The Poems of Jonathan Swift, D.D Volume I Part 37

EPIGRAM ON THE BUSTS[1] IN RICHMOND HERMITAGE. 1732

"Sic siti laetantur docti."

With honour thus by Carolina placed, How are these venerable bustoes graced!

O queen, with more than regal t.i.tle crown'd, For love of arts and piety renown'd!

How do the friends of virtue joy to see Her darling sons exalted thus by thee!

Nought to their fame can now be added more, Revered by her whom all mankind adore.[2]

[Footnote 1: Newton, Locke, Clarke, and Woolaston.]

[Footnote 2: Queen Caroline's regard for learned men was chiefly directed to those who had signalized themselves by philosophical research. Horace Walpole alludes to this her peculiar taste, in his fable called the "Funeral of the Lioness," where the royal shade is made to say: "... where Elysian waters glide, With Clarke and Newton by my side, Purrs o'er the metaphysic page, Or ponders the prophetic rage Of Merlin, who mysterious sings Of men and lions, beasts and kings."

_Lord Orford's Works_, iv, 379.--_W. E. B._]

ANOTHER

Louis the living learned fed, And raised the scientific head; Our frugal queen, to save her meat, Exalts the heads that cannot eat.

A CONCLUSION

DRAWN FROM THE ABOVE EPIGRAMS, AND SENT TO THE DRAPIER

Since Anna, whose bounty thy merits had fed, Ere her own was laid low, had exalted thy head: And since our good queen to the wise is so just, To raise heads for such as are humbled in dust, I wonder, good man, that you are not envaulted; Prithee go, and be dead, and be doubly exalted.

DR. SWIFT'S ANSWER

Her majesty never shall be my exalter; And yet she would raise me, I know, by a halter!

TO THE REVEREND DR. SWIFT

WITH A PRESENT OF A PAPER-BOOK, FINELY BOUND, ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, NOV. 30, 1732.[1]

BY JOHN, EARL OF ORRERY

To thee, dear Swift, these spotless leaves I send; Small is the present, but sincere the friend.

Think not so poor a book below thy care; Who knows the price that thou canst make it bear?

Tho' tawdry now, and, like Tyrilla's face, The specious front s.h.i.+nes out with borrow'd grace; Tho' pasteboards, glitt'ring like a tinsell'd coat, A _rasa tabula_ within denote: Yet, if a venal and corrupted age, And modern vices should provoke thy rage; If, warn'd once more by their impending fate, A sinking country and an injur'd state, Thy great a.s.sistance should again demand, And call forth reason to defend the land; Then shall we view these sheets with glad surprise, Inspir'd with thought, and speaking to our eyes; Each vacant s.p.a.ce shall then, enrich'd, dispense True force of eloquence, and nervous sense; Inform the judgment, animate the heart, And sacred rules of policy impart.

The spangled cov'ring, bright with splendid ore, Shall cheat the sight with empty show no more; But lead us inward to those golden mines, Where all thy soul in native l.u.s.tre s.h.i.+nes.

So when the eye surveys some lovely fair, With bloom of beauty graced, with shape and air; How is the rapture heighten'd, when we find Her form excell'd by her celestial mind!

[Footnote 1: It was occasioned by an annual custom, which I found pursued among his friends, of making him a present on his birth-day. Orrery's "Remarks," p. 202.--_W. E. B._]

VERSES LEFT WITH A SILVER STANDISH ON THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S DESK, ON HIS BIRTH-DAY.

BY DR. DELANY

Hither from Mexico I came, To serve a proud Iernian dame: Was long submitted to her will; At length she lost me at quadrille.

Through various shapes I often pa.s.s'd, Still hoping to have rest at last; And still ambitious to obtain Admittance to the patriot Dean; And sometimes got within his door, But soon turn'd out to serve the poor:[1]

Not strolling Idleness to aid, But honest Industry decay'd.

At length an artist purchased me, And wrought me to the shape you see.

This done, to Hermes I applied: "O Hermes! gratify my pride; Be it my fate to serve a sage, The greatest genius of his age; That matchless pen let me supply, Whose living lines will never die!"

"I grant your suit," the G.o.d replied, And here he left me to reside.

[Footnote 1: Alluding to sums lent by the Dean, without interest, to a.s.sist poor tradesmen.--_W. E. B._]

VERSES OCCASIONED BY THE FOREGOING PRESENTS

A paper book is sent by Boyle, Too neatly gilt for me to soil.

Delany sends a silver standish, When I no more a pen can brandish.

Let both around my tomb be placed: As trophies of a Muse deceased; And let the friendly lines they writ, In praise of long-departed wit, Be graved on either side in columns, More to my praise than all my volumes, To burst with envy, spite, and rage, The Vandals of the present age.

VERSES SENT TO THE DEAN WITH AN EAGLE QUILL, ON HEARING OF THE PRESENTS BY THE EARL OF ORRERY AND DR. DELANY.

BY MRS. PILKINGTON Shall then my kindred all my glory claim, And boldly rob me of eternal fame?

To every art my gen'rous aid I lend, To music, painting, poetry, a friend.

'Tis I celestial harmony inspire, When fix'd to strike the sweetly warbling wire.[1]

I to the faithful canvas have consign'd Each bright idea of the painter's mind; Behold from Raphael's sky-dipt pencils rise Such heavenly scenes as charm the gazer's eyes.

O let me now aspire to higher praise!

Ambitious to transcribe your deathless lays: Nor thou, immortal bard, my aid refuse, Accept me as the servant of your Muse; Then shall the world my wondrous worth declare, And all mankind your matchless pen revere.

[Footnote 1: Quills of the harpsichord.]

AN INVITATION, BY DR. DELANY, IN THE NAME OF DR. SWIFT

Mighty Thomas, a solemn senatus[1] I call, To consult for Sapphira;[2] so come one and all; Quit books, and quit business, your cure and your care, For a long winding walk, and a short bill of fare.