THE POETICAL WORKS OF RICHARD WEST.
. . . . . . . . simplex nec despice carmen,
Nec vatem: non illa leves primordia motus,
Quanquam parva, dabunt.
GRAY,
de Princip. Cogit.
Just Heav'n! what sin, ere life begins to bloom,
Devotes my head untimely to the tomb?
Did e'er this hand against a brother's life
Drug the dire bowl, or point the murd'rous knife?
Did e'er this tongue the sland'rer's tale proclaim,
Or madly violate my Maker's name?
Did e'er this heart betray a friend or foe,
Or know a thought but all the world might know?—
But why repine? does life deserve my sigh?
Few will lament my loss whene'er I die—
Yet some there are (ere spent my vital days)
Within whose breasts my tomb I wish to raise:
Lov'd in my life, lamented in my end,
Their praise would crown me as their precepts mend:
To them may these fond lines my name endear,
Not from the poet but the friend sincere.
AD AMICOS.
EDINBURG: AT THE
Apollo Press,
BY THE MARTINS.
Anno
1782.
MISCELLANIES.
Advertisement.
THE life of Mr. West was so short, and the events of it so few, that it was judged better to insert the anecdotes which remain of this hopeful youth in the preceding account of his friend than to reserve them for a detached article. Mr. Walpole wished to see their Works united in one volume. The only objection of Mr. Gray to this wish no longer now remains. Had he complied with Mr. Walpole's desire, it is the opinion of Mr. Mason that he would have given only the poems which follow.
AD AMICOS.
[Imitated from Tibullus, book iii. elegy 5, and Mr. Pope's letter in sickness to Mr. Steele.]
YES, happy youths! on Camus' sedgy side
You feel each joy that friendship can divide,
Each realm of science and of art explore,
And with the ancient blend the modern lore,
Studious alone to learn whate'er may tend
To raise the genius or the heart to mend;
Now pleas'd along the cloister'd walks you rove,
And trace the verdant mazes of the grove,
Where social oft' and oft' alone ye chuse
To catch the zephir and to court the Muse;
Mean-time at me (while all devoid of art
These lines give back the image of my heart)
At me the pow'r that comes or soon or late,
Or aims or seems to aim the dart of Fate.
From you remote methinks alone I stand
Like some sad exile in a desert land,
Around no friends their lenient care to join
In mutual warmth, and mix their heart with mine.
Or real pains, or those which fancy raise,
For ever blot the sunshine of my days;
To sickness still, and still to grief, a prey
Health turns from me her rosy face away.
Just Heav'n! what sin, ere life begins to bloom,
Devotes my head untimely to the tomb?
Did e'er this hand against a brother's life
Drug the dire bowl, or point the murd'rous knife?
Did e'er this tongue the sland'rer's tale proclaim,
Or madly violate my Maker's name?
Did e'er this heart betray a friend or foe,
Or know a thought but all the world might know?
As yet just started from the lists of time
My growing years have scarcely told their prime;
Useless as yet thro' life I'ave idly run,
No pleasures tasted, and few duties done.
Ah! who ere autumn's mellowing suns appear
Would pluck the promise of the vernal year,
Or ere the grapes their purple hue betray
Tear the crude cluster from the mourning spray?
Stern pow'r of Fate! whose ebon sceptre rules
The Stygian deserts and Cimmerian pools,
Forbear, nor rashly smite my youthful heart,
A victim yet unworthy of thy dart;
Ah! stay till age shall blast my with'ring face,
Shake in my head and falter in my pace;
Then aim the shaft, then meditate the blow,
And to the dead my willing shade shall go.
How weak is man to Reason's judging eye!
Born in this moment, in the next we die;
Part mortal clay, and part ethereal fire,
Too proud to creep, too humble to aspire,
In vain our plans of happiness we raise;
Pain is our lot, and patience is our praise:
Wealth, lineage, honours, conquest, or a throne,
Are what the wise would fear to call their own.
Health is at best a vain precarious thing,
And fair-fac'd youth
"Youth, at the very best, is but a betrayer of human life in a gentler and smoother manner than age; it is like the stream that nourishes a plant upon a bank, and causes it to flourish and blossom to the sight, but at the same time is undermining it at the root in secret."
Pope.
is ever on the wing:
'Tis like the stream
side whose wat'ry bed
Some blooming plant exalts his flow'ry head,
Nurs'd by the wave the spreading branches rise,
Shade all the ground and flourish to the skies;
The waves the while beneath in secret flow,
And undermine the hollow bank below;
Wide and more wide the waters urge their way,
Bare all the roots and on their fibres prey:
Too late the plant bewails his foolish pride,
And sinks untimely in the whelming tide.
But why repine? does life deserve my sigh?
Few will lament my loss whene'er I die.
For those the wretches
"I am not at all uneasy at the thought that many men whom I never had any esteem for are likely to enjoy this world after me."
Pope.
I despise or hate
I neither envy nor regard their fate.
