A POETICAL EPISTLE .

Tho ' lost for ever those delightful dreams,
That Fancy o'er the twilight-rapture streams,
No more recluse, with pensive joy, to walk,
Or hearken to the Muse's whisper'd talk;
No more to breathe the soul in witching rhime,
By wizard fount, deep dell, or hill sublime,
What time the sere leaf quivers to the ground,
And S ILENCE sheds her solemn calm around,
And Autumn's tawny hand, with touch unseen
Strips from the bending branch it's garment green,
And moaning sad thro' each unblossom'd spray,
Shrieks shrill the aweful Genius of Decay;
Tho' doom'd, enchanting P OESY , no more
High-charm'd to listen to thy warbled lore,
Tho' in Oblivion's dusky pool, to hide
That flute, whilere my pleasure and my pride,
With which so oft I woke the blushing day,
The lark alone, sweet rival of my lay,
Yet the dire vengeance of immortal song
Let Genius thunder on the tasteless throng,
Who, basely girdled by a scoundrel train,
Eschew the minstrel, yet adore the strain,
Lift at each line th' ecstatic-rolling eye,
But leave the Bard to languish and to die;
For such there are, and such should surely feel
The lasting pang of the poetic wheel;
So shall they boast no more a borrow'd fame,
Unjust usurpers of the P ATRON'S name,
Distinguish'd name! by ancientry approv'd,
Which S YDNEY cherish'd and S OUTHAMPTON lov'd,
One did a S PENSER , one a S HAKESPEARE raise,
And gave and got inestimable praise!

Ah thou, encompast with domestic pain,
Who fondly hope to build the lofty strain,
To weave the magic lay, whose light and shade,
Deep hues and dazzling colours must not fade;
Who mount Imagination's rainbow wing,
Dipt in gay teints of the Pierian spring,
Ah! turn, and damp'd be thy enthusiast joy!
To C HATTERTON , the Muse's matchless boy,
With every grace of ancient wisdom blest,
All untaught genius breathing from his breast.

Behold the haughty soul o'er heav'n that flew,
Submissive, for a paltry pittance sue,
Behold those lines that feed the general ear,
Despis'd, discarded by the listless Peer!
Behold, (when vain each gentler plea to claim
A little notice of that mighty name,)
In scorn too fierce, and disappointment dire,
The wonder of the learned world expire!
Can studious zeal his rapid flights to trace,
Or catch one meaning shadow of his face?
Can Admiration, with its late applause,
Or o'er each beauty the astonish'd pause,
Alas! to soothe his lone, enanguish'd ghost,
In youth's proud, dauntless prime for ever lost,
Tho' my heart gushes o'er his piteous tale,
Can e'en this honest verse of mine avail?

But should'st thou more on elder proofs rely,
Th' historic page shall wound thy injur'd eye,
There still, in sad succession, they appear
To check thy warmth, and start the tender tear.
All chill'd his faery ecstacies divine
With wayward cross, and penury, and pine,
Sore shent by fickle Fortune's wint'ry blast,
The pleasant sunshine of Hope's summer past,
And o'er his cote fell Eurus whistling frore;
Lo! M ULLA'S minstrel on J UVERNA'S shore:
Ah me! while foemen deal him grievous wrong,
Full deftly he indites his dainty song,
And though his tears may with his descant flow;
Th' unconquerable mind still mocks at woe!
Sweet Bard! when ev'ning breathes a purer air,
No boist'rous breeze their flecting form to tear,
Still round thy tomb the elfin bevies glide,
Bath'd in the trembling moonbeam's yellow tide,
Still, in that ring their mystic feats renew,
And crush the lurking worm, and kill th' unwholsome dew!

Compell'd by want to gild a graceless Court,
Where all was empty jest, and idle sport,
Where Vice with Folly leagued, her revels held,
And chas'd the bashful Virtues from the field,
See D RYDEN scatter his ambrosial hoard
Of sacred incense o'er some booby lord,
Oh see! scintillant from his mental fire
Bright points of wit, that sparkle and expire,
Gross, pond'rous dolts upbuoy'd in hasty Odes,
And British blockheads turn'd to Graecian Gods!
Yet, what proud meed awaits the L AUREATE'S death,
What pomp sepulchral, what distinguish'd wreath?
By a lewd rake his sacred corse profan'd,
For debt great D RYDEN'S last, sad rite detain'd;
When o'er his bier the widow'd plaint is heard,
At length, by common charity interr'd!

