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February 4,
1768. No. 162. |
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The Present Age
No more, my friend!
of vain applause,
Nor complimental rhymes;
Come, muse, let’s call another cause,
And sing about the times.
For, of all ages ever
known, 5
The present is the oddest;
As all the men are honest grown,
And all the women modest.
No Lawyers now are fond of fees,
Nor Clergy of their
dues; 10
Few people at the play one sees,
At church what crowded pews!
No Courtiers now their friends deceive
With promises of favour;
For what they make them once
believe, 15
They faithfully endeavour.
Our Nobles! Heaven defend us all!
I’ll nothing say about them;
For they are great, and I’m but small,
So, Muse, jog on without
them. 20
Our Gentry! what a virtuous race!
Despising earthly treasures;
Fond of true honour’s glorious chase,
And quite averse to pleasures.
The Ladies dress so plain
indeed 25
You’d think them Quakers all;
Witness the wool-packs on their head,
So comely! and so small!
What Tradesman now forsakes his shop,
For politicks, or
news? 30
Or takes his dealer at a hop,
Through interested views?
No soaking Sot his spouse neglects,
For mugs of mantling nappy;
Nor madly squanders his
effects, 35
To make himself quite happy.
Our frugal taste the State secures,
Whence, then, can wo begin?
For luxury’s all turn’d out of doors,
Frugality took
in. 40
Hence all the plenty of the times!
Hence all provisions cheap!
Hence dearth of follies and of crimes!
Hence all complaints asleep!
Vile Cuckold-making is
forgot;
45
No Ladies now in keeping;
No Debtors in our prisons rot!
No Creditors a weeping!
(So frequent once) the French disease
Is grown near out of
knowledge; 50
And Doctors take but moderate fees
In country, town, or college.
No pleasure-chaises fill the streets,
Or crowd the roads on Sunday;
So horses, labouring through the
week, 55
Obtain a respite one day.
See, Gamesters, Jugglers, Swearers, Liars,
Despis’d, and out of fashion.
And modern Youth, grown self-deniers,
Fly all unlawful
passion. 60
Happy the nation thus endow’d!
So void of wants and crimes!
All zealous for their neighbours good;
Oh these are glorious times!
Your character! (with wondering
stare!) 65
Says Tom, is mighty high Sir!
But pray forgive me if I swear
I think it all a L IE,
Sir!
Ha! think you so! my honest clown!
Then take a nother sight on’t! 70
Just turn the picture upside down,
I fear you’ll see the right on’t.
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February 4,
1768. No. 162. |
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Night
Yon ruddy streaks,
that in the West appear,
Proclaim Night’s dark dominion to be near;
The lusty sheperds now with haste prepare,
To pitch their folds, and pen their fleecy care.
Forth from the barn the screech owl wings her
flight, 5
By instinct conscious of th’ approaching Night.
See dusky curtains overspread the skies,
And half the world in gloomy stillness lies,
Tis awful all! a solemn silence reigns,
And spreads her empire o’er the distant
plains. 10
The landscape loses all its gay parade.
And Nature seems quite buried in the shade.
What means this change! Behold a gleam of light,
With modest lustre silvers o’er the Night,
Darkness no longer bears the sullen
sway,
15
Yet slowly yields to imitated Day;
While virgin Cynthia mildly seeks to rise,
And sheds sweet radiance o’er the spangled skies,
Nature once more her verdant charms displays,
The ravish’d eye, the pleasing scene
surveys;
20
With wonder views the firmament above,
And bows to Heav’n in gratitude and love.
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February 11,
1768. No. 163. |
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Retirement, An Ode
Shook from the purple
wings of Even
When dews impearl the grove,
And from the darkening verge of Heaven
Beams the sweet star of love;
Laid on a daisy-sprinkled
green, 5
Beside a plaintive Stream,
A meek-eyed YOUTH
of serious mien
Indulged this solemn theme.
Ye cliffs in hoary grandeur pil’d
High o’er the glimmering
dale! 10
Ye groves, along whose windings wild,
Soft sighs the saddening gale;
Where oft lone Melancholy strays,
By wilder’d Fancy sway’d,
What time the wan moon’s yellow
rays 15
Gleam through the chequer’d shade!
To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
Ne’er drew Ambition’s eye,
Scap’d a tumultuous world’s alarms
To your retreats I
fly. 20
Deep in your most sequester’d bower
Let me my woes resign,
Where Solitude, mild modest Power,
Leans on her ivy’d shrine.
How shall I woo Thee, matchless
Fair! 25
Thy heavenly smile how win!
Thy Smile, that smooths the brow of care,
And stills each storm within!