For me whene'er all-conq'ring Death shall spread
His wings around my unrepining head
I care not
"The morning after my exit the sun will rise as bright as ever, the flowers smell as sweet, the plants spring as green; people will laugh,
&c.
"
Pope.
: tho' this face be seen no more
The world will pass as cheerful as before,
Bright as before the day-star will appear,
The fields as verdant and the skies as clear;
Nor storms nor comets will my doom declare,
Nor signs on earth nor portents in the air;
Unknown and silent will depart my breath,
Nor Nature e'er take notice of my death.
Yet some there are (ere spent my vital days)
Within whose breasts my tomb I wish to raise:
Lov'd in my life, lamented in my end,
Their praise would crown me as their precepts mend:
To them may these fond lines my name endear,
Not from the poet but the friend sincere
This Epistle was written from Christ-church Oxford, July 4th 1737, in the 21st year of his age.
.
Vos tenet, Etruscis manat quae fontibus unda,
Unda sub aestivum non adeunda canem.
Nunc autem sacris Baiarum maxima lymphis,
Quum se purpureo vere remittit hiems.
At mihi Persephone nigram deununtiat horam
Inmerito juveni parce nocere, Dea.
Non ego tentavi nulli temeranda virorum
Audax laudandae sacra docere Deae.
Nec mea mortiseris infecit pocula succis
Dextera, nec quiquam taetra venena dedit.
Nec nos insana meditantes jurgia mente
pia in adversos solvimus ora Deos.
Et nondum cani nigros laesere capillos,
Nec venit tardo curva Senecta pede.
Natalem nostri primum videre parentes
(Quum cecidit fato consul uterque pari.)
Quid fraudare juvat vitem crescentibus uvis?
Et modo nata mala vellere poma manu
"There is,"
says Mr. Mason,
"a peculiar blemish in this line, arising from the synonymous
mala
and
poma.
"
—But who that can either construe or scan this line could have taken these words for
synonymous?
?
Parcite, pallentes undas quicumque tenetis,
Duraque sortiti tertia regna Dei.
Elysios olim liceat cognoscere campos,
Letheamque ratem, Cimmeriosque lacus,
Quum mea rugosa pallebunt ora senecta,
—
Atque utinam vano nequidquam terrear aestu!
ELEGIA.
QUOD mihi tam gratae misisti dona Camaenae,
Qualia Maenalius Pan Deus ipse velit,
Amplector te, Graie, et toto corde reposco,
Oh desiderium jam nimis usque meum:
Et mihi rura placent, et me quo
que
saepe volentem
Duxerunt Dryades per sua prata Deae;
Sicubi lympha fugit liquido pede, sive virentem,
Magna decus nemoris, quercus opacat humum:
Illuc mane novo vagor, illuc vespere sero,
Et, noto ut jacui gramine, nota cano.
Nec nostrae ignorant divinam Amaryllida sylvae:
Ah, si desit amor, nil mibi rura placent.
Ille jugis habitat Deus, ille in vallibus imis,
Regnat et in Coelis, regnat et Oceano;
Ille gregem tauros
que
domat, saevi
que
leonem
Seminis; ille feros, ultus Adonin, apros:
Quin et servet amore nemus, ramo
que
sub omni
Concentu tremulo plurima gaudet avis.
Durae etiam in sylvis agitant connubia plantae,
Durae etiam et fertur saxa animasse Venus.
Durior et saxis, et robore durior ille est,
Sincero siquis pectore amare vetat:
Non illi in manibus sanctum deponere pignus,
Non illi arcanum cor aperire velim;
Nescit amicitias, teueros qui nescit amores:
Ah! si nulla Venus, nil mihi rura placent.
Me licet a patriâ longe in tellure juberent
Externâ positum ducere fata dies;
Si vultus modo amatus adesset, non ego contra
Plorarem magnos voce querente Deos.
At dulci in gremio curarum oblivia ducens
Nil cuperem praeter posse placere meae;
Nec bona fortunae aspiciens, ne
que
munera regum,
Illa intrà optarem brachia cara mori.
Sept. 17th 1738.
ELEGIA.
[Addressed to Mr. Gray.]
ERGO desidiae videor tibi crimine dignus;
Et merito: victas do tibi sponte manus.
Arguor et veteres nimium contemnere Musas,
Irata et nobis est Medicaea Venus.
Mene igitur statuas et inania saxa vereri!
Stultule! marmoreâ quid mihi cum Venere?
Hic verae, hic vivae Veneres, et mille per urbem,
Quarum nulla queat non placuisse Jovi.
Cedite Romanae formosae et cedite Graiae,
Sintque oblita Helenae nomen et Hermoniae!
Et, quascunque refert aetas vetus, Heroinae:
Unus honor nostris jam venit Angliasin.
Oh quales vultus, Oh quantum numen ocellis!
I nunc et Tuscas improbe confer opes.
