218

E. MOORE'S POEMS.

Yet while your eyes with pity glow'd,
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. No words of hope your tongue bestowd,

But mildly bid me cease to blend

The name of lover with the friend.
A HYMN TO POVERTY.

Sick with desire, and mad with pain,

I seek for happiness in vain : O POVERTY! thou source of human art,

Thou lovely maid, to thee I cry, Thou great inspirer of the poet's song!

Heal me with kindness, or I die! In vain Apollo dictates, and the Nine

From sad despair my soul defend,
Attend in vain, unless thy mighty hand

And fix the lover and the friend.
Direct the tuneful lyre. Without thy aid
The canvass breathes no longer. Music's charms,

Curs'd be all wealth that can destroy
Uninfluenc'd by thee, forget to please :

My utmost hope of earthly joy ! Thou giv'st the organ sound; by thee the flute

Thy gifts, O Fortune! I resign, Breathes harmony; the tuneful viol owns

Let her and poverty be mine! Thy pow'rful touch. The warbling voice is thine:

And every year that life shall lend,
Thou gav'st to Nicolini every grace,

Shall bless the lover and the friend.
And every charm to Farinelli's song.
By thee the lawyer pleads. The soldier's arm In vain, alas ! in vain I strive
Is nerv'd by thee. Thy pow'r the gownman feels, To keep a dying hope alive;
And, urg'd by thee, unfolds Heav'n's mystic truths. The last sad remedy remains,
The haughty fair, that swells with proud disdain, 'Tis absence that must heal my pains,
And smiles at inischiefs, which her eyes have made, Thy image from my bosom rend,
Thou humblest to submit and bless mankind. And force the lover from the friend.

Hail, pow'r omnipotent! Me uninvok'd
Thou deign'st to visit, far, alas! unfit

Vain thought! though seas between us roll,
To bear thy awful presence. O, retire !

Thy love is rooted in my soul;
At distance let me view thee; lest, too night, The vital blood that warms my heart
I sink beneath the terrours of thy face!

With thy idea must depart.
And Death's decisive stroke must end

At once the lover and the friend.
THE LOVER AND THE FRIEND.
O THOU, for whom my lyre I string,

SONGS.
Of whom I speak, and think, and sing!
Thou constant object of my jovs,

SONG I.
Whose sweetness every wish employs !
Thou dearest of thy sex attend,

Thus I said to my heart, in a pet t other day,
And hear the lover and the friend.

“I had rather be hang'd than go moping this way;

No throbbings, no wishes your moments employ, Fear not the poet's flatt'ring strain;

But you sleep in my breast without motion or joy. No idle praise my verse shall stain; The lowly numbers shall impart

“When Chloe perplex'd me 'twas sweeter by half, The faithful dictates of my heart,

And at Thais's wiles I could often-times laugh; Nor hunble modesty offend,

Your burnings and achings I strove not to cure, And part the lover from the friend.

Though one was a jilt, and the other a whore. Not distant is the cruel day,

“When I walk'd up the Mall, or

strollat

a through the That tears me from my hopes away;

street, Then frown not, fairest, if I try

Not a petticoat brush'd me, but then you could beat, To steal the moisture from your eye,

Or if bang went the hoop against corner or post,
Or force your heart a sigh to send,

In the magical round you were sure to be lost.
To mourn the lover and the friend.
No perfect joy my life e'er knew,

“ But now if a nymph goes as naked as Eve,
But what arose from love and you;

Like Adam, unfallen, you never perceive;
Nor can I fear another pain

Or the seat of delight if the tippet should hide,
Than your unkindness or disdain :

You tempt not my fingers to draw it aside.
Then let your looks their pity lend,
To cheer the lover and the friend.

“Is it caution, or dread, or the frost of old age,

That inclives you with beauty no more to engage? Whole years I strove against the flame,

Tell me quickly the cause, forit makes me quite mad,
And suffer'd ills, that want a name;

In the summer's gay season to see you so sadi.”
Yet still the painful secret kept,
And to myself in silence wept;

“ Have a care," quoth my heart, “ how you temps Till grown unable to contend,

me to stray ; I ownd the lover and the friend.

He that hunts down a woman, must run a dd

way; I saw you still. Your gen'rous heart

Like a hare she can wind, or hold out with the far; In all my sorrows bore a part ;

And, secure in the chase, her pursuers she wocks

COLLEN.

PHEBE.

BOTH.

COLLIN.

* For Chloe I burnt with an innocent fame,
And beat to the music that breath'd out her name; O'er hill, dale, and valley, my Phebe and I
Three summers few over the castles I built,

Together will wander, and love shall be by :
And beheld me a fool, and my goddess a jilt.

