Elegant Extracts

She furl'd her fampler, and haul'd-in her thread, " And fhall I fet thee on my hand no more,
"To fee thee leap the lines, and traverse o'er
And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed;
Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let fall" My fpacious palm? of ftature fcarce a span,

Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall.

In peals of thunder now the roars, and now
She gently whimpers like a lowing cow;
Yet lovely in her forrow ftill appears:
Her locks difhevell'd, and her flood of tears,
Seem like the lofty barn of fome rich swain,
When from the thatch drips fast a show'r

rain.

"Mimic the actions of a real man?

of"

In vain the fearch'd each cranny of the house, Each gaping chink impervious to a mouse. "Was it for this (fhe cried) with daily care "Within thy reach I fet the vinegar; "And fill'd the cruet with the acid tide,

"No more behold thee turn my watch's key,
"As feamen at a capftern anchors weigh?
"Howwaft thou wont to walk with cautious tread,
"A difh of tea, like milk-pail, on thy head!
How chafe the mite that bore thy cheese away,
And keep the rolling maggot at a bay !"
She faid; but broken accents stopp'd her voice,
Soft as the speaking trumpet's mellow noise.
She fobb'd a ftorm, and wip'd her flowing eyes,
Which feem'd like two broad funs in mifty fkies!
O fquander not thy grief; thofe tears command
To weep upon our cod in Newfoundland :

"While pepper-water worms thy bait fupplied,The plenteous pickle fhall preferve the fish,

"Where twin'd the filver eel around thy hook,
"And all the little monsters of the brook?
"Sure in that lake he dropp'd: my Grilly's
"drown'd."

She dragg'd the cruet, but no Grildrig found.
"Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boast:
"But little creatures enterprise the most.

Trembling I've feen thee dare the kitten's paw, "Nay, mix with children as they play'd at taw, "Nor fear'd the marbles as they bounding flew, "Marbles to them, but rolling rocks to you.

Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth? "Who from a page can ever learn the truth? "Vers'd in court-tricks, that money-loving boy "To fome lord's daughter fold the living toy; "Or rent him limb from limb, in cruel play, "As children tear the wings of flies away. "From place to place o'er Brobdignag I'll roam, "And never will return, or bring thee home. "But who hath eyes to trace the paffing wind? "How then thy fairy footsteps can I find? "Doft thou, bewilder'd, wander all alone "In the green thicket of a moffy stone;

Or, tumbled from the toadstool's flippery round, "Perhaps, all maim'd, lie grovelling on the ground?

"Doft thou imbofom'd in the lovely rofe,
"Or funk within the peach's down, repofe?
"Within the king-cup if thy limbs are spread,
"Or in the golden cowflip's velvet head,
"Ofhew me, Flora, 'midit thofe fweets the flow'r
"Where fleeps my Grildrig in this fragrant
"bow'r !

"But, ah! I fear thy little fancy roves
"On little females, and on little loves;
Thy pigmy children, and thy tiny spouse,
"The baby playthings that adorn thy house,
Doors, windows, chimneys, and the spacious

66 rooms,

“Equal in fize to cells of honey-combs.

"Haft thou for thefe now ventur'd from the

And Europe tafte thy forrows in a dish.

A Receipt for flewing Veal.
TAKE a knuckle of veal;

You may buy it or steal:
In a few pieces cut it,
In a stewing-pan put it.
Salt, pepper, and mace

Muft feafon this knuckle;
Then what 's join'd to a place,

With other herbs muckle;
That which kill'd king † Will;
And what never stands still.
Some §fprigs of that bed
Where children are bred;
Which much you will mend, if
Both fpinach and endive,
And lettuce, and beet,
With marygold meet.
Put no water at all,
For it maketh things finall;
Which left it should happen,
A clofe cover clap on.
Put this pot of || Wood's metal
In a hot boiling kettle,
And there let it be

(Mark the doctrine I teach)
About-let me fee-

GAY.

Thrice as long as you preach ¶.
So fkimming the fat off,

Say grace with your hat off.
O, then! with what rapture
Will it fill dean and chapter!

Dr. JOHNSON

Spring. An Ode.
TERN Winter now, by Spring reprefs'd,
STE
Forbears the long continued ftrife;.

