LIV.

The puzzling sons of party next appear'd,

In dark cabals and nightly juntos met; [rear'd And now they whisper'd close, now shrugging The important shoulder; then, as if to get

New light, their twinkling eyes were inward set. No sooner Lucifer 1 recalls affairs,

1

Than forth they various rush in mighty fret ; When lo! push'd up to power, and crown'd their

cares,

In comes another set, and kicketh them down stairs.

LV.

But what most show'd the vanity of life,
Was to behold the nations all on fire,

In cruel broils engaged, and deadly strife:
Most Christian kings, inflamed by black desire,
With honourable ruffians in their hire,
Cause war to rage, and blood around to pour;
Of this sad work when each begins to tire,
Then sit them down just where they were before,
Till for new scenes of woe peace shall their force

restore.

LVI.

To number up the thousands dwelling here,
An useless were, and eke an endless task;
From kings, and those who at the helm appear,
To gipsies brown in summer-glades who bask.
Yea, many a man, perdie, I could unmask,
Whose desk and table make a solemn show,
With tape-tied trash, and suits of fools that ask
For place or pension laid in decent row;

But these I passen by, with nameless numbers moe.
The Morning Star.

LVI!.

Of all the gentle tenants of the place, There was a man of special grave remark : A certain tender gloom o'erspread his face, Pensive, not sad; in thought involved, not dark; As soot this man could sing as morning lark, And teach the noblest morals of the heart: But these his talents were yburied stark; Of the fine stores he nothing would impart, Which or boon Nature gave, or nature-painting Art. LVIII.

To noontide shades incontinent he ran,

Where purls the brook with sleep-inviting sound;
Or when Dan Sol to slope his wheels began,
Amid the broom he bask'd him on the ground,
Where the wild thyme and camomile are found:
There would he linger, till the latest ray
Of light sat trembling on the welkin's bound;
Then homeward through the twilight shadows

stray,

Sauntering and slow. So had he pass'd many a day.

LIX.

Yet not in thoughtless slumber were they past:
For oft the heavenly fire, that lay conceal'd
Beneath the sleeping embers, mounted fast,
And all its native light anew reveal'd :
Oft as he traversed the cerulean field,

And mark'd the clouds that drove before the wind,
Ten thousand glorious systems would he build,
Ten thousand great ideas fill'd his mind;

But with the clouds they fled, and left no trace behind.

LX.

With him was sometimes join'd, in silent walk,
(Profoundly silent, for they never spoke)
One shyer still, who quite detested talk :
Oft, stung by spleen, at once away he broke,
To groves of pine, and broad o'ershadowing oak;
There, inly thrill'd, he wander'd all alone,
And on himself his pensive fury wroke,

Ne ever utter'd word, save when first shone The glittering star of eve-Thank Heaven! the day is done.'

LXI.

Here lurk'd a wretch, who had not crept abroad
For forty years, ne face of mortal seen;

In chamber brooding like a loathly toad :
And sure his linen was not very clean.
Through secret loop-holes, that had practised
been

Near to his bed, his dinner vile he took ; Unkempt, and rough, of squalid face and mien, Our castle's shame! whence, from his filthy nook, We drove the villain out for fitter lair to look.

LXII.

One day there chaunced into these halls to rove A joyous youth, who took you at first sight; Him the wild wave of pleasure hither drove, Before the sprightly tempest-tossing light: Certes, he was a most engaging wight, Of social glee, and wit humane, though keen, Turning the night to day, and day to night : For him the merry bells had rung, I ween, If in this nook of quiet bells had ever been.

2 Conjecture has applied this to Dr. Armstrong, the poet.

LXIII.

But not ev'n pleasure to excess is good: What most elates, then sinks the soul as low: When spring-tide joy pours in with copious flood, The higher still the exulting billows flow, The farther back again they flagging go, And leave us grovelling on the dreary shore: Taught by this son of joy, we found it so; Who, whilst he staid, kept in a gay uproar Our madden'd castle all, the abode of sleep no more.

LXIV.

As when in prime of June a burnish'd fly, Sprung from the meads, o'er which he sweeps

along,

Cheer'd by the breathing bloom and vital sky,
Tunes up amid these airy halls his song,
Soothing at first the gay reposing throng:
And oft he sips their bowl; or, nearly drown'd,
He, thence recovering, drives their beds among,
And scares their tender sleep, with trump pro-
found

Then out again he flies, to wing his mazy round.

LXV.

Another guest 3 there was, of sense refined,
Who felt each worth, for every worth he had ;
Serene, yet warm; humane, yet firm his mind ;
As little touch'd as any man's with bad:
Him through their inmost walks the Muses lad,
To him the sacred love of Nature lent,

And sometimes would he make our valley glad; When as we found he would not here be pent, To him the better sort this friendly message sent :

3 George, Lord Lyttelton.

LXVI.

< Come, dwell with us! true son of virtue, come !
But if, alas! we cannot thee persuade
To lie content beneath our peaceful dome,
Ne ever more to quit our quiet glade !
Yet when at last thy toils but ill apaid

Shall dead thy fire, and damp its heavenly spark,
Thou wilt be glad to seek the rural shade,

There to indulge the Muse, and Nature mark : We then a lodge for thee will rear in Hagley-Park.' LXVII.

Here whilom ligg'd the Esopus 4 of the age; But call'd by fame, in soul ypricked deep, A noble pride restored him to the stage, And roused him like a giant from his sleep. Ev'n from his slumbers we advantage reap : With double force the enliven'd scene he wakes, Yet quits not Nature's bounds. He knows to keep Each due decorum: now the heart he shakes, And now with well urged sense the enlighten'd judgment takes.

LXVIII.

A bard here dwelt, more fat than bard beseenis ;
Who 5, void of envy, guile, and lust of gain,
On virtue still, and nature's pleasing themes,
>Pour'd forth his unpremeditated strain :
The world forsaking with a calm disdain,
Here laugh'd he careless in his easy seat;
Here quaff'd encircled with the joyous train,
Oft moralizing sage: his ditty sweet

He loathed much to write, ne cared to repeat.
4 Mr. Quin.

5 The following lines of this stanza were writ by a friend of the author, (since understood to have been Lord Lyttelton) and were designed to portray the character of Thomson.