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HORACE, BOOK III. ODE II.

TO THE EARL OF OXFORD, LATE LORD TREASURER.

Sent to him when in the Tower, 1617.
How blest is he who for his country dies,
Since Death pursues the coward as he flies!
The youth in vain would fly from fate's attack,
With trembling knees and terror at his back;
Though fear should lend him pinions like the wind,
Yet swifter fate will seize him from behind.

Virtue repuls'd, yet knows not to repine,
But shall with unattainted honor shine;
Nor stoops to take the staff,* nor lays it down,
Just as the rabble please to smile or frown.

Virtue, to crown her favorites, loves to try
Some new unbeaten passage to the sky; <
Where Jove a seat among the gods will give
To those who die for meriting to live.

Next, faithful silence hath a sure reward; Within our breast be every secret barr'd! He who betrays his friend, shall never be Under one roof, or in one ship, with me. For who with traitors would his safety trust, Lest, with the wicked, Heaven involve the just? And, though the villain 'scape awhile, he feels Slow vengeance, like a blood-hound, at his heels.

MRS. HARRIS'S PETITION.

1699.

To their excellencies the lords justices of Ireland,† the humble petition of Frances Harris, Who must starve, and die a maid, if it miscarries;

Humbly showeth,

That I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's, chamber, because I was cold;

And I had in a purse seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, besides farthings, in money and gold:

So, because I had been buying things for my lady last night,

I was resolv'd to tell my money, to see if it was right.

Now, you must know, because my trunk has a very bad lock,

Therefore all the money I have, which, God knows, is a very small stock,

I keep in my pocket, tied about my middle, next to my smock.

So when I went to put up my purse, as God would have it, my smock was unript,

And, instead of putting it into my pocket, down it slipt;

Then the bell rung, and I went down to put my lady to bed;

And, God knows, I thought my money was as safe as my maidenhead.

*The ensign of the lord treasurer's office. †The Earls of Berkeley and of Galway. Lady Betty Berkeley, afterwards Germaine.

So, when I came up again, I found my pocket feel very light:

But when I search'd, and miss'd my purse, Lord! I thought I should have sunk outright. Lord! madam, says Mary, how d'ye do? Indeed, says I, never worse:

But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with my purse?

Lord help me! said Mary, I never stirr'd out of this place:

Nay, said I, I had it in Lady Betty's chamber, that's a plain case.

So Mary got me to bed and cover'd me up warm: However, she stole away my garters, that I might do myself no harm.

So I tumbled and toss'd all night, as you may very well think,

But hardly ever set my eyes together, or slept a wink.

So I was a-dream'd, methought, that we went and search'd the folks round,

And in a corner of Mrs. Dukes's* box, tied in a rag, the money was found.

So next morning we told Whittle,† and he fell aswearing:

Then my dame Wadgert came; and she, you know, is thick of hearing.

Dame, said I, as loud as I could bawl, do you know what a loss I have had?

Nay, said she, my Lord Colway's folks are all very sad;

For my Lord Dromedary|| comes a Tuesday without fail.

Pugh! said I, but that's not the business that I ail. Says Cary, says he, I have been a servant this fiveand-twenty years, come spring,

And in all the places I liv'd, I never heard of such a thing.

Yes, says the steward,** I remember, when I was at my Lady Shrewsbury's, Such a thing as this happen'd just about the time of gooseberries.

So I went to the party suspected, and I found her full of grief,

(Now, you must know, of all things in the world, I hate a thief.)

However, I am resolv'd to bring the discourse slily about;

Mrs.

Dukes, said I, here's an ugly accident has happen'd out:

"Tis not that I value the money three skips of a louse;††

But the thing I stand upon is the credit of the house.

"Tis true, seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, makes a great hole in my wages: Besides, as they say, service is no inheritance in these ages.

* Wife to one of the footmen.

† Earl of Berkeley's valet.

The old deaf housekeeper.

§ Galway.

The Earl of Drogheda, who, with the primate, was to succeed the two earls.

¶ Clerk of the kitchen.

** Ferris.

An usual saying of hers.

