This unadorned stone was placed here who died August 22, 1775, aged 64. Lord Lyttelton's poems are the works of a man of literature and judgment, devoting part of his time to versification. They have nothing to be despised, and little to be admired. Of his Progress of Love, it is sufficient blame to say that it is pastoral. His blank verse in Blenheim has neither much force nor much elegance. His little performances, whether songs or epigrams, are sometimes sprightly, and sometimes insipid. His epistolary pieces have a smooth equability, which cannot much tire, because they are short, but which seldom elevates or surprises. But from this censure ought to be excepted his Advice to Belinda, which, though for the most part written when he was very young, contains much truth and much prudence, very elegantly and vigorously expressed, and shows a mind attentive to life, and a power of poetry which cultivation might have raised to excellence. POEMS OF LORD LYTTELTON. THE PROGRESS OF LOVE, IN FOUR ECLOGUES. 1. Uncertainty. To Mr. Pope. 2. Hope. To the hon. George Doddington. 3. Jealousy. To Edward Walpole, esq. Possession. To the right hon. the lord viscount Cobham. UNCERTAINTY. ECLOGUE I. TO ME. POPE, POPE, to whose reed beneath the beachen shade, The crystal fountain, and the flowery plain? To the green margin of a lonely wood, No sense of interest could their master move, "Ye nymphs," he cried, "ye Dryads, whoso long Have favour'd Damon, and inspir'd his song; For whom, retir'd, I shun the gay resorts Of sportful cities, and of pompous courts ; In vain I bid the restless world adieu, To seek tranquillity and peace with you. Though wild Ambition and destructive Rage No factions here can form, no wars can wage: Though Envy frowns not on your humble shades, Nor Calumny your innocence invades : Yet cruel Love, that troubler of the breast, / Too often violates your boasted rest; With inbred storms disturbs your calm retreat, And taints with bitterness each rural sweet. "Ah, luckless day! when first with fond surprise 1 On Delia's face I fix'd my eager eyes! Then in wild tumults all my soul was tost, Then reason, liberty, at once were lost: And every wish, and thought, and care, was gone, But what my heart employ'd on her alone. Then too she smil'd: can smiles our peace destroy, Those lovely children of Content and Joy! How can soft pleasure and tormenting woe From the same spring at the same moment flow: Unhappy boy! these vain inquiries cease, Thought could not guard, nor will restore, thy peace: Indulge the frenzy that thou must endure, And sooth the pain thou know'st not how to cure. Come, flattering Memory! and tell my heart How kind she was, and with what pleasing art She strove its fondest wishes to obtain, Confirm her power, and faster bind my chain. If on the green we danc'd, a mirthful band; To me alone she gave her willing hand: Her partial taste, if e'er I touch'd the lyre, Still in my song found something to admire. By none but her my crook with flowers was crown'd, By none but her my brows with ivy bound: The world, that Damon was her choice, believ'd, The world, alas! like Damon, was deceiv'd. When last I saw her, and declar'd my fire In words as soft as passion could inspire, Coldly she heard, and full of scorn withdrew, Without one pitying glance, one sweet adieu. The frighted hind, who sees his ripen'd corn HOPE. ECLOGUE II. [boy TO MR. DODDINGTON, AFTERWARDS LORD MELCOMBE REGIS. HEAR, Doddington, the notes that shepherds sing, Damon no longer sought the silent shade, "Blest be the hour," he said, "that happy hour, Who could have seen her then, and not have lov'd? Mr. Doddington had written some very pretty love verses, which have never been published. Lyttelton. "And art thou then, fond youth, secure of joy? Can no reverse thy flattering bliss destroy? Has treacherous Love no torment yet in store? Or hast thou never prov'd his fatal power? Whence flow'd those tears that late bedew'd thy cheek? Why sigh'd thy heart as if it strove to break? 66 Why stays my Delia in her secret bower? Light gales have chas'd the late impending shower; Th' emerging San more bright his beams extends; Oppos'd, its beauteous arch the rainbow bends! Glad youths and maidens turn the new-made hay: The birds renew their songs on every spray! Come forth, my love, thy shepherd's joys to crown: All nature smiles.-Will only Delia frown? "Hark how the bees with murmurs fill the plain, While every flower of every sweet they drain: See, how beneath yon hillock's shady steep, The shelter'd herds on flowery couches sleep: Nor bees, nor herds, are half so blest as I, If with my fond desires my love comply; From Delia's lips a sweeter honey flows, And on her bosom dwells more soft repose. "Ah! how, my dear, shall I deserve thy charms? For him each blue-ey'd Naiad of the flood, "But see! in yonder glade the heavenly far O, may I find her as we parted last, JEALOUSY. ECLOGUE III. TO MR. EDWARD WALPOLE. THE gods, O Walpole, give no bliss sincere ; Begin, my Muse, and Damon's woes rehearse, In wildest numbers and disorder'd verse. On a romantic mountain's airy head (While browzing goats at ease around him fed) Anxions he lay, with jealous cares opprest; Distrust and anger labouring in his breastThe vale beneath a pleasing prospect yields Of verdant meads and cultivated fields; Through these a river rolls its winding flood, Adorn'd with various tufts of rising wood; Here, half conceal'd in trees, a cottage stands, A castle there the opening plain commands; Beyond, a town with glittering spires is crown'd, And distant hills the wide horizon bound: So charming was the scene, a while the swain Beheld delighted, and forgot his pain: But soon the stings infix'd within his heart With cruel force renew'd their raging smart: His flowery wreath, which long with pride he wore, The gift of Delia, from his brows he tore, Then cried, "May all thy charms, ungrateful maid, Like these neglected roses, droop and fade! May angry Heaven deform each guilty grace, That triumphs now in that deluding face! Those alter'd looks may every shepherd fly, And ev'n thy Daphnis hate thee worse than I! "Say, thou inconstant, what has Damon done, To lose the heart his tedious pains had won? Tell me what charms you in my rival find, Against whose power no ties have strength to bind? Has he, like me, with long obedience strove To conquer your disdain, and merit love? Has he with transport every smile ador'd, And died with grief at each ungentle word? Ah, no! the conquest was obtain'd with ease; He pleas'd you, by not studying to please: H's careless indolence your pride alarm'd ; And, had he lov'd you more, he less had charm'd. "O pain to think! another shall possess Those balmy lips which I was wont to press: Another on her panting breast shall lie, And catch sweet madness from her swimming eye!I saw their friendly flocks together feed, I saw them hand in hand walk o'er the mead: Would my clos'd eye had sunk in endless night, Ere I was doom'd to bear that hateful sight! Where'er they pass'd, be blasted every flower, And hungry wolves their helpless flocks devour! Ah, wretched swain, could no examples move Thy heedless heart to shun the rage of love? Hast thou not heard how poor Menalcas died A victim to Parthenia's fatal pride? Dear was the youth to all the tuneful plain, No, let me live, her falsehood to upbraid: Recall those years which time has thrown behind, To Venus rais'd, a rustic altar stood. See Mr. Gay's Dione. |