
And, while they wear my willing chains,
A god dare swear that neither feigus.

This morn, that bound their mutual vow,
That blest them first, and blesses now,
They grateful hail! and, from the soul,
With thousands o'er both heads may roll;
Till, from life's banquet, either guest,
Embracing, may retire to rest.
Come then, all raillery laid aside,
Let this their day serenely glide:
With mine thy serious aim unite,
And both some proper guests invite;
That not one minute's running sand
May find their pleasures at a stand."
At this severe and sad rebuke,
Enough to make a coxcomb puke;
Poor Cupid, blushing, shrugg'd and wine'd,
Not yet consenting, though convinc'd :
For 'tis your witling's greatest terrour,
Ev'n when he feels, to own, his errour.
Yet, with a look of arch grimace,
He took his penitential face:
Said, "'twas, perhaps, the surer play,
To give your grave good souls their way:
That, as true humour was grown scarce,
He chose to see a sober farce;
For, of all cattle and all fowl,
Your solemn-looking ass and owl
Rais'd much more mirth, he durst aver it,
Than those jack-puddings, pug and parrot."
He said, and eastward spread his wing,
From London some few friends to bring.
His brother too, with sober cheer,
For the same end did westward steer:
But first, a pensive Love forlorn,
Who three loug weeping years has borne
His torch revers'd, and all around,
Where once it flam'd, with cypress bound,
Sent off, to call a neighbouring friend,
On whom the mournful train attend:
And bid him, this one day, at least,
For such a pair, at such a feast,
Strip off the sable veil, and wear
His once gay look and happier air.

But Hymen, speeding forward still,
Observ'd a man on Richmond-hill,
Who now first tries a country life;
Perhaps, to fit him for a wife.

But, though not much on this he reckon'd,
The passing god look'd in and beckon'd:
He knows him rich in social merit,
With independent taste and spirit;
Though he will laugh with men of whim,
For fear such men should laugh at him.
But lo, already on his way,
In due observance of the day,
A friend and favourite of the Nine,
Who can, but seldom cares to shine,
And one sole virtue would arrive at-
To keep his many virtues private:
Who tends, well pleas'd, yet as by stealth,
His lov'd companion's ease and health:
Or in his garden, barring out
The noise of every neighbouring rout,
At pensive hour of eve and prime,
Marks how the various hand of Time
Now feeds and rears, now starves and slaughters,
His vegetable sons and daughters.

While these are on their way, behold!
Dan Cupid, from his London-fold,

First seeks and sends his new lord Warden 2
Of all the nymphs in Covent-Garden:
Brave as the sword he wears in fight;
Sincere, and briefly in the right;
Whom never minister or king
Saw meanly cringing in their ring.

A second see! of special note,
Plump Comus 3 in a colonel's coat;
Whom we, this day, expect from far,
A jolly first-rate man of war;
On whom we boldly dare repose,
To meet our friends, or meet our foes.
Or comes a brother in his stead?
Strong-body'd too, and strong of head:
Who, in whatever path he goes,
Still looks right on before his nose;
And holds it little less than treason,
To baulk his stomach or his reason.
True to his mistress and his meat,
He eats to love, and loves to eat.

Last comes a virgin-pray admire her! Cupid himself attends, to squire her:

A welcome guest! we inuch had mist her; For 'tis our Kitty, or his sister.

But, Cupid, let no knave or fool

Snap up this lamb, to shear her wool;

No Teague of that unblushing band,

Just landed, or about to land;

Thieves from the womb, and train'd at nurse

To steal an heiress or a purse.

No scraping, saving, saucy cit,

Sworn foe of breeding, worth, and wit;
No half-form'd insect of a peer,

With neither land nor conscience clear;
Who if he can, 'tis all he can do,
Just spell the motto on his landau.
From all, from each of these defend her;
But thou and Hymen both befriend her,
With truth, taste, honour, in a mate,
And much good sense, and some estate.

But now, suppose th' assembly met,
And round the table cordial set;
While in fair order, to their wish,
Plain Neatness sends up every dish,
And Pleasure at the side-board stands,
A nectar'd goblet in his hands,

To pour libations, in due measure,

As Reason wills when join'd with Pleasure-
Let these white moments all be gay,
Without one cloud of diin allay:
In every face let joy be seen,

As truth sincere, as hope serene :

Let friendship, love, and wit combine,
To flavour both the meat and wine,
With that rich relish to each sense,
Which they, and they alone, dispense;

Let music too their mirth prolong,
With warbled air and festive song:

SUNG BY A SHEPHERDESS WHO HAS LOST HER LOVER IN
THE WARS.

A YOUTH, adorn'd with every art,
To warm and win the coldest heart,

In secret mine possest.

The morning bud that fairest blows,
The vernal oak that straightest grows,

His face and shape exprest.

In moving sounds he told his tale,
Soft as the sighings of the gale,

That wakes the flowery year.
What wonder he could charm with ease,
Whom happy Nature taught to please,
Whom Honour made sincere.

At morn he left me-fought-and fell!
The fatal evening heard his knell,
And saw the tears I shed:
Tears that must ever, ever fall;
For ah! no sighs the past recall,
No cries awake the dead!

THE EXCURSION;

A POEM.

IN TWO CANTOS.

CONTENTS.

CANTO I.

Subject pro

posed; a short excursive survey of the Earth and Heavens. The poem opens with a description of the face of Nature in the different scenes of morning, sunrise, noon, with a thunder-storm, evening, night, and a particular night-piece, with the character of a friend deceased.

With the return of morning, Fancy continues her excursion, first northward-A view of the arctic