Her Collin shall guard her safe all the long day,

And Phebe at night all his pains shall repay., “ Next Thais, the wanton, my wishes employ'd, And the kind one repair'd what the cruel destroy'd: Like Shadrach, I liv'd in a furnace of fire,

By moonlight, when shadows glide over the plain, But, unlike him, was scorch'd and compellid to retire. His kisses shall cheer me, his arm shall sustain ; “Recruited once more, I forgot all my pain,

The dark haunted grove I can trace without fear,

Or sleep in a church-yard, if Collin is near.
And was jilted, and burnt, and bedevil'd again;
Not a petticoat fring'd, or the heel of a shoe,
Ever pass'd you by day-light, but at it I few.

'Tis lore, like the Sun, &c.
“Thus jilted, and wounded, and bumt to a coal,
For rest I retreated again to be whole;

Ye shepherds that wanton it over the plain, But your eyes, ever open to lead me astray,

How fleeting your transports, how lasting your pain! Have beheld a new face, and command me away.

Inconstancy shun, and reward the kind she,

And learn to be happy of Phebe and me. < But remember, in whatever flames I may burn, *Twill be folly to ask for, or wish my return: Nether Thais, nor Chloe, again shall inflame,

Ye nymphs, who the pleasures of love never try'd, But a nymph more provoking than all you can

Attend io my strains, and take me for your guide; name."

Your hearts keep from pride and inconstancy free,

And learn to be happy of Collin and me.
This said, with a bound from my bosom he flew;
O, Phyllis! these eyes saw him posting to you;
Enslav'd by your wit, he grows fond of his chain,

'Tis love, like the Sun, that gives light to the year, And vows I shall never possess him again.

The sweetest of blessings that life can endear;
Our pleasures it brightens, drives sorrow away,

Gives joy to the night, and enlivens the day.
SONG IT.

PHEBE.

BOTH.

COLLIN.

PHIEBE.

SONG III. Be still, O ye winds, and attentive, ye swains,

As Phillis the gay, at the break of the day,
Tis Phebe invites, and replies to my strains;

Went forth to the meadows a maying,
The Sun nerer rose on, search all the world through, A clown lay asleep by a river so deep,
A shepherd so blest, or a fair one so true.

That round in meanders was straying.

His bosom was bare, and for whiteness so rare, Glide softly, ye streams, o ye nymphs, round me Her heart it was yone without warning, I throng,

With cheeks of such hue, that the rose wet with dew, 'Tis Collio commands, and attends to my song; Ne'er look'd half so fresh in a morning. Search all the world over, you never can find A maden so blest, or a shepherd so kind.

She cull'd the new hay, and down by him she lay,

Her wishes too warm for disguising;

She play'd with his eyes, till he wak'd in surprise, T's love, like the Sun, that gives light to the year, And blush'd like the Sun at his rising.

The sweetest of blessings that life can endear;
Our pleasures it brightens, drives sorrow away, She sung him a song, as he lean'd on his prong,
Gires joy to the night, and enlivens the day.

And rested her arm on his shoulder;
She presa't his coy cheek to her bosom so sleek,

And taught his two arms to infold her.
th Phebe beside me, the seasons how gay!
aan Winter's bleak months seem as pleasant as

The rustic grown kind, by a kiss told his mind, Mar;

And call'd her his dear and his blessing: The Summer's gay verdure springs still as she treads, Together they stray'd, and sung, frolic'd, and play'd,

And what they did more there 's no guessing: 2ndlinnets and nightingales sing through the meads.

EOTII.

COLLIY.

SH.

CHORUS.

Kind love shall repay the fatigues of the day,

And melt us to softer alarms;
Let wanton maids indulge desire,
How soon the fleeting pleasure gone is !

Coy Phillis shall burn at her soldier's return,
The joys of virtue never tire,

And bless the brave youth in her arms. And such shall still be mine and Johnny's.

The rebels shall ay, as with shouts we draw nigh,

And Echo shall victory ring; Together let us sport and play,

Then safe from alarms, we 'll rest on our arms, And live in pleasure where no sin is;

And chorus it, long live the king ! The priest shall tie the knot to day,

And wedlock's bands make Johnny Jenny's.

BOTH.

НВ.

Let roving swains young hearts invade,

The pleasure ends in shame and folly; So Willy woo'd, and then betray'd

The poor, believing, simple Molly.

SONG VÌ.
To make the wife kind, and to keep the house still,
You must be of her mind, let her say what she will;
In all that she does you must give her her way,
For tell her she 's wrong, and you lead her astray.

SHE.

CHORUS.

So Lucy lov'd, and lightly toy'd,

And laugh'd at harmless maids who marry; But now she finds her shepherd cloy'd,

And chides too late her faithless Harry.

BOTH.

