Poems on feveral Occafions; to which is added, Gondibert and Birtha, a Tragedy. By William Thompfon, M. A. late Fellow of Queen's-college, Oxford. Printed at the Theatre, Oxford. 8vo. 6s. Rivington and Fletcher.

Th

HIS book is divided into two volumes, containing together between four and five hundred pages; and in a previous advertisement of the Author's, after apoligizing to his subscribers for the delay of publication, occafioned by bad health, and other accidents, he informs the Reader, that the greater 'part of the poems were written when he was very young, and had no defign of printing them; which,' he adds, he only ' mentions with hopes of procuring the Reader's pardon for ⚫ the imperfection of fome, and levity of others.'

Though a conciliation of the good-will of the Readers, and of the Audience, be a common purpose of the Preface in Writers, and of the Exordium in Orators, yet, as this Advertisement of our ingenious Author's feems to us the language of unaffected modefty, it must preclude any genuine Critic's feverity on a few of the earlier little pieces, which might poffibly have admitted of fome improvements, if he had judged it proper to retouch them fince: but as a fpirit of ingenuoufness is generally manifeft throughout his fentiments, he has probably given his moft juvenile productions as they were first conceived and wrote; upon which fuppofition there appears very little reprehenfible in them; and not a little, for their quantity, that may be justly commended.

Much the greater part of the first volume is employed on fubjects relating to the Belle-Paffion; the Hymn to May, which contains about five hundred lines, (and which we remember to have seen published alone) being not a little converfant on it, and with confiderable propriety. As our Author has, in this flowery production, given a loose to the luxuriance of his ima gination, and indulged himself in a profeffed imitation of his juftly admired Spenfer, we fhall felect a paffage or two, as inftances of his happy vein, and melodious numbers. Spenfer being not lefs celebrated for his defcription of the beauties of Nature, than for his drefs and portraiture of allegorical perfonages, Mr. Thompson has thus charmingly delineated and arrayed his poetical Month.

IX.

She comes!-a filken Camus emrald green,
Gracefully loofe, adown her shoulders Hows,

* A light gown.

(Fit to enfold the limbs of Paphos' Queen)
And with the labours of the needle glows,
Purfled by Nature's hand! The amorous Air
And musky western breezes, fast repair,

Her mantle proud to fwell, and wanton with her hair.
X.

Her hair (but rather threads of light it seems)
With the gay honours of the Spring intwin'd,
Copious, unbound, in nectar'd ringlets ftreams,
Floats glitt'ring on the fun, and fcents the wind,
Love-fick with odours !-Now to order roll'd,
It melts upon her bofom's dainty mould,
Or curling round her wafte, difparts its wavy gold.

XI.

Young circling rofes, blufhing, round them throw
The fweet abundance of their purple rays,
And lillies, dipp'd in fragrance, freshly blow,
With blended beauties, in her angel-face.
The humid radiance beaming from her eyes,
The air and feas illumes, the earth and skies
And open, where fhe fmiles, the fweets of Paradife

XII.

On Zephyr's wing the laughing goddess view,
Diftilling balm. She cleaves the buxom air,
Attended by the filver-footed dew,

The ravages of winter to repair.

She gives her naked bofom to the gales

Her naked bofom down the æther fails;

Her bofom breaths delight, her breath the spring exhales:

The fuppofition of Venus being born in this month, and celebrating her birth-day near Acidalus, a fountain in Bæotia, is happily imagined, and expreffed with that softness of sentiment which the Poet profeffes to have indulged in this Poem, tho' with an avowal of the pureft intention. We will not insure him, however, that all his Readers will perufe him here, with out fuggefting a fingle Equivoque or Entendre.

XLVII.

In this soft season, when creation fmil'd,
A quivering fplendor on the ocean hung,
And from the fruitful froth his fairest child,

The Queen of blifs and beauty, VENUS fprung.
The dolphins gambol o'er the wat'ry way,
Carrol the Naïds, while the Tritons play,
And all the fea-green fifters blefs the holy-day.

† Flourished with a needle.

XLVIII.

In honour of her natal month the Queen
Of bliss and beauty, confecrates her hours,
Fresh as her cheek, and as her brow ferene,
To buxom Ladies and their Paramours.
Love tips with golden alchimy his dart,

With rapt'rous anguifh, with an honey'd fmart,
Eye languishes on eye, and heart diffolves on heart.
XLIX.

A foftly-fwelling hill, with myrtles crown'd,
(Myrtles to Venus algates facred been)
Hight Acidale, the faireft fpot on ground,
For ever fragrant, and for ever green,
O'erlooks the windings of a fhady vale,
By beauty form'd for amorous regale.
Was ever hill fo fweet, as fweetelt Acidale?

L.

All down the fides, the fides profufe of flow'rs,
An hundred hills, in fhining mazes, flow
Through moffy grottos, amaranthine bow'rs,
And form a laughing flood in vale below :

Where oft their limbs the Loves and Graces bay t

(When summer sheds infufferable day)

And sport, and dive, and flounce in wantonnefs of play.

LI.

