NewsFfrom St. James's.
A courtier, summon'd hence of late,
Was call'd to Minos' Judgment Seat.
The Cretan Sage began the Charge,
Recounted all his Crimes at large;
His Insincerity, and Pride,
His Hundred evil Arts beside;
Arts, thinly veil'd with Virtue's Guise,
The modern Statesmens Scheme to rise.
He, cringing, owns his Guilt, with Shame;
Yet from himself would shift the Blame;
Insists, that since the World began,
Kings seldom rais'd the virtuous Man:
(Some Instances must be allow'd,
Tho' almost lost in such a Croud)
That Courts were other Things of late,
Than when he rul'd the Cretan State:
That those who breathe in them, will find,
The tainted Air corrupts the Mind.
Courtier, the Judge reply'd, beware--
Theander has resided there;
The third of an accomplish'd Race,
Who fill'd successively one Place:
Yet see the Stream of Virtue run,
Untainted down from Sire to Son:
Humane their Hearts, enlarg'd, refin'd,
With ev'ry Gift to bless their Kind;
In Friendship's noblest Zeal sincere;
In Honour amiably severe;
Steady to Faith, and Truth, and Right;
With open Honesty, polite;
With no Disguise in Sptech, or Spirit,
But Modesty, the Mask of Merit.
True, Minos--yet you must agree,
These Instances conclude for me.
They uncorrupt have brearh'd that Air;
But how have they succeeded there?
poem by Mary Barber
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Related quotes
Speech of Aquileio
Grown old in courts, thou art not surely one
Who keeps the rigid rules of ancient honour;
Well skill'd to soothe a foe with looks of kindness,
To sink the fatal precipice before him,
And then lament his fall with seeming friendship!
Open to all, true only to thyself,
Thou know'st the arts which blast with envious praise,
Which aggravate a fault with feign'd excuses,
And drive discountenanced virtue from the throne;
That leave the blame of rigour to the prince,
And of his every gift usurp the merit,
That hide in seeming zeal a wicked purpose,
And only build upon another's ruin.
poem by Pietro Metastasio from Adriano, translated by Samuel Johnson
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I Know The Truth
(duet with elton john)
How have I come to this
How did I slip and fall
How did I throw half a lifetime away
Without any thought at all
This shouldve been my time
Its over, it never began
Facing a world, for once not on my side
I simply turned and ran
I try to blame it on fortune
Some kind of twist in my fate
But I know the truth and it haunts me
I learned it a little too late
I know the truth and it mocks me
I know the truth and it shocks me
I learned it a little too late
People have faith in me
I think I once did too
I promise whoever has a hold on our lives
Ill see the bad times through
This should have been my time
Its over, it never began
Facing a world, for once not on my side
I simply turned and ran
I try to blame it on fortune
Some kind of shift in the stars
But I know the truth and it haunts me
Its flown just a little too far
I know the truth and it mocks me
I know the truth and it shocks me
Its flown just a little too far
I try to blame it on fortune
Some kind of twist in my fate
But I know the truth and it haunts me
I learned it a little too late
song performed by by Janet Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lie
Go, soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.
Say to the court, it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church, it shows
What's good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
Tell potentates, they live
Acting by others' action;
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by a faction.
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.
Tell men of high condition,
That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate:
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending.
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.
Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honour how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favour how it falters:
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.
Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness:
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.
Tell physic of her boldness;
Tell skill it is pretension;
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law it is contention:
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.
Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay:
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming:
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.
Tell faith it's fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood shakes off pity
And virtue least preferreth:
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.
So when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing--
Although to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing--
Stab at thee he that will,
No stab the soul can kill.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
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Town Eclogues: Monday; Roxana or the Drawing-Room
ROXANA from the court retiring late,
Sigh'd her soft sorrows at St. JAMES's gate:
Such heavy thoughts lay brooding in her breast,
Not her own chairmen |w^th^| more weight opprest;
They groan the cruel load they're doom'd to bear ;
She in these gentler sounds express'd her care.
" Was it for this, that I these Roses wear,
" For this new-set my Jewels for my hair ?
" Ah ! Princess ! with what zeal have I pursu'd !
" Almost forgot the duty of a Prude.
" Thinking I never cou'd attend too soon,
" I've miss'd my prayers, to get me dress'd by noon.
" For Thee, ah ! what for Thee did I resign ?
" My Pleasures, Passions, all that e'er was mine.
" I sacrific'd both Modesty and Ease,
" Left Operas, and went to filthy Plays ;
" Double entendres shock'd my tender ear,
" Yet even this for Thee I chose to bear.
" In glowing youth, when nature bids be gay,
" And ev'ry joy of life before me lay,
" By honour prompted, and by pride restrain'd,
" The pleasures of the young my soul disdain'd :
" Sermons I sought, and with a mien severe
" Censur'd my neighbours, and said daily pray'r.