Who led by sweet Simplicity aside
From pageants, that we gaze at to deride,
Has not, while wilder'd in the bowery grove,
Oft sigh'd " Come live with me, and be my love! "
Yet oh! be love transform'd to deadly hate,
As freezes memory at M ARLOW'S fate,
Disastrous bard! by too much passion warm'd,
His fervid breast a menial beauty charm'd,
Nor, vers'd in arts deceitful woman knows,
Saw he the period of his future woes;
Vain the soft plaint that sordid breast to fire
With warmth refin'd, or elegant desire,
Vain his melodious magic to impart
Affections, foreign to th' unfeeling heart,
In guardless ecstacy's delicious glow
He sinks beneath a vassal murd'rer's blow,
O'er his dread fate my kindred spirit stands
Smit with commutual wound, and Pity wrings her hands!
Ah! had some genial ray of bounty shone
On talents, that but lack'd it's aid alone,
Had some soft pennon of protection spread
It's eider-plumage o'er that hapless head,
What emanations of the beauteous mind
Had deck'd thy works, the marvel of mankind,
Snatch'd from low-thoughted care thy stooping soul,
And plac'd thee radiant on Fame's deathless roll.
Where still anneal'd, thy one unequall'd strain
Shall, crown'd by Sensibility, remain!

Could J OHNSON'S learned skill, or moral pow'r,
Whose science rifled ev'ry A TTIC flow'r,
Their honey-dews suck'd from all blooms that blow,
And stripp'd of all it's sweets H YMETTUS' brow.
Could aught his wisdom, or his worth obtain
Thro' many a year, elaborately vain?
In patient poverty his youth was past,
And when slow favor, ling'ring, came at last,
Life's sprightly vigor flown, enjoyment lost,
Dear was the gift that so much labour cost;
E'en polish'd S TANHOPE , when too late imprest
With Truth's resistless energy his breast,
The proffer'd good his vanity supply'd,
Saw with a manly fortitude deny'd,
Merit's proud modesty the kindness spurn'd.
By venal flattery to be return'd!

Quaint Humour's child, whose " colonelling " knight
Grave Satire archly kens with new delight,
Ingenious B UTLER ! through thy various round
Of promissory jilts, what friend was found?
Tho' oft he conn'd thy volume laughter-fraught,
Tickled by each immitable thought,
(Good, easy man, with heedless glee he read,)
Could e'en thy Sov'reign's mass afford thee bread?
And B UCKINGHAM'S loose conduct well may shew
That wit, to wit is oft it's greatest foe.
O! in our later aera could I see
One son of smiling Ridicule, like thee,
Still, (keen correction leering in her eyes,)
Profuse of mirth, might sportive Censure rise,
Drop soft elixir where she wounds the heart,
And tickle with the plume that guides her dart!

In a dark garret, where the biting cold
No chearful hearth allays, poor B OYSE behold!
A blanket skew'r'd his shiv'ring shoulder wears,
Outrageous Hunger at his vitals tears,
Not one dry crust his tuneful toil requites,
And, e'en in famish'd misery, he writes,
Yet, F IELDING'S candid judgment may sustain
The doubted value of his losty vein!

Hark! what wild numbers break, sublimely sweet,
The breathing stillness of this deep retreat,
What bursts delirious of reviving song,
Steal on each sense those gloomy cells among,
'Tis S MART ! — anon, the maniac minstrel raves,
Loud as the tempest, fiercer than the waves,
And now, attuning soft a gentler lay,
It's tones, — how musical they faint away!

Of T ASTE'S bright P LEIADS a distinguish'd star,
Whose burnish'd glories still are beam'd afar,
What fair resource did L OYD in grandeur meet,
His earliest lustre sully'd in the F LEET ;
With C HURCHILL mark him at the social board,
What charms they cull from Reason's festive hoard,
But all the pleasures of the feast remov'd,
Which H EBE might have serv'd, and G ODS approv'd,
All the soft solace of the banquet o'er,
And, dire to pay, the long-protracted score,
How shall their host the vent'rous heroes quit,
Wit without money, money without wit,
'Till P HoeBUS , mussled in the shaggy cloke
Of Bookseller, expound the knotty joke,
Soothe the C ERBEREAN landlord with a fee,
Clear the tremendous bill, and set his fav'rities free.