Now, Mrs. Dukes, you know, and every body understands,

That though 'tis hard to judge, yet money can't go without hands.

The devil take me! said she (blessing herself) if ever I saw 't!

So she roar'd like a Bedlam, as though I had call'd her all to naught.

So, you know, what could I say to her any more? I e'en left her, and came away as wise as I was before.

Well; but then they would have had me gone to the cunning man!

No, said I, 'tis the same thing, the chaplain will be here anon.

So the chaplain* came in. Now, the servants say he is my sweetheart,

Because he's always in my chamber, and I always take his part.

So, as the devil would have it, before I was aware, out I blunder'd:

Parson, said I, can you cast a nativity, when a body's plunder'd?

(Now, you must know, he hates to be call'd parson like the devil!)

Truly, says he, Mrs. Nab, it might become you to be more civil;

If your money be gone, as a learned divine says,

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TO THE EARL OF PETERBOROW,

WHO COMMANDED THE BRITISH FORCES IN SPAIN

MORDANTO fills the trump of fame, The Christian world his deeds proclaim, And prints are crowded with his name.

In journeys he outrides the post, Sits up till midnight with his host, Talks politics, and gives the toast;

Knows every prince in Europe's face, Flies like a squib from place to place, And travels not, but runs a race.

From Paris gazette à-la-main,
This day arriv'd, without his train,
Mordanto in a week from Spain.

A messenger comes all a-reek, Mordanto at Madrid to seek; He left the town above a week.

Next day the post-boy winds his horn, And rides through Dover in the morn: Mordanto's landed from Leghorn.

Mordanto gallops on alone;

The roads are with his followers strown; This breaks a girth and that a bone.

His body active as his mind, Returning sound in limb and wind, Except some leather lost behind.

A skeleton in outward figure,
His meagre corpse, though full of vigor,
Would halt behind him, were it bigger.

So wonderful his expedition,
When you have not the least suspicion,
He's with you like an apparition:

Shines in all climates like a star; In senates bold, and fierce in war; A land commander, and a tar:

Heroic actions early bred in,

Ne'er to be match'd in modern reading. But by his namesake, Charles of Sweden

THE PROGRESS OF POETRY.

THE farmer's goose, who in the stubble
Has fed without restraint or trouble.
Grown fat with corn, and sitting still,
Can scarce get o'er the barn-door sill;
And hardly waddles forth to cool
Her belly in the neighboring pool;
Nor loudly cackles at the door;
For cackling shows the goose is poor.

But, when she must be turn'd to graze, And round the barren common strays,

Hard exercise and harder fare
Soon make my dame grow lank and spare:
Her body light, she tries her wings,

And scorns the ground, and upward springs;
While all the parish, as she flies,

Hear sounds harmonious from the skies.
Such is the poet fresh in pay

(The third night's profits of his play);
His morning-draughts till noon can swill,
Among his brethren of the quill;
With good roast beef his belly full,
Grown lazy, foggy, fat, and dull,
Deep sunk in plenty and delight,
What poet e'er could take his flight?
Or, stuff'd with phlegm up to the throat,
What poet e'er could sing a note?
Nor Pegasus could bear the load
Along the high celestial road;

The steed, oppress'd, would break his girth,
To raise the lumber from the Earth.
But view him in another scene,
When all his drink is Hippocrene,
His money spent, his patrons fail,
His credit out for cheese and ale;
His two-years' coat so smooth and bare,
Through every thread it lets in air;
With hungry meals his body pin'd,
His guts and belly full of wind;
And, like a jockey for a race,
His flesh brought down to flying case:
Now his exalted spirit lothes
Encumbrances of food and clothes;
And up he rises, like a vapor,
Supported high on wings of paper;
He singing flies, and flying sings,
While from below all Grub-street rings.

2 L

JAMES THOMSON.