" Alas ! how chang'd! -- with the same sermon mien
" That once I pray'd, the What-d'ye call't I've seen.
" Ah ! cruel Princess, for thy sake I've lost
" That reputation which so dear had cost :
" I, who avoided ev'ry publick place,
" When bloom, and beauty bid me show my face ;
" Now near Thee constant ev'ry night abide
" With never-failing duty by thy side,
" Myself and daughters standing on a row,
" To all the foreigners a goodly show !
" Oft had your drawing-room been sadly thin,
" And merchants wives close by the chair had been seen ;
" Had not I amply fill'd the empty space,
" And sav'd your Highness from the dire disgrace.
" Yet COQUETILLA's artifice prevails,
" When all my merit and my duty fails :
" That COQUETILLA, whose deluding airs
" Corrupts our virgins, and our youth ensnares ;
" So sunk her character, so lost her fame,
" Scarce visited before your Highness came ;
" Yet for the Bed-chamber 'tis Her you chuse,
" When Zeal and Fame and Virtue you refuse.
" Ah ! worthy choice ! not one of all your train
" Whom censure blasts not, and dishonours stain.
" Let the nice hind now suckle dirty pigs,
" And the proud pea-hen snatch the cuckoo's eggs !
" Let IRIS leave her paint, and own her age,
" And grave SUFFOLKIA wed a giddy page !
" A greater miracle is daily view'd,
" A virtuous Princess with a court so lewd.
" I know thee, Court ! with all thy treach'rous wiles,
" Thy false caresses and undoing smiles !
" Ah ! Princess, learn'd in all the courtly arts
" To cheat our hopes, and yet to gain our hearts.
" Large lovely bribes are the great statesman's aim ;
" And the neglected patriot follows fame.
" The Prince is ogled ; some the King pursue ;
" But your ROXANA only follows YOU.
" Despis'd ROXANA, cease, and try to find
" Some other, since the Princess proves unkind :
" Perhaps it is not hard to find at court
" If not a greater, a more firm support.
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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Monday, Roxana, or the Drawing-Room
Roxana from the court retiring late,
Sigh'd her soft sorrows at St. JAMES's gate:
Such heavy thoughts lay brooding in her breast,
Not her own chairmen wth more weight opprest;
They groan the cruel load they're doom'd to bear;
She in these gentler sounds express'd her care.
"Was it for this, that I these Roses wear,
"For this new-set my Jewels for my hair?
"Ah ! Princess ! with what zeal have I pursu'd!
"Almost forgot the duty of a Prude.
"Thinking I never cou'd attend too soon,
"I've miss'd my prayers, to get me dress'd by noon.
"For Thee, ah ! what for Thee did I resign?
"My Pleasures, Passions, all that e'er was mine.
"I sacrific'd both Modesty and Ease,
"Left Operas, and went to filthy Plays;
"Double entendres shock'd my tender ear,
"Yet even this for Thee I chose to bear.
"In glowing youth, when nature bids be gay,
"And ev'ry joy of life before me lay,
"By honour prompted, and by pride restrain'd,
"The pleasures of the young my soul disdain'd:
"Sermons I sought, and with a mien severe
"Censur'd my neighbours, and said daily pray'r.
"Alas ! how chang'd! -- with the same sermon mien
"That once I pray'd, the What-d'ye call't I've seen.
"Ah ! cruel Princess, for thy sake I've lost
"That reputation which so dear had cost:
"I, who avoided ev'ry publick place,
"When bloom, and beauty bid me show my face;
"Now near Thee constant ev'ry night abide
"With never-failing duty by thy side,
"Myself and daughters standing on a row,
"To all the foreigners a goodly show!
"Oft had your drawing-room been sadly thin,
"And merchants wives close by the chair had been seen;
"Had not I amply fill'd the empty space,
"And sav'd your Highness from the dire disgrace.
"Yet COQUETILLA's artifice prevails,
"When all my merit and my duty fails:
"That COQUETILLA, whose deluding airs
"Corrupts our virgins, and our youth ensnares;
"So sunk her character, so lost her fame,
"Scarce visited before your Highness came;
"Yet for the Bed-chamber 'tis Her you chuse,
"When Zeal and Fame and Virtue you refuse.
"Ah ! worthy choice ! not one of all your train
"Whom censure blasts not, and dishonours stain.
"Let the nice hind now suckle dirty pigs,
"And the proud pea-hen snatch the cuckoo's eggs!
"Let IRIS leave her paint, and own her age,
"And grave SUFFOLKIA wed a giddy page !
"A greater miracle is daily view'd,
"A virtuous Princess with a court so lewd.
"I know thee, Court ! with all thy treach'rous wiles,
"Thy false caresses and undoing smiles !
"Ah ! Princess, learn'd in all the courtly arts
"To cheat our hopes, and yet to gain our hearts.
"Large lovely bribes are the great statesman's aim;
"And the neglected patriot follows fame.
