In such lov'd sport (if fortune deign'd to
smile),

Calm let me live, and ev'ry care beguile;
Hold converse with the great of every time,
The learn'd of ev'ry class-the good of ev'ry
clime.

There better still, as wiser grow: and there
(Tis just ambition, though 'tis hopeless pray'r)
Still found, like them, ou real worth my claim,
And catch their merit to partake their fame.

§ 207. Water. BISHOP.

Ir right apierov up Pindar sings, That simple Water is the best of things, Would Water-poets were the best of bards! But, Oh! that chance is not upon the cards! Vain were th' attempt such logic to apply; My verse would give my arguments the lie. Yet what I can I will:-not he whose lyre Leads on the Aonian mount the sister choir, (Though all the inspiring potions he explore, From Water up to Nectar) can no more. From earth's deep wound-for earth their store supplies

Through countless pores the moist effluvia rise, Distinct below, where oozing strata shed Drop after drop; till from their humid bed Th' emergent vapors steam; and as they go, Condense, incorporate, extend, and flow. Thanks, kind Philosophy! whose lore pro

found

Thus helps me bring my Water above ground.
Henceforth to trace it, little will suffice,
Obvious to common sense, and common eyes.
If in the mental calm of joy serene,
I seek, through fancy's aid, the sylvan scene,
There Water meets me, by the pebbled side
Of sedgy-fringed brooks, expanding wide
In dimpled eddies-or with murmurs shrill,
Running sweet unisons, where responsive still
In cadence meet, impending aspens hail
Heav'n's mildest breath, soft quiv'ring to the
gale.

Too charming visions of intense delight! Why? whither vanish ye? Her eagle flight Fancy renews; and full athwart mine eye Throws an enormous cataract :-from on high, In awful stillness deep'ning Waters glide, E'en to the rude rock's ridge abrupt, then slide Pond'rous down, down the void; and pitch below

In thunders-Dash'd to foam, a while they know

No certain current; till again combin'd,
In boiling tides along the waves they wind.
Oh! bear me hence, where Water's force
displays

More useful energy; where classic praise Adorns the names of chiefs long dead, who brought

Through channel'd rocks concentring streams, and taught

One aqueduct divided lands to lave,

And hostile realms to drink one common

wave.

Water where yonder spout to heav'n ascends,
Rides in tremendous triumphs; Ocean bends;
And ruin raising high her baleful head,
Broods o'er the waste, the bursting mass will
spread.

Enough of wat'ry wonders :-all dismay'd
E'en Fancy starts at forms herself hath made.
Let them whom terror can inspire, pursue
Themes too terrific: I with humble view,
Retire unequal, nor will e'er again
To Water's greater works devote my strain
Content to praise it, when with gentle sway,
Profuse of rich increase, it winds its way
Through the parch'd glebe; or fills with influ-
ence bland

;

The cup of temperance in the peasant's hand.

§ 208. On Instruments of Music. BISHOP. WHERE health and high spirits awaken the

Or shall we stray,

Where stately through the public way, Amidst, the trumpet's clangors, and th' acclaim Of civic zeal, in long procession move Nobles and chiefs of venerable fame; Or haply sovereign majesty displays To public view the lustre of its rays, And proves at once, and wins, a nation's love?

Hark! how the solemn organ calls Attention's sober ears to hallow'd walls, Where meek, yet warm, beneath the temple's Devotion seeks, with stedfast eyes, [shade, The God whose glories every gloom pervade, To whom for ever prayer is made, And daily praises rise.

What notes, in swiftest cadence running, Through many a maze of varied measure, Mingled by the master's cunning,

Give th' alarm to festive pleasure? Cambria, 'twas thy harps of old

Each gallant heart's recess explor'd, Announcing feats of chieftains bold, To grace the hospitable board.

Mark how the soldier's eye
Looks proud defiance! How his heart beats
high,

With glorious expectation! What inspires,
What fans his martial fires?
What but the power of sound?
The clam'rous drums his anxious ardor raise,
His blood flows quicker round;
At once he hears, he feels, enjoys, obeys.

Where gathering storms incessant lower,
And niggard nature chills th' abortive grain,
From her bleak heights see Scotland pour
Blithe lads and lasses trim; a hardy train,
Down the crag, and o'er the lea,
Following still with hearty glee,
The bagpipe's mellow minstrelsy.
Where cloudless suns, with glowing dies,
Tinge Italy's serener skies,
Soft the winding lawns along

The lover's lute complains;
While ling'ring Echo learns the song,
Gives it the woods; and, loth to lose
One accent of the impassion'd muse,

Bids woods return it to the plains. Time was, when, stretch'd beneath the beechen shade,

The simple shepherd warbled his sweet lay; Lur'd to his rustic reed, the gentle maid Welcom'd the morn, and caroll'd down the day.