And nature, on her naked breast,
Delights to catch the gales of life.

Now o'er the rural kingdom roves

Soft Pleasure, with her laughing train;
Love warbles in the vocal groves,

And vegetation plants the plain.

This is by Dr. Bentley thought to be time, or thyme. Of this compofition, fee the Works of the Copper-farthing Dean.

* Vulgo, falary. + Suppofed forrel.
Parfley. Vide Chamberlayne.
Which we fuppofe to be near four hours.

Unhappy

Unhappy whom to beds of pain
Arthritic tyranny configns!
Whom fmiling nature courts in vain,
Tho' rapture fings, and beauty fhines!
Yet tho' my limbs disease invades,
Her wings imagination tries,
And bears me to the peaceful fhades
Where- -'s humble turrets rife.

Here ftop, my foul, thy rapid flight,

Nor from the pleafing groves depart, Where firft great nature charm'd my fight, Where wisdom first inform'd my heart. Here let me thro' the vales purfue

A guide a father—and a friend ; Once more great nature's works review, Once more on wifdom's voice attend. From falfe careffes, causeless ftrife,

Wild hope, vain fear, alike remov'd; Here let me learn the use of life,

When beft enjoy'd, when most improv'd. Teach me, thou venerable bow'r,

Cool meditation's quiet feat, The generous fcorn of venal pow'r, The filent grandeur of retreat. When pride by guilt to greatnefs climbs, Or raging factions rush to war, Here let me learn to fhun the crimes I can't prévent, and will not fhare. But left I fall by fubtler foes, Bright wifdom, teach me Curio's art, The fwelling paffions to compofe, And quell the rebels of the heart. The MIDSUMMER'S WISH.

An Ode. Dr. JOHNSON.

PHOEBUS! down the western fky
Far hence diffufe thy burning ray;
Thy light to diftant worlds fupply,
And wake them to the cares of day.
Come, gentle eve, the friend of cafe!
Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night !
Refresh me with a cooling breeze,

And cheer me with a lambent light.
Lay me where o'er the verdant ground
Her living carpet nature (preads;
Where the green bow'r, with roses crown'd,
In fhow'rs its fragrant foliage sheds.
Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let mufic die along the grove;
Around the bowl let myrtles twine,
And every strain be tun'd to love.
Come, Stella, queen of all iny heart!
Come, born to fill its vaft defires !
Thy looks perpetual joys impart,
Thy voice perpetual love inspires.
Whilft, all my with and thine complete,
By turns we languish and we burn,
Let fighing gales our fighs repeat,

Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return.

Let me, when nature calls to reft,
And blushing fkies the morn foretel,
Sink on the down of Stella's breast,
And bid the waking world farewel.

AUTUM N.

An Ode.
Dr. JOHNSON,

ALAS! with fwift and filent pace
Impatient time rolls on the year;
The feafons change, and nature's face
Now fweetly fmiles, now frowns fevere.
'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, ail was gay,
Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow;
The flow'rs of Spring are fwept away,

And fummer fruits defert the bough.
The verdant leaves that play'd on high,
And wanton'd on the western breeze,
Now trod in duft neglected lie,

As Boreas ftrips the bending trees.
The fields that way'd with golden grain,
As ruffet heaths are wild and bare,
Not moift with dew, but drench'd in rain;
Nor health nor pleasure wanders there.
No more, while thro' the midnight shade
Beneath the moon's pale orb I ftray,
Soft pleafing woes my heart invade,
As Progne pours the melting lay.
From this capricious clime the foars,

O would fome god but wings fupply!
To where each morn the Spring reftores,
Companion of her flight, I'd fly.
Vain with me fate compels to bear
The downward featons iron reign,
Compels to breathe polluted air,

And fhiver on a blafted plain.
What blifs to life can Autumn yield,

If glooms, and fhow'rs, and forms prevail; And Ceres flies the naked field,

And flow'rs, and fruits, and Phoebus fail? O! 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 pow'r.
Hafte, prefs the clusters, fill the bowl;
Apollo, fhoot thy parting ray:
This gives the funthine of the foul,

This god of health, and verfe, and day.
Still, ftill the jocund ftrain fhali flow,

The pulfe with vigorous rapture beat; My Stella with new charms fhall glow, And every blifs in wine shall meet.