"The Prince is ogled ; some the King pursue;
"But your ROXANA only follows YOU.
"Despis'd ROXANA, cease, and try to find
"Some other, since the Princess proves unkind:
"Perhaps it is not hard to find at court
"If not a greater, a more firm support."
poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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An English Peasant
To pomp and pageantry in nought allied,
A noble peasant, Isaac Ashford, died.
Noble he was, contemning all things mean,
His truth unquestion'd, and his soul serene:
Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid,
At no man's question Isaac look'd dismay'd;
Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace;
Truth, simple truth, was written in his face;
Yet while the serious thought his soul approved,
Cheerful he seem'd, and gentleness he loved:
To bliss domestic he his heart resign'd,
And, with the firmest, had the fondest mind:
Were others joyful, he looked smiling on,
And have allowance where he needed none;
Good he refused with future ill to buy,
Nor knew a joy that caused reflection's sigh;
A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast
No envy stung, no jealousy distressed;
(Bane of the poor! it wounds their weaker mind,
To miss one favour which their neighbours find):
Yet far was he from stoic pride removed;
He felt humanely, and he warmly loved:
I mark'd his action when his infant died,
And his old neighbour for offence was tried;
The still tears, stealing down that furrow'd cheek,
Spoke pity plainer than the tongue can speak.
If pride were his, 'twas not their vulgar pride,
Who, in their base contempt, the great deride:
Nor pride in learning, though my clerk agreed,
If fate should call him, Ashford might succeed;
Nor pride in rustic skill, although we know
None his superior, and his equals few;
But if that spirit in his soul had place,
It was the jealous pride that shuns disgrace;
A pride in honest fame, by virtue gain'd,
In sturdy boys to virtuous labours train'd;
Pride in the power that guards his country's coast,
And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast;
Pride, in a life that slander's tongue defied,
In fact, a noble passion, a misnamed pride.
I feel his absense in the hours of prayer,
And view his seat, and sigh for Isaac there;
I see no more those white locks thinly spread
Round the bald polish of that honour'd head;
No more that awful glance on playful wight,
Compell'd to kneel, and tremble at the sight,
To fold his fingers all in dread the while,
Till Master Ashford soften'd to a smile;
No more that meek and suppliant look in prayer,
Nor the pure faith, (to give it force,) are there;
But he is bless'd, and I lament no more,
A wise good man, contented to be poor.
poem by George Crabbe
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To Stella Visiting Me in My Sickness
Pallas, observing Stella's wit
Was more than for her sex was fit,
And that her beauty, soon or late,
Might breed confusion in the state,
In high concern for human kind,
Fix'd honour in her infant mind.
But (not in wrangling to engage
With such a stupid, vicious age)
If honour I would here define,
It answers faith in things divine.
As natural life the body warms,
And, scholars teach, the soul informs,
So honour animates the whole,
And is the spirit of the soul.
Those numerous virtues which the tribe
Of tedious moralists describe,
And by such various titles call,
True honour comprehends them all.
Let melancholy rule supreme,
Choler preside, or blood, or phlegm,
It makes no difference in the case,
Nor is complexion honour's place.
But, lest we should for honour take
The drunken quarrels of a rake:
Or think it seated in a scar,
Or on a proud triumphal car;
Or in the payment of a debt
We lose with sharpers at piquet;
Or when a whore, in her vocation,
Keeps punctual to an assignation;
Or that on which his lordship swears,
When vulgar knaves would lose their ears;
Let Stella's fair example preach
A lesson she alone can teach.
In points of honour to be tried,
All passions must be laid aside:
Ask no advice, but think alone;
Suppose the question not your own.
How shall I act, is not the case;
But how would Brutus in my place?
In such a case would Cato bleed?
And how would Socrates proceed?
Drive all objections from your mind,
Else you relapse to human kind:
Ambition, avarice, and lust,
A factious rage, and breach of trust,
And flattery tipt with nauseous fleer,
And guilty shame, and servile fear,
Envy, and cruelty, and pride,
Will in your tainted heart preside.
Heroes and heroines of old,
By honour only were enroll'd
Among their brethren in the skies,
To which (though late) shall Stella rise.
Ten thousand oaths upon record
Are not so sacred as her word:
The world shall in its atoms end,
Ere Stella can deceive a friend.
By honour seated in her breast
She still determines what is best:
What indignation in her mind
Against enslavers of mankind!
Base kings, and ministers of state,
Eternal objects of her hate!
She thinks that nature ne'er design'd
Courage to man alone confined.
Can cowardice her sex adorn,
Which most exposes ours to scorn?
She wonders where the charm appears
In Florimel's affected fears;
For Stella never learn'd the art
At proper times to scream and start;
Nor calls up all the house at night,
And swears she saw a thing in white.
Doll never flies to cut her lace,
Or throw cold water in her face,
Because she heard a sudden drum,
Or found an earwig in a plum.