Why do our swains depart from ancient lore? Why sounds no pastoral reed on Britain's shore? -The innocence which tun'd it is no more!

§ 209. The Art of Dancing. Inscribed to the Rt. Honorable the Lady Fanny Fielding. In the smooth dance to move with graceful mien,

Easy with care, and sprightly, though serene, To mark th' instructions echoing strains con

vey,

And with just steps each tuneful note obey,
I teach; be present, all ye sacred choir,
Blow the soft lute, and strike the sounding
lyre;

When Fielding bids, your kind assistance bring,
And at her feet the lowly tribute fling;
Oh, may her eyes (to her this verse is due)
What first themselves inspir'd vouchsafe to view.
Hail, loftiest art! thou canst all hearts ensnare,
And make the fairest still appear more fair;
Beauty can little execution do,

Unless she borrows half her charms from you!
Few, like Pygmalion, doat on lifeless charms,
Or care to clasp a statue in their arms;
But breasts of fint must melt with fierce desire,
When art and motion wake the sleeping fire.
A Venus drawn by great Apelles' hand
May for a while our wond'ring eyes command;
But still, tho' form'd with all the pow'rs of art,
The lifeless piece can never warm the heart:
So fair a nymph, perhaps, may please the eye,
Whilst all her beauteous limbs unactive lie;
But when her charms are in the dance display'd,
Then every heart adores the lovely maid';

This sets her beauty in the fairest light,
And shows each grace in full perfection bright;
Then, as she turns around, from every part,
Like porcupines, she sends a piercing dart:
In vain, alas! the fond spectator tries
To shun the pleasing dangers of the eyes,
For, Parthian-like, she wounds as sure behind
With flowing curls, on ivory neck reclin'd.
Whether her steps the minuet's mazes trace,
Or the slow Louvre's more majestic pace;
Whether the rigadoon employs her care,
Or sprightly jig displays the nimble fair;
At ev'ry step new beauties we explore,
And worship now what we admir'd before.
So when Æneas, in the Tyrian grove,
Fair Venus met, the charming queen of love,
The beauteous goddess, whilst unmov'd she
stood,

Seem'd some fair nymph, the guardian of the wood;

But when she mov'd, at once her heavenly mien, And graceful step, confess'd bright beauty's queen:

New glories o'er her form each moment rise, And all the goddess opens to his eyes.

Now haste, my muse, pursue thy destin'd way; What dresses best become the dancer say; The rules of dress forget not to impart, A lesson precious to the dancing art.

The soldier's scarlet glowing from afar, Shows that his bloody occupation's war; Whilst the lawn band, beneath the double chin, As plainly speaks divinity within;

The milk-maid safe through driving rains and

snows,

Wrapp'd in her cloak and propp'd on pattens,

goes;

Whilst the soft belle, immur'd in velvet chair, Needs but the silken shoe, and trusts her bosom bare.

The woolly drab, and English broad-cloth

warm,

[storm; Guard well the horseman from the beating But load the dancer with too great a weight, And call from every pore the dewy sweat. Rather let him his active limbs display In camblets thin, or glossy paduasoy. Let no unwieldy pride his shoulders press, But airy, light, and easy, be his dress; Thin be his yielding sole, and low his heel, So shall he nimbly bound, and safely wheel.

But let not precepts known my verse prolong, Precepts which use will better teach than song; For why should I the gallant spark command With clean white gloves to fit his ready hand? Or in his fob enlivening spirits wear, And pungent salts to raise the fainting fair? Or hint the sword that dangles at his side, Should from its silken bandage be untied?

Why should my lays the youthful tribe advise, Lest snowy clouds from out their wigs arise? So shall their partners mourn their laces spoil'd, And shining silks with greasy powder soil'd. Nor need I, sure, bid prudent youths beware, Lest with erected tongues their buckles stare: The pointed steel shall oft their stocking rend, And oft the approaching petticoat offend.

