Classic Poem

THINK Charles how seriously you vowed
Amongst Cassino's anxious crowd,
Midst Boys, and Girls, and Matron-Belles,
And youths from grim collegiate cells,
That you'd oblige me, without feint,
And come, my Cabinet to paint.
Now should your indolence or pleasure
Waste moments Oxford gives for leisure,
Should you refuse me and declare
That you mean nothing when you swear,
May College Warden call you hence
In spite of every fair Pretence!
Whilst here, staid Belles shall shut their doors,
And Whist, Cassino, ne'er be your's.
Or may'st thou, dull through festive night,
But beat the Tambourine, and slight
Each deign'd request, each sweet advance,
To lure you to the buoyant Dance!
Though L ARDNER , our Del C ARO toe,
Though W OOD , smooth bounding like the roe,
Nay D UNTZE , with steps and air all Grace,
And D ENNYS with her smiling face,
Should these all beckon, thou shalt sit,
Midst Beauty yawning, deaf to Wit,
And rub, and jingle, twirl, and thumb,
With arm fatigued, and finger numb!
Culprit! my malediction shun,
Or fiercer threats your ear shall stun,
To my spoiled Cabinet repair,
Obliterate its vulgar glare!
Each vile compartment, at your thought,
Shall fade, and sink again to naught.
Then, in charmed circle take your stand,
Sketch with Taste's selecting hand;
Copy the timid modest Flowers
With which Spring first decks Maia's bowers,
Or trace a Goldfinch, let his bill
Seem opening with his Matin trill,
To float, midst Jasmines, warbling song,
Or where some pensile Willows throng,
Whose sweeping and attractive Shade
Seems for soft tears and pensive sorrow made.
Or, in your rage for the Antique,
Give us some Ruin, grey and sleek,
Each angle picturesqued by Time,
As tinted mosses each way climb
Give us some Tower's eternal Shade!
Or some drear Abbey's ghost-trod glade,
Some Bridge, that grasps opposing shores,
Some Rock, o'er which a Cataract pours!
Or show how Rhine its fierce waves drags,
Midst piled, o'erhanging, frowning, crags,
O'er which th' Oak's massy pillar heaves
Sublime the region of its leaves.
Sketch one that, deeply wounded, cracks
Though long withstood the ponderous axe,
And, Monarch of the centuried Wood,
O'er Rocks now plunges to the flood,
To drive swoln waves against the shore
In deepning murmurs long to roar.
From distant skies, with grandeur due,
Wild Scenery rushing on the view,
Attempt a solemn Evening sky,
Where forky deaths on Missions fly!
Pile massy clouds, all tempest driven
Athwart the mighty map of Heaven.
Let vivid breaks of blueish fire
Rush where the clouds from clouds retire,
And show, upon the Heath below,
Some touching scene of human woe!
Or from some Rock impel a Sire,
Whilst flames, that form his funeral pyre,
Display above some Mother wild
Grasping her lightning-stricken Child!
Let Drapery, all illumined, float,
Her arm, forth stretch'd, Despair denote,
And let her fixed and frenzied eye
Glance, almost, anger to the sky.
Are these too serious? Please your Will,
Obey its whims, awake your skill!
Nature and Art's before you spread,
And midst their Miracles you tread!
Then give I MAGINATION rein,
Nor any Flight of her's restrain,
Oh! how I love her boldest flights,
In all she frames my Soul delights!
Imagination erst fulfilled
The vast Creation the A LMIGHTY will'd!
Formed from dim Chaos all we know,
The heavenly heights, the deeps below,
Bade the swift Planets upwards spring,
And glide within the Solar ring,
With Worlds strewed o'er the Milky Road,
And gave a Universe abode!
With milder beam, with gentler rays,
Within our little Orb it plays.
Trim Logic only hates its light,
And Demonstration, surly Wight!
Imagination chiefly gives
The Charm which in each B EAUTY lives.
But this, what gives to Senates glow,
To P IIT his Period's vivid flow?
But this, what aids the H ERO 's fire,
And makes sublime his deathful ire?
This is the Spell which life adorns,
And Pleasures mingles with its thorns,
This the distinction Heaven bestows
On flaming Seraphs, this that glows
And makes the difference, vast to scan!
'Twixt them, and earthly sordid Man.
The Theme, so fruitful, asks the Muse,
A time the waning hours refuse,
Its Attributes would Pages swell—
Enough! to them, and you, farewell!