Classic Poem

TO BROOKE BOOTHBY, ESQ. AFTERWARDS SIR BROOKE BOOTHBY .

Not yet is it reveal'd, ye sacred Nine,
If, with humane accordance to my lay,
Ye rear'd, in Peak's sweet vales, your rocky shrine,
And lured A LEXIS from the sylvan prey. —
That late his brother's chorded shell
Ye struck, its charming numbers tell;
They bear the symbols of your quire,
Aonian sweetness, Attic fire;
So prompt with happiest melody to flow
When your H ILARIO strikes the lyre;
And with the clearest light to glow,
As gay or pensive themes his song inspire. —
All uninvoked, upon H ILARIO'S brows,
Each rival Muse and Grace her loveliest garland throws.

Flying from shades, which veil the sultry day,
From gales, that breathe the essence of the spring,
From streams, where pearly-wristed Naiads play,
From echoes, faithful to each tuneful string,
The muses seek yon garish plain,
Haunt of the frolic and the vain. —
Forsaken Nine! H ILARIO there
Leads in light dance a mortal fair,
And all your soft and silver harps are drown'd
Amid the viol's scrannel noise,
And hautboy's loud, metallic sound,
Skilless, yet suiting well such vulgar joys,
As, with the wanderer, ye reluctant rove
Far from poetic plain, or Learning's hallow'd grove.

For the moist, orient lustres, as they stream,
Sloping and trembling on the mazy rill,
The splendours of the white meridian beam,
That warms the vale, and flames upon the hill,
Eve's crimson throne, and golden rays,
The lustre's many-pointed blaze
A noon-day night profusely pours,
Of gaudy violated hours;
And for the shining locks, the rural crown,
The wavy robe, so light and free,
That flows thy agile limbs adown,
And decks thy smiling brow, Simplicity,
Quaint Fashion, by her own trim fingers drest,
Pranks, with a vacant smile, her stiff, fantastic vest.

Ah! more than potent is the myrtle chain,
Since Folly can a heart like thine ensnare!
While kindred Genius views thee with disdain,
Loit'ring, and listening to each idiot fair.
Resigning thus thy wasted day,
Exclusive own Love's magic sway,
If thus his fires delusive lead
Thy charmed foot to marshy mead,
Where sinks its languid step, tho' form'd to gain
The height sublime, where brightly glows,
Above the gems that deck the vain,
The sweet, unfading, scientific rose:
But thou, since meaner garlands bind thy brows,
Boast not those rival claims thy despot disallows!

The strongest bias of the youthful soul
Love's dark magnetic instantly can turn;
Behold the Bacchanal forsake his bowl,
The fierce grow gentle, and the stoic burn!
Sylvan Diana's cruel sports
Too long thy graceful brother courts;
But ah! though deaf to J ULIA'S lay,
Had one bright nymph adjured his stay,
Would the warm youth have sought the buskin'd train?
Ah no! attentive to her sigh,
Their echoing horns might wind in vain;
No shaft of his had fleeted thro' the sky;
The victim in the sacrificer found,
Pierced by a keener dart, had spared the purposed wound.

And do not now the Nine successless plead,
From scenes, where only syren pleasures sing,
H ILARIO'S steps they might assiduous lead
Back to his wonted haunt, their hallow'd spring?
In vain applause her paean breathes,
And ardent knowledge twines her wreaths;
For him extracts each pedant thorn,
Ere yet his brows those wreaths adorn.
Ah me! the magic of enamour'd smiles,
The tender glance, disorder'd air,
With all the soft voluptuous wiles,
That wind round lofty souls the fatal snare,
Shall mock thy late proud boast, and force thee own
Thy baby Godhead sits despotic on his throne.