by Homer
Even to their stony base, and fragments fell
Flashing and thundering on the angry flood.
At day-break, anxious for the lonely man,
His cave the mountain shepherds visited,
Tho’ sand and banks of weeds had choak’d their way —
He was not in it; but his drowned cor’se
By the waves wafted, near his former home
Receiv’d the rites of burial. Those who read
Chisel’d within the rock, these mournful lines,
Memorials of his sufferings, did not grieve,
That dying in the cause of charity
His spirit, from its earthly bondage freed,
Had to some better region fled for ever.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Henry Fielding
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
A Hunting Song
Henry Fielding (1707–1754)
THE DUSKY night rides down the sky,
And ushers in the morn;
The hounds all join in glorious cry,
The huntsman winds his horn,
And a-hunting we will go. 5
The wife around her husband throws
Her arms, and begs his stay;
‘My dear, it rains, and hails, and snows,
You will not hunt to-day?’
But a-hunting we will go. 10
‘A brushing fox in yonder wood
Secure to find we seek:
For why? I carried, sound and good,
A cartload there last week,
And a-hunting we will go.’ 15
Away he goes, he flies the rout,
Their steeds all spur and switch,
Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,
And some thrown in the ditch;
But a-hunting we will go. 20
At length his strength to faintness worn,
Poor Reynard ceases flight;
Then, hungry, homeward we return,
To feast away the night.
Then a-drinking we will go. 25
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Charles Dibdin
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Tom Bowling
Charles Dibdin (1745–1814)
HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of our crew;
No more he’ll hear the tempest howling,
For Death has broached him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty, 5
His heart was kind and soft;
Faithful below he did his duty,
And now he’s gone aloft.
Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare; 10
His friends were many and true-hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair:
And then he’d sing so blithe and jolly,
Ah, many’s the time and oft!
But mirth is turned to melancholy, 15
For Tom is gone aloft.
Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When He, who all commands,
Shall give, to call Life’s crew together,
The word to ‘pipe all hands.’ 20
Thus Death, who kings and tars dispatches,
In vain Tom’s life has doffed;
For though his body’s under hatches,
His soul is gone aloft.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Samuel Johnson
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
On the Death of Dr. Robert Levet
Samuel Johnson (1709–1784)
CONDEMN’D to Hope’s delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts or slow decline
Our social comforts drop away.
Well tried through many a varying year, 5
See Levet to the grave descend,
Officious, innocent, sincere,
Of every friendless name the friend.
Yet still he fills affection’s eye,
Obscurely wise and coarsely kind; 10
Nor, letter’d Arrogance, deny
Thy praise to merit unrefined.
When fainting nature called for aid,
And hovering death prepared the blow,
His vigorous remedy display’d 15
The power of art without the show.
In misery’s darkest cavern known,
His useful care was ever nigh,
Where hopeless anguish pour’d his groan,
And lonely want retired to die. 20
No summons mock’d by chill delay,
No petty gain disdain’d by pride;
The modest wants of every day
The toil of every day supplied.
His virtues walked their narrow round, 25
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
And sure the eternal Master found
The single talent well employ’d.
The busy day, the peaceful night,
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by; 30
His frame was firm — his powers were bright,
Though now his eightieth year was nigh.
Then with no fiery throbbing pain,
No cold gradations of decay,
Death broke at once the vital chain, 35
And freed his soul the nearest way.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
A Satire
Samuel Johnson (1709–1784)
LONG-EXPECTED one-and-twenty,
Ling’ring year, at length is flown;
Pride and pleasure, pomp and plenty,
Great (Sir John), are now your own.
Loosen’d from the minor’s tether, 5
Free to mortgage or to sell,
Wild as wind, and light as feather,
Bid the sons of thrift farewell.
Call the Betseys, Kates, and Jennies,
All the names that banish care; 10
Lavish of your grandsire’s guineas,
Show the spirits of an heir.
All that prey on vice and folly,
Joy to see their quarry fly;
There the gamester, light and jolly, 15
There the lender, grave and sly.
Wealth, my lad, was made to wander,
Let it wander as it will;
Call the jockey, call the pander,
Bid them come and take their fill. 20
When the bonny blade carouses,
Pockets full, and spirits high —
What are acres? What are houses?
Only dirt, or wet or dry.
Should the guardian, friend, or mother, 25
Tell the woes of wilful waste,
Scorn their counsel, scorn their pother, —
You can hang or drown at last!
