Classic Poem

I, who ere now have touch'd in humble strains
The sports, and manners of th' unletter'd swains;
Tir'd of such themes, now dare, in bolder rhyme,
Sing the deep prober of old dusky time.
Apollo lend my prying muse a prop,
To sing the wonders of this gaudy shop,
Of gay antiques, more splendid far, and rare,
Than all the gewgaws of the Tunbridge ware.

Immers'd in thought the virtuoso sat,
'Midst legs of butterflies, and wings of bat;
Mishapen fish, as Avon's poet sings,
And scaly serpents horrible with stings,
Hung round the room, and grinning seem'd to speak,
“I rule old ocean,” and, “I rule the brake.”
In plumage fleek, fierce look'd that very bird
That startl'd Peter when he broke his word!
For such the art these sons of science know,
That cocks look martial, tho' they cease to crow.
Cook'd up in sauce, more balmy than that source
Which mail'd Achilles 'gainst the faulchion's force,
The tiny offspring of great Cheshire's pride,
In full perfection mould'ring time deride.
Rang'd on his shelves, of crocks a precious row,
Not “thinly scatter'd to make up a show,”
But wasted here from Egypt's fertile tombs,
Where pickl'd monarchs rest in catacombs;
Their use, and name by urns now better known,
To hold the ashes which once fill'd a throne.
No bason made by Bently's plastic hand,
Cou'd with these relics competition stand;
His best wrought tea-pot would their line disgrace,
That boast at least, a demi-god-like race.

A vase, nor think I take fantastic airs,
Which now the dust of many ages wears,
Might once have been some charming fair sublime,
Snatch'd by the potter from the wreck of time;
Perhaps, that queen who brav'd th' envenom'd snake,
And lost an empire for a lover's sake;
Or that chaste dame, so fam'd in ancient song,
Whose tardy loom beguil'd the hungry throng;
Congenial still it guards with fond embrace
The sun-born offspring of the spinning race.
Nor rov'd I far to trace the lineage out,
For Shakspeare bung'd, with Philip's son, brown stout;-
Or nearer home, if you believe the tale,
Gay Toby mantles with good mellow ale.
The dusky spars drag'd from old mother earth,
Which owe, like Cæsar, to sharp steel their birth,
By fancy, cull'd beneath the scorching ray,
Where thirst of wealth has spread tyrannic sway,
Are nicely marshal'd round the table's rim,
As if by Toby, or poor honest Trim.
Within are plac'd an het'rogeneous crew,
Of all that crept, and all that ever flew;
Frogs, fleas, and beetles, in as high preserve,
As plums fresh floating in a rich conserve.

An hair pluck'd from the helm Æneas wore,
When 'midst Troy's flames he old Anchises bore;
So thinks the sage, yet Hodge cou'd well declare,
That once it deck'd the forehead of his mare.
A feather too pluck'd from that watchful goose,
That loudly cackl'd when the Gauls broke loose;
But shou'd my muse the truth presume to tell,
From Cic'ly's drake this self-fame feather fell.
Thus fancy can, with her delusive train,
Fleet thro the regions of the crazy brain.

'Midst such a store what mortal shou'd repine,
But deep research, content was never thine.
“Yet what avails,” the man of insects cries,
“Tho' hosts of wonders feast my wond'ring eyes,
“If still I toil with unavailing pain,
“To gain this secret of the azure main.
“The browsing deer who range the woody ground,
“Where blossom'd heath its fragrance sheds around,
“Still on the board their native zest retain,
“And far exceed their brethren of the plain.
“If damag'd grain your pregnant pullets feed,
“Ne'er will the eggs from musty smell be freed;
“But if with rice the callow brood you rear,
“Full and delicious will the eggs appear.
“Those eels that lurk beneath the troubl'd flood,
“Not Murray's sauce can make e'en passing good;
“Yet those that swim thro' Anner's silver stream,
“With native liquor in perfection teem.
“The boar who craunches in Westphalia's waste,
“In horny brawn best gratifies the taste,
“But from the still, the flabby swine will cloy
“The strongest stomach, and all gout destroy.
“In copper pans, shou'd careless cook-maids keep
“Their pickl'd moshrooms, or their gherkins steep,
“The noxious dregs such flavour will impart,
“As mars all nostrums, and the housewives art.
“But fish that in the briny deep regale,
“And saline draughts with ev'ry gulph inhale,
“Still fresh appear, as if the silver flood,
“Or crystal streamlet, had supply'd their food.

Grant me ye gods! this secret to explore,
“And place me friendless on some parching shore,
“Where spot'd leopards range the forests round,
“And deadly serpents glide along the ground;
“Where ev'ry herb a noxious sweet contains,
“And fragrant death is wasted thro' the plains.
“Or, if decreed, be mine alone to range
“Where winter rules unconscious of a change,
“Where rugged bears uphold unrivall'd sway,
“And ling'ring night scarce owns the glimpse of day,
“Where torpid nature mocks the plough-share's toil,
“And man congeal'd is bosom'd in the soil.”

Thus spoke the man to vague researches giv'n,
And murm'ring curs'd the mystic will of heav'n.