Her hearers are amazed from whence
Proceeds that fund of wit and sense;
Which, though her modesty would shroud,
Breaks like the sun behind a cloud;
While gracefulness its art conceals,
And yet through every motion steals.
Say, Stella, was Prometheus blind,
And, forming you, mistook your kind?
No; 'twas for you alone he stole
The fire that forms a manly soul;
Then, to complete it every way,
He moulded it with female clay:
To that you owe the nobler flame,
To this the beauty of your frame.
How would Ingratitude delight,
And how would Censure glut her spite,
If I should Stella's kindness hide
In silence, or forget with pride!
When on my sickly couch I lay,
Impatient both of night and day,
Lamenting in unmanly strains,
Call'd every power to ease my pains;
Then Stella ran to my relief,
With cheerful face and inward grief;
And, though by Heaven's severe decree
She suffers hourly more than me,
No cruel master could require,
From slaves employ'd for daily hire,
What Stella, by her friendship warm'd
With vigour and delight perform'd:
My sinking spirits now supplies
With cordials in her hands and eyes:
Now with a soft and silent tread
Unheard she moves about my bed.
I see her taste each nauseous draught,
And so obligingly am caught;
I bless the hand from whence they came,
Nor dare distort my face for shame.
Best pattern of true friends! beware;
You pay too dearly for your care,
If, while your tenderness secures
My life, it must endanger yours;
For such a fool was never found,
Who pull'd a palace to the ground,
Only to have the ruins made
Materials for a house decay'd.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Sonnet XXV: The Wisest Scholar
The wisest scholar of the wight most wise
By Phoebus' doom, with sugar'd sentence says,
That Virtue, if it once met with our eyes,
Strange flames of love it in our souls would raise;
But for that man with pain his truth descries,
Whiles he each thing in sense's balance weighs,
And so nor will, nor can behold those skies
Which inward sun to heroic mind displays,
Virtue of late with virtuous care to stir
Love of herself, took Stella's shape, that she
To mortal eyes might sweetly shine in her.
It is most true, for since I her did see,
Virtue's great beauty in that face I prove,
And find th'effect, for I do burn in love.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Written For My Son
When Athens was for Arts and Arms renown'd,
Olympic Wreaths uncommon Merit crown'd.
These slight Distinctions from the Learn'd and Wise,
Convey'd eternal Honour with the Prize:
'Twas this, the gen'rous Love of Fame inspir'd,
And Grecian Breasts with noblest Ardor fir'd.
For like Rewards like Judges we implore:
Immortal Fame, with Grecian Arts, restore:
Our growing Merit with Indulgence view;
And sure you'll favour what distinguish'd you.
Leave Ignorance and Sloth to Scorn and Shame;
But crown the Worthy with immortal Fame;
And Fame, conferr'd by you, can never fail:
What Men have purchas'd, they of Right entail.
poem by Mary Barber
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Ode V: On Love Of Praise
I.
Of all the springs within the mind
Which prompt her steps in fortune's maze,
From none more pleasing aid we find
Than from the genuine love of praise.
II.
Nor any partial, private end
Such reverence to the public bears;
Nor any passion, virtue's friend,
So like to virtue's self appears.
III.
For who in glory can delight
Without delight in glorious deeds?
What man a charming voice can slight,
Who courts the echo that succeeds?
IV.
But not the echo on the voice
More, than on virtue praise, depends;
To which, of course, it's real price
The judgment of the praiser lends.
V.
If praise then with religious awe
From the sole perfect judge be sought,
A nobler aim, a purer law
Nor priest, nor bard, nor sage hath taught.
VI.
With which in character the same
Tho' in an humbler sphere it lies,
I count that soul of human fame,
The suffrage of the good and wise.
poem by Mark Akenside
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The Faithful Few: An Ode
While Pow'r triumphant bears unrival'd Sway,
Propt by the Aid of all-prevailing Gold;
While bold Corruption blasts the Face of Day,
And Men, in Herds, are offer'd to be sold;
Select, Urania, from the venal Throng,
The Faithful Few, to grace the deathless Song!
To thee, chaste Nymph, by Jove and Fate, is giv'n
The sacred Charge of the Celestial Bays;
Thou raisest Heroes to their native Heav'n,
And point'st the Objects of eternal Praise.
And in thy Records, dear to future Fame,
Each Son of Liberty inscribes his Name.
When o'er a Nation Fraud and Guilt prevail,
And, fafe, all Question and Enquiry shun,
Thine is the impartial Sword,-and thine the Scale
To weigh the Crime, and make the Actors known:
From Britain's Eyes the deadly Mist to cast,
And bid her waken, lest she sleep her last!
Begin, bright Goddess, the celestial Strain;
To lofty Notes accord the tuneful Lyre:
Almeria shall lead on the shining Train,
Whose Looks the Love of Liberty inspire.
Let lower Beauties fetter those who fee;
None should behold a Pallas, but the Free.
