| |
| LONG hast thou, friend, been absent from thy soil, | |
| Like patient Ithacus at siege of Troy; | |
| I have been witness of thy six years’ toil, | |
| Thy daily labours and thy night’s annoy, | |
| Lost to thy native land with great turmoil, | 5 |
| On the wide sea, oft threatening to destroy: | |
| Methinks with thee I’ve trod Sigæan ground, | |
| And heard the shores of Hellespont resound. | |
| |
| Did I not thee see when thou first sett’st sail | |
| To seek adventures fair in Homer’s land? | 10 |
| Did I not see thy sinking spirits fail | |
| And wish thy bark had never left the strand? | |
| Even in mid ocean often didst thou quail | |
| And oft lift up thy holy eye and hand, | |
| Praying the virgin dear and saintly choir, | 15 |
| Back to the port to bring thy bark entire. | |
| |
| Cheer up, my friend, thy dangers now are o’er; | |
| Methinks—nay, sure the rising coasts appear; | |
| Hark how the guns salute from either shore | |
| As thy trim vessel cuts the Thames so fair: | 20 |
| Shouts answering shouts from Kent and Essex roar, | |
| And bells break loud from ev’ry gust of air: | |
| Bonfires do blaze, and bones and cleavers ring, | |
| As at the coming of some mighty king. | |
| |
| Now pass we Gravesend with a friendly wind, | 25 |
| And Tilbury’s white fort, and long Blackwall; | |
| Greenwich where dwells the friend of human kind, | |
| More visited than either park or hall. | |
| Withers the good, and (with him ever join’d) | |
| Facetious Disney 1 greet thee first of all: | 30 |
| I see his chimney smoke, and hear him say: | |
| ‘Duke! that’s the room for Pope, and that for Gay.’ | |
| |
| ‘Come in, my friends, here shall ye dine and lie, | |
| And here shall breakfast and here dine again, | |
| And sup and breakfast on (if ye comply) | 35 |
| For I have still some dozens of champagne:’ | |
| His voice still lessens as the ship sails by; | |
| He waves his hand to bring us back in vain; | |
| For now I see, I see proud London’s spires; | |
| Greenwich is lost, and Deptford Dock retires: | 40 |
| |
| Oh, what a concourse swarms on yonder quay! | |
| The sky re-echoes with new shouts of joy! | |
| By all this show, I ween, ’tis Lord Mayor’s Day; | |
| I hear the voice of trumpet and hautboy. | |
| No, now I see them near—oh, these are they | 45 |
| Who come in crowds to welcome thee from Troy. | |
| Hail to the bard whom long as lost we mourn’d, | |
| From siege, from battle, and from storm return’d. | |
| |
| Of goodly dames and courteous knights I view | |
| The silken petticoat and broider’d vest; | 50 |
| Yea, peers and mighty dukes, with ribbands blue | |
| (True blue, fair emblem of unstained breast). | |
| Others I see as noble and more true, | |
| By no court badge distinguish’d from the rest: | |
| First see I Methuen 2 of sincerest mind, | 55 |
| As Arthur 3 grave, as soft as womankind. | |
| |
| What lady’s that to whom he gently bends? | |
| Who knows not her? Ah, those are Wortley’s 4 eyes. | |
| How art thou honour’d, number’d with her friends; | |
| For she distinguishes the good and wise. | 60 |
| The sweet-tongued Murray near her side attends: | |
| Now to my heart the glance of Howard flies; | |
| Now Hervey, fair of face, I mark full well | |
| With thee, youth’s youngest daughter, sweet Lepell. | |
| |
| I see two lovely sisters hand in hand, | 65 |
| The fair-hair’d Martha and Teresa brown; 5 | |
| Madge Belleden, the tallest of the land; | |
| And smiling Mary 6 soft and fair as down. | |
| Yonder I see the cheerful Duchess 7 stand, | |
| For friendship, zeal, and blithesome humours known: | 70 |
| Whence that loud shout in such a hearty strain? | |
| Why, all the Hamiltons are in her train. | |
| |
| See next the decent Scudamore 8 advance | |
| With Winchilsea, 9 still meditating song, | |
| With her perhaps Miss Howe 10 came there by chance, | 75 |
| Nor knows with whom, nor why she comes along. | |
| Far off from these see Santlow famed for dance, | |
| And frolic Bicknell, and her sister young, 11 | |
| With other names by me not to be named, | |
| Much loved in private, not in public famed. | 80 |
| |
| But now behold the female band retire, | |
| And the shrill music of their voice is still’d! | |
| Methinks I see famed Buckingham 12 admire, | |
| That in Troy’s ruins thou hast not been kill’d. | |