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JAMES THOMSON, a distinguished British poet, stage of Drury-lane, his tragedy of "Sophonista." born at Ednam, near Kelso, in Scotland, in 1700, It was succeeded by Agamemnon;""Edward was one of the nine children of the Rev. Mr. and Eleonora ;" and "Tancred and Sigismunda :" Thomson, minister of that place. James was sent but although these pieces were not without their to the school of Jedburgh, where he attracted the merits, the moral strain was too prevalent for the notice of a neighboring minister by his propensity public taste, and they have long ceased to occupy to poetry, who encouraged his early attempts, and the theatre. Through the recommendation of Dr. corrected his performances. On his removal from Rundle, he was, about 1729, selected as the trayschool, he was sent to the university of Edinburgh, elling associate of the Hon. Mr. Talbot, eldest son where he chiefly attended to the cultivation of of the Chancellor, with whom he visited most of his poetical faculty; but the death of his father, the courts of the European continent. During this during his second session, having brought his mother tour, the idea of a poem on "Liberty" suggested to Edinburgh for the purpose of educating her itself, and after his return, he employed two years children, James complied with the advice of his in its completion. The place of secretary of the friends, and entered upon a course of divinity. briefs, which was nearly a sinecure, repaid him for Here, we are told, that the explanation of a psalm his attendance on Mr. Talbot. 'Liberty" at length having been required from him as a probationary appeared, and was dedicated to Frederic, Prince of exercise, he performed it in language so splendid, Wales, who, in opposition to the court, affected the that he was reproved by his professor for employing patronage of letters, as well as of liberal sentiments a diction which it was not likely that any one of his in politics. He granted Thomson a pension, to future audience could comprehend. This admo- remunerate him for the loss of his place by the nition completed the disgust which he felt for the death of Lord-Chancellor Talbot. In 1746, approfession chosen for him; and having connected peared his poem, called "The Castle of Indolence," himself with some young men in the university who which had been several years under his polishing were aspirants after literary eminence, he readily hand, and by many is considered as his principal listened to the advice of a lady, the friend of his performance. He was now in tolerably affluent mother, and determined to try his fortune in the circumstances, a place of Surveyor-general of the great metropolis, London. Leeward Islands, given him by Mr. Lyttleton,

In 1725 Thomson came by sea to the capital, bringing him in, after paying a deputy, about 300L where he soon found out his college acquaintance, a year. He did not, however, long enjoy this state Mallet, to whom he showed his poem of "Winter," of comfort; for returning one evening from London then composed in detached passages of the descrip- to Kew-lane, he was attacked by a fever, which tive kind. Mallet advised him to form them into a proved fatal in August 1748, the 48th year of his connected piece, and immediately to print it. It age. He was interred without any memorial in was purchased for a small sum, and appeared in Richmond church; but a monument was erected to 1726, dedicated to Sir Spencer Compton. Its his memory, in Westminster Abbey, in 1762, with merits, however, were little understood by the pub- the profits arising from an edition of his works public; till Mr. Whateley, a person of acknowledged lished by Mr. Millar.

taste, happening to cast an eye upon it, was struck Thomson in person was large and ungainly, with with its beauties, and gave it vogue. His dedicatee, a heavy, unanimated countenance, and having who had hitherto neglected him, made him a present nothing in his appearance in mixed society indiof twenty guineas, and he was introduced to Pope, cating the man of genius or refinement. He was, Bishop Rundle, and Lord-Chancellor Talbot. In however, easy and cheerful with select friends, by 1727, he published another of his seasons, "Sum-whom he was singularly beloved for the kindness mer," dedicated to Mr. Doddington, for it was still of his heart, and his freedom from all the malignant the custom for poets to pay this tribute to men in passions which too often debase the literary charpower. In the same year he gave to the public his acter. His temper was much inclined to indolence, Poem, sacred to the memory of Sir Isaac Newton," and he was fond of indulgence of every kind; in and his "Britannia." His "Spring," was published particular he was more attached to the pleasures of in 1728, addressed to the Countess of Hertford; sense, than the sentimental delicacy of his writings and the Seasons were completed by the addition of would induce a reader to suppose. For the moral "Autumn," ," dedicated to Mr. Onslow, in 1730, tendency of his works, no author has deserved more when they were published collectively. praise; and no one can rise from the perusal of his pages, without being sensible of a melioration of his principles or feelings.

