TO THE HONOURABLE THOMAS ERSKINE. HORACE, BOOK THE SECOND, ODE THE THIRD, IMITATED. OCTOBER, 1796. CONSCIOUS the mortal stamp is on thy breast, Whether thro' toilsome tho' renowned years Where silver'd poplars with the stately pines There let thy duteous train the banquet bring, While every Muse and Grace auspicious wait, At frequent periods woo th' inspiring band Precarious tenant of that gay retreat, Fann'd by pure gales on Hampstead's airy downs, Where filial troops for thee delighted wait, And their fair mother's smile thy banquet crowns! Precarious tenant!-shortly thou may'st leave These, and propitious Fortune's golden hoard; Then spare not thou the stores, that shall receive, When set thy orb, a less illustrious lord. 1. 8. Savage scene-The author had the pleasure of passing a fortnight with Mr and Mrs Erskine at Buxton, in August 1796. What can it then avail thee that thy pleas Charm'd every ear with TULLY's periods bland? Or that the subject passions they could seize, And with the thunder of the Greek command ? What can it then avail thee that thy fame E'en now thy lot shakes in the urn, whence Fate Throws her pale edicts in reverseless doom! Each issues in its turn, or soon, or late, And lo! the great man's prize!—a silent Tomb! ΤΟ BARINE. BOOK THE second, odE THE EIGHTH. BARINE, to thy always broken vows By one grey hair upon thy polish'd brows; A nail discolour'd seen, Then might I nurse the hope that, faithful grown, The Future might, at length, the guilty Past atone. But ah! no sooner on that perjur'd head, In mockery of truth, Than lovelier grace thy faithless beauties shed; Thou com❜st, with new-born conquest crown'd, The care of all our youth, Their public care;-and murmur'd praises rise Where'er the beams are shot of those resistless eyes. Thy mother's buried dust ;-the midnight train Each God, that list'ning bows, With thee it prospers, false-one! to profane. And all deride thy vows; And Cupid whets afresh his burning darts On the stone, moist with blood, that dropt from wounded hearts. For thee our rising youth to manhood grow, Nor do thy former slaves From the gay roof of their false mistress go, Triumphant Beauty braves The wise resolve ;-and, ere they reach the door, Thee the sage matron fears, intent to warn Brides from the Fane with anxious sighs return, Their plighted lords ensnare, Ere fades the marriage torch; nay even now, While undispers'd the breath, that form'd the nuptial vow! |