Grimalkin, to domestic vermin fworn
An everlasting foe, with watchful eye
Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap,
Protending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice
Sure ruin. So, her disembowell'd web,
Arachne, in a hall, or kitchen, spreads,
Obvious to vagrant flies: fhe secret stands
Within her woven cell; the humming prey,
Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils
Inextricable, nor will aught avail
Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue;
The wafp infiduous, and the buzzing drone,
And butterfly, proud of expanded wings
Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares,
Ufelefs refiftance make: with eager ftrides,
She tow'ring flies to her expected fpoils;
Then, with envenom'd jaws, the vital blood
Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave
Their bulky carcafes triumphant drags.
So pass my days. But when nocturnal shades
This world invelop, and th' inclement air
Perfaades men to repel benumbing frosts
With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood;
Me, lonely fitting, nor the glimmering light
Of makeweight candle, nor the joyous talk
Of loving friend delights; distress'd, forlorn,
Amidst the horrors of the tedious night,
Darkling I figh, and feed with dismal thoughts
My anxious mind, or, fometimes, mournful verse
Indite, and fing of groves and myrtle shades,
Or defp'rate lady near a purling stream,
Or lover pendent on a willow-tree.
Mean while I labour with eternal drought,
And, reftless, with, and rave, my parched throat Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose:
But if a flumber haply does invade
My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake,
Thoughtful of drink, and eager, in a dream,
Tipples imaginary pots of ale,
In vain; awake I find the settled thirst
Still gnawing, and the pleasant fantom curse.
Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarr'd.
Nor tafte the fruits that the fun's genial rays
Mature, John-Apple, nor the downy Peach,
Nor Walnut in rough-furrow'd coat fecure ;
Nor Medlar fruit, delicious in decay:
Afflictions great! yet greater still remain:
My Galligaskins, that have long withstood
The winter's fury, and encroaching frofts,
By Time fubdu'd (what will not Time subdue !)
An horrid chaẩm disclos'd with orifice
Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds
Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force
Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronean waves,
'Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts,
Portending agues. Thus, a well fraught ship
Long fail'd fecure, or thro' th' Ægean deep,
Or th' Ionean, till cruifing near
The Lilybean fhore, with hideous crush,
On Scylla, or Charybdis (dang'rous rocks!)
She strikes rebounding, whence the shatter'd oak, So fierce a fhock unable to withstand,
Admits the fea; in at the gaping fide
The crowding waves gufh with impetuous rage,
Refiftlefs, overwhelming; horrors feize
The mariners, death in their eyes appear,
They ftare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray: (Vain efforts!) Still the batt'ring waves rush in, Implacable, till, delug'd by the foam,
The fhip finks found'ring in the vast abyfs.
Mr. Hawkins Browne, the author of thefe, as I am told, had no good original manner of his own, yet we see how well he fucceeds when he turns an imitator; for the following are rather imitations, than ridiculous parodies.
LD battle-array, big with horror, is fled,
OLD
And olive rob'd Peace again lifts up her head.
Sing, ye Mufes, Tobacco, the bleffing of peace;
Was ever a nation fo bleffed as this?
When fummer funs grow red with heat,
Tobacco tempers Phoebus' ire;
When wintry storms around us beat,
Tobacco chears with gentle fire.
Yellow Autumn, youthful Spring,
In thy praises jointly fing.
Like Neptune, Cæfar guards Virginian fleets,
Fraught with Tobacco's balmy fweets;
Old Ocean trembles at Britannia's pow'r,
And Boreas is afraid to roar.
Happy mortal, he! who knows
Pleasure which a Pipe bestows;
Curling eddies climb the room,
Wafting round a mild perfume.
Let foreign climes the vine and orange boast,
While waftes of war deform the teeming coaft;
Britannia, distant from each hoftile found,
Enjoys a Pipe, with ease and freedom crown'd;
E'en restlefs Faction finds itself most free;
Or, if a flave, a flave to Liberty.
Smiling years, that gayly run
Round the zodiac, with the fun,
Tell, if ever you have seen
Realms fo quiet and ferene.
British fons no longer, now,
Hurl the bar, or twang the bow;
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