So when great Juno came near Latium's Land,
Detain'd, by Fate, the Guardian Vessel stood,
No human Force could make it touch the Strand,
Fix'd, it remain'd, in Tyber's rapid Flood,
Till one bright Vestal, (such is Virtue's Pow'r!)
Dissolv'd the Charm, and drew the Gift on Shore.
Nor less the Chief, whom, bless'd in Myra's Charms,
The sacred Love of Liberty inspires;
Whose generous Breast the same great Passion warms,
That brightly glow'd in his Heroic Sires.
How justly are the Patriot-Names ally'd,
How softly pair'd, a Douglas and a Hyde.
See Hamilton, with Lustre, next appear,
A Prince descended from a Royal Race.
Behold his easy Mien, and graceful Air;
What noble Freedom triumphs in his Face?
Bright may his Virtues ever be confest,
As the fair Star that guards his Patriot Breast.
Descended from an ancient faithful Line,
Assume, Montrose, thy undisputed Place.
Who doubts the Virtues of thy Race are thine,
May read a Confutation in thy Face:
Where Grandeur is with Goodness temper'd seen;
Soft Beams of Light, that shew the Day within.
Nor shall the Muse, great Ker, thy Name conceal,
Admir'd in Counsels, as in Arts polite;
Till Knowledge sink, and publick Spirit fail,
Thy Merit shall appear in all its Light.
Still may the Azure Band embrace thy Knee,
Evil to him that Evil thinks of thee.
But who approaches next Urania's View,
Sedate, with calm and philosophick Air?
Soon, Tweeddale, must the Muse acknowledge you,
In Youth a Sage, in Grandeur still sincere;
The Friend of Men. Continue, with Applause,
The firm Assertor of your Country's Cause.
Nor thou, the Pride of thy illustrious Race,
Round whom united Virtues form a Day!
Shall in the fair Procession want thy Place.
The Courts no longer shed their tinsel Ray.
In Britain's Annals shall a Rothes shine
Amongst the foremost Heroes of his Line.
Buchan, to Truth and sacred Honour just!
The Muse with Pride thy Title would repeat
Who rather than betray a Nation's Trust,
Unblemish'd chose with Glory to retreat;
Thine shall the Praise remain-when Life is done,
And all the Sons of Slavery sleep unknown.
Mild Haddington, whose Breast's with Learning fraught,
Receive the Tribute of unpurchas'd Praise;
Thine is the Honour to retire unbought,
And persevere in Virtue's sacred Ways!
Nor less becomes the Man the Muses love,
And all the Friends of Liberty approve.
Great Aberdeen, whose penetrating Sight,
Thro' ministerial Cobwebs well can spy;
Can bring the Depths of State-Deceit to Light,
The Muse unnotic'd must not pass you by:
Tho' Britain's Senate hears your Sense no more,
Your Country still regards you as before.
Marchmont, whose Wisdom different Courts have found,
Whose freeborn Soul has never chang'd its State;
For Knowledge fam'd, and Eloquence renown'd,
In whom the honest Statesman shines compleat!
Accept this Homage which the Muses pay,
And still deserve Applause the Patriot-Way!
But oh! if Worth exalts the Pride of Blood,
If Virtue can the Blaze of Courts outshine!
The Muse beholds a Man both great and good;
The blended Wreaths, immortal Stair, are thine!
And like the Spartan Chief's Retreat of old,
With equal Glory shall thine own be told!
Nor thou, unblemish'd Peer! whose steady Soul
Corruption's bold Assaults, unmov'd, defy'd;
Sustain'd the Shock, collected firm and whole,
And kept inflexible the juster Side.
Still, Elphinstone, preserve the spotless Name,
And leave the fair Example dear to Fame!
These are the Chiefs our hardy Climate breeds,
That, deaf to Interest's or Ambition's Charms,
Can shew, by greatly meritorious Deeds,
How much the sacred Love of Freedom warms:
Souls made like these deserve a Pindar's Strain,
Whom Crowns would tempt to Ill, but tempt in vain!
To These, nor want we Patriot Names to join
Souls uncorrupt, tho' in a lower Sphere;
Who slight the Charms of either India's Mine,
And make a Nation's Happiness their Care!
While firm, oppos'd, the powerful Flood they stand,
And risque themselves to save a sinking Land.
Such the Dalrymples, Father and the Son,
Whose virtuous Minds no servile Chains can wear;
Such Erskine is, who laid the Purple down,
Whom Britain's Senate shall with Pleasure hear:
And He, who now retires, with Honour crown'd,
To the soft Cares of his Paternal Ground.
Nor shall the Muse, Dundas, omit thy Name,
Who, fearless, in the Face of Pow'r and Pride,
Has dar'd the Rights of Britain to sustain,
And joyn the Juster, but unequal Side.
In thee the Roman Orator appears,
And all his Virtues shine, without his Fears.
Such are the Spirits firm to LIBERTY,
That with their Influence bless our Northern Coast.