| Sheffield who knows to strike the living lyre | 85 |
| With hand judicious like thy Homer skill’d: | |
| Bathurst 13 impetuous, hastens to the coast, | |
| Whom you and I strive who shall love the most. | |
| |
| See generous Burlington with goodly Bruce 14 | |
| (But Bruce comes wafted in a soft Sedan), | 90 |
| Dan Prior next, beloved by every muse, | |
| And friendly Congreve, unreproachful man! | |
| Oxford by Cunningham hath sent excuse), | |
| See hearty Watkins 15 come with cup and can; | |
| And Lewis 16 who has never friend forsaken; | 95 |
| And Laughton 17 whispering asks—Is Troy Town taken? | |
| |
| Earl Warwick 18 comes, of free and honest mind, | |
| Bold, generous Craggs 19 whose heart was ne’er disguised, | |
| Ah, why, sweet St. John cannot I thee find? 20 | |
| St. John for every social virtue prized— | 100 |
| Alas! to foreign climates he’s confined, | |
| Or else to see thee here I well surmised; | |
| Thou too, my Swift, dost breathe Bœotian air, | |
| When wilt thou bring back wit and humour here? | |
| |
| Harcourt 21 I see for eloquence renown’d, | 105 |
| The mouth of justice, oracle of law! | |
| Another Simon is beside him found, | |
| Another Simon like as straw to straw. | |
| How Lansdown smiles with lasting laurel crown’d! | |
| What mitred prelate there commands our awe? | 110 |
| See Rochester approving nods the head, | |
| And ranks one modern with the mighty dead. | |
| |
| Carlton and Chandos 22 thy arrival grace; | |
| Hanmer 23 whose eloquence the unbias’d sways; | |
| Harley, 24 whose goodness opens in his face | 115 |
| And shows his heart the seat where virtue stays. | |
| Ned Blount advances next with hasty pace, | |
| In haste, yet sauntering, hearty in his ways. | |
| I see the friendly Carylls 25 come by dozens, | |
| Their wives, their uncles, daughters, sons, and cousins. | 120 |
| |
| Arbuthnot 26 there I see, in physic’s art, | |
| As Galen learnèd or famed Hippocrate; | |
| Whose company drives sorrow from the heart | |
| As all disease his med’cines dissipate: | |
| Kneller 27 amid the triumph bears his part | 125 |
| Who could (were mankind lost) anew create; | |
| What can th’ extent of his vast soul confine? | |
| A painter, critic, engineer, divine! | |
| |
| Thee Jervas 28 hails, robust and debonair, | |
| ‘Now have we conquer’d Homer, friends!’ he cries; | 130 |
| Dartneuf, 29 gay joker, joyous Ford 30 is there, | |
| And wondering Maine so fat, with laughing eyes, | |
| (Gay, Maine, and Cheney, 31 boon companions dear, | |
| Gay fat, Maine fatter, Cheney huge of size), | |
| Yea, Dennis, Gildon (hearing thou hast riches)? | 135 |
| And honest hatless Cromwell with red breeches. | |
| |
| O, Wanley, 32 whence com’st thou with shorten’d hair, | |
| And visage from thy shelves with dust besprent? | |
| ‘Forsooth (quoth he) from placing Homer there, | |
| As ancients to compyle is mine intent; | 140 |
| Of ancients only hath Lord Harley care, | |
| But hither me hath my meeke lady sent:— | |
| In manuscript of Greek rede we thilke same, | |
| But book reprint best plesyth my gude dame.’ | |
| |
| Yonder I see among the expecting crowd, | 145 |
| Evans 33 with laugh jocose and Tragic Young; 34 | |
| High buskin’d Booth, 35 grave Mawbert, 36 wandering Frowde | |
| And Titcombe’s belly waddles slow along. | |
| See Digby 37 faints at Southern 38 talking loud, | |
| Yea, Steele and Tickell 39 mingle in the throng, | 150 |
| Tickell, whose skiff (in partnership they say) | |
| Set forth for Greece, but founder’d on the way. | |
| |
| Lo, the two Doncastles in Berkshire known! | |
| Lo, Bickford, Fortescue of Devon land! | |
| Lo, Tooker, Echershall, Sykes, Rawlinson! | 155 |
| See hearty Morley take thee by the hand! | |
| Ayers, Graham, Buckridge, joy thy voyage done; | |
| But who can count the leaves, the stars, the sand? | |
| Lo, Stoner, Fenton, Caldwell, Ward, and Broome; | |
| Lo, thousands more, but I want rhyme and room! | 160 |
| |
| How loved, how honour’d thou! Yet be not vain! | |
| And sure thou art not, for I hear thee say— | |
| ‘All this, my friends, I owe to Homer’s strain, | |
| On whose strong pinions I exalt my lay. | |
| What from contending cities did he gain? | 165 |
| And what rewards his grateful country pay? | |
| None, none were paid—why then all this for me? | |
| These honours, Homer, had been just to thee.’ | |