WINTER. An Ode. Dr. JOHNSON. No more the morn, with tepid rays, Unfolds the flow'r of various hue; Noon fpreads no more the genial blazc, Nor gentle eve diftils the dew.

The lingering hours prolong the night;
Ufurping darkness fhares the day,
Her mitts reftrain the force of light;
And Phoebus holds a doubtful sway.
By gloomy twilight half reveal'd,
With fighs we view the hoary hill,
The leaflefs wood, the naked field,

The fnow-topt cot, the frozen rill.
No mufic warbles thro' the grove,

No vivid colours paint the plain; No more with devious fteps I rove

Thro' verdant paths now fought in vain.
Aloud the driving tempest roars,

Congeal'd, impetuous fhow'rs defcend;
Hafte, clofe the window, bar the doors,
Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend.
In nature's aid let art fupply

With light and heat my little fphere;
Roufe, roufe the fire, and pile it high;
Light up a conftellation here.
Let mufic found the voice of joy,

Or mirth repeat the jocund tale;
Let love his wanton wiles employ,
And o'er the season wine prevail.
Yet time life's dreary winter brings,

When mirth's gay tale fhall please no more; Nor mufic charm, though Stella fings;

Nor love, nor wine, the Spring restore. Catch then, O catch, the tranfient hour; Improve each moment as it flies. Life's a fhort Summer-man a flow'r ; He dies-alas! how foon he dies!

If her face with pleasure glow,
If the figh at others' woe,
If her easy air exprefs
Confcious worth or foft diftrefs,
Stella's eyes and air, and face,
Charm with undiminish'd

grace.
If on her we fee difplay'd
Pendant gems, and rich brocade;
If her chintz with lefs expence
Flows in eafy negligence;
Still the lights the confcious flame,
Still her charms appear the fame ;
If the strikes the vocal ftrings,
If the 's filent, fpeaks, or fings,
If fhe fit, or if the move,
Still we love, and still approve.

Vain the cafual, tranfient glance, Which alone can please by chance, Beauty which depends on art, Changing with the changing heart, Which demands the toilet's aid, Pendant gems, and rich brocade. I thofe charms alone can prize Which from conftant nature rife, Which nor circumstance nor drets E'er can make or more or lefs.

Dr. JOHNSON.

The Vanity of Wealth. No more, thus brooding o'er yon heap, With Avarice painful vigils keep; Still unenjoy'd the prefent store, Still endless fighs are breath'd for more. O quit the fhadow, catch the prize, Which not all India's treasure buys! To purchase heaven has gold the pow'r? Dr. JOHNSON.Can gold remove the mortal hour? In life can love be bought with gold? Are friendship's pleafures to be fold? No-all that's worth a wifh, a thought, Fair virtue gives unbrib'd, unbought. Ceafe then on trash thy hopes to bind, Let nobler views engage thy mind.

An EVENING ODE. To Stella.

EVENING now from purple wings

Sheds the grateful gifts the brings;
Brilliant drops bedeck the mead,
Cooling breezes fhake the reed;
Shake the reed. and curl the stream
Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam;
Near the chequer'd lonely grove
Hears and keeps thy fecrets, love.
Stella, thither let us ftray,
Lightly o'er the dewy way.
Phoebus drives his burning car
Hence, my lovely Stella, far;
In his ftead, the queen of night
Round us pours a lambent light;
Light that feems but juft to fhew
Breafts that beat, and cheeks that glow.
Let us now, in whisper'd joy,
Evening's filent hours employ;
Silence beft, and confcious fhades,
Please the hearts that love invades:
Other pleasures give them pain,
Lovers all but love difdain.

With fcience tread the wondrous way,
Or learn the Mufes' inoral lay;
In focial hours indulge thy foul,

Where mirth and temperance mix the bowl;
To virtuous love refign thy breaft,
And be, by blefling beauty, bleft.

Thus taste the feast by nature spread,
Ere youth and all its joys are fled;
Come tafte with me the balm of life,
Secure from pomp, and wealth, and ftrife.
I boaft whate'er for man was meant,
In health, and Stella, and content;
And scorn (O let that scorn be thine!)
Mere things of clay that dig the mine.

To Mifs

on her giving the Author a Gold and Silk Net-work Purfe of her own weaving. Dr. JOHNSON.