So the bright Planets gild a wint'ry Sky,
And shine serenest in the chilling Frost!
Unnumber'd Stars around their Passage glow,
And serve to chear the darken'd World below.
When Britain's present Ague-Fit is past,
When safe she sits amidst her subject Seas,
These Names shall dear to future Ages last,
And Time shall gild them with his latest Rays.
Virtue shall triumph, over Envy's Spite.
Clouds are but Foils, to make us love the Light.
FINIS
poem by William Hamilton
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Eclogue the First Selim
SCENE, a Valley near Bagdat TIME, the Morning
`Ye Persian maids, attend your poet's lays,
And hear how shepherds pass their golden days:
Not all are blest, whom fortune's hand sustains
With wealth in courts, nor all that haunt the plains:
Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell;
'Tis virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell.'
Thus Selim sung, by sacred Truth inspired;
No praise the youth, but hers alone, desired.
Wise in himself, his meaning songs conveyed
Informing morals to the shepherd maid,
Or taught the swains that surest bliss to find,
What groves nor streams bestow, a virtuous mind.
When sweet and odorous, like an eastern bride,
The radiant morn resumed her orient pride,
When wanton gales along the valleys play,
Breathe on each flower, and bear their sweets away:
By Tigris' wandering waves he sat, and sung
This useful lesson for the fair and young.
`Ye Persian dames,' he said, `to you belong,
Well may they please, the morals of my song;
No fairer maids, I trust, than you are found,
Graced with soft arts, the peopled world around!
The morn that lights you to your loves supplies
Each gentler ray delicious to your eyes:
For you those flowers her fragrant hands bestow,
And yours the love that kings delight to know.
Yet think not these, all beauteous as they are,
The best kind blessings heaven can grant the fair!
Who trust alone in beauty's feeble ray,
Balsora's pearls have more of worth than they;
Drawn from the deep, they sparkle to the sight,
And all-unconscious shoot a lustrous light:
Such are the maids and such the charms they boast,
By sense unaided or to virtue lost.
Self-flattering sex! your hearts believe in vain
That love shall blind when once he fires the swain,
Or hope a lover by your faults to win,
As spots on ermine beautify the skin.
Who seeks secure to rule, be first her care
Each softer virtue that adorns the fair,
Each tender passion man delights to find,
The loved perfections of a female mind.
`Blest were the days when Wisdom held her reign,
And shepherds sought her on the silent plain;
With Truth she wedded in the secret grove,
The fair-eyed Truth, and daughters blessed their love.
`O haste, fair maids, ye Virtues, come away,
Sweet Peace and Plenty lead you on your way!
The balmy shrub for you shall love our shore,
By Ind excelled or Araby no more.
`Lost to our fields, for so the fates ordain,
The dear deserters shall return again.
O come thou, Modesty, as they decree,
The rose may then improve her blush by thee.
Here make thy court amidst our rural scene,
And shepherd-girls shall own thee for their queen.
With thee be Chastity, of all afraid,
Distrusting all, a wise suspicious maid,
But man the most -- not more the mountain doe
Holds the swift falcon for her deadly foe.
Cold is her breast, like flowers that drink the dew;
A silken veil conceals her from the view.
No wild desires amidst thy train be known,
But Faith, whose heart is fixed on one alone;
Desponding Meekness with her down-cast eyes,
And friendly Pity full of tender sighs;
And Love the last: by these your hearts approve,
These are the Virtues that must lead to love.'
Thus sung the swain, and eastern legends say
The maids of Bagdat verified the lay:
Dear to the plains, the Virtues came along,
The shepherds loved, and Selim blessed his song.
poem by William Taylor Collins
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The Shepherd and the Philosopher
Remote from cities liv'd a swain,
Unvex'd with all the cares of gain;
His head was silver'd o'er with age,
And long experience made him sage;
In summer's heat and winter's cold,
He led his flock and penn'd the fold;
His hours in cheerful labour flew,
Nor envy nor ambition knew:
His wisdom and his honest fame
Through all the country rais'd his name
A deep philosopher (whose rules
Of moral life were drawn from schools)
The shepherd's homely cottage sought,
And thus explor'd his reach of thought.
'Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil
O'er books consum'd the midnight oil?
Hast thou old Greece and Rome survey'd,
And the vast sense of Plato weigh'd?
Hath Socrates thy soul refin'd,
And hast thou fathom'd Tully's mind?
Or, like the wise Ulysses, thrown,
By various fates, on realms unknown,
Hast thou through many cities stray'd,
Their customs, laws, and manners weigh'd?'
The shepherd modestly replied,
'I ne'er the paths of learning tried;
Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts,
To read mankind, their laws and arts;
For man is practis'd in disguise,
HE cheats the most discerning eyes.
Who by that search shall wiser grow?
By that ourselves we never know.
The little knowledge I have gain'd,
Was all from simple nature drain'd;
Hence my life's maxims took their rise,
Hence grew my settled hate to vice.