O wilt Thou to thy favourite grove
Thine ardent Votary
bring, 30
And bless his hours, and bid them move
Serene on silent wing.
Oft let remembrance soothe his mind
With dreams of former days,
When soft on Leisure’s lap reclin’d 35
He carol’d sprightly lays.
Blest days! when Fancy smiled at care,
When Pleasure toy’d with truth,
Nor Envy with malignant glare
Had harm’d his simple
youth. 40
’Twas then, O Solitude, to thee
His early vows were paid,
From heart sincere and warm and free,
Devoted to the shade.
Ah! why did fate his steps
decoy 45
In stormy paths to roam,
Remote from all congenial joy!——
O take thy Wanderer home.
Henceforth thy awful haunts be mine!
The long-abandon’d
hill; 50
The hollow cliff, whose waving pine
O’erhangs the darksome rill;
Whence the scar’d owl on pinions grey
Breaks from the rustling boughs,
And down the lone vale sails
away 55
To shades of deep repose.
O while to Thee the woodland pours
Its wildly warbling song,
And fragrant from the waste of flowers
The zephyr breathes
along; 60
Let no rude sound invade from far,
No vagrant foot be nigh,
No ray from Grandeur’s gilded car
Flash on the startled eye.
Yet if some Pilgrim mid the
glade 65
Thy hollow’d bowers explore,
O guard from harm his hoary head,
And listen to his lore.
For he of joys divine shall tell,
That wean from earthy
woe, 70
And triumph o’er the mighty spell
That chains this heart below.
For me, no more the path invites
Ambition loves to tread;
No more I climb those toilsome
heights, 75
By guileful hope misted:
Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more
To Mirth’s enlivening strain.
For present pleasure soon is o’er,
And all the past is
vain. 80
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February 25,
1768. No. 165. |
The following Extract
from a very elegant Collection of Poems, by JAMES
BEATTIE, A.M. we hope will be agreeable to our Readers, as
the Works of that excellent Author are not as yet much known
in America.
Ode to Peace
Written in the Year
MDCCLVIII.
I.1.
"Peace, heaven-descended Maid! whose powerful voice
From antient darkness call’d the morn;
And hush’d of jarring elements the noise.
When Chaos, from his old dominion torn,
With all his bellowing
throng,
5
Far far was hurl’d the void abyss along;
And all the bright Angelic choir,
Striking through all their ranks th’ eternal lyre,
Pour’d in loud symphony th’impetuous strain;
And every fiery orb and planet
sung; 10
And wide, through Night’s dark solitary reign
Rebounding long and deep the lays triumphant rung.
I.2.
Oh whither art thou fled, Saturnian Age!
Roll round again, majestic years!
To break the sceptre of tyrranic
rage, 15
From Woe’s wan cheek to wipe the bitter tears,
Ye years, again roll round!
Hark! from afar what desolating sound,
While echoes load the sighing gales,
With dire presage the throbbing heart
assails!
20
Murder, deep-rous’d, with all the whirlwind’s haste,
And roar of tempest, from her cavern springs,
Her tangled serpents girds around her waist,
Smiles ghastly fierce, and shakes her gore-distilling wings.
I.3.
The shouts redoubling
rise 25
In thunder to the skies.
The Nymphs disorder’d dart along,
Sweet Powers of solitude and song,
Stun’d with the horrors of discordant sound;
And all is listening trembling
round.
30
Torrents, far heard amid the waste of night
That oft have led the wanderer right,
Are silent at the noise.
The mighty Ocean’s more majestic voice
Drown’d in superior din is heard no
more; 35
The surge in silence seems to sweep the foamy shore.
II.1.
The bloody banner streaming in the air
Seen on yon sky-mixt mountain’s brow,
The mingling multitudes, the madding car,
Driven in confusion to the plains
below,
40
War’s dreadful Lord proclaim.
Bursts out by frequent fits th’ expensative flame.
Snatch’d in tempestuous eddies flies
The surging smoke o’er all the darken’d skies.
The cheerful face of heaven no more is
seen, 45
The bloom of morning fades to deadly pale,
The bat flits transient o’er the dusky green,
And night’s foul birds along the sullen twillight sail.
II.2.
Involved in the fire-streak’d gloom the car comes on.
The rushing steeds grim Terror
guides 50
His forehead writh’d to a relentless frown,
Aloft the angry Power of battles rides.
Grasp’d in his mighty hand
A mace tremendous desolates the land;
The tower rolls headlong down the
steep, 55
The mountain shrinks before its wasteful sweep.
Child horror the dissolving limbs invades,
Smit by the blasting lightning of his eyes,
A deeper gloom invests the howling shades,
Strip’d is the shatter’d grove, and every verdure
dies." 60
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