No noife o'ercomes the filence of the fhades,

Save fhort-breath'd vows, the dear excefs of joy;
Or harmlefs giggle of the Youth and Maids,
Who yield obeyfance to the Cyprian Boy :
Or late foft-fighing in the paffing gale;
Or fountain gurgling down the facred Vale,

Or hymn to beauty's Queen, or lover's tender tale.

The verfes on Mr. Pope's works, written foon after his death, are agreeably various and fpirited. Thofe efpecially on his tranflation of Homer, are exquifitely animated. We refer to them, page 128, 129, quoting only three lines, where the furor Entheus blazes abundantly.

Have mercy Pope, and kill me not with joy:

'Tis tenfold rage, an agony of bliss!

Be lefs a God, nor force me to adore.

This very convulfion of Eulogy proves our Author no lan guid admirer, but a fervent worthipper, of the excellencies of his favourites; yet the overflowing fulness with which he meas

* Ever.

REV. April, 1758.

+ Bathe.
Υ

fures

fures out to others, fprings from a moft amiable fource. It is the very contraft of narrow felf-love, of envy and detraction, and entitles him to the moft liberal demeanour from every lover of candour. His epitaphs on both his parents, comprise two moft worthy characters, pourtrayed by filial piety. But we fhall conclude our fpecimens of the first volume, with a fhort copy of verfes wrote in the holy Bible. It has an original air, and is a fpecimen of the fundry picces which this volume contains, in his grave religious character.

Ye Sacred Tomes, be my unerring guide,
Dove-hearted Saints, and Prophets eagle-ey'd!
*I fcorn the moral-Fop, and ethic Sage,
But drink in truth from your illumin'd page.
Like Nifes bush each leaf divinely bright,
Where GoD invefts himself in milder light!
Taught by your doctrines we devoutly rife,
Faith points the way, and Hope unbars the skies.
You tune our paflions, teach them how to roll,
And fink the body but to raise the foul;
To raife it, bear it to myfterious day,

Nor acant an Angel to direct the way!

The fecond volume contains Sickness, a poem, in five books, blank verfe, which we recollect to have read, with fome pleafure, in a lefs correct edition; and Gondibert and Birtha, a tragedy. The former, Mr. Thompson, at the request of some of his fubfcribers, has added, and reprinted here, without advancing the price, tho' he has confiderably increafed the value of his book by it. In the first book, which bears only the general title of Sickness, after propofing his fubject, he immediately thus reflects on the comparative levity of fome of his earlier poetical amusements.

Too long the Muse,

Ah! much too long, a Libertine, diffus'd,
On Pleafure's rofy lap, has, idly, breath'd
Love fighing Elegies, and paftoral ftrains,
The foft feducers of our youthful hours,
Soothing away the vigour of the mind,
And energy of virtue. But, farewell
Ye myrtle walks, ye lilly-mantled meads
Of Paphos, and the fount of Acidale, &c.

The fecond book is called the Palace of Difeafe. This Paface is very poetically imagined, fituated, and executed and

*We cannot fuppofe this line intends to contemn good morals, which were abfurd; but to cenfure thofe men who profefs a contempt of the revealed and eflential Truths of Chriftianity.

the malignant Power inhabiting it, is very correfpondently pourtrayed. Our Author thus defcribes one of her fix attendant Furies, the Small-pox, whofe fevere infection occafioned this Poem.

The laft, fo turpid to the view affrights

Her neighbour hags. Happy herself is blind,
Or madness would enfue; fo bloated-black,
So loathfome to each fenfe, the fight or farell,
Such foul corruption on this fide the grave
Variola yclep'd; ragged and rough,

Her couch perplex'd with thorns--What heavy fcenes
Hang o'er my head, to feel the theme is mine!

In the third book, called the Progrefs of Sickness, after a fucceffion of dreams of different complexions,' which are very poetically enumerated and contrafted, on waking affrighted, from the imaginary blaft of Aftolpho's horn, in Orlando Furiofo, he thus exclaims.

Pain empties all her vials on my head,

And fteeps me o'er and o'er. Th' envenom'd fhirt
Of Hercules enwraps my burning limbs

With dragons blood: I rave and roar like him,
Writhing in agony. Devouring fires

Eat up the marrow, frying in my bones.

O whither, whither, fhall I turn for aid ?

The metaphorical difplay of friendship at the close of this book, is warm and delicate. It runs partly thus,

Friendship's
a holy fire,

Where honour beams on honour, truth on truth;
Bright as the eyes of Angels, and as pure.
An altar whence two gentle-loving hearts
Mount to the kies in one confpiring blaze,
And fpotlefs union.

The fourth book is entitled The Recovery. In this Mercy fends Hygeia, or Health, to the Well of Life; in which our Author ingeniously feigns the Angel, who defcended into the Pool of Bethefda, to have previously moistened his wings. His furprize at the first return of fight, and his fuccceding exultation on it, are thus expreffed.

-I thank thee Sleep!-Heav'ns ! is the day reftor'd
To my defiring eyes? their lids, unglew'd,
Admit the long-loft light, now ftreaming in
Painfully clear!-O check the rapid gleam
With fhading filk, 'till the weak vilaal orb,

Y 2

Stronger