"

As nothing was more tempting to the cupidity of an author than dramatic composition, Thomson resolved to become a competitor for that laurel also, The poetical merits of Thomson, undoubtedly and in 1728, he had the influence to bring upon the stand most conspicuous in his Seasons, the first long

composition, perhaps, of which natural description tion to his fame has principally arisen from his was made the staple, and certainly the most fertile " Castle of Indolence," an allegorical composition of grand and beautiful delineations, in great mea- in the manner and stanza of Spenser; and among the sure deduced from the author's own observation. imitators of this poet, Thomson may deserve the Its diction is somewhat cumbrous and labored, but preference, on account of the application of his fable, energetic and expressive. Its versification does not and the moral and descriptive beauties by which it denote a practised ear, but is seldom unpleasantly is filled up. This piece is entirely free from the harsh. Upon the whole, no poem has been more, stiffness of language perceptible in the author's and more deservedly, popular; and it has exerted blank verse, which is also the case with many of a powerful influence upon public taste, not only in his songs, and other rhymed poems.

this country, but throughout Europe. Any addi

THE SEASONS.

SPRING, 1728.

Et nunc omnis ager, nunc omnis parturit arbos,
Nunc frondent sylvæ, nunc formosissimus annus.

ARGUMENT.

Virg.

Th' expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold;
But, full of life and vivifying soul,

Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them

thin,

Fleecy and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven.
Forth fly the tepid airs; and unconfin'd,
Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays.
Joyous, th' impatient husbandman perceives
Relenting Nature, and his lusty steers

Drives from their stalls, to where the well-us'd
plow

Lies in the furrow, loosen'd from the frost. There, unrefusing, to the harness'd yoke The subject proposed. Inscribed to the Countess They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil, of Hertford. The season is described as it Cheer'd by the simple song and soaring lark. affects the various parts of Nature, ascending Meanwhile incumbent o'er the shining share from the lower to the higher; with digressions arising from the subject. Its influence on inanimate matter, on vegetables, on brute animals, and, last, on man; concluding with a dissuasive from the wild and irregular passion of love, opposed to that of a pure and happy kind.

COME, gentle Spring, ethereal Mildness, come,
And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.

O Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts
With unaffected grace, or walk the plain
With innocence and meditation join'd
In soft assemblage, listen to my song,
Which thy own Season paints; when Nature all
Is blooming and benevolent, like thee.

And see where surly Winter passes off,
Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts:
His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill,
The shatter'd forest, and the ravag'd vale;
While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch,
Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost,
The mountains lift their green heads to the sky.
As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd,
And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze,
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets
Deform the day delightless: so that scarce
The bittern knows his time, with bill ingulf'd
To shake the sounding marsh; or from the shore
The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath,
And sing their wild notes to the listening waste.
At last from Aries rolls the bounteous Sun,
And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more

The master leans, removes th' obstructing clay,
Winds the whole work, and sidelo.g lays the glebe.
White through the neighboring field the sower

stalks,

With measur'd step; and liberal throws the grain
Into the faithful bosom of the ground:
The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene.

Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious man
Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow!
Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend!
And temper all, thou world-reviving Sun,
Into the perfect year! Nor ye who live
In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride,
Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear:
Such themes as these the rural Maro sung
To wide-imperial Rome, in the full height
Of elegance and taste, by Greece refin'd.
In ancient times, the sacred plow employ'd
The kings, and awful fathers of mankind:
And some, with whom compar'd your insect-tribes
Are but the beings of a summer's day,
Have held the scale of empire, rul'd the storm
Of mighty war; then, with unwearied hand,
Disdaining little delicacies, seiz'd
The plow, and greatly independent liv'd.

Ye generous Britons, venerate the plow;
And o'er your hills, and long withdrawing vales,
Let Autumn spread his treasures to the Sun,
Luxuriant and unbounded: as the Sea,
Far through his azure turbulent domain,
Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores
Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports,
So with superior boon may your rich soil,
Exuberant Nature's better blessings pour

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