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HILLS OF HOWTH IN IRELAND.
POLLIO! would'st thou condescend
Here to see thy humble friend,
Far from doctors, potions, pills,
Drinking health on native hills;
Thou the precious draught may'st share,
Lucy shall the bowl prepare.
From the brousing goat it flows,
From each balmy shrub that grows;
Hence the kidling's wanton fire,
Hence the nerves that brace his sire.
Vigorous, buxom, young and gay,
Thou like them shalt love and play.
What, though far from silver Thames,
Stately piles, and courtly dames;
Here we boast a purer flood,
Joys that stream from sprightly blood;
Here is simple beauty seen,
Fair, and cloath'd like beauty's queen :
Nature's hands the garbs compose,
From the lily and the rose.
Or, if charm'd with richer dies,
Fancy every robe supplies.
Should perchance some high-born fair,
Absent, claim thy tender care;
Here, enraptur'd shalt thou trace,
STANHOPE'S shape, and RICHMOND's face;
While the waking dream shall pay
Many a wishing, hopeless day.
Domes with gold and toil unbought,
Rise by magic pow'r of thought,
Where by artist's hand undrawn,
Slopes the vale, and spreads the lawn;
As if sportive nature meant,
Here to mock the works of Kent.
Come, and with thee bring along
Jocund tale and witty song,
Sense to teach, and words to move,
Arts that please, adorn, improve;
And, to gild the glorious scene,
Conscience spotless and serene.
Poor with all a HEATHCOTE's store, Lives the man who pines for more. Wretched he who doom'd to roam, Never can be blest at home;
Nor retire within his mind,
From th' ungrateful and unkind.
Happy they whom crowds befriend,
Curs'd who on the crowd depend;
On the great one's peevish fit,
On the coxcomb's spurious wit;
Ever sentenc'd to bemoan
Others failings in their own.
If, like them, rejecting ease,
Hills and health no longer please ;
Quick descend!- -Thou may'st resort
To the viceroy's splendid court.
There, indignant, shalt thou see
Cringing slaves, who might be free,
Brib'd with titles, hope, or gain,
Tye their country's shameful chain;
Or, inspir'd by heav'n's good cause,
Waste the land with holy láws:
While the gleanings of their power,
Lawyers, lordlings, priests devour.
Now, methinks, I hear thee say, "Drink alone thy mountain whey! "Wherefore tempt the Irish shoals ? "Sights like these are nearer Paul's."
BY ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE, ESQ.
F. R. S.
I RURAL life enjoy, the town's your taste,
In this we differ, twins in all the rest.
Yet when the dog-star brings diseases on,
And each fond mother trembles for her son;
Now when the Mall's forlorn, the beaux and belles
All for retirement crowd to Tunbridge-Wells;
Say, will not CLOE for awhile withdraw
From dear Vauxhall and charming Ranelagh?
Sure at this homely hut one may contrive
Awhile not only to exist, but live;
For not dull landscapes here my thoughts engross,
Woods, lawns, and rills, and grottoes green with
No, the same appetite that courts infuse,
Haunts in retreat, and to the shade pursues.
Here all my cares are to receive and pay
Visits, my studies a romance or play.
And then to pass the live-long Sunday off,
Walks or a ride, nay church serves well enough.
At church, one has a chance to see cockades,
Lur'd thither in pursuit of country maids:
Or tall Hibernian smit with fond desire
To wed the only daughter of a squire.
Cards have their turn, to kill a tedious hour,
If baulk'd of whist, piquette is in my pow'r;
For oft the captain, fresh from town, bestows
A friendly week upon his friend my spouse.
Then gaily glide the days on downy feet,
For sure the captain has prodigious wit;
OI could hear his sweet discourse for ever,
Of all that's done, and who and who's together.
Oft far and wide for new delights I range,
True sex, and constant to the love of change.
Is there within ten miles a troop review'd,
An auction of old goods, an interlude
By strolling players, an horse-race, or a ball
There to be seen I have an urgent call.
The labors of the plough are then forgot,
And THOMAS mounts the box in livʼry coat,
Scenes odd as these, if Cloe can endure,
(And yet these scenes are town in miniature)
Come and reflect on Ranelagh with scorn,
Content ev'n here, at least 'till routs return.