THOUGH gold and filk their charms unite
To make thy curious web delight,

In vain the varied work would fhine
If wrought by any hand but thine;
Thy hand, that knows the fubtler art
To weave thofe nets that catch the heart.
Spread out by me, the roving coin
Thy nets may catch, but not confine;
Nor can I hope thy filken chain
The glittering vagrants fhall reftrain.
Why, Stella, was it then decreed,

The heart once caught fhould ne'er be freed?

Dr. JOHNSON.

To LYCE, an elderly Lady.
YE nymphs whom starry rays invest,
By flattering poets given,

Who thine by lavish lovers dreft
In all the pomp of heaven!
Engrofs not all the beams on high
Which gild a lover's lays;
But, as your fifter of the sky,
Let Lyce fhare the praise.
Her filver locks difplay the moon,
Her brows a cloudy fhow;
Strip'd rainbows round her eyes are seen,
And fhow'rs from either flow.

Her teeth the night with darkness dyes,
She's ftarr'd with pimples o'er;
Her tongue like nimble lightning plies,
And can with thunder roar.

But some Zelinda, while I fing,
Denies my Lyce fhines :
And all the pens of Cupid's wing
Attack my gentle lines.
Yet fpite of fair Zelinda's eye,
And all her bards exprefs,
My Lyce makes as good a sky,
And I but flatter lefs.

Epitaph on Sir Thomas Hanmer. Dr. JOHNSON.
THOU who survey'st these walis with curious

eye,

Paufe at this tomb where HANMER's afhes lie: His various worth through varied life attend, And learn his virtues while thou mourn'ft his end. His force of genius burn'd in early youth With thirst of knowledge, and with love of truth; His learning, join'd with each endearing art, Charm'd ev'ry car, and gain'd on ev'ry heart.

Thus early wife th' endanger'd realm to aid,

His country call'd him from the ftudious shade:
In life's first bloom his public toils began,
At once commenc'd the fenator and man.

In business dext'rous, weighty in debate,
Thrice ten long years he labour'd for the state:
In every fpeech perfuafive wifdom'd flow'd,
In every act refulgent virtue glow'd;
Sufpended faction ceas'd from rage and ftrife,
To hear his eloquence, and praife his life.

Refiftless merit fix'd the Senate's choice, Who hail'd him Speaker with united voice. Illuftrious age! how bright thy glories fhone, When HANMER fill'd the chair-and ANNE the throne !

Then when dark arts obfcur'd each fierce de

bate,

When mutual frauds perplex'd the maze of state; The Moderator firmly mild appear'd,

Beheld with love, with veneration heard.

This task perform 'd, he fought no gainful poff, Nor wish'd to glitter at his country's coft; Strict on the right he fix'd his fteadfast eye, With temperate zeal, and wife anxiety; Nor e'er from Virtue's paths was lur'd afide, To pluck the flow'rs of pleasure or of pride. Her gifts defpis'd, Corruption blush'd and fled; And fam'd purfued him where Conviction led. Age call'd at length his active mind to rest, With honours fated, and with cares oppreft; To letter'd cafe retir'd, and honeft mirth, To rural grandeur and domeftic worth: Delighted ftill to please mankind, or mend, The patriot's fire yet fparkled in the friend. Calm Confcience then his former life furvey'd, And recollected toils endear'd the shade; Till Nature call'd him to the general doom, And Virtue's forrow dignified his tomb.

WHEN late the trees were stript by winter pale,

Young Health, a dryad-maid in vefture green, Or like the foreft's filver-quiver'd queen, On airy uplands met the piercing gale; And, ere its earliest echo thook the vale, Watching the hunter's joyous horn was feen. But fince, gay-thron'd in fiery chariot sheen, Summer has fmote each daify-dappled dale; She to the cave retires, high-arch'd beneath

The fount that laves proud Ifis' tow'red brim : And now all glad the temperate air to breathe, While cooling drops diftil from arches dim, Binding her dewy locks with fedgy wreath, She fits amid the quire of Naiads trim.

