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IN IMITATION OF A GREEK IDYLLIUM.

CELIA and I, the other day,
Walk'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea:
The setting Sun adorn'd the coast,
His beams entire, his fierceness lost :
And, on the surface of the deep,
The winds lay only not asleep :
The nymph did like the scene appear,
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair:
Soft fell her words, as flew the air.
With secret joy I heard her say,
That she would never miss one day
A walk so fine, a sight so gay.

But, oh the change! the winds grow high; Impending tempests charge the sky;

The lightning flies, the thunder roars,
And big waves lash the frighten'd shores.
Struck with the horrour of the sight,
She turns her head, and wings her flight:
And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore, or view the main.

"Once more, at least, look back," said I,
Thyself in that large glass descry:
When thou art in good-humour drest;
When gentle reason rules thy breast;
The Sun upon the calmest sea
Appears not half so bright as thee:
'Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of Love:
I bless my chain; I hand my oar;
Nor think on all I left on shore.

"But when vain doubt and groundless fear Do that dear foolish bosom tear; When the big lip and watery eye Tell me the rising storm is nigh; 'Tis then, thou art yon' angry main, Deform'd by winds, and dash'd by rain; And the poor sailor, that must try Its fury, labours less than I.

"Shipwreck'd, in vain to land I make, While Love and Fate still drive me back: Forc'd to doat on thee thy own way,

I chide thee first, and then obey. Wretched when from thee, vex'd when nigh, I with thee, or without thee, die."

JOHN GAY.

some South-sea stock presented to him by secretary Craggs, raised his hopes of fortune at one time to a considerable height; but the loss of the whole of this stock affected him so deeply as to throw him into a dangerous degree of languor, for his recovery from which he made trial of the air of Hampstead. He then wrote a tragedy called "The Captives," which was acted with applause; and in 1726, he composed the work by which he is best known, his

JOHN GAY, a well-known poet, was born at or near Barnstaple, in Devonshire, in 1688. After an education at the free-school of Barnstaple, he was sent to London, where he was put apprentice to a silkmercer. A few years of negligent attendance on the duties of such a station procured him a separation by agreement from his master; and he not long afterwards addicted himself to poetical composition, of which the first-fruits were his " Rural Sports," published in 1711, and dedicated to Pope, then first rising" Fables," written professedly for the young Duke to fame. In the following year, Gay, who possessed much sweetness of disposition, but was indolent and improvident, accepted an offer from the Duchess of Monmouth to reside with her as her secretary. He ad leisure enough in this employment to produce n the same year his poem of " Trivia, or the Art of Walking the Streets of London," which proved one of the most entertaining of its class. It was much dmired; and displayed in a striking manner that alent for the description of external objects which eculiarly characterised the author.

In 1714, he made his appearance from the press n a singular occasion. Pope and Ambrose Philips ad a dispute about the respective merits of their astorals; upon which, Gay, in order to serve the use of his friend, undertook to compose a set of astorals, in which the manners of the country should ? exhibited in their natural coarseness, with a view proving, by a sort of caricature, the absurdity of hilips's system. The offer was accepted; and ay, who entitled his work "The Shepherd's Teek," went through the usual topics of a set of storals in a parody, which is often extremely morous. But the effect was in one respect difrent from his intended purpose; for his pictures rural life were so extremely natural and amusing, d intermixed with circumstances so beautiful and uching, that his pastorals proved the most popular orks of the kind in the language. This performce was dedicated to Lord Bolingbroke; and at is period Gay seems to have obtained a large share the favour of the Tory party then in power. He s afterwards nominated secretary to the Earl of arendon, in his embassy to the court of Hanover; the death of Queen Anne recalled him from his ation, and he was advised by his friends not to glect the opportunity afforded him to ingratiate self with the new family. He accordingly wrote oetical epistle upon the arrival of the Princess of les, which compliment procured him the honour the attendance of the prince and princess at the ibition of a new dramatic piece.

