Poetical Works by Charles Churchill Part 8

Presumptuous wretch! and shall a Muse like thine, An English Muse, the meanest of the Nine, 240 Attempt a theme like this? Can her weak strain Expect indulgence from the mighty Thane?

Should he from toils of government retire, And for a moment fan the poet's fire; Should he, of sciences the moral friend, Each curious, each important search suspend, Leave una.s.sisted Hill[109] of herbs to tell, And all the wonders of a c.o.c.klesh.e.l.l; Having the Lord's good grace before his eyes, Would not the Home[110] step forth and gain the prize? 250 Or if this wreath of honour might adorn The humble brows of one in England born, Presumptuous still thy daring must appear; Vain all thy towering hopes whilst I am here.

Thus spake a form, by silken smile and tone, Dull and unvaried, for the Laureate[111] known, Folly's chief friend, Decorum's eldest son, In every party found, and yet of none.

This airy substance, this substantial shade, Abash'd I heard, and with respect obey'd. 260 From themes too lofty for a bard so mean, Discretion beckons to an humbler scene; The restless fever of ambition laid, Calm I retire, and seek the sylvan shade.

Now be the Muse disrobed of all her pride, Be all the glare of verse by truth supplied.

And if plain nature pours a simple strain, Which Bute may praise, and Ossian not disdain,-- Ossian, sublimest, simplest bard of all, Whom English infidels Macpherson call,-- 270 Then round my head shall Honour's ensigns wave, And pensions mark me for a willing slave.

Two boys, whose birth, beyond all question, springs From great and glorious, though forgotten, kings-- Shepherds, of Scottish lineage, born and bred On the same bleak and barren mountain's head; By n.i.g.g.ard nature doom'd on the same rocks To spin out life, and starve themselves and flocks; Fresh as the morning, which, enrobed in mist, The mountain's top with usual dulness kiss'd, 280 Jockey and Sawney to their labours rose; Soon clad, I ween, where nature needs no clothes; Where, from their youth inured to winter-skies, Dress and her vain refinements they despise.

Jockey, whose manly high-boned cheeks to crown, With freckles spotted, flamed the golden down, With meikle art could on the bagpipes play, E'en from the rising to the setting day; Sawney as long without remorse could bawl Home's madrigals, and ditties from Fingal: 290 Oft at his strains, all natural though rude, The Highland la.s.s forgot her want of food; And, whilst she scratch'd her lover into rest, Sunk pleased, though hungry, on her Sawney's breast.

Far as the eye could reach, no tree was seen; Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green: The plague of locusts they secure defy, For in three hours a gra.s.shopper must die: No living thing, whate'er its food, feasts there, But the cameleon, who can feast on air. 300 No birds, except as birds of pa.s.sage, flew; No bee was known to hum, no dove to coo: No streams, as amber smooth, as amber clear, Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here: Rebellion's spring, which through the country ran, Furnish'd, with bitter draughts, the steady clan: No flowers embalm'd the air, but one white rose,[112]

Which on the tenth of June by instinct blows; By instinct blows at morn, and when the shades Of drizzly eve prevail, by instinct fades. 310 One, and but one poor solitary cave, Too sparing of her favours, nature gave; That one alone (hard tax on Scottish pride!) Shelter at once for man and beast supplied.

There snares without, entangling briars spread, And thistles, arm'd against the invader's head, Stood in close ranks, all entrance to oppose; Thistles now held more precious than the rose.

All creatures which, on nature's earliest plan, Were formed to loathe and to be loathed by man, 320 Which owed their birth to nastiness and spite, Deadly to touch, and hateful to the sight; Creatures which, when admitted in the ark, Their saviour shunn'd, and rankled in the dark, Found place within: marking her noisome road With poison's trail, here crawl'd the bloated toad; There webs were spread of more than common size, And half-starved spiders prey'd on half-starved flies; In quest of food, efts strove in vain to crawl; Slugs, pinch'd with hunger, smear'd the slimy wall: 330 The cave around with hissing serpents rung; On the damp roof unhealthy vapour hung; And Famine, by her children always known, As proud as poor, here fix'd her native throne.

