Meanwhile for Bertie Fate prepares
A mingled wreath of joys and cares;
When politics and party-rage
Shall strive such talents to engage,
And call him to controul the great,
And fix the nicely balanced state:
Till charming Anna's gentler mind,
For storms of faction ne'er designed,
Shall think with pleasure on the times
When Arno listened to his rhymes;
And reckon among Heav'n's best mercies,
Our Piozzi's voice, and Parsons' verses.
Thou toof; who oft has strung the lyre
To liveliest notes of gay desire;
No longer seek these scorching flames,
And trifle with Italian dames;
But haste to Britain's chaster isle,
Receive some fair one's virgin smile,
Accept her vows, regard her truth,
And guard from ills her artless youth.
Keep her from knowledge of the crimes
That taint the sweets of warmer climes;
But let her weaker bloom disclose
The beauties of a hot-house rose:
* Mr. Greatheed. She describes him as completely under the influence of his wife, the charming Anna. In the “Baviad and Moviad" he is called the Rubens of the Della Cruscan school. His tragedy, "The Regent," was acted in 1788.
Whose leaves no insects ever haunted,
Whose perfume but to one is granted;
Pleased with her partner to retire
And cheer the safe domestic fire.
While I who, half-amphibious grown,
Now scarce call any place my own-
Will learn to view with eye serene
Life's empty plot, and shifting scene:
And trusting still to Heav'n's high care,
Fix my firm habitation there:
'Twas thus the Grecian sage of old,
As by Herodotus we 're told*,
Accused by them who sate above,
As wanting in his country's love:
""Tis that,” cried he, “which most I prize,"
And pointing upwards, shewed the skies.
* An obvious anachronism. There is something like the thought towards the conclusion of the Ninth Book of Plato's Republic.
SOCIETY! gregarious dame!
Who knows thy favour'd haunts to name?
Whether at Paris you prepare
The supper and the chat to share,
While fix'd in artificial row,
Laughter displays its teeth of snow:
Grimace with raillery rejoices,
And song of many mingled voices,
Till young coquetry's artful wile
Some foreign novice shall beguile,
Who home return'd, still prates of thee,
Light, flippant, French Society.
Or whether, with your zone unbound,
You ramble gaudy Venice round,
Resolv'd the inviting sweets to prove,
Of friendship warm, and willing love;
Where softly roll th' obedient seas,
Sacred to luxury and ease,
* This ode was probably suggested by Grainger's "Ode to Solitude." The copy in “Thraliana” is not quite the same, and she adds: "These verses were written in a state of complete solitude, for I never saw a place so secluded from the busy hum of men as our little habitation at the Bagni di Pisa."
In coffee-house or casino gay
Till the too quick return of day,
Th' enchanted votary who sighs
For sentiments without disguise,
Clear, unaffected, fond, and free,
In Venice finds Society.
Or if to wiser Britain led,
Your vagrant feet desire to tread,
With measur'd step and anxious care,
The precincts pure of Portman-square ;
While wit with elegance combin'd,
And polish'd manners there you'll find;
The taste correct - and fertile mind:
Remember vigilance lurks near,
And silence with unnotic'd sneer,
Who watches but to tell again
Your foibles with to-morrow's pen;
Till titt'ring malice smiles to see
Your wonder-grave Society.
Far from your busy crowded court,
Tranquillity makes her resort;
Where 'mid cold Staffa's columns rude,
Resides majestic Solitude;
Or where in some sad Brachman's cell,
Meek Innocence delights to dwell,
Weeping with unexperienc'd eye,
The death of a departed fly :
*The residence of her old rival, Mrs. Montagu.
Or in Hetruria's heights sublime,
Where Science self might fear to climb,
But that she seeks a smile from thee,
And wooes thy praise, Society.
Thence let me view the plains below,
From rough St. Julian's rugged brow;
Hear the loud torrents swift descending,
Or mark the beauteous rainbow bending,
Till Heaven regains its favourite hue,
Æther divine! celestial blue!
Then bosom'd high in myrtle bower,
View letter'd Pisa's pendent tower;
The sea's wide scene, the port's loud throng,
Of rude and gentle, right and wrong
A motley group which yet agree
To call themselves Society.
Oh! thou still sought by wealth and fame,
Dispenser of applause and blame :
With flatt'ry ever at thy side,
With slander can thy smiles divide;
Far from thy haunts, oh! let me stray,
But grant one friend to cheer my way,
Whose converse bland, whose music's art,
May cheer my soul, and heal my heart;
Let soft content our steps pursue,
And bliss eternal bound our view:
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