Gay had now many friends, as well among pers of rank, as among his brother-poets; but little yet done to raise him to a state of independence. ubscription to a collection of his poems pubed in 1720, cleared him a thousand pounds; and

of Cumberland, and dedicated to him. In the manner of narration there is considerable ease, together with much lively and natural painting, but they will hardly stand in competition with the French fables of La Fontaine. Gay naturally expected a handsome reward for his trouble; but upon the accession of George II. nothing better was offered him than the post of gentleman-usher to the young Princess Louisa, which he regarded rather as an indignity than a favour, and accordingly declined.

The time, however, arrived when he had little occasion for the arts of a courtier to acquire a degree of public applause greater than he had hitherto experienced. In 1727, his famous "Beggar's Opera" was acted at Lincolns-inn-fields, after having been refused at Drury-lane. To the plan of burlesquing the Italian operas by songs adapted to the most familiar tunes, he added much political satire derived from his former disappointments; and the result was a composition unique in its kind, of which the success could not with any certainty be foreseen. "It will either (said Congreve) take greatly, or be damned confoundedly." Its fate was for some time in suspense; at length it struck the nerve of public taste, and received unbounded applause. It ran through sixty-three successive representations in the metropolis, and was performed a proportional number of times at all the provincial theatres. Its songs were all learned by heart, and its actors were raised to the summit of theatric fame. This success, indeed, seems to indicate a coarseness in the national taste which could be delighted with the repetition of popular ballad-tunes, as well as a fondness for the delineation of scenes of vice and vulgarity. Gay himself was charged with the mischief's he had thus, perhaps unintentionally, occasioned; and if the Beggar's Opera delighted the stage, it encountered more serious censure in graver places than has been bestowed on almost any other dramatic piece. By making a highwayman the hero, he has incurred the odium of rendering the character of a freebooter an object of popular ambition; and, by furnishing his personages with a plea for their dishonesty drawn from the universal depravity of mankind, he has been accused of sapping the foundations of all social morality. The author wrote a second part of this work, entitled "Polly, but the Lord Cham

berlain refused to suffer it to be performed; and though the party in opposition so far encouraged it by their subscriptions that it proved more profitable to him than even the first part, it was a very feeble performance, and has sunk into total neglect.

Gay, in the latter part of his life, received the kind patronage of the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry, who took him into their house, and condescended to manage his pecuniary concerns. At this

time he employed such intervals of health and spirits as he enjoyed, in writing his " Acis and Galates an opera called " Achilles,” and a "Serenat His death took place in 1732, at the early age a' forty-four, in consequence of an inflammation s the bowels. He was sincerely lamented by s friends; and his memory was honoured by a mossment in Westminster Abbey, and an epitaph in a strain of uncommon sensibility by Pope.

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Y
ou, who the sweets of rural life have known,
Despise th' ungrateful hurry of the town;
In Windsor groves your easy hours employ,
And, undisturb'd, yourself and Muse enjoy.
Thames listens to thy strains, and silent flows,
And no rude wind through rustling osiers blows,
While all his wondering nymphis around thee
throng,

To hear the Syrens warble in thy song.

But I, who ne'er was blest by Fortune's hand, Nor brighten'd ploughshares in paternal land, Long in the noisy town have been immur'd, Respir'd its smoke, and all its cares endur'd; Where news and politics divide mankind, And schemes of state involve th' uneasy mind: Faction embroils the world; and every tongue Is mov'd by flattery, or with scandal hung: Friendship, for sylvan shades, the palace flies, Where all must yield to interest's dearer ties: Each rival Machiavel with envy burns, And honesty forsakes them all by turns; While calumny upon each party's thrown, Which both promote, and both alike disown. Fatigu'd at last, a calm retreat I chose,

And sooth'd my harass'd mind with sweet repose, Where fields and shades, and the refreshing clime, Inspire the sylvan song, and prompt my rhyme. My Muse shall rove through flowery meads and plains,

And deck with rural sports her native strains; And the same road ambitiously pursue, Frequented by the Mantuan swain and you. 'Tis not that rural sports alone invite, But all the grateful country breathes delight; • This poem received many material corrections from the author, after it was first published.

