POEM IV.

SIR MARTYN;

OR,

THE PROGRESS OF DISSIPATION.

BY WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.

CANTO I.

The mirthfull bowres and flowry dales

Of Pleasures faerie land,

Where Virtues budds are blighted as

By foul Enchanters wand.

I.

AWAKE, ye West Windes, through the lonely dale,
And, Fancy, to thy faerie bowre betake!
Even now, with balmie freshnesse, breathes the
gale,

Dimpling with downy wing the stilly lake; Through the pale willows faultering whispers wake, And Evening comes with locks bedropt with dew On Desmonds mouldering turrets slowly shake The trembling rie-grass and the hare-bell blue, And ever and anon faire Mullas plaints renew.

II.

O for that namelesse powre to strike mine eare, That powre of charme thy Naiads once possest, Melodious Mulla! when, full oft whyleare, Thy gliding murmurs soothd the gentle brest Of haplesse SPENSER; long with woes opprest, Long with the drowsie Patrons smyles decoyd, Till in thy shades, no more with cares distrest, No more with painful anxious hopes accloyd, The sabbath of his life the milde good man enjoyd:

III.

Enjoyd each wish; while rapt in visions blest
The Muses wooed him, when each evening grey
Luxurious Fancy, from her wardrobe drest
Brought forth her faerie knights in sheen array
By forrest edge or welling fount, where lay,
Farre from the crowd, the carelesse Bard supine:
Oh happy man! how innocent and gay,

How mildly peacefull past these houres of thine ! Ah! could a sigh avail, such sweete calme peace were mine!

IV.

Yet oft, as pensive through these lawns I stray,
Unbidden transports through my bosome swell;
With pleasing reverence awd mine eyes survey
The hallowed shades where SPENSER strung his
shell.

The brooke still murmurs through the bushy dell, Still through the woodlands wild and beauteous rise The hills green tops; still from her moss-white cell

Complayning Echoe to the stockdove sighs,

And Fancy, wandering here, still feels new extacies.

V.

Then come, ye Genii of the place! O come,
Ye wilde-wood Muses of the native lay !
Ye who these bancks did whilom constant roam,
And round your SPENSER ever gladsom play!
Oh come once more! and with your magick ray
These lawns transforming, raise the mystick scene-
The lawns already own your vertual sway,

Proud citys rise, with seas and wildes atweene;
In one enchanted view the various walks of men.

VI.

Towrd to the sky, with cliff on cliff ypild,
Fronting the sunne, a rock fantastick rose ;
From every rift the pink and primrose smild,
And redd with blossoms hung the wildings
boughs;

On middle cliff each flowry shrub that blows

On Mayes sweete morne a fragrant grove displayd, Beauteous and wilde as ever Druid chose;

From whence a reverend Wizard through the shade Advaunst to meet my steps; for here me seemd I strayd.

VII.

White as the snow-drop round his temples flow'd
A few thin hairs; bright in his eagle eye,
Meint with Heaven's lightning, social mildnesse
glowd;

Yet when him list queynt was his leer and slie,
Yet wondrous distant from malignitie;

For still his smyle did forcibly disclose

The soul of worth and warm hart-honestie : Such winning grace as Age but rare bestows Dwelt on his cheeks and lips, though like the withering rose.

VIII.

Of skyen blue a mantling robe he wore,
A purple girdle loosely tyd his waist

Enwove with many a flowre from many a shore,
And half conceald and half reveald his vest,
His vest of silk, the Faerie Queenes bequest
What time she wooed him ere his head was grey;
A lawrell bough he held, and now addrest

To speech, he points it to the mazy way
That wide and farre around in wildest prospect lay.

IX.

Younkling, quoth he, lo! where at thy desire
The wilderness of life extensive lies:

The path of blustering fame and warlike Ire,
Of scowling Powre and lean-boned Covetise,

Of thoughtlesse Mirth and Folly's giddy joys;
And whither all those paths illusive end,
All these at my command didactick rise,
And shift obedient as mine arm I bend.
He said, and to the field did strait his arm extend.

X.

Well worthy views, quoth I, rise all around,
But certes, lever would I see and hear,
How, oft, the gentle plant of generous ground
And fairest bloom no ripend fruit will bear :
Oft have I shed, perdie, the better tear

To see the shoots of Vertue shrink and dy,
Untimely blasted in the soft greene eare :
What evil blight thus works such villainy,
To tell, O reverend Seer, thy prompt enchantment
try.

XI.

Ah me! how little doe unthinking Youth
Foresee the sorrowes of their elder age!
Full oft, quoth he, my Bosom melts with ruth
To note the follies of their early stage,
Where Dissipations cup full deepe they pledge;
Ne can the Wizards saws disperse to flight

The ills that soon will warre against them wage,
Ne may the spells that lay the church-yarde Spright,
From Pleasures servile' bands release the luckless
Wight,