And now, ye youthful fair, I sing to you, With pleasing smiles my useful labors view : For you the silk-worms fine-wrought webs display,

And lab'ring spin their little lives away;
For you bright gems with radiant colors glow,
Fair as the dies that paint the heavenly bow;
For you the sea resigns its pearly store,
And earth unlocks her mines of treasur'd ore;
In vain yet nature thus her gifts bestows,
Unless yourselves with art those gifts dispose.
Yet think not, nymphs, that in the glitt'ring
ball,

One form of dress prescrib'd can suit with all; One brightest shines when wealth and art conbine

To make the finish'd piece completely fine:
When least adorn'd, another steals our hearts,
And, rich in native beauties, wants not arts.
In some are such resistless graces found,
That in all dresses they are sure to wound;
Their perfect forms all foreign aids despise,
And gems but borrow lustre from their eyes.
Let the fair nymph, in whose plump cheek

is seen

A constant blush, be clad in cheerful green;
In such a dress the sportive sea-nymphs go,
So in their grassy beds fresh roses blow:
The lass whose skin is like the hazel brown,
With brighter yellow should o'ercome her own;
While maids grown pale with sickness or
despair,

The sable's mournful dye should choose to wear:
So the pale moon still shines with purest light,
Cloth'd in the dusky mantle of the night.

But far from you be all those treach rous arts, That wound with painted charms unwary hearts;

Dancing's a touchstone that true beauty tries,
Nor suffers charms that nature's hand denies:
Though for a while we may with wonder view
The rosy blush and skin of lovely hue,
Yet soon the dance will cause the cheeks to
glow,

And melt the waxen lips and neck of snow.
So shine the fields in icy fetters bound,
Whilst frozen gems bespangle all the ground;
Thro' the clear crystal of the glitt'ring snow,
With scarlet die the blushing hawthorns glow;
O'er all the plains unnumber'd glories rise,
And a new bright creation charms our eyes,
Till Zephyr breathes, then all at once decay
The splendid scenes, the glories fade away;
The fields resign the beauties not their own,
And all their snowy charins run trickling
down.

Dare I in such momentous points advise,
I should condemn the hoop's enormous size.
Of ills I speak by long experience found:
Oft have I trod th' unmeasurable round,
And mourn'd my shins bruis'd black with
many a wound.

Nor should the tighten'd stays, too straitly lac'd

In whalebone bondage, gall the slender waist; Nor waving lappets should the dancing fair, Nor ruffles edged with dangling fringes, wear;

Oft will the cobweb-ornaments catch hold
On the approaching button rough with gold;
Nor force, nor art, can then the bonds divide,
When once th' entangled Gordian knot is tied :
So the unhappy pair, by Hymen's pow'r
Together join'd in some ill-fated hour,
The more they strive their freedom to regain,
The faster binds th' indissoluble chain.

Let each fair maid, who fears to be disgraced,
Ever be sure to tie her garter fast,
Lest the loose string, amidst the public ball,
A wish'd-for prize to some proud fop should
fall,

Who the rich treasure shall triumphant show, And with warm blushes cause her cheek to glow.

But yet (as Fortune by the self-same ways She humbles many, some delights to raise) It happen'd once, a fair illustrious dame By such neglect acquired immortal fame: And thence the radiant star and garter blue, Britannia's noble grace, if fame says true; Hence still, Plantagenet, thy beauties bloom, Though long since moulder'd in the dusky tomb;

Still thy lost garter is thy sovereign's care, And what each royal breast is proud to wear.

But let me now my lovely charge remind, Lest they forgetful leave their fans behind: Lay not, ye fair, the pretty toy aside, A toy at once display'd for use and pride; A wondrous engine, that by magic charms Cools your own breasts, and every other's

warms.

What daring hand shall e'er attempt to tell
The powers that in this little weapon dwell?
What verse can e'er explain its various parts,
Its numerous uses, motions, charms, and arts?
Its painted folds, that oft, extended wide,
Th'afflicted fair one's blubber'd beauties hide,
When secret sorrows her sad bosom fill,
If Strephon is unkind, or Shock is ill:
Its sticks, on which her eyes dejected pore,
And pointing fingers number o'er and o'er,
When the kind virgin burns with secret shame,
Dies to consent, yet fears to own her flame;
Its shake triumphant, its victorious clap,
Its angry flutter, and its wanton tap.

Forbear, my muse, th' extensive theme to sing,

Nor trust in such a flight thy tender wing;
Rather do you in humble lines proclaim
From whence this engine took its form and

For her they leave the wand'ring flocks to rove, Whilst Fanny's name resounds through every grove,

And spreads on every tree, enclos'd in knots of love;

As Fielding's now, her eyes all hearts inflame, Like her in beauty as alike in name.