Here blooming Health exerts her gentle reign,
And strings the sinews of th' industrious swain
Soon as the morning lark salutes the day,
Through dewy fields I take my frequent way,
Where I behold the farmer's early care
In the revolving labours of the year.

When the fresh Spring in all her state is crown'd
And high luxuriant grass o'erspreads the ground,
The labourer with a bending scythe is seen,
Shaving the surface of the waving green;
Of all her native pride disrobes the land,
And meads lays waste before his sweeping hand;
While with the mounting Sun the meadow glows,
The fading herbage round he loosely throws:
But, if some sign portend a lasting shower,
Th' experienc'd swain foresees the coming hour;
His sun-burnt hands the scattering fork forsake,
And ruddy damsels ply the saving rake;
In rising hills the fragrant harvest grows,
And spreads along the field in equal rows. [gain

Now when the height of Heaven bright Phabus
And level rays cleave wide the thirsty plains,
When heifers seek the shade and cooling lake,
And in the middle path-way basks the snake:
O lead me, guard me, from the sultry hours,
Hide me, ye forests, in your closest bowers,
Where the tall oak his spreading arms entwines,
And with the beach a mutual shade combines;
Where flows the inurmuring brook, inviting dreams,
Where bordering hazle overhangs the streams,
Whose rolling current, winding round and round,
With frequent falls makes all the woods resound;
Upon the mossy couch my limbs I cast,
And e'en at noon the sweets of evening taste.
Here I peruse the Mantuan's Georgic strains,
And learn the labours of Italian swains;
In every page I see new landscapes rise,
And all Hesperia opens to my eyes;

I wander o'er the various rural toil,
And know the nature of each different soil:
This waving field is gilded o'er with corn,
That spreading trees with blushing fruit adorn:
Here I survey the purple vintage grow,
Climb round the poles, and rise in graceful row:
Now I behold the steed curvet and bound,
And paw with restless hoof the smoking ground:
The dewlap'd bull now chafes along the plain,
While burning love ferments in every vein;
His well-arm'd front against his rival aims,
And by the dint of war his mistress claims:

1

The careful insect 'midst his works I view,
Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew;
With golden treasures load his little thighs,
And steer his distant journey through the skies;
Some against hostile drones the hive defend,
Others with sweets the waxen cells distend,
Each in the toil his destin'd office bears,
And in the little bulk a mighty soul appears.

Or when the ploughman leaves the task of day
And trudging homeward, whistles on the way;
When the big-udder'd cows with patience stand,
Waiting the strokings of the damsel's hand;
No warbling cheers the woods; the feather'd choir,
To court kind slumbers, to the sprays retire :
When no rude gale disturbs the sleeping trees,
Nor aspen leaves confess the gentlest breeze;
Engag'd in thought, to Neptune's bounds I stray,
To take my farewell of the parting day;
Far in the deep the Sun his glory hides,
A streak of gold the sea and sky divides:
The purple clouds their amber linings show,
And, edg'd with flame, rolls every wave below:
Here pensive I behold the fading light,
And o'er the distant billow lose my sight.

Now Night in silent state begins to rise,

And twinkling orbs bestrow th' uncloudy skies; Her borrow'd lustre growing Cynthia lends, And on the main a glittering path extends; Millions of worlds hang in the spacious air, Which round their suns their annual circles steer; Sweet contemplation elevates my sense, While I survey the works of Providence. O could the Muse in loftier strains rehearse The glorious Author of the universe, Who reins the winds, gives the vast ocean bounds, And circumscribes the floating worlds their rounds; My soul should overflow in songs of praise, And my Creator's name inspire my lays!