Here, for the sullen sky was overcast, And summer shrunk beneath a wintry blast-- A native blast, which, arm'd with hail and rain, Beat unrelenting on the naked swain, The boys for shelter made; behind, the sheep, Of which those shepherds every day _take keep_, 340 Sickly crept on, and, with complainings rude, On nature seem'd to call, and bleat for food.

JOCKEY.

_Sith_ to this cave by tempest we're confined, And within _ken_ our flocks, under the wind, Safe from the pelting of this perilous storm, Are laid _emong_ yon thistles, dry and warm, What, Sawney, if by shepherds' art we try To mock the rigour of this cruel sky?

What if we tune some merry roundelay?

Well dost thou sing, nor ill doth Jockey play. 350

SAWNEY.

Ah! Jockey, ill advisest thou, _I wis_, To think of songs at such a time as this: Sooner shall herbage crown these barren rocks, Sooner shall fleeces clothe these ragged flocks, Sooner shall want seize shepherds of the south, And we forget to live from hand to mouth, Than Sawney, out of season, shall impart The songs of gladness with an aching heart.

JOCKEY.

Still have I known thee for a silly swain; Of things past help, what boots it to complain? 360 Nothing but mirth can conquer fortune's spite; No sky is heavy, if the heart be light: Patience is sorrow's salve: what can't be cured, So Donald right areads, must be endured.

SAWNEY.

Full silly swain, _I wot_, is Jockey now.

How didst thou bear thy Maggy's falsehood? How, When with a foreign loon she stole away, Didst thou forswear thy pipe and shepherd's lay?

Where was thy boasted wisdom then, when I Applied those proverbs which you now apply? 370

JOCKEY.

Oh, she was _bonny_! All the Highlands round Was there a rival to my Maggy found?

More precious (though that precious is to all) Than the rare medicine which we Brimstone call, Or that choice plant,[113] so grateful to the nose, Which, in I know not what far country, grows, Was Maggy unto me: dear do I rue A la.s.s so fair should ever prove untrue.

SAWNEY.

Whether with pipe or song to charm the ear, Through all the land did Jamie find a peer? 380 Cursed be that year[114] by every honest Scot, And in the shepherd's calendar forgot, That fatal year when Jamie, hapless swain!

In evil hour forsook the peaceful plain: Jamie, when our young laird discreetly fled, Was seized, and hang'd till he was dead, dead, dead.

JOCKEY.

Full sorely may we all lament that day, For all were losers in the deadly fray.

Five brothers had I on the Scottish plains, Well dost thou know were none more hopeful swains; 390 Five brothers there I lost, in manhood's pride; Two in the field, and three on gibbets died.

Ah, silly swains! to follow war's alarms; Ah! what hath shepherds' life to do with arms?

SAWNEY.

Mention it not--there saw I strangers clad In all the honours of our ravish'd plaid; Saw the Ferrara, too, our nation's pride, Unwilling grace the awkward victor's side.

There fell our choicest youth, and from that day _Mote_ never Sawney tune the merry lay; 400 Bless'd those which fell! cursed those which still survive, To mourn Fifteen renew'd in Forty-five!

Thus plain'd the boys, when, from her throne of turf, With boils emboss'd, and overgrown with scurf, Vile humours which, in life's corrupted well Mix'd at the birth, not abstinence could quell, Pale Famine rear'd the head; her eager eyes, Where hunger e'en to madness seem'd to rise, Speaking aloud her throes and pangs of heart, Strain'd to get loose, and from their orbs to start: 410 Her hollow cheeks were each a deep-sunk cell, Where wretchedness and horror loved to dwell; With double rows of useless teeth supplied, Her mouth, from ear to ear, extended wide, Which, when for want of food her entrails pined, She oped, and, cursing, swallow'd nought but wind: All shrivell'd was her skin; and here and there, Making their way by force, her bones lay bare: Such filthy sight to hide from human view, O'er her foul limbs a tatter'd plaid she threw. 420 Cease, cried the G.o.ddess, cease, despairing swains!