He who aspires to please this sapient age,
And reap due profit too, must mount the stage,
Yet, brief indeed the A CTOR'S highest boast,
His acme in an hour attain'd or lost,
A casual fall the firmest frame destroys,
A curst catarrh obstructs the soundest voice;
Nor should'st thou, P AINTING , too unjustly vain,
Thy elder sister's nobler art disdain,
Or, join with powerful Music , to dethrone
Consummate worth, superior to your own;
The symmetry exact, the touching grace
Finely diffus'd o'er Action's form or face;
The canvass, with creative colour fir'd;
The airs, by hymning cherubim inspir'd;
Fleeting and frail, are transitory all,
Nor oft will Wisdom on their raptures call;
But the bold song, where proud to vanquish Time,
Fond P OESY pours forth the kindling rhyme,
In splendid rivalry where beauties meet,
And shining order marks the piece complete,
Tho' envious Chance consume the guardian page
Commission'd to inform each future age,
Water nor Fire, with all their vengeance fraught,
Impious, can hurt th' I NVIOLABLE ThoUGHT ,
Tradition's volubly-transmitting tongue
Will catch the hallow'd numbers which she sung,
Sires to their lift'ning sons repeat them o'er,
And spread the legend wide, 'till language is no more!

Who has not heard of C ARAVAGGIO'S name?
Illumin'd by the painter's purest flame,
His graceful strokes delude the gazing eye,
Glide to the heart, and Nature's self supply:
On journey bent, his weary feet could find,
Tatter'd and poor, no habitation kind,
No unthatch'd hovel, no deserted shed,
Where hapless Genius might repose his head;
At length, a sordid inn, where carters rest,
And beggars vile, receives the gifted guest,
Whose skill, employ'd to grace the gaudy sign,
Must prove it's best effort, before he dine;
And now the umber'd board before him stands,
Pallet and pencil fill his forming hands,
The mingling colours meet, and red and white,
Each other's aid! harmoniously unite,
'Till the full figures rise, and swell upon the sight!
Sublime it swings aslant the public road:
At morn, the Artist quits his mean abode.
Meanwhile, by fortune led to pass that way,
On neighing courser, with attendants gay,
A critic wight came pricking o'er the plain,
Right soon the sign-post doth his speed detain,
With curious haste he views, and quick surprize,
And for a sum immense the P ICTURE buys!
Amaz'd with joy, th' unconscious master stares,
Straight from his stall the saddled steed prepares,
And, wing'd with hope, the Stranger's path pursues; —
But, how the rest to tell, too tragic muse!
By a ditch-side, in death his sorrowing eyes
For ever seal'd, the slighted Painter lies.

Hence may be taught the young unpractic'd heart
That gothic dullness chill'd each kindred art,
And though the Poet, much to public shame,
Preeminence of penury may claim,
Scarce less has barb'rous ignorance o'erlaid
The mimic world by daedal painting made;
Oh! say what soul the Muses deign to bless
In fawning phrase the servile song will dress,
Drop the smooth balm from Adulation's plume,
And picture Plenty on a Miser's tomb?
Yet, some, by partial glimmer led astray
Of sun-like Inspiration's ardent day,
On brainless sculls the blushing wreath have plac'd,
Or giv'n a Marquis sense, a Nabob taste,
Stuck a pert Fiddler next to N EWTON'S bust,
And rais'd a titled dolt on M ILTON'S dust!

So have I seen a strolling R OMEO wooe
Some cookmaid, redolent of sav'ry stew,
And pressing her coarse paw, unwash'd, and tann'd,
Sigh, " the white wonder of my J ULIET'S hand! "
For well, smooth Flatt'ry! can thy colours spread
Youth's damask blushes with a warmer red,
Uncrutch hoar eld, and make the shrivell'd cheek,
Blushy as B ACCHUS , as A DONIS sleek!

Let him, who desperately prone to eat
The crumbs of P ATRONAGE , would court the G REAT ,
Consider well, to cool his scribbling rage,
Thy apoplectic homily, L E S AGE !
Daub thick his dedication o'er with lies,
And to the slippery heights of falsehood rise,
Nor forfeit for uncivil truths his place,
But glory in a gen'rous want of Grace.

