WHEN first the Muse recorded Beauty's praise
In glowing numbers, and enraptur'd lays,
Sweet was the Poet's song; undeck'd by art;
For Love was Nature, and his theme the Heart.
At Beauty's shrine how brightly Genius glow'd!
There, her wild wreaths luxuriant fancy strew'd;
Whose flowrets, wak'd by Love's enliv'ning ray,
Scatter'd with native sweets the artless lay.
Such were the strains th' enamour'd Ovid sung;
Such the fond lays that flow'd from Prior's tongue
Nor of its best reward was verse beguil'd,
When Julia own'd its pow'r, and Chloe smil❜d.
Far other lays denote the modern BardNor love his theme-nor Beauty his reward: His temp'rate verse a gentler homage pays, And sighs serenely for unfeeling praise.
This purer taste, this philosophic art,
(If thou, O Sentiment! thy aid impart)
The Muse shall sing-attend ye glittʼring train
Of sighing Beaux, nor scorn the votive strain ;
Tho' harsh the verse, tho' rude the unpolish'd lay,
Soft is the tender science they display.
First, for true grounds of Sentimental lore, The scenes of modern Comedy explore; Dramatic Homilies! devout and sage,
Stor'd with wise maxims, "both for youth and age.'
Maxims, that scorning their old homely dress,
Shift from plain proverbs to spruce sentences.
But chief let Cumberland thy Muse direct:
High Priest of all the Tragic-comic sect!
Mid darts and flames his Lover cooly waits;
Calm as a Hero, cas'd in Hartley's plates ;
Till damp'd, and chill'd, by sentimental sighs,
Each stifled passion in a vapor dies.
Hence form thy taste, hence strew thy temp'rate
With moral raptures, and sententious praise..
Thus skill'd, with critic care, thy subject choose;
A kindred theme, congenial to thy Muse.
No giddy Nymph, of youth and beauty vain,
But some fair Stoic, link'd in Hymen's chain:40
Serene and cold; by wise Indiff'rence led
To a rich Title, and a-sep'rate bed.
Now, sick of vanity, with grandeur cloy'd,
She leans on Sentiment, to sooth the void:
Deep in Rousseau, her purer thoughts approve
The Metaphysics of Platonic Love.
Thine be the task, with quaint, fantastic phrase,
To variegate her unimpassion'd praise.
Poetic Compliments from Sonnets cull-
Harmonious quibbles, logically dull!
True to their age of Paradox, they chime
Problems in verse, and sophistry in rhyme→
Yet, thro' these lymbecks Cowley's patient Muse
From mimic sighs distill'd Castalian dews;
So Spenser toil'd, to sooth the Royal Maid;
So hapless Petrarch wept his Laura's shade.]
But hence, tame Precept!-let example lead
The modish Poet to his glorious meed:
Haste to the radiant shrine of Fashion, haste!
There, form thy genius, there, correct thy taste.
And lo! the glitt'ring Altar stands confest!
Loose o'er the Goddess floats her motley vest :
As Flora, gay, as Iris, wildly bright,
Its varying lustre strikes the dazzled sight.
Here, Vanity, with flow'rs and feathers crown'd,
Sports with the Seasons thro' their airy round.
Here, spurious Art and mimic Science pour
Whims of a day, and theories of an hour.
The Goddess smiles; for, lo! even Poets trace
Her local charms, her temporary grace yo
Above the rest, how fondly she regards
Her fav'rite train, the Sentimental Bards!
On a spruce pedestal of Wedgwood ware,
Where motley forms, and tawdry emblems glare,
Behold she consecrates to cold applause,
A Petrefaction, work'd into a Vase:
The Vase of Sentiment !—to this impart
Thy kindred coldness, and congenial art.
Here, as in humbler scenes, from Cards and Gout,
The Muse-rid Millar gleans her learned Rout) 80
With votive song, and tributary verse,
Fashion's gay train her gentle rites rehearse.
What soft poetic incense breathes around!
What soothing hymns from Adulation sound!
When Fashion calls, can Carlisle be away?
For her ev'n Carlisle breathes a random lay;
Not with the praise of youthful Friendship fir'd:
Not with the glow of Dante's Muse inspir'd:
A softer lay, a gentler tribute's paid;
The last sad requiem to a
Here too Fitzpatrick waits some lucky hit ;
For, still the slave of Chance, he throws at wit.
While Townshend his pathetic bow displays,
And princely Boothby silent homage pays.
False to each fav'ring Muse, the elect of Phoebus Here string Charades, or fabricate a Rebus.
With chips of wit, and mutilated lays,
Here Palmerston fineers his Bouts Rhimeès.
Mulgrave! whose Muse nor winds nor waves control,
Here bravely pens Acrostics-on the Pole. 106
Warms with poetic fire the Northern air,
And sooths with tuneful raptures-the great Bear;
So when the rebel-winds on Neptune fell,
They sunk to rest, at sound of Triton's shell.
"If Placemen thus poetic honors prize,
Shall I be mute? (the laureat Whitehead cries.)
What if some rival Bard my empire share!
Yet, yet, I tremble at the name of Clare.
Pindar to Clare had yielded-so did I—
Alas, can Poetry with Poplin vie !
Ah me if Poets barter for applause,
How Jerningham will thrive on flimsy gauze!
What tatter'd tinsel Luttrell will display!
Carmarthen sattin-Carlisle paduasoy!
Garrick will follow his old remnant trade
He'll buy my place with Jubilee brocade.
While Anstey, the reversion to obtain,
Vamps his Bath drugget, till he spoils the grain.
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