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Oliver Goldsmith
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
When Lovely Woman Stoops
Oliver Goldsmith (1728–1774)
WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray, —
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover, 5
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is — to die.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Retaliation
Oliver Go
ldsmith (1728–1774)
OF old, when Scarron his companions invited,
Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united.
If our landlord supplies us with beef and with fish,
Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish:
Our Dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains, 5
Our Burke shall be tongue, with the garnish of brains,
Our Will shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour,
And Dick with his pepper, shall heighten the savour:
Our Cumberland’s sweetbread its place shall obtain,
And Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain: 10
Our Garrick’s a salad; for in him we see
Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree:
To make out the dinner full certain I am,
That Ridge is anchovy, and Reynolds is lamb:
That Hickey’s a capon, and by the same rule, 15
Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool.
At a dinner so various, at such a repast,
Who’d not be a glutton, and stick to the last?
Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I’m able,
Till all my companions sink under the table; 20
Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head,
Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.
Here lies the good Dean, reunited to earth,
Who mixed reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth:
If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt, 25
At least, in six weeks I could not find them out;
Yet some have declared, and it can’t be denied’em,
That sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide’em.
Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such,
We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; 30
Who, born for the universe, narrow’d his mind,
And to party gave up what was meant for mankind:
Tho’fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat
To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote;
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, 35
And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining;
Though equal to all things, for all things unfit;
Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit;
For a patriot, too cool; for a drudge, disobedient;
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. 40
In short, ’twas his fate, unemploy’d, or in place, sir,
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.
Here lies honest William, whose heart was a mint,
While the owner ne’er knew half the good that was in’t;
The pupil of impulse, it forced him along, 45
His conduct still right, with his argument wrong;
Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,
The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home;
Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none;
What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own. 50
Here lies honest Richard whose fate I must sigh at;
Alas! that such frolic should now be so quiet!
What spirits were his! what wit and what whim!
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb!
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball! 55
Now teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all!
In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,
That we wish’d him full ten times a day at Old Nick;
But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wish’d to have Dick back again. 60
Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts;
A flattering painter, who made it his care
To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, 65
And comedy wonders at being so fine:
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen’d her out,
Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.
His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd
Of virtues and feelings that folly grows proud; 70
And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone,
Adopting his portraits, are pleased with their own.
Say, where has our poet this malady caught?
Or wherefore his characters thus without fault?
Say, was it that vainly directing his view 75
To find out men’s virtues, and finding them few,
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,
He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?
Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax,
The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks: 80
Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines,
Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines:
When satire and censure encircled his throne,
I fear’d for your safety, I fear’d for my own;
But now he is gone, and we want a detector, 85
Our Dodds shall be pious, our Kendricks shall lecture;
Macpherson write bombast, and call it a style;
Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile;
New Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross over,
No countryman living their tricks to discover; 90
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark,
And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark.
Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can,
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man:
As an actor, confess’d without rival to shine; 95
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line:
Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,
The man had his failings — a dupe to his art.
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread,
And beplaster’d with rouge his own natural red. 100
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting;
’Twas only that when he was off he was acting.
With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
He turn’d and he varied full ten times a day:
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick 105
If they were not his own by finessing and trick:
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back.
Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow’d what came,
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame; 110
Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease,
Who pepper’d the highest was surest to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind,
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
Ye Kendricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls so grave, 115
What a commerce was yours while you got and you gave!
How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you raised,
While he was be-Roscius’d, and you were be-praised!
But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies,
To act as an angel and mix with the skies: 120
Those poets, who owe their best fame to his skill,
Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will;
Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love,
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.
Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature, 125
And slander itself must allow him good nature;
He cherish’d his friend, and he relish’d a bumper;
Yet one fault he had, and that was a thumper.
Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser?
I answer, no, no, for he always was wiser: 130
Too courteous perhaps, or obligingly flat?
<
br /> His very worse foe can’t accuse him of that:
Perhaps he confided in men as they go,
And so was too foolishly honest? Ah no!
Then what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye, — 135
He was, could he help it? a special attorney.
Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better behind.
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland; 140
Still born to improve us in every part,
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,
When they judged without skill he was still hard of hearing;
When they talk of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, 145
He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
The Deserted Village
Oliver Goldsmith (1728–1774)
SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheer’d the labouring swain,
Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting Summer’s lingering blooms delay’d;
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 5
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please:
How often have I loiter’d o’er thy green,
Where humble happiness endear’d each scene!
How often have I paused on every charm,
The shelter’d cot, the cultivated farm, 10
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topp’d the neighbouring hill;
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