But we 'll together sport and play,

And live in pleasure where no sin is; The priest shall tie the knot to day, - And wedlock's bands make Johnny Jenny's,

Then, husbands, take care, of suspicion beware,
Your wives may be true, if you fancy they are;
With confidence trust them, and be not such elves,
As to make by your jealousy horns for yourselves.
Abroad all the day if she chooses to roam,
Seem pleas'd with her absence, she'll sigh to come

home;
The man she likes best, and longs most to get at,
Be sure to commend, and she 'll hate him for that.

CHORUS. Then, husbands, &c.
What virtues she has, you may safely oppose,
Whatever her follies are, praise her for those;
Applaud all her schemes that she lays for a man,
For accuse ber of vice, and she 'll sin if she can.

HE.

By cooling streams our focks we 'll feed,

And leave deceit to knaves and ninnies; Or fondly stray where love shall lead,

And every joy be mine and Jenny's,

CHORUS

SRE.
Let guilt thé faithless bosom fright,

The constant heart is always bonny ;
Content, and peace, and sweet delight,

And love shall live with me and Johnny.

Then, husbands, take care, of suspicion beware,
Your wives may be true, if you fancy they are;
With confidence trust them, and be not such elves,
As to make by your jealousy horns for yourselves.

BOTH.

DAMON.

PUILLIS.

a

Together still we 'll sport and play,
And live in pleasure where no sin is :

SONG VII.
The priest sball tie the knot to day,
And wedlock's bands make Johnny Jenny's.

Hark, hark, o'er the plains how the merry bells

Asleep while my charmer is laid! [ring,
The village is up, and the day on the wing,

And Phillis may yet die a maid.
SONG V.
Stand round, my brave boys, with heart and with 'Tis hardly yet day, and I cannot away,
And all in full chorus agree;

(voice, We'll fight for our king, and as loyally sing,

0, Damon, I 'm young and afraid; And let the world kuuw we'll be free,

To morrow, my dear, I 'll to church without fear,

But let ine to night lie a maid.
CHORUS

DAMON.
The rebels shall Ay, as with shouts we draw nigh, The bridemaids are met, and mamma's on the fret,
And Echo shall victory ring;

All, all my coy Phillis upbraid;
Then safe from alarms, we 'll rest on our arms, Come open the door, and deny me no more,
And chorus it, long live the king!

Nor cry to live longer a maid.
Then commerce once more shall bring wealth to our

And plenty and peace bless the isle; [shore, Dear shepherd, forbear, and to morrow I swear, The peasant shall quaff off his bowl with a laugh,

To morrow I'll not be afraid;
And reap the sweet fruits of his toil.

I'll open the door, and deny you no more,
CHORUS. The rebels, &c.

Nor cry to live longer a inaid.

PHILLIS.

221

DAMON,

PHILLIS.

SONG X.
No, no, Phillis, no, on that bosom of snow

To night shall your shepherd be laid;
By morning my dear shall be eas'd of her fear,

How blest has my time been, what days have I

known,
Nor grieve she 's no longer a maid.

Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jesse my own!
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain,

That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain.
Then open the door, 'twas unbolted before,

His bliss silly Damon delay'd ;
To church let us go, and if there I say no,

Through walks, grown with woodbines, as often we

stray,
O then let me die an old maid.

Around us our boys and girls frolic and play;
How pleasing their sport is the wanton ones see,

And borrow their looks from my Jesse and me.
SONG VIII.

To try her sweet temper sometimes am I seen
THAT Jenny's my friend, my delight, and my pride, In revels all day with the nymphs of the green;
I always have boasted, and seek not to hide ; Though painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles,
I dwell on her praises wherever I go,

And meets me at night with compliance and smiles. They say I'm in love, but I answer no, no.

What though on her cheek the rose loses its hue, At ev'ning oft-times with what pleasure I see A pote from her hand, “I'll be with you at tea !! | Her ease and good-humour bloom all the year

through; My heart how it bounds, when I hear her below!

Time still as he flies brings increase to her truth, But say not 'tis love, for I answer no, no.

And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth. She sings me a song, and I echo each strain, Again I cry, Jenny! sweet Jenny, again!

Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare, I kiss her soft lips, as if there I could grow,

And cheat with false vows the too credulous fair, And fear I'm in love, though I answer no, no.

In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam!

To hold it for life, you must find it at home.
She tells me her faults, as she sits on my knee,
I cbide her, and swear she's an angel to me:
My shoulder she taps, and still bids me think so;
Who knows but she loves, though she tells me, no

SONG XI.
no?

Hark! hark! 'tis a voice from the tomb !
Yet such is my temper, so dull am I grown,
I ask not her heart, but would conquer my own :

“ Come, Lucy,” it cries, “ come away! Her bosom's soft peace shall I seek to o'erthrow,

The grave of thy Collin bas room,

To rest thee beside bis cold clay.” And wish to persuade, while I answer no, no?