Ne tamen haec obtusa nimis praecordia credas,
Neu me adeo nullâ Pallade progenitum:
Testor Pieridumque umbras et flumina Pindi
Me quoque Calliopes semper amasse choros;
Et dudum Ausonias urbes, et visere Graias
Cura est, ingenio si licet ire meo:
Sive est Phidiacum marmor, seu mentoris aera,
Seu paries Coo nobilis e calamo;
Nec minus artificum magna argumenta recentûm
Romanique decus nominis et Veneti:
Quà Furor et Mavors et saevo in Marmore vultus,
Quaque et formoso mollior aere Venus.
Quàque loquax spirat fucus, vivique labores,
Et quicquid calamo dulciùs ausa manus:
Hic nemora, et sola maerens Meliboeus in umbrâ,
Lymphaque muscoso prosiliens lapide;
Illic majus opus, faciesque in pariete major
Exurgens, Divûm et numina Coelicolûm;
O vos saelices, quibus haec cognoscere fas est,
Et totâ Italiâ, qua patet usque, frui!
Nulla dies vobis eat injucunda, nec usquam
Norîtis quid sit tempora amara pati.
—It was the production of four o'clock in the morning, while I lay in my bed tossing and coughing, and all unable to sleep.—
ANTE omnes morbos importunissima tussis,
Quâ durare datur, traxitque sub ilia vires:
Dura etenim versans imo sub pectore regna,
Perpetuo exercet teneras luctamine costas,
Oraque distorquet, vocemque immutat anhelam:
Nec cessare locus: sed saevo concita motu
Molle domat latus, et corpus labor omne fatigat:
Unde molesta dies, noctemque insomnia turbant.
Nec Tua, si mecum Comes hic jucundus adesses,
Verba juvare queant, aut hunc lenire dolorem
Sufficiant tua vox dulcis, nec vultus amatus.
ODE.
DEAR Gray! that always in my heart
Possesses far the better part,
What mean these sudden blasts that rise,
And drive the zephirs from the skies?
O join with mine thy tuneful lay,
And invocate the tardy May.
Come, fairest nymph! resume thy reign,
Bring all the Graces in thy train:
With balmy breath and flow'ry tread
Rise from thy soft ambrosial bed,
Where in Elysian slumber bound
Embow'ring myrtles veil thee round.
Awake, in all thy glories drest,
Recall the zephirs from the west;
Restore the sun, revive the skies,
At mine and Nature's call arise!
Great Nature's self upbraids thy stay,
And misses her accustom'd May.
See! all her works demand thy aid,
The labours of Pomona fade;
A plaint is heard from ev'ry tree,
Each budding flow'ret calls for thee;
The birds forget to love and sing,
With storms alone the forests ring.
Come then, with Pleasure at thy side,
Diffuse thy vernal spirit wide;
Create where'er thou turn'st thy eye
Peace, plenty, love, and harmony,
Till ev'ry being share its part
And heav'n and earth be glad at heart.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF POSIDIPPUS.
PERSPICUI puerum ludentem in margine rivi
Immersit vitreae limpidus error aguae:
At gelido ut mater moribundum e flumine traxit
Credula, et amplexu funus inane fovet;
Paulatim puer in dilecto pectore, somno
Languidus, aeternum lumina composuit.
TO MR. GRAY.
O Meae jucunda comes quietis!
Quae fere aegrotum solita es levare
Pectus, et sensim ah! nimis ingruentes
Fallere curas:
Quid canes? quanto Lyra dic furore
Gesties, quando hac reducem sodalem
Glauciam
Mr. Gray.
gaudere simul videbis
Meque sub umbra?
CAETERA DESIDERANTUR.
CONTENTS.
GRAY.
Life of the Author, Page 5
His last will and testament, 25
Ode to memory of Mr. Gray, by J. T. 29
ODES.
Ode I. on the spring, 35
Ode II. on the death of a favourite cat, 37
Ode III. on a distant prospect of Eton College, 39
Ode IV. on adversity, 43
Ode V. the progress of poesy, 46
Ode VI. the Bard, 54
Ode VII. the Fatal Sisters, 65
Ode VIII. the descent of Odin, 68
Ode IX. the triumphs of Owen, 73
Ode X. the death of Hoel, 75
Ode XI. for musick, 76
MISCELLANIES.
A long story, 81
Elegy. Written in a country churchyard, 87
Epitaph on Mrs. Clarke, 93
Translation from Statius,
ib.
Gray of himself, 94
WEST.
Ad Amicos, Page 1
Elegia, "Quod mihi,"
&c.
6
Ditto, addressed to Mr. Gray, "Ergodesidiae,"
&c.
7
Production of four o'clock in the morning, "Ante omnes,"
&c.
8
Ode to May, 9
From the Greek of Posidippus, "Perspicui,"
&c.
10
To Mr. Gray, "O meae jucunda,"
&c.
11
From the APOLLO PRESS, by the MARTINS,
Aug. 3. 1782.
THE END.