Written

Written in a Blank Leaf of Dugdale's Monafticon | At curfew-time, beneath the dark-green yew,

DEEM not devoid of elegance the fage,

By Fancy's genuine feelings unbeguil'd,
Of painful Pedantry the poring child,
Who turns of thefe proud domes th' hiftoric page,
Now funk by Time, and Henry's fiercer rage.
Think't thou the warbling Mufes never finil'd
On his lone hours? Ingenious views engage

His thought on themes unclaffic faifely tyl'd,
Intent. While cloifter'd Piety difplays

Her mouldering roll, the piercing eye explores New manners, and the pomp of elder days, Whence culls the penfive bard his pictur'd

ftores.

Or Druid pricfts, fprinkled with human
Taught 'mid thy maffy maze their myftic lore:
Or Danish chiefs, enrich'd with favage fpoil,
To Victory's idol vaft, an unhewn fhrine,

Rear'd the rude heap; or, in thy hallow'd round,
Repofe the kings of Brutus' genuine line;

Or here thofe kings in folemn ftate were crown'd:

Studious to trace thy wondrous origin,

We mufe on many an ancient tale renown'd.

Written after feeing Wilton-Houfe.

Thy penfive genius ftrikes the moral strings;
Or, borne fublime on Infpiration's wings,
Hears Cambria's bards devote the dreadful clue
Of Edward's race, with murthers foul defil'd:
Can aught my pipe to reach thine ear effay ?
No, bard divine! For many a care beguil'd
By the fweet magic of thy foothing lay,
For many a raptur'd thought, and vifion wild,
To thee this train of gratitude I pay.

Sonnet.

WHILE fummer-funs o'er the gay prospect
play'd,
Through Surry's verdant scenes where Epfom
spreads,

'Mid intermingling elms, her flow'ry meads; And Hafcombe's hill, in tow'ring groves array'd, Rear'd its romantic ecp-with mind ferene

I journey'd blythe. Full penfive I return'd; For now my breaft with hopelets paffion burn'd: Wet with hoar mifts appcar'd the gaudy fcene Which late in carelets indolence I pafs'd;

And Autumn all around thote hues had caft

Where paft delight my recent grief might trace.

Sad change! that Nature a congenial gloom. Should wear, when moft, my cheerlefs mood to chafe,

I wish'd her green attire, and wonted bloom!

On King Arthur's Round Table at Winchefter. WHERE Venta's Norman caftle still uprears Its rafter'd hall, that o'er the grafly fols, And scatter'd flinty fragments, clad in mofs, On yonder steep in naked state appears;

FROM Pembroke's princely dome, where mi- High-hung remains, the pride of warlike years,

mic Art

Decks with a magic hand the dazzling bow'rs,
Its living hues where the warm pencil pours,
And breathing forms from the rude marble start,
How to life's humbler fcene can I depart?
My breaft all glowing from those gorgeous
tow'rs,

In my low cell how cheat the fullen hours?
Vain the complaint; for fancy can impart
(To Fate fuperior, and to Fortune's doom)

Whate'er adorns the stately-ftoried hall :
She, 'mid the dungeon's folitary gloom,

Can drefs the Graces in their Attic pall;
Bid the green landscape's vernal beauty bloom;
And in bright trophies clothe the twilight wall.

To Mr. Gray.

NOT that her blooms are mark'd with beauty's

hue,

My ruftic Mufe her votive chaplet brings; Unfeen, unheard, O Gray, to thee the fings! While flowly-pacing through the church-yard

dew,

Old Arthur's Board: on the capacious round Some British pen has sketch'd the names renown'd,

pcers.

In marks obfcure, of his immortal
Though join'd by magic fkill, with many a rime,
The Druid frame unhonour'd falls a prey
To the flow vengeance of the wizard Time,
And fade the British characters away;
Yet Spenfer's page, that chants in verfe fublime
Thofe chiefs, hall live unconfcious of decay.

To the River Lodon.

AH! what a weary race my fect have run, Since first I trod thy banks with alders crown'd,

And thought my way was all through fairy
ground,

Beneath thy azure sky, and golden fun:
Where first any mufe to lifp her notes begun!

While penfive memory traces back the round
Which fills the varied interval between,
Much pleasure, more of forrow, marks the fcene.

One of the bardish traditions about Stonehenge.
3 K.

Swee

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Elegant Extracts: Or, Useful and Entertaining Pieces of Poetry, Selected for ...