'Twas when the summer's sun, now mounted high,

With fiercer beams had scorch'd the glowing
Beneath the covert of a cooling shade, [sky,
To shun the heat this lovely nymph was laid:
The sultry weather o'er her cheeks had spread
A blush that added to her native red,
And her fair breast, as polish'd marble white,
Was half conceal'd and half expos'd to sight:

olus, mighty god whom winds obey,
Observ'd the beauteous maid as thus she lay,
O'er all her charms he gaz'd with fond delight,
And suck'd in poison at the dangerous sight.
He sighs, he burns, at last declares his pain,
But still he sighs, and still he wooes in vain;
The cruel nymph, regardless of his moan,
Minds not his flame, uneasy with her own,
But still complains that he who rul'd the air,
Would not command one zephyr to repair
Around her face; nor gentle breeze to play
Through the dark vale, to soothe the sultry day.
By love incited, and the hopes of joy,
Th' ingenious god contriv'd this pretty toy,
With gales incessant to relieve her flame;
And call'd it Fan, from lovely Fanny's name.

CANTO II.

Now see, prepar'd to lead the sprightly dance, The lovely nymphs and well-dress'd youths advance;

The spacious room receives its jovial guest, And the floor shakes with pleasing weight oppress'd;

Thick rang'd on every side, with various dies,
The fair in glossy silks our sight surprise:
So in a garden bath'd with genial show'rs,
A thousand sorts of variegated flow'rs,
Jonquils, carnations, pinks, and tulips rise,
And in a gay confusion charm our eyes.
High o'er their heads with num'rous candles
bright,

Large sconces shed their sparkling beams of light,

Their sparkling beams that still more brightly flow,

Reflected back from gems and eyes below. Unnumber'd fans to cool the crowded fair, With breathing zephyrs, move the circling air. The sprightly fiddle, and the sounding lyre, Each youthful breast with gen'rous warmth inspire;

Fraught with all joys, the blissful moments fly, Whilst music melts the ear, and beauty charms

the eye.

Now let the youth to whose superior place It first belongs the splendid ball to grace, With humble bow, and ready hand prepare, Forth from the crowd to lead his chosen fair; The fair shall not his kind regard deny, But to the pleasing toil with ardor fly.

But stay, rash pair, nor yet untaught advance,
First hear the muse ere you attempt to dance.
By art directed, o'er the foaming tide
Secure from rocks the painted vessels glide;
By art the chariot scours the dusty plain,
Springs at the whip, and hears the straight'ning
rein † ;

To art our bodies must obedient prove,
If e'er we hope with graceful ease to move.

Long was the dancing art unfix'd and free,
Hence lost in error and uncertainty;
No precepts did it mind, or rules obey,
But ev'ry master taught a different way:
Hence, ere each new-born dance was fully tried,
The lovely product, e'en in blooming, died.
Through various hands in wild confusion toss'd,
Its steps were alter'd, and its beauties lost;
Till Fuillet, the pride of Gallia, rose,
And did the dance in characters compose;
Each lovely grace by certain marks he taught,
And every step in lasting volumes wrote:
Hence o'er the world this pleasing art shall
spread,

And ev'ry dance in ev'ry clime be read;
By distant masters shall each step be seen,
Though mountains rise, and oceans roar be-

tween:

Hence with her sister arts shall Dancing claim
An equal right to universal fame;
And Isaac's rigadoon shall live as long
As Raphael's painting, or as Virgil's song.
Wise Nature ever with a prudent hand
Dispenses various gifts to ev'ry land,
To every nation frugally imparts
A genius fit for some peculiar arts.
To trade the Dutch incline, the Swiss to arms,
Music and verse are soft Italia's charms:
Britannia justly glories to have found
Land unexplor'd, and sail'd the globe around:
But none will sure presume to rival France,
Whether she forms or executes the dance;
To her exalted genius 'tis we owe
The sprightly Rigadoon, and Louvre slow;
The Borée, and Courant, unpractis'd long,
Th' immortal Minuet, and the smooth Bre-
tagne,

With all the dances of illustrious fame,

That from their native country take their name;
With these let ev'ry ball he first begun,
Nor country-dance intrude 'till these are done.

