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When v'er Creation's blotted face
Drear Night her fable banner rears,
And veils fair Nature's vernal grace,
Encircled round by doubts and fears,
Thro' darksome mists and chilling dews
His path the wanderer's foot pursues,
Till, shining clear in Orient ikies,
He views the star of Venus rise,
And joys to see the genial power,
Bright harbinger of morning's hour !
And now a flood of radiance streams
From young Aurora's blushing beams,
Tin rob'd in gorgeous state, the orb of day
Spreads o'er the laughing earth his full refulgent ray!
Blest be the omen – royal pair!
O may the hymeneal rite,
That joins the valiant and the fair,
Shed on the nations round its placid light!
Her fertile plain tho' Albion see
From savage devastation free,
Tho' with triumphant sail fhe reign
Sole Empress of the subject main,
She longs to bid the thunders sleep
Which Thake the regions of the deep,
That crowding nations far and wide,
Borne peaceful o'er the ambient tide,
May share the bleflings that endear the day
Which gave a Patriot King a patriot race to sway !
SATIRICAL Advice to Young Poets panting after CELEBRITY. (Extracted from Mr. FAWCETT'S ART OF POETRY, according to the latest
Improvements, by Sir Simon SWAN, Baronet.
TOULD'ST thou the SENTIMENTAL tribes engage,
To hang enchanted w'er thy magic page;
Although thy fecret soul should dance and fing,
Blithe as the birds whose notes falute the spring ;
Though at thy side mirth's sportful goddess ftands,
Along with Nature thouts and claps her hands,
And, breathing all her deity, fupplies
Jests to thy lips, and laughter to thine eyes;
Although, the merriest of the Muse's fons,
Thou sing the liveliest catch to Oxford's gowns !
Or dance at Baiæ, gayest of the gay;
Yet, when you write, let forrows fhade the lay
Still, in your song, a deep dejection wear;
Dismiss each smile, and pour the tuneful tear :
Appear some wretch, whom cruel stars pursue,
Whom Peace and Joy have bad a long adieu :
As deep Despair had breath'd it, let the strain,
In each smooth line, harmoniously complain.”
Learn next, if ears POLITB you burn to ga's What canone must direct th' obedient strain.
Let Fancy all her loftier flights forbear,
And each minuter beauty make her care.
The courtly reader's finely structur'd eye
Sees only coarseness in fublimity :
Ánd, all too weak e'en Beauty's form to gaze,
Let's fairy Prettinefs usarp her praise.
Like a trim garden should thy fong appear,
Nought great or bold muft find admillion there:
No forests (well, no mountains pierce the sky,
No giant-scenes impress with awe the eye,
But little flowers in nicest order grow,
O'er neat parterres, a blooming rareeshow!
And flattest plots of thortest grass be seen,
Smooth as the velvet's fur each downy green;
Where Toil has all her proofs of patience shown,
How oft her hand the level plain has mown,
And dragg'd her lumbering roller up and down.
Passion be sure avoid : no gentle ear
The Thock of aught to boisterous knows to bear.
Would'st thou the truly polith'd reader please,
Let him perute you at his utmost ease.
No bursts of ecitaly must break his rest;
Rude is the mule that agitates his breast:
His placid soul let all your lays compose;
Oh! ne'er to roughly use him, as to rouse !
One peaceful tenour must the numbers keep,
And sweetly lull him into clallic sleep.
Stirr'd by no gufts, let all the unruffled lay,
In ealy flow, pursue its quiet way:
Soft, soothing thoughts serenely roll along,
In glib and elegantly languid fong:
Ne er mult the headlong itream impetuous pour,
Ne'er with the torrent's thundering fury roar ;
But smooth as lakes the glotly numbers glide,
Without one wrinkle in the polith'd tide.
Would'st thou to à yet prouder fummit raise
The soft renown of unimpaffion'd lays,
Bid the bold frenfy of Burke's ireful page,
Lull'd in thy mollient rhimes, forget to rage!
With notes, whose magic rivals Orpheus fame,
His vigorous rhetoric's tiger-fiercenels tame!
Their Inakes soft hifting, let the Furies wear,
In thy meek verfe, a mild and lamb-like air !
There, let the dogs of war attune their thrvat,
And bark for blood, with small and puppy note!
Like Bottom, child of Shakespear's mirthful art,
Like gentle Bottom, play the lion's part !
And, left the found the ladies' hearts should quail,
Roar like " a fucking dove," or warbling nightingale!
If thy bold muse be bent to lend some zeft
To strains that lull the slumber-loving breaft,
Ambitious still to prove, how sweetly chimes
Phrenetic zeal with calm and harmless rhimes,
A furious war let wild, polemic Rage
With all the letter'd friends of Freedom wage:
And with a schoolboy's hand, and bigot's fire,
Strike the deep grumblings of thine angry lyre!