The daily labours of the bee
Awake my soul to industry.
Who can observe the careful ant,
And not provide for future want?
My dog (the trustiest of his kind)
With gratitude inflames my mind:
I mark his true, his faithful way,
And in my service copy Tray.
In constancy and nuptial love,
I learn my duty from the dove.
The hen, who from the chilly air,
With pious wing protects her care,
And ev'ry fowl that flies at large,
Instructs me in a parent's charge.'
'From nature too I take my rule,
To shun contempt and ridicule.
I never, with important air,
In conversation overbear.
Can grave and formal pass for wise,
When men the solemn owl despise?
My tongue within my lips I rein;
For who talks much must talk in vain,
We from the wordy torrent fly:
Who listens to the chatt'ring pye?
Nor would I, with felonious flight,
By stealth invade my neighbour's right:
Rapacious animals we hate;
Kites, hawks, and wolves, deserve their fate.
Do not we just abhorrence find
Against the toad and serpent kind?
But envy, calumny, and spite,
Bear stronger venom in their bite.
Thus ev'ry object of creation
Can furnish hints to contemplation;
And from the most minute and mean,
A virtuous mind can morals glean.'
'Thy fame is just,' the sage replies;
'Thy virtue proves thee truly wise.
Pride often guides the author's pen,
Books as affected are as men:
But he who studies nature's laws,
From certain truth his maxims draws;
And those, without our schools, suffice,
To make men moral, good, and wise.'
Epitaph: Being Part Of An Inscription For A Monument
Farewell, my best-beloved; whose heavenly mind
Genius with virtue, strength with softness join'd;
Devotion, undebased by pride or art,
With meek simplicity, and joy of heart.
Though sprightly, gentle; though polite, sincere;
And only of thyself a judge severe;
Unblamed, unequall'd in each sphere of life,
The tenderest Daughter, Sister, Parent, Wife,
In thee, their Patroness, th' afflicted lost;
Thy friends, their pattern, ornament, and boast;
And I - but ah, can words my loss declare,
Or paint th' extremes of transport and despair!
O Thou, beyond what verse or speech can tell,
My guide, my friend, my best-beloved, farewell!
poem by James Beattie
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Friendship and Love
A DIALOGUE: Addressed to a young Lady.
Friendship:
In vain thy lawless Fires contend with mine,
Tho' Crouds unnumber'd fall before thy Shrine;
Let Youths, who ne'er aspir'd to noble Fame,
And the soft Virgin, kindle at thy Flame,
Thee, Son of Indolence and Vice, I scorn,
By Reason nourish'd, and of Virtue born.
Love:
Vain is that boasted Reason 'gainst my Dart,
I pierce the Sage's, as the vulgar Heart,
All Ages, Sexes, the soft Torment share,
The hoary Patriot, and the blooming Fair.
To narrow Limits is thy Sway confin'd,
To some few Breasts, I triumph o'er Mankind.
Friendship:
From grov'ling Sources, ever springs thy Pow'r,
Still varying Fancy, and frail Beauty's Flow'r:
Then with its Cause the short liv'd Ardour flies,
A flash of Passion that but gleams and dies.
Mine upon Virtue rais'd, still lives the same,
In gen'rous Hearts a constant equal Flame.
Love:
Love is not always that degen'rate thing,
I too from Virtue, as from Beauty spring.
Thou to the same dull Circle ever true,
Know'st but one Form all Tempers to subdue
Wide is my Empire, manyfold my Arts,
And various are the Plumes that wing my Darts.
Here a Fair face allures desiring Eyes,
There Modesty and Sense enslave the Wise.
Thus whilst each Pow'r with equal Warmth contends,
The Clouds divide, an heavenly Form descends,
Wings o'er his Shoulders mantling wav'd, behind
His snowy Garments floated in the wind;
A Wreath of mingled Flow'rs adorned his Head,
Immortal Flow'rs by Mold Ætherial fed,
Graceful he mov'd in Youth and Beauty's pride,
His Cheeks Aurora's op'ning Blushes dy'd,
A flaming Torch he bore, approaching now,
Fair Hymen Guardian of the nuptial Vow,
They knew and paus'd, He first the Silence broke,
Celestial Musick warbled as he spoke.
Cease, rival Pow'rs, with Rage unjust to glow,
Ye both to Men the noblest Gifts bestow.
Howe'er by Folly or by Vice abus'd,
Blessings are turn'd to Curses when misus'd.
Mine be the Praise the Gifts of both to blend.
And to the virtuous Lover join the Friend.
Thus shall Life glide away in mutual Joys,
Sweets that ne'er tire, and Rapture that ne'er cloys.
So blest an Union, Anna mayst thou prove,
A constant Friendship, in a tender Love.
poem by Mark Akenside
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I Get Up, I Get Down
In her white lace, you could clearly see the lady sadly looking.