And from a parent hear what Jove ordains.

Pent in this barren corner of the isle, Where partial fortune never deign'd to smile; Like nature's b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, reaping for our share What was rejected by the lawful heir; Unknown amongst the nations of the earth, Or only known to raise contempt and mirth; Long free, because the race of Roman braves Thought it not worth their while to make us slaves; 430 Then into bondage by that nation brought, Whose ruin we for ages vainly sought; Whom still with unslaked hate we view, and still, The power of mischief lost, retain the will; Consider'd as the refuse of mankind, A ma.s.s till the last moment left behind, Which frugal nature doubted, as it lay, Whether to stamp with life or throw away; Which, form'd in haste, was planted in this nook, But never enter'd in Creation's book; 440 Branded as traitors who, for love of gold, Would sell their G.o.d, as once their king they sold,-- Long have we borne this mighty weight of ill, These vile injurious taunts, and bear them still.

But times of happier note are now at hand, And the full promise of a better land: There, like the sons of Israel, having trod, For the fix'd term of years ordain'd by G.o.d, A barren desert, we shall seize rich plains, Where milk with honey flows, and plenty reigns: 450 With some few natives join'd, some pliant few, Who worship Interest and our track pursue; There shall we, though the wretched people grieve, Ravage at large, nor ask the owners' leave.

For us, the earth shall bring forth her increase; For us, the flocks shall wear a golden fleece; Fat beeves shall yield us dainties not our own, And the grape bleed a nectar yet unknown: For our advantage shall their harvests grow, And Scotsmen reap what they disdain'd to sow: 460 For us, the sun shall climb the eastern hill; For us, the rain shall fall, the dew distil.

When to our wishes Nature cannot rise, Art shall be task'd to grant us fresh supplies; His brawny arm shall drudging Labour strain, And for our pleasure suffer daily pain: Trade shall for us exert her utmost powers, Hers all the toil, and all the profit ours: For us, the oak shall from his native steep Descend, and fearless travel through the deep: 470 The sail of commerce, for our use unfurl'd, Shall waft the treasures of each distant world: For us, sublimer heights shall science reach; For us, their statesman plot, their churchmen preach: Their n.o.blest limbs of council we'll disjoint, And, mocking, new ones of our own appoint.

Devouring War, imprison'd in the North, Shall, at our call, in horrid pomp break forth, And when, his chariot-wheels with thunder hung, Fell Discord braying with her brazen tongue, 480 Death in the van, with Anger, Hate, and Fear, And Desolation stalking in the rear, Revenge, by Justice guided, in his train, He drives impetuous o'er the trembling plain, Shall, at our bidding, quit his lawful prey, And to meek, gentle, generous Peace give way.

Think not, my sons, that this so bless'd estate Stands at a distance on the roll of fate; Already big with hopes of future sway, E'en from this cave I scent my destined prey. 490 Think not that this dominion o'er a race, Whose former deeds shall time's last annals grace, In the rough face of peril must be sought, And with the lives of thousands dearly bought: No--fool'd by cunning, by that happy art Which laughs to scorn the blundering hero's heart, Into the snare shall our kind neighbours fall With open eyes, and fondly give us all.

When Rome, to prop her sinking empire, bore Their choicest levies to a foreign sh.o.r.e, 500 What if we seized, like a destroying flood, Their widow'd plains, and fill'd the realm with blood; Gave an unbounded loose to manly rage, And, scorning mercy, spared nor s.e.x, nor age?