Each cautious bard, ere he attempts to sing,
First gently flutt'ring tries his tender wing,
And if he finds that with uncommon fire
The muses all his raptur'd soul inspire,
At once to heaven he soars in lofty odes,
And sings alone of heroes and of gods:

But if he trembling fears a flight so high,
He then descends to softer elegy;
And if in elegy he can't succeed,

In past ral he may tune the oaten reed.
So should the dancer ere he tries to move,
With care his strength, and weight, and genius
prove;

Then if he finds kind nature's gifts impart
Endowments proper for the dancing art,
If in himself he finds together join'd
An active body and ambitious mind,
In nimble Rigadoons he may advance,
Or in the Louvre's slow majestic dance:
If these he fears to reach with easy pace,
Let him the minuet's circling mazes trace:
Is this too hard, this too let him forbear,
And to the country-dance confine his care.
Would you in dancing ev'ry fault avoid,
To keep true time be first your thoughts em-
ploy'd;

All other errors they in vain shall mend,
Who in this one important point offend;
For this, when now united hand in hand,
Eager to start the youthful couple stand,
Let them a while their nimble feet restrain,
And with soft taps beat time to every strain:
So for the race prepar'd two coursers stand,
And with impatient pawings spurn the sand.
In vain a master shall employ his care,
Where nature once has fix'd a clumsy air;
Rather let such, to country sports confin'd,
Pursue the flying hare, or tim'rous hind;
Nor yet, while I the rural squire despise,
A mien effeminate would I advise;
With equal scorn I would the fop deride,
Nor let him dance-but on the woman's side.
And you, fair nymphs, avoid with equal care
A stupid dullness, and a coquet air.
Neither with eyes that ever love the ground,
Asleep, like spinning tops, run round and round;
Nor yet with giddy looks, and wanton pride,
Stare all around, and skip from side to side.
True dancing, like true wit, is best express'd
By nature only, to advantage dress'd;
'Tis not a nimble bound, or caper high,
That can pretend to please a curious eye;
Good judges no such tumbler's tricks regard,
Or think them beautiful because they're hard:
'Tis not enough that every stander-by
No glaring errors in your steps can spy;
The dance and music must so nicely meet,
Each note should seem an echo to your feet;
A nameless grace must in each movement
dwell,

Which words can ne'er express, or precepts tell;

Not to be taught, but ever to be seen In Flavia's air, and Chloe's easy mien : "Tis such an air that makes her thousands fall, When Fielding dances at a birth-night ball: Smooth as Camilla she skims o'er the plain, And flies like her through clouds of heroes slain.

Now when the minuet, oft repeated o'er, (Like all terrestrial joys) can please no more, And ev'ry nymph refusing to expand

Her charms, declines the circulating hand,

Then let the jovial country-dance begin,
And the loud fiddles call each straggler in;
But ere they come, permit me to disclose
How first, as legends tell, this pastime rose :~~
In ancient times (such times are now no
more)

When Albion's crown illustrious Arthur wore,
In some fair opening glade each summer's night,
Where the pale moon diffus'd her silver light,
On the soft carpet of a grassy field,

The sporting fairies their assemblies held:
Some lightly tripping with their pigmy queen,
La circling ringlets mark'd their level green;
Some with soft notes bade mellow pipes resound,
And music warbled through the groves around:
Oft lonely shepherds by the forest side,
Belated peasants oft, their revels spied,
And home returning, o'er the nut-brown ale
Their guest diverted with the wondrous tale.
Instructed hence, throughout the British isle,
And fond to imitate the pleasing toil,
Round where the trembling May-pole's fix'd
on high,

And bears its flow'ry honors to the sky,
The ruddy maids and sun-burnt swains resort,
And practise ev'ry night the lovely sport.
On ev'ry side Æolian artists stand,
Whose active elbows swelling winds command;
The swelling winds harmonious pipes inspire,
And blow in ev'ry breast a gen'rous fire.

Thus taught at first the country-dance began,
And hence to cities and to courts it ran ;
Succeeding ages did in time impart
Various improvements to the lovely art:
From fields and groves to palaces remov'd,
Great ones the pleasing exercise approv'd:
Hence the loud fiddle and shrill trumpet's

sounds

Are made companions of the dancer's bounds; Hence gems and silks, brocades and ribands join,

To make the ball with perfect lustre shine.
So rude at first the tragic muse appear'd,
Her voice alone by rustic rabble heard;
Where twisting trees a cooling arbour made,
The pleas'd spectators sat beneath the shade,
The homely stage with rushes green was strew'd,
And in a cart the strolling actors rode;
Till time at length improv'd the great design,
And bade the scenes with painted landscapes
shine :

Then art did all the bright machines dispose,
And theatres of Parian marble rose;
Then mimic thunder shook the canvas sky,
And gods descended from their towers on high.

With caution now let ev'ry youth prepare
To choose a partner from the mingled fair:
Vain would be here th' instructing muse's voice,
If she pretended to direct his choice:
Beauty alone by fancy is express'd,
And charms in diff'rent forms each diff'rent

breast:

A snowy skin this am'rous youth admires, Whilst nut-brown cheeks another's bosom fires:. Small waist and slender limbs some hearts in

snare,

While others love the more substantial fair.