In Life's lone paths, and solitary glooms,
How many a flow'r has spent its choicest blooms;
Nip'd in it's bud by an untimely blight,
By circling weeds all hid from public sight,
Unknown its fragrance, beautiful in vain,
And torn and trampled by the passing swain,
No lordly son of wealth, no liberal fair,
Pluck'd the lost gem to grace a garland rare,
But spurn'd the simple chaplet nature yields,
Cull'd from the produce of our British fields,
While fam'd exotics, a vile, sickly race,
Find in the warmest beds unbounded space,
There, fade in state, fuliginously grim,
And rot, the martyrs of capricious whim!

Who, tho' on eagle wing alert to soar,
Scans thy sweet lay, disastrous D ELACOUR ?
Who, nervous B ROOKE'S illuminated lines,
Where all the P ATRIOT in G USTAVUS shines,
Tho' splendidly obscure, the hero of the Mines?
Not nobler thoughts could A DDISON express,
And C ATO might assume the S WEDISH dress!

Oh! Thou, who mellow'd first my artless note,
To piety, at once, and verse devote,
Who the rude depths of D ANTE hast explor'd,
Yet O RPHEUS -like return'd, to light restor'd,
And then did'st follow, unappal'd by fear,
Frantic O RLANDO in his mad career,
Or, bosom'd in Ophelia's haunted vale,
Of princely E UGENE sang'st the wond'rous tale,
Oh! skill'd, like T URPIN , with sagacious eye
To pierce the glorious rites of Chivalry,
And fill each Chronicle's mysterious void: —
Pattern of modest worth, where art thou, B OYD ?

Tho' Fancy o'er my cradled vision smil'd,
And sav'ring Muses own'd their darling child,
Tho' secret bliss, ineffably refin'd,
Shed soft illusions o'er my melting mind,
And her fantastic mirror Promise gave;
E'en then misfortune mark'd me for her slave,
Dependance pointed to my lot forlorn,
And mid the roses thrust a latent thorn:
From youth's first dawn to manhood's riper day,
What scenes have drawn my pilgrim-step astray,
Deceitful scenes! in fairy prospect bright,
But dim'd too often on the cheated fight;
Ere yet Grief's keenest shaft unerring sped,
And Rapture wip'd the tear that Pity shed,
What winning forms aye beck'd me to pursue
Such shades, as colder Prudence never knew,
While, every fibre stretching e'en to pain,
I commun'd with the B EINGS of the B RAIN !

Late, o'er my head, I view the gathering cloud
Of sorrow, wrap me in its sablest shroud,
Of life's machine the movements wear away,
And those voluptuous fantasies decay,
Yet, still, with undiminish'd smile remain
Some silent, conscious guests to soothe my pain,
Still, meek-ey'd Feeling bends, divinely mov'd,
In social woe, o'er him the Muses lov'd,
Still Friendship, from it's healing store bestows
A sov'reign cure each slighter sear to close,
And fair Devotion, brightly fleeting by,
Unbars new portals to a purer sky,
Whence, seraphs leaning from th' angelic quire
Invite, to sweep a more immortal lyre!
Be thine, my F RIEND ! with free, facetious ease,
And flashes of unpilfer'd mirth to please,
Whom Fortune fix'd, then learning first to feel,
Just on the middle spoke of her inconstant wheel,
Be ne'er thy page, to gull a guilty taste,
By Ribaldry's licentious trash disgrac'd,
Be ne'er thy satire strew'd on Virtue's bier,
Nor yet the frown of Vice in office fear,
And still, with honest apathy, avoid
That glut of wit, where every palate's cloy'd,
Where Malice harlequins in Humour's vest,
And brother fools stand gaping for the jest:
Oh! would th' indulgent stars this hand allow
To quit the barren pen, and grasp the plough,
Chearful to chaunt unmeditated lays,
And see, at eve, the sprightly faggot blaze,
Reckless of all the brilliant toys of state
That win those babies, falsely styl'd the Great,
With friends, select but few, the noisy town
I'd fly, for green retreats, and shadows brown,
Shrink mid their vernal fold, and safe within,
Despise th' abode of Luxury and Sin,
Stretch'd by a winding streamlet's tiny tide,
Forget majestic T AMUS ' ocean pride,
Nor miss, where village-spires presume to rise,
L ONDON 's imperial top that wounds the skies.