Saying that shed take the blame
For the crucifixion of her own domain. I get up,
I get down,
I get up,
I get down.
Two million people barely satisfy.
Two hundred women watch one woman cry, too late.
The eyes of honesty can achieve.
How many millions do we deceive each day?
I get up, I get down.
I get up, I get down.
In charge of who is there in charge of me.
Do I look on blindly and say I see the way?
The truth is written all along the page.
How old will I be before I come of age for you?
I get up, I get down.
I get up, I get down.
I get up, I get down.
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Get Up, I Get Down
In her white lace, you could clearly see the lady sadly looking.
Saying that shed take the blame
For the crucifixion of her own domain. I get up,
I get down,
I get up,
I get down.
Two million people barely satisfy.
Two hundred women watch one woman cry, too late.
The eyes of honesty can achieve.
How many millions do we deceive each day?
I get up, I get down.
I get up, I get down.
In charge of who is there in charge of me.
Do I look on blindly and say I see the way?
The truth is written all along the page.
How old will I be before I come of age for you?
I get up, I get down.
I get up, I get down.
I get up, I get down.
song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jupiter And Fortune.
Once Jupiter, from out the Skies,
Beheld a thousand Temples rise;
The Goddess Fortune all invok'd,
To Jove an Altar seldom smoak'd:
The God resolv'd to make Inspection,
What had occasion'd this Defection;
And bid the Goddess tell the Arts,
By which she won deluded Hearts.
My Arts! (says she) Great Jove, you know,
That I do ev'ry Thing below:
I make my Vot'ries dine on Plate;
I give the gilded Coach of State;
Bestow the glitt'ring Gems, that deck
The fair Lavinia's lovely Neck;
I make Novella Nature's Boast,
And raise Valeria to a Toast;
'Tis I, who give the Stupid, Taste,
(Or make the Poets lie, at least);
My fav'rite Sons, whene'er they please,
Can Palaces in Desarts raise,
Cut out Canals, make Fountains play,
And make the dreary Waste look gay;
Ev'n Vice seems Virtue by my Smiles;
I gild the Villain's gloomy Wiles,
Nay, almost raise him to a God,
While crowded Levees wait his Nod.
Enough--the Thunderer reply'd;
But say, whom have you satisfy'd?
These boasted Gifts are thine, I own;
But know, Content is mine alone.
poem by Mary Barber
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To The Right Honourable The Earl Of Orrery In Dublin
Let Others speak your Titles, and your Blood;
Accept from Me the glorious Name of Good.
This Honour only from fair Virtue springs,
Ennobles Slaves, adds Dignity to Kings.
O Born to shew Nobility design'd
Not to insult, but to protect Mankind!
Well you discern to spare, or to bestow;
Nor waste in Riot, what to Worth you owe.
Judgment your Bounty guides; and all agree,
'Tis Praise, 'tis Glory, to receive from Thee.
Gen'rous thy Gifts; but more thy matchless Art,
To spare the Blush, and doubly bind the Heart.
Tho' Fortune place me in a distant Scene;
And Mountains rise, and Oceans roll between;
O'er Mountains, Oceans, Gratitude conveys
The good Man's Act, and wide extends his Praise.
Strange! that your Judgment errs in this alone;
Barber you bless, yet hope your Gifts unknown.
'Tis Hers to bring each lovely Deed to Light,
And force unwilling Virtue to the Sight:
'Tis Hers, and 'tis Her Muse's greatest Pride,
A Favour never to forget, or hide.
Illustrious Youth! and let me style you Friend,
O look with Candor on the Lines I send!
Warm from the Heart my artless Numbers fall;
Nor wait Correctness, when your Virtues call.
Here, bless'd with all that human Life requires,
Superior to vain Fears, or low Desires;
In chearful Solitude, in studious Ease;
Careful my Conscience, and my God, to please;
I think on Thee, when Want, or Worth, implore;
And unrepining share my little Store.
So Stars attend the beauteous Queen of Night;
And faintly shine, not emulate her Light.
poem by Mary Barber
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You Never Can Tell With Friends
Yes I've been waiting, but you just don't come around
You've been dropping in on, everyone all over town Say
what you like, but you just don't know your place And
everywhere we go, people seem to know your face
You've been checkin' out the scene, every single night
Never knowing where you've been, you say it's alright I
placed all my faith in you, then you let me down
Everything I say is true, but you don't hear a sound
Yeh you ought to be ashamed, but you don't accept the
blame
They said it was too late, for your love
They said it was too late, you're gonna go
They said it was too late, for your love
They said it was too late, you've gotta go
You never can tell with friends
You never can tell with, you never can tell with
You never can...
Yes every now and then, my mind turns things around And
I believe it's true, that our love can still be found
Just one thing I care about, from sea to shining sea
And you know that's the love you give, the love you
give to me
You've been checking out the scene...
They said it was too late...
You never can tell...
song performed by by Supertramp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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