As in successive course the seasons roll, So circling pleasures recreate the soul. When genial Spring a living warmth bestows, And o'er the year her verdant mantle throws, No swelling inundation hides the grounds, But crystal currents glide within their bounds; The finny brood their wonted haunts forsake, Float in the sun, and skim along the lake; With frequent leap they range the shallow streams, Their silver coats reflect the dazzling beams. Now let the fisherman his toils prepare, And arm himself with every watery snare; His hooks, his lines, peruse with careful eye, Increase his tackle, and his rod re-tye.

When floating clouds their spongy fleeces drain,
Troubling the streams with swift-descending rain;
And waters tumbling down the mountain's side,
Bear the loose soil into the swelling tide;
Then soon as vernal gales begin to rise,
And drive the liquid burthen through the skies,
The fisher to the neighbouring current speeds,
Whose rapid surface purls unknown to weeds :
Upon a rising border of the brook

He sits him down, and ties the treacherous hook;
Now expectation cheers his eager thought,
His bosom glows with treasures yet uncaught;
Before his eyes a banquet seems to stand,
Where every guest applauds his skilful hand.

Far up the stream the twisted hair he throws, Which down the murmuring current gently flows; When, if or chance or hunger's powerful sway Directs the roving trout this fatal way,

He greedily sucks in the twining bait,
And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat :
Now, happy fisherman, now twitch the line!
How thy rod bends! behold, the prize is thine!
Cast on the bank, he dies with gasping pains,
And trickling blood his silver mail distains.

You must not every worm promiscuous use, Judgment will tell the proper bait to choose : The worm that draws a long immoderate size, The trout abhors, and the rank morsel flies; And, if too small, the naked fraud's in sight, And fear forbids, while hunger does invite. Those baits will best reward the fisher's pains, Whose polish'd tails a shining yellow stains: Cleanse them from filth, to give a tempting gloss, Cherish the sully'd reptile race with moss; Amid the verdant bed they twine, they toil, And from their bodies wipe their native soil. But when the Sun displays his glorious beams, And shallow rivers flow with silver streams, Then the deceit the scaly breed survey, Bask in the sun, and look into the day: You now a more delusive art must try, And tempt their hunger with the curious fly. To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride; Let Nature guide thee! sometimes golden wire The shining bellies of the fly require ; The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail. Each gaudy bird some slender tribute brings, And lends the growing insect proper wings: Silks of all colours must their aid impart, And every fur promote the fisher's art. So the gay lady, with excessive care, Borrows the pride of land, of sea, and air: [plays, Furs, pearls, and plumes, the glittering thing disDazzles our eyes, and easy hearts betrays.

Mark well the various seasons of the year,
How the succeeding insect race appear;
In this revolving Moon one colour reigns,
Which in the next the fickle trout disdains.
Oft have I seen the skilful angler try
The various colours of the treacherous fly;
When he with fruitless pain hath skimm'd the brook,
And the coy fish rejects the skipping hook,
He shakes the boughs that on the margin grow,
Which o'er the stream a waving forest throw;
When, if an insect fall, (his certain guide,)
He gently takes him from the whirling tide;
Examines well his form with curious eyes,
His gaudy vest, his wings, his horns, and size,
Then round his hook the chosen fur he winds,
And on the back a speckled feather binds;
So just the colours shine through every part,
That Nature seems again to live in Art.
Let not thy wary step advance too near,
While all thy hopes hang on a single hair;
The new-form'd insect on the water moves,
The speckled trout the curious snare approves ;
Upon the curling surface let it glide,
With natural motion from thy hand supply'd;
Against the stream now gently let it play,
Now in the rapid eddy roll away,

The scaly shoals float by, and, seiz'd with fear,
Behold their fellows tost in thinner air:
But soon they leap, and catch the swimming bait,
Plunge on the hook, and share an equal fate.

When a brisk gale against the current blows,
And all the watery plain in wrinkles flows,

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