When, for our interest too mighty grown, Monarchs of warlike bent possessed the throne, What if we strove divisions to foment, And spread the flames of civil discontent, a.s.sisted those who 'gainst their king made head, And gave the traitors refuge when they fled? 510 When restless Glory bade her sons advance, And pitch'd her standard in the fields of France, What if, disdaining oaths,--an empty sound, By which our nation never shall be bound,-- Bravely we taught unmuzzled War to roam, Through the weak land, and brought cheap laurels home?

When the bold traitors, leagued for the defence Of law, religion, liberty, and sense, When they against their lawful monarch rose, And dared the Lord's anointed to oppose, 520 What if we still revered the banish'd race, And strove the royal vagrants to replace; With fierce rebellions shook the unsettled state, And greatly dared, though cross'd by partial fate?

These facts, which might, where wisdom held the sway, Awake the very stones to bar our way, There shall be nothing, nor one trace remain In the dull region of an English brain; Bless'd with that faith which mountains can remove, First they shall dupes, next saints, last martyrs, prove. 530 Already is this game of Fate begun Under the sanction of my darling son;[115]

That son, of nature royal as his name, Is destined to redeem our race from shame: His boundless power, beyond example great, Shall make the rough way smooth, the crooked straight; Shall for our ease the raging floods restrain, And sink the mountain level to the plain.

Discord, whom in a cavern under ground With ma.s.sy fetters their late patriot bound; 540 Where her own flesh the furious hag might tear, And vent her curses to the vacant air; Where, that she never might be heard of more, He planted Loyalty to guard the door, For better purpose shall our chief release, Disguise her for a time, and call her Peace.[116]

Lured by that name--fine engine of deceit!-- Shall the weak English help themselves to cheat; To gain our love, with honours shall they grace The old adherents of the Stuart race, 550 Who, pointed out no matter by what name, Tories or Jacobites, are still the same; To soothe our rage the temporising brood Shall break the ties of truth and grat.i.tude, Against their saviour venom'd falsehoods frame, And brand with calumny their William's name: To win our grace, (rare argument of wit!) To our untainted faith shall they commit (Our faith, which, in extremest perils tried, Disdain'd, and still disdains, to change her side) 560 That sacred Majesty they all approve, Who most enjoys, and best deserves their love.

Footnotes:

[97] 'Mason:' William Mason, author of 'Elfrida,' 'Caractacus,' and an 'Elegy on the Death of the Countess of Coventry,' the intimate friend, executor, and biographer of Gray.

[98] 'Gisbal:' a stupid and scurrilous attack on Scotland.

[99] 'Weeping streams:' referring to Lord Lyttelton's Monody on his wife's death, and his Essay on the conversion of Paul.

[100] 'Stuarts:' the family name of Lord Bute.

[101] 'Holy martyr:' Charles I.

[102] 'Ramsays:' Allan Ramsay, author of the 'Gentle Shepherd,' and his son (Allan), a fine painter, intimate with Reynolds and Johnson.

[103] 'Home:' John Home, the well known author of 'Douglas.' See Mackenzie's Life.

[104] 'Dull Dean:' Dr Zachary Pearce, Bishop of Rochester and Dean of Westminster, who rebuked Churchill for writing on players and dressing like a layman.

[105] 'Great Macpherson:' James Macpherson, translator or author of 'Ossian.'

[106] 'Malloch:' David Mallett, son of an innkeeper in Crieff, friend of Thomson's, author of a poor life of Bacon, and of one good ballad, 'William and Margaret,' editor of Bolingbroke's posthumous infidel works, under-secretary to the Prince of Wales, and a pensioner.

[107] 'North Briton:' the famous paper conducted by Wilkes.

[108] 'Lyttelton and West:' George Lord Lyttelton, author of the history of Henry II. and Gilbert West, the translator of Pindar, both originally sceptical, but both converted,--the one, the author of a Dissertation on Paul's conversion; the other, of a book on the resurrection of Christ.

[109] 'Hill,' a protege of Lord Bute's. See a note upon 'The Rescind.'