Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, and Smollett Part 4

Come, born to fill its vast desires!

Thy looks perpetual joys impart, Thy voice perpetual love inspires.

6 While, all my wish and thine complete, By turns we languish and we burn, Let sighing gales our sighs repeat, Our murmurs, murmuring brooks return.

7 Let me, when Nature calls to rest, And blus.h.i.+ng skies the morn foretell, Sink on the down of Stella's breast, And bid the waking world farewell.

AUTUMN.

1 Alas! with swift and silent pace, Impatient Time rolls on the year; The seasons change, and Nature's face Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe.

2 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay; Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are swept away, And Summer fruits desert the bough.

3 The verdant leaves that play'd on high, And wanton'd on the western breeze, Now trod in dust neglected lie, As Boreas strips the bending trees.

4 The fields, that waved with golden grain, As russet heaths are wild and bare; Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain, Nor Health, nor Pleasure wanders there.

5 No more, while through the midnight shade, Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray, Soft pleasing woes my heart invade, As Progne[1] pours the melting lay.

6 From this capricious clime she soars, Oh! would some G.o.d but wings supply!

To where each morn the Spring restores, Companion of her flight, I'd fly.

7 Vain wis.h.!.+ me Fate compels to bear The downward season's iron reign, Compels to breathe polluted air, And s.h.i.+ver on a blasted plain.

8 What bliss to life can Autumn yield, If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail, And Ceres flies the naked field, And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail?

9 Oh! what remains, what lingers yet, To cheer me in the darkening hour?

The grape remains! the friend of wit, In love and mirth of mighty power.

10 Haste--press the cl.u.s.ters, fill the bowl; Apollo! shoot thy parting ray: This gives the suns.h.i.+ne of the soul, This G.o.d of health, and verse, and day.

11 Still, still the jocund strain shall flow, The pulse with vigorous rapture beat; My Stella with new charms shall glow, And every bliss in wine shall meet.

[Footnote 1: 'Progne:' the nightingale.]

EPIGRAM

ON GEORGE II. AND COLLEY CIBBER, ESQ.

Augustus still survives in Maro's strain, And Spenser's verse prolongs Eliza's reign; Great George's acts let tuneful Cibber sing, For Nature form'd the poet for the king.

STELLA IN MOURNING.

When lately Stella's form display'd The beauties of the gay brocade, The nymphs, who found their power decline, Proclaim'd her not so fair as fine.

'Fate! s.n.a.t.c.h away the bright disguise, And let the G.o.ddess trust her eyes.'

Thus blindly pray'd the fretful fair, And Fate, malicious, heard the prayer; But brighten'd by the sable dress, As Virtue rises in distress, Since Stella still extends her reign, Ah! how shall Envy soothe her pain?

The adoring Youth and envious Fair, Henceforth shall form one common prayer; And Love and Hate alike implore The skies--that Stella mourn no more.

TO STELLA.

1 Not the soft sighs of vernal gales, The fragrance of the flowery vales, The murmurs of the crystal rill, The vocal grove, the verdant hill; Not all their charms, though all unite, Can touch my bosom with delight.

2 Not all the gems on India's sh.o.r.e, Not all Peru's unbounded store, Not all the power, nor all the fame, That heroes, kings, or poets claim; Nor knowledge, which the learn'd approve, To form one wish my soul can move.

3 Yet Nature's charms allure my eyes, And knowledge, wealth, and fame I prize; Fame, wealth, and knowledge I obtain, Nor seek I Nature's charms in vain-- In lovely Stella all combine, And, lovely Stella! thou art mine.

VERSES

WRITTEN AT THE BEQUEST OF A GENTLEMAN TO WHOM A LADY HAD GIVEN A SPRIG OF MYRTLE.

What hopes, what terrors, does this gift create, Ambiguous emblem of uncertain fate!

The myrtle (ensign of supreme command, Consign'd to Venus by Melissa's hand), Not less capricious than a reigning fair, Oft favours, oft rejects a lover's prayer.

In myrtle shades oft sings the happy swain, In myrtle shades despairing ghosts complain.

The myrtle crowns the happy lovers' heads, The unhappy lovers' graves the myrtle spreads.

Oh! then, the meaning of thy gift impart, And ease the throbbings of an anxious heart; Soon must this sprig, as you shall fix its doom, Adorn Philander's head, or grace his tomb.

TO LADY FIREBRACE,[1]

AT BURY a.s.sIZES.

At length must Suffolk beauties s.h.i.+ne in vain, So long renown'd in B--n's deathless strain?

Thy charms at least, fair Firebrace! might inspire Some zealous bard to wake the sleeping lyre; For such thy beauteous mind and lovely face, Thou seem'st at once, bright nymph! a Muse and Grace.

[Footnote 1: 'Lady Firebrace:' daughter of P. Bacon, Ipswich, married three times--to Philip Evers, Esq., to Sir Corbell Firebrace, and to William Campbell, uncle of the Duke of Argyle.]

TO LYCE,

AN ELDERLY LADY.