In lowlieft verfe, that humbly creeps along,
Nor once aspires to fli_ht, a reptile fong;
Such groveling, springless, unexulting lines,
As court a modeft fame in magazines";
Emit a copious tide of rank abuse:
With venom arm thy wing-unfurnish'd mufe:
Give to the worm of wit the ferpent's gall,
And let it hiss, and bite, as well as crawi.
Ten thousands deem, no quill can e'er supply
So sweet an eloquence as calumny !
No grace, like foul reproach, adorns a page;
And party, far exceeds poetic rage!
Then be the bays, that round thy brotos are worni,
A wreath of poppies mixt with prickly thorn!
As artful cooks compose a favoury dish,
By sauce's aid, of tasteless eggs and fish,
Strong censure seasons thus infipid lays,
Pricks the dull taste, and spurs it into praise !
Thou, in this Lent of song, a verse prepare,
In acrids rich, of genial favours fpare :
With rancour's spice, the mental palate hit,
A feast of fcandal 'midst a fast of wit.
And (for long rhimes fatigue a coftive brain)
Of small dimenfion be the nieager ftrain;
While amplett notes, with swelling drapery,
Dress the Scan fong, and plumper lize fupply:
Let Greek and Latin, proudly scatter'd there,
In learned pomp, to charm the schools, appear;
That e'en thy foes may own, in anger's spite,
Thou haft a power to read, if not to write.
Laft, as the master-stroke to win thee fame,
In cloud and darkness veil thine awful name !
That thou, like shrouded Junius, may'st be fought,
Proclaim, like Junius, none shall find thee out ?
Though in all else unlike, with him defy,
And, by defying, draw, the curious eye!
Thus may a homely Muse, that lufts to gain
The Public's love, with " cheeks of sorry grain,"
Force some small notice of her, if she try
This wily trick of letter'd coquetry.
So, void of beauty's lure, the rustic maid
Pierces, compell’d to shifts, the thicket's shade :
And, to provoke the swains to amorous chase,
Tells them they ne'er Aall find her hiding-place.
Thus, though thy page erect no “ lofty rhime,”
At least thy person may become sublime.
Sublimity, as critic pens have thown,
Of solemn shadows loves to frame her throne :
What moves but laughter, when to view unveil'd,
Oft strikes with awe, or wonder, while conceal'd :
Screen'd by the wainscot, e'en a scratching moufe
May spread alarm throughout a coward house:
E'en flambering, eastern kings have pass'd for great,
Lolling, invisible, in pillow'd state:
And, thus, in thee shall grand effect be found,
Wrapt with the majesty of mystery round.
LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.
(From Colman's Night-GoWN AND Slippers, or Tales in Varse. W THO has e'er been in London, that overgrown place,
Has seen Lodgings to let” stare him full in the face, Some are good, and let dearly; while some, 'tis well known, Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.
Will Waddle, whose temper was studious, and lonely,
Hited lodgings that took Single Gentlemen, only;
But Will was so fat he appear'd like a ton ;
Or like two Single Gentleinen roll'd into One.
He entered his rooms; and to bed he retreated,
But, all the night long, he felt fever'd and heated;
And, though heavy to weigh, as, a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to deep.
Next night 'twas the same; and the next; and the next;
He perspired like an ox; he was nervous, and vex'd;
Week passed after week; till, by weekly fucceffion;
His weakly condition was paft all expresion.
In fix months his acquaintance began much to doubt him; For his ikin, " like a lady's loose gown,” hung about him; He fent for a Doctor; and cried, like a niony, “ I have lost many pounds - make me well there's a guinea." The Doctor look'd wife:-“ a flow fever," he said: Prescribed fudorifies, -and going to bed. “ Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, are humbugs ;" " I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs." WILL kick'd out the Doctor:- but when ill indeed, E’en dismissing the Doctor don't always succeed; So, calling his boft, - he said, " Sir, do you know, “ I'm the fat Single Gentleman, Six months ago ?" “ Look'e, landlord, I think" argued Will, with a grinz, « That with honest intentions you first took me in;" “ But from the first night -- and to say it I'm bold"“ I have been so damn'd hot, that I'm sure I caught cold." Quoth the landlord " Till now, I ne'er had a dispute ; “ I've let lodgings ten years ; — I'm a Baker to boot ; “ In airing your Theets, Sir, my wife is no Noven, “ And your bed is immediately — over my Oven." « The Oven” !!! says Will — says the hoft, " why this paffion?" “ In that excellent bed died three people of fashion.
Why so crusty, good sir ?” “ Zounds !" — cries Will, in a taking, “ Who wouldn't be crusty, with half a year's baking?" WILL paid for his rooms; cried the host, with a Ineer, « Well, I see you've been going away half a year," “ Friend, we can't well agree" –" yet no quarrel” — Will faid;
For one man may die where another makes bread.”