“ I come, my dear shepherd, I come; From beauty, and wit, and good-humour, ah! why

Ye friends and companions, adieu ; Should prudence advise, and compel me to fly?

I haste to my Collin's dark home, Thy bounties, O Fortune! make haste to bestow,

To die on his bosom so true.” And let me deserve her, or still I say no.

All mournful the midnight bell rung,

When Lucy, sad Lucy arose ;

And forth to the green-turf she sprung,
SONG IX.

Where Collin's pale ashes repose.
You tell me I'm handsome, I know not how true,

All wet with the night's chilling dew, And easy, and chatty, and good-humour'd too;

Her bosom embrac'd the cold ground, That my lips are as red as the rose-bud in June,

While stormy winds over her blew, And my voice, like the nightingale's, sweetly in

And night-ravens croak'd all around. tune: All this has been told me by twenty before,

“ How long, my lov'd Collin,” she cry'd, But he that would win me, must flatter me more.

“ How long must thy Lucy complain?

How long shall the grave my love hide? If beauty from virtue receive no supply,

How long ere it join us again? Or prattle from prudence, how wanting am I!

For thee thy fond shepherdess liv'd, My ease and good-bumour short raptures will bring,

With thee o'er the world would she fly, And my voice, like the nightingale's, know but a

For thee has she sorrow'd and griev'd,
spring.

For thee would she lie down and die.
Forcharms such as these then, your praises give o'er,
To love me for life, you must love me for more.

" Alas! what avails it how dear

Thy Lucy was once to her swain ! Then talk to me not of a shape or an air,

Her face like the lily so fair,
For Chloe, the wanton, can rival me there:

And eyes that gave light to the plain!
'Tis virtue alone that makes beauty look gay, The shepherd that lov'd her is gone,
And brighteus good-humour, as sunshine the day; That face and those eyes charm no more,
For that if you love me, your flame shall be true, And Lucy forgot and alone,
And I, in my turn, may be tauglit to love too. To death shall her Collin deplore.”

AIR.

RECITATIVE.

While thus she lay sunk in despair,

No wanton taint her bosom knew, And mourn'd to the Echoes around,

Her hours in heav'nly vision flew, Inflam'd all at once grew the air,

Her knees were worn with midnight pray’rs, And thunder shook dreadful the ground: And thus she breath'd divinest airs. " I hear the kind call, and obey,

Oh, Collin, receive me," she cry'd! Then breathing a groan o'er his clay,

In hallow'd walks, and awful cells,
She hung on his tomb-stone and dy'd.

Secluded from the light and vain,
The chaste-ey'd maid with virtue dwells,

And solitude, and silence reign.

The wanton's voice is heard not here,
SONG XII.

To Heav'n the sacred pile belongs;
INTRODUCED IN THE AUTHOR'S FOUNDLING. Each wall returns the whisper'd pray'r,

And echoes but to holy songs.
For a shape and a bloom, and an air and a mien,
Myrtilla was brightest of all the gay green;
But artfully wild, and affectedly coy,
Those her beauties invited, her pride would destroy. Alas, that pamper'd monks should dare

Intrude where sainted vestals are ! By the flocks as she stray'd with the nymphs of the Ah, Francis ! Francis! well I weet

Those holy looks are all deceit. vale, Not a shepherd but woo'd her to hear her soft tale; The priest was young, the nun was frail,

With shame the Muse prolongs her tale, Though fatal the passion, she laugh'd at the swain, And return'd with Poglect, what she heard with dis- Love tun'd her voice, and thus she sung.

Devotion faulter'd on her tongue, dain. But beauty has wings and too hastily flies,

AIR. And love imrewarded, soon sickens and dies.

“ Alas, how deluded was I, The nymph cur'd by time of her folly and pride,

To fancy delights as I did! Now sighs in her turn for the bliss she denied.

With maidens at midnight to sigh, No longer she frolics it wide o'er the plain,

And love, the sweet passion, forbid!

O, father! my follies forgive,
To kill with her coyness the languishing swain;

And still to absolve me be nigh;
So humbled her pride is, so softened her mind,
That, though courted by none, she to all would be Your lessons have tanght me to live,

Come teach me, O! teach me to die !" kind.

To her arms in a rapture he sprung,

Her bosom, half-naked, met his;
SONG XIII.

Transported in silence she hung,

And melted away at each kiss.
INTRODUCED IN THE AUTHOR'S GAMESTER.

“ Ah, father !” expiring she cry'd, Wuen Damon languish'd at my feet,

“ With rapture 1 yield up my breath !” And I believ'd him true,

“ Ah, daughter !” he fondly reply'd, The moments of delight how sweet!

“ The righteous find comfort in death." But ah ! how swift they flew ! The sunny hill, the flow'ry vale,

The garden and the grove, Have echo'd to his ardent tale, And vows of endless love.

SOLOMON, A SERENATA: