SMITH'S POEM

TO THE MEMORY OF MR. JOHN PHILIPS.

In 1709, a year after the exhibition of Phædra, died John Philips, the friend and fellow-collegian of Smith, who, on that occafion, wrote a poem, which justice must place among the best elegies which our language can fhew, an elegant mixture of fondness and admiration, of dignity and foftness. There are fome paffages too ludicrous; but every human performance has its faults. JOHNSON.

SINCE our Ifis filently deplores

The bard who spread her fame to distant shores ;
Since nobler pens their mournful lays fufpend,
My honeft zeal, if not my verfe, commend,
Forgive the poet, and approve the friend.
Your care had long his fleeting life rettrain 'd,
One table fed you, and one bed contain'd;
For his dear fake long reftless nights you bore,
While rattling coughs his heaving veffels tore,
Much was his pain, but your affliction more.
Oh! had no fummons from the noify gown
Call'd thee, unwilling, to the nauseous town,
Thy love had o'er the dull difeafe prevail'd,
Thy mirth had cur'd where baffled phyfick fail'd ;
But fince the will of heaven his fate decreed,
To thy kind care my worthlefs lines fucceed;
Fruitless our hopes, though pious our essays,
Yours to preferve a friend, and mine to praise.

Oh! might I paint him in Miltonian verse,
With ftrains like those he fung on Glo'fter's herfe;
But with the meaner tribe I'm forc'd to chime,
And, wanting ftrength to rife, defcend to rhyme.

With other fire his glorious Blenheim shines, And all the battle thunders in his lines; His nervous verfe great Boileau's ftrength tranfcends,

And France to Philips, as to Churchill, bends.

So thy grave lines extort a jufter smile,
Reach Butler's fancy, but furpafs his ftyle;
He fpeaks Scarron's low phrafe in humble strains,
In thee the folemn air of great Cervantes reigns.

What founding lines his abject themes exprefs !
What fhining words the pompous Shilling dress!
There, there my cell, immortal made, outvies
The frailer piles which o'er its ruins rife.
In her best light the comick muse appears,
When the, with borrow'd pride, the buskin wears.

So when nurse Nokes, to act young Ammon tries,

With fambling legs, long chin, and foolish eyes; With dangling hands he ftrokes th' Imperial robe, And, with a cuckold's air, commands the globe; The pomp and found the whole buffoon difplay'd, And Ammon's fon more mirth than Gomez made.

Forgive, dear fhade, the scene my folly draws, Thy ftrains divert the grief thy ashes caufe: When Orpheus fings, the ghosts no more complain,

But, in his lulling mufick, lofe their pain:
So charm the fallies of thy Georgick muse,
So calm our forrows, and our joys infufe;
Here rural notes a gentle mirth infpire,
Here lofty lines the kindling reader fire,
Like that fair tree you praife, the poem charms,
Cools like the fruit, or like the juice it warms.

Bleft clime, which Vaga's fruitful ftreams improve,

Etruria's envy, and her Cofmo's love;
Redftreak he quaffs beneath the Chiant vine,
Gives Tuscan yearly for thy Scudmore's wine,
And ev'n his Taffo would exchange for thine.
Rife, rife, Rofcommon, fee the Blenheim mufe
The dull conftraint of monkish rhyme refuse;
See, o'er the Alps his towering pinions foar,
Where never English poet reach'd before:
See mighty Cofmo's counsellor and friend,
By turns on Cofmo and the bard attend ;
Rich in the coins and butts of ancient Rome,
In him he brings a nobler treasure home;
In them he views her gods, and domes defign'd,
In him the foul of Rome, and Virgil's mighty
mind:

To him for cafe retires from toils of ftate,
Not half fo proud to govern, as tranflate.

Our Spenfer, firft by Pifan poets taught, Tous their tales, their style, and numbers brought. To follow ours, now Tufcan bards defcend, From Philips borrow, though to Spenfer lend, Like Philips too the yoke of rhymne difdain; They first on English bards impos'd the chain, First by an Englim bard from rhyme their free, dom gain.

Tyrannick rhyme that cramps to equal chime The gay, the foft, the florid, and fublime,

Some fay this chain the doubtful sense decides,
Confines the fancy, and the judgment guides;
I'm fure in needlefs bonds it poets ties,
Procruftes-like, the ax or wheel applies,
To lop the mangled fenfe, or ftretch it into fize:
At beft a crutch, that lifts the weak along,
Supports the feeble, but retards the ftrong;
And the chance thoughts, when govern'd by the
close,

Oft rife to fuftian, or defcend to profe.
Your judgment, Philips, rul'd with steady sway,
You us'd no curbing rhyme, the Mufe to ftay,
To stop her fury, or direct her way.
Thee on the wing thy uncheck'd vigour bore,
To wanton freely, or fecurely foar.

So the stretch'd cord the fhackle-dancer tries, As prone to fall, as impotent to rife; When freed he moves, the turdy cable bends, He mounts with pleasure, and fecure defcends; Now dropping feems to ftrike the diftant ground, Now high in air his quivering feet rebound.

Rail on, ye trifiers, who to Will's repair For new lampoons, fresh cant, or modish air; Rail on at Milton's fon, who wifely bold Rejects new phrafes, and refumes the old : Thus Chaucer lives in younger Spenser's ftrains, In Maro's page reviving Ennius reigns; The ancient words the majefty complete, And make the poem venerably great: So when the queen in royal habit's dreft, Old myftick emblems grace th' imperial veft, And in Eliza's robes all Anna itands confeft.

A haughty bard, to fame by volumes rais'd, At Dick's, and Batson's, and through Smithfield, prais'd,

Cries out aloud-Bold Oxford bard, forbear
With rugged numbers to torment my ear;
Yet not like thee the heavy critick foars,
But paints in fuftian, or in turn deplores;
With Bunyan's ftyle prophanes heroick fongs,
To the tenth page lean homilies prolongs;
For far-fetch'd rhymes makes puzzled angels
ftrain,

And in low profe dull Lucifer complain;
His envious Mufe, by native dulness curft,
Damns the beft poems, and contrives the worft.

Beyond his praife or blame thy works prevail Complete where Dryden and thy Milton fail; Great Milton's wing on lower themes fubfides, And Dryden oft in rhyme his weakness hides; You ne'er with jingling words deceive the ear, And yet, on humble subjects, great appear." Thrice happy youth, whom noble Ifis crowns ! Whom Blackmore cenfures, and Godolphin owns: So on the tuneful Margarita's tongue The listening nymphs and ravish'd heroes hung: But cits and fops the heaver.-born mufick blame, And bawl, and hifs, and damn her into fame; Like her sweet voice, is thy harmonious fong, As high, as fweet, as eafy, and as strong.

Yet to the bard his Churchill's foul they gave, And made him fcorn the life they could not fave:

Elfe could he bear unmov'd, the fatal guest, The weight that all his fainting limbs oppreft, The coughs that struggled from his weary breaft? Could he unmov'd approaching death sustain ? Its flow advances, and its racking pain? Could he ferene his weeping friends furvey, In his last hours his easy wit display, Like the rich fruit he fings, delicious in decay?

Once on thy friends look down, lamented shade,
And view the honours to thy afhes paid;
Some thy lov'd duft in Parian ftones enshrine,
Others immortal epitaphs defign,

With wit, and strength, that only yields to thine:
Ev'n I, though flow to touch the painful string,
Awake from flumber, and attempt to fing.
Thee, Philips, thee defpairing Vaga mourns,
And gentle Ifis foft complaints returns ;
Dormer laments amidft the war's alarms,
And Cecil weeps in beauteous Tufton's arms:
Thee, on the Po, kind Somerset deplores,
And even that charming scene his grief restores:
He to thy loss each mournful air applies,
Mindful of thee on huge Taburnus lies,

But most at Virgil's tomb his fwelling forrows rife.

But you, his darling friends, lament no more, Difplay his fame, and not his fate deplore; And let no tears from erring pity flow, For one that's blett above, immortaliz❜d below.

BAUCIS AND PHILEMON.

On the ever-lamented loss of the two Yew Trees, in the parish of Chilthorne, Somerset, 1708. Imitated from the eighth book of Ovid.

BY SWIFT.

IN ancient times, as story tells,

The faints would often leave their cells, And stroll about, but hide their quality, To try good people's hofpitality.

It happen'd on a winter-night, As authors of the legend write, Two brother-hermits, faints by trade, Taking their tour in masquerade, Difguis'd in tatter'd habits, went To a small village down in Kent; Where, in the ftrollers' canting strain, They begg'd from door to door in vain, Tried every tone might pity win ; But not a foul would let them in.

Doom'd ever in fufpence to dwell, 'Tis now no kettle, but a bell.

A wooden jack, which had almost
Loft by difufe the art to roast,
A fudden alteration feels,
Increased by new intestine wheels ;
And, what exalts the wonder more,
The number made the motion flower:
The flier, though 't had leaden feet,
Turn'd round fo quick, you fcarce could
fee't;

But flacken'd by fome fecret power,
Now hardly moves an inch an hour.
The jack and chimney, near ally'd,
Had never left each other's fide:
The chimney to a steeple grown,
The jack would not be left alone;
But, up against the steeple rear'd,
Became a clock and ftill adher'd ;
And ftill its love to houfehold cares,
By a fhrill voice at noon declares,
Warning the cook-maid not to burn
That roaft-meat which it cannot turn.
The groaning-chair began to crawl,
Like a huge fnail, along the wall;
There stuck aloft in publick view,
And with small change a pulpit grew.

The porringers, that in a row
Hung high, and made a glittering show,
To a lefs noble substance chang'd,
Were now but leathern buckets rang'd.

The ballads, pafted on the wall,
Of Joan of France, and English Moll,
Fair Rofamond, and Robin Hood,
The Little Children in the Wood,
Now feemed to look abundance better,
Improv'd in picture, fize, and letter
And, high in order plac'd, defcribe
The heraldry of every tribe.

A bedstead of the antique mode,
Compact of timber many a load,
Such as our ancestors did use,
Was metamorphos'd into pews;
Which still their ancient nature keep
By lodging folks disposed to sleep.

The cottage by fuch feats as these
Grown to a church by juft degrees,
The hermits then defir'd their hoft
To ask for what he fancy'd moft.