The Union: Or, Select Scots And English Poems - LightNovelsOnl.com
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A YOUNG LADY
WITH
FONTENELLE'S PLURALITY OF WORLDS.
In this small work all nature's wonders see, The soften'd features of philosophy.
In truth by easy steps you here advance, Truth, as diverting as the best romance.
Long had these arts to sages been confin'd, None saw their beauty, till by poring blind; By studying spent, like men that cram too full, From Wisdom's feast they rose not chear'd, but dull: The gay and airy smil'd to see 'em grave, And fled such wisdom like TROPHONIUS' cave.
Justly they thought they might those arts despise, Which made men sullen, ere they could be wise.
Brought down to sight, with ease you view 'em here; Tho' deep the bottom, yet the stream is clear.
Your flutt'ring s.e.x still valued science less; Careless of any, but the arts of dress.
Their useless time was idly thrown away On empty novels, or some new-born play.
The best, perhaps, a few loose hours might spare For some unmeaning thing, miscall'd a pray'r.
In vain the glittering orbs, each starry night, With mingling blazes shed a flood of light: Each nymph with cold indiff'rence saw 'em rise; And, taught by fops, to them preferr'd her eyes.
None thought the stars were suns so widely sown, None dreamt of other worlds, besides our own.
Well might they boast their charms, when ev'ry fair Thought this world all, and hers the brightest here.
Ah! quit not the large thoughts this book inspires, For those thin trifles which your s.e.x admires; a.s.sert your claim to sense, and shew mankind, That reason is not to themselves confin'd.
The haughty belle, whose beauty's awful shrine.
'Twere sacrilege t' imagine not divine, Who thought so greatly of her eyes before, Bid her read this, and then be vain no more.
How poor ev'n You, who reign without controul, If we except the beauties of your soul!
Should all beholders feel the same surprize; Should all who see you, see you with my eyes; Were no such blasts to make that beauty less; Should you be what I think, what all confess: 'Tis but a narrow s.p.a.ce those charms engage; One Island only, and not half an Age.
ODE
ON THE FIFTH OF DECEMBER,
Being the BIRTH-DAY of a very beautiful YOUNG LADY.
BY MR. CHRISTOPHER SMART.
I.
Hail eldest of the monthly train, Sire of the winter drear, DECEMBER, in whose iron reign Expires the chequer'd year: Hush all the bl.u.s.t'ring blasts that blow, And proudly plum'd in silver snow Smile gladly on this blest of days; The livery'd clouds shall on thee wait, And PHOEBUS s.h.i.+ne in all his state, With more than summer rays.
II.
Tho' jocund JUNE may justly boast Long days and happy hours; Tho' AUGUST be POMONA'S host, And MAY be crown'd with flow'rs; Tell JUNE his fire and crimson dyes By HARRIOT'S blush, and HARRIOT'S eyes Eclips'd and vanquish'd fade away; Tell AUGUST, thou canst let him see A richer, riper fruit than He, A sweeter flow'r than MAY.
PART OF THE
PROLOGUE
TO
SIR DAVID LYNDESAY'S DREAM.
WRITTEN IN THE REIGN OF KING JAMES V.
I.
In the kalendies of Januarie, When fresche PHOEBUS by moving circulair From Capricorn was enter'd in Aquarie, With blastis that the branches made full bare, The snow and sleet perturbit all the air, And flemit FLORA from everie bank and bus, Throuch support of the austeir Eolus.
II.
Efter that I the lang wynteris night Had lyne waking in my bed allone Throw hevy thought, that na way sleep I micht, Remembering of divers thingis gone; Sa up I rois, and cleithit me anone By this fair t.i.tan with his lemis licht O'er all the land had spred his banner bricht.
III.
With cloke and hude I dressit me belive, With dowbill schone, and myttains on my handis, Howbeit the air was richt penetratyve, Zet fure I forth lansing outhort the landis, Towards the sea, to schort me on the sandis Because unblomit was baith bank and bray, And sa as I was pa.s.sing by the way,
IV.
I met dame FLORA in dule weid disagysit, Quilk into May was dulce and delectabill, With stalwart stormis hir sweetness was surprisit, Hir heavinlie hewis war turnit into sabill, Quilkis umguile war to Luffaris amiabill, Fled from the froist, the tender flouris I saw Under dame Nature's mantill lurking law.
V.
The small fowlis in flockis saw I flee To nature makand lamentatioun, They licht.i.t down beside me on ane tree, Of thair complaint I had compa.s.sioun, And with ane piteous exclamation They said "blyssit be somer with his flouris, "And waryit be thou wynter with thy schowris.
VI.
"Allace AURORE, (the sillie lark did cry) "Quhair has thou left thy balmy liquour sweit, "That us rejoisit mounting in the sky?
"Thy silver dropps are turned into sleit.
"Of fair PHEBUS quhair is the holsum heit, "Quhy tholis thow thy hevinlie plesand face, "With mystie vapouris to be obscurit, allace!
VII.
"Quhair art thou May, with June thy sister schene "Weill bordourit with daseis of delyte?
"And gentill Julie, with thy mantill grene, "Enamelit with rosis reid and quhyte?
"Now auld and cauld Januar in dispyte "Reissis from us all pastime and plesure "Allace! quhait gentle hart may this indure?
