ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.
HAYLEY-thy tenderness fraternal shown,
In our first interview, delightful guest!
To Mary and me, for her dear sake distress'd,
Such as it is has made my heart thy own,
Though heedless now of new engagements grown.
For threescore winters make a wintry breast,
And I had purpos'd ne'er to go in quest
Of Friendship more, except with God alone.
But Thou hast won me; nor is God my foe,
Who, ere this last afflictive scene began,
Sent Thee to mitigate the dreadful blow,
My Brother, by whose sympathy I know
Thy true deserts infallibly to scan,
Not more t'admire the Bard than love the Man.
SHE came-she is gone-we have met-
And meet perhaps never again;
The sun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain.
Catharina has fled like a dream,
(So vanishes pleasure, alas!)
But has left a regret and esteem
That will not so suddenly pass.
The last evening ramble we made,
Catharina, Maria, and I,
Our progress was often delayed
By the nightingale warbling nigh.
We paused under many a tree,
And much she was charmed with a tone,
Less sweet to Maria and me,
Who so lately had witnessed her own.
1 Afterwards Mrs. Courtenay.
My numbers that day she had sung,
And gave them a grace so divine,
As only her musical tongue
Could infuse into numbers of mine.
The longer I heard, I esteemed
The work of my fancy the more,
And e'en to myself never seemed
So tuneful a poet before.
Though the pleasures of London exceed
In number the days of the year,
Catharina, did nothing impede,
Would feel herself happier here ;
For the close-woven arches of limes
On the banks of our river, I know,
Are sweeter to her many times
Than aught that the city can show.
So it is, when the mind is endued
With a well-judging taste from above,
Then, whether embellished or rude,
'Tis nature alone that we love.
The achievements of art may amuse,
May even our wonder excite,
groves, hills, and valleys diffuse
A lasting, a sacred delight.
Since then in the rural recess
Catharina alone can rejoice,
May it still be her lot to possess
The scene of her sensible choice!
To inhabit a mansion remote
From the clatter of street-pacing steeds,
And by Philomel's annual note
To measure the life that she leads.
With her book, and her voice, and her lyre,
To wing all her moments at home;
And with scenes that new rapture inspire,
As oft as it suits her to roam;
She will have just the life she prefers,
With little to hope or to fear,
And ours would be pleasant as hers,
Might we view her enjoying it here.
ON HER MARRIAGE TO GEO. COURTENAY, ESQ., JUNE, 1792.
BELIEVE it or not, as you choose,
The doctrine is certainly true,
That the future is known to the muse,
And poets are oracles too.
I did but express a desire,
To see Catharina at home,
At the side of my friend George's fire,
And lo-she is actually come.
Such prophecy some may despise,
But the wish of a poet and friend
Perhaps is approv'd in the skies,
And therefore attains to its end.
'Twas a wish that flew ardently forth
From a bosom effectually warm'd
With the talents, the graces, and worth
Of the person for whom it was form'd.
Maria' would leave us, I knew,
To the grief and regret of us all,
But less to our grief, could we view
Catharina the Queen of the Hall;
And therefore I wish'd as I did,
And therefore this union of hands;
Not a whisper was heard to forbid,
But all cry-Amen-to the bans.
Since therefore I seem to incur
No danger of wishing in vain,
When making good wishes for her,
I will e'en to my wishes again—
With one I have made her a Wife,
And now I will try with another,
Which I cannot suppress for my life-
How soon I can make her a Mother.
HERE lies one who never drew
Blood himself, yet many slew;
Gave the gun its aim, and figure
Made in field, yet ne'er pulled trigger;
Armed men have gladly made
Him their guide, and him obey'd;
At his signified desire,
Would advance, present, and fire-
Stout he was, and large of limb,
Scores have fled in spite of him:
And to all this fame he rose
Only following his nose.
Neptune was he call'd; not he
Who controls the boist'rous sea,
But of happier command,
Neptune of the furrow'd land;
wonder vain to shorten,
Pointer to Sir John Throckmorton.
A DOG BELONGING TO LADY THROCKMORTON.
THOUGH once a puppy, and though Fop by name,
Here moulders one whose bones some honour claim.
No sycophant, although of spaniel race,
And though no hound, a martyr to the chase-
Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice,
Your haunts no longer echo to his voice;
This record of his fate exulting view,
He died worn out with vain pursuit of you.
"Yes" the indignant shade of Fop replies“And worn with vain pursuit Man also dies."
SONNET TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ.,
ON HIS PICTURE OF ME IN CRAYONS,
DRAWN AT EARTHAM, IN THE SIXTY-FIRST YEAR OF MY AGE, AND IN THE MONTHS OF AUGUST AND SEPTEMBER, 1792.
ROMNEY, expert infallibly to trace
On chart or canvas, not the form alone
And semblance, but, however faintly shown,
The mind's impression too on every face-
With strokes that time ought never to erase
Thou hast so pencill'd mine, that though I own
The subject worthless, I have never known
The artist shining with superior grace.
But this I mark-that symptoms none of woe
In thy incomparable work appear.
Well-I am satisfied it should be so,
Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear;
For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see
When I was Hayley's guest, and sat to Thee?
ON RECEIVING HAYLEY'S PICTURE.
In language warm as could be breath'd or penn'd,
Thy picture speaks th' original my Friend;
Not by those looks that indicate thy mind,-
They only speak thee Friend of all mankind;
Expression here more soothing still I see,
That Friend of all a partial Friend to me.
EPITAPH ON MR. CHESTER, OF CHICHELEY.
TEARS flow, and cease not, where the good man lies,
Till all who know him follow to the skies.
Tears therefore fall where Chester's ashes sleep;
Him wife, friends, brothers, children, servants, weep-
And justly-few shall ever him transcend
As husband, parent, brother, master, friend.
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