THE AUTHOR. TO ARTHUR MURPHY, ESQ. George Monck Berkeley Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T142950 K111746.000 Berkeley, George Monck, 1763-1793. Poems: by the late George-Monck Berkeley, Esq. ... With a preface by the editor, consisting of some anecdotes of Mr. Monck Berkeley and several of his friends. London printed by J. Nichols; and sold by Messrs. Leigh and Sotheby; Mr. Edwards; Mr. Cooke, Oxford; Mr. Todd, York; Messrs. Simmons and Co.; Messrs. Flackton, Marrable, and Claris; and Mr. Bristow, Canterbury 1797 pp. 73-82. viii,DCXXXII,212p.,plate: port.; 4⁰.

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THE AUTHOR . TO ARTHUR MURPHY , ESQ . TO sing of beauty and its pow'r divine , Let other Bards invoke the tuneful Nine ; Another theme demands my humble lays , A theme illum'd by Truth's resplendent rays ; To no fictitious scenes the Muse shall rove , Nor seek , by frenzy led , the Delphic grove ; Alas ! the mournful scenes we mean to shew , In real , not in fancied life we know : The ills from Genius' source that daily spring , My pensive Muse in plaintive strains shall sing . All hail ! ye brethren of the tuneful art ; Whether ye lull the ear , or charm the heart ; Whether beneath some half-roof'd shed you lie , Unpity'd live , or unlamented die ; Or if ( severer fate ) your sacred lays Proclaim some titled Patron's fulsome praise ; O list awhile to my untutor'd song , And bless those numbers which to you belong . In early youth , when all our joys are pure , And pleasure wooes us with a harmless lure ; When , blest , and thoughtless of our future fate , Around the cheerful hearth we lively prate ; Whilst tales of goblins stern , and fairies kind , Impress with pleasing awe the infant mind ; Or , if serener skies to fields invite , We chace , with anxious steps , the may-bug's flight ; Or else with pigmy hand the mead despoil , And cowslip's chaplet weave with curious toil ; E'en then , the hapless breast that Genius lights With double rapture hails these first delights ; To Fancy's sway he yields his guileless heart , Unaw'd by fashion , and unspoil'd by art ; To him who Fancy's magic influence knows , With brighter glow appears the blushing rose ; By Nature form'd to relish all her sweets , Her daisy'd meadows , and her green retreats . At length to school remov'd , the happy boy , The mother's earnest of much future joy ; Forsakes the scene of dear domestic bliss , The father's smile , the mother's ardent kiss ; Nor quits he yet without some falling tear Those fields his infant joys have render'd dear . At first , the clamour of the buzzing schools , And classic Lily's salutary rules , With terrors new his infant mind appall , And present fears his pristine joys recall ; But when the dry grammarian's toils are o'er , And Ovid opens all his tender store ; With kindred flame his ardent bosom glows , His version pure the rising genius shews ; And the pleas'd master sees , with flatt'ring hope , The early efforts of a future Pope . Now partial friends predict his rising fame , With hand unweary'd fan Ambition's flame ; At length some guardian care removes the youth To those blest scenes of wisdom , and of truth , Where holy Science holds her peaceful reign , Where Genius wanders o'er the classic plain ; On Isis' verdant bank he shapes his way , 'Mid scenes that heard a Warton's virgin lay ; Or lingers , Cam , beside thy sedgy stream , Of Mason's matchless verse the darling theme . Here Science wooes him with her tempting lore ; He pants while she unfolds her mental store ; With eager soul seizes the valued prize , Ambition prompts him , and his prospects rise : Still where , devoid of care , the stripling roves , Beside the stream , or through the nodding groves ; Each lively thought the hallow'd Muse inspires ; Big with idea , glowing with her fires , He gazes round . Genius adores the youth , And leads him smiling to the shrine of Truth . Perchance , lov'd Isis , by thy gentle stream The wahdering youth pursues his wayward theme ; And as thy waves in slow succession glide , To mix with Ocean's undistinguish'd tide , With fond expectance waits th' eventful hour , That yields departure from thy much-lov'd bow'r , With hopes of fame his hapless bosom glows , Nor more , Content , thy peaceful empire knows . Now glittering visions in his sleep appear , The splendid premium , and the patron Peer ; By Hope deluded , and Ambition led , The willing Muse he vows for life to wed . With her he seeks that splendid sink of vice , Where Peers , instead of Poets , have their price . The Drama now his constant thoughts engage , With eager eye he rifles Shakspeare's page , And hopes , like Murphy , to adorn the stage . But though , like him , he matchless pow'rs possess , Though Phoebus' self the fond attempt should bless ; Yet ere his numbers meet the public eye A thousand deaths the hapless Bard must die ; Condemn'd to torture by good Larpent's pen , Who cuts by patent , and may come again ; Larpent ! who dare the pouring wight arraign ! Lo ! Genius struggles in his torpid chain . Near him Apollo veils his heav'nly fires , And ev'ry Muse with Larpent's name expires . At length arrives the dread , the aweful night , When the maim'd infant sees the burst of light . The boxes fill'd with noisy froth — the pit Replete alone with malice and with wit . With vulgar dissonance the gall'ries arm'd , By nought but Edwin's monkey visage charm'd , In senseless clamour their huge prowess shew , And fright with noise alone the Ton below ; Yielding rich harvest to the critic flail , Nurse Prologue then repeats her wonted tale . At length to ev'ry gazing eye appears , Who opes with Nature's key the source of tears . Critics , though stern , awhile their voice suspend , Till , charm'd by Siddons , at her shrine they bend ; Yet what avails the tribute Nature pays ? Her tenderest tear is but her noblest praise ; The sons of sordid wealth and splendid pow'r Feel but the sorrows of the passing hour : For , mark the name 'mid glory's glitt'ring roll , Where Mis'ry scowl'd not on th' aspiring soul . Know those who wept o'er woes his fancy fram'd Withheld the bread an Otway's hunger claim'd . Ill-fated Otway , o'er whose melting page Soft Pity's tear shall fall in ev'ry age , If ghastly Famine , with unhallow'd pow'r , Triumphant mark'd his last expiring hour . Ah! who , by Genius bless'd , yet curs'd by Fate , Can for his sorrow hope a shorter date ? Yet list , ye hapless sons of magic verse , While your deep woe my humble lays rehearse , From Fame's bright source let Hope refulgent shine ; For , yours alone is great Apollo's shrine : A shrine to which the fool shall never bend ; Or , off'ring there , the god shall ne'er befriend . The time may come , when England's rocky shore Shall prize the balance of the world no more , When some proud victor o'er this happy land Shall impious stretch the tyrant's fated wand , Whene'er , o'er Britain doom'd to reign no more , Her shrine removing to the Western shore , Sweet Freedom , heav'nly maid , shall wing her way , And to new worlds disclose her lustrous day ; The Nine lov'd partners of each former flight , Disdaining still to own a tyrant's right , With her shall seek the bless'd , the favour'd clime , Where each shall wait the aweful close of Time . The jealous guardians of your well-earn'd fame Shall to the tawney tribes your worth proclaim . And , whilst around new empires rise to view , Their mingled praise shall still belong to you . Yet what avails this bright , this flatt'ring thought , By Hope inspir'd , nay , more , by Reason taught ; Since , ere her pillar Fame begins to raise , The fated Bard thy debt , O Nature , pays ? When all the varied ills of life are o'er , And slighted worth is doom'd to feel no more , When hears'd in death the woe-worn Genius sleeps , Then o'er his grave a grateful country weeps , And loads with costly pile the hallow'd spot , Where all that Famine spar'd is doom'd to rot .