The First of April | Page 2

which they will not fail to bestow.
Give then to Society what it requires--a great and noble example of _female excellence_.--Discard your present Associate;--cultivate the more solid Graces;--exalt your character by the dignity of Virtue;--and let continual actions of Benevolence and Generosity mark those hours which are passing hastily away, and will never return.
Should Your Grace honour the following Poem, if it may deserve that name, with a perusal, you will, perhaps, consider me as a visionary Character.--Be that as it may,--I am quite awake to your Honour and Interest in the Counsels I have given you; and if your Grace should adopt them, you will awake also.--The Visions of Folly will vanish away;--and your eyes will open on the real prospect of wise and honourable days.
I am, Madam, with all due respect,
Your Grace's most sincere Friend,
And humble Servant,
? * * * *.
THE
FIRST OF APRIL.
'Twas on the Morn when _April_ doth appear,?And wets the Primrose with its maiden tear;?'Twas on the Morn when laughing FOLLY rules,?And calls her Sons around, and dubs them Fools;?Bids them be bold, some untry'd path explore,?And do such deeds as Fools ne'er did before;?'Twas on that Morn, when Fancy took her stand?Beside my couch, and, with fantastic wand,?Wav'd, from her airy cells, the Antic Train?That play their gay delusions on the brain:?And strait, methought, a rude impetuous Throng,?With noise and riot, hurried me along,?To where a sumptuous Building met my eyes,?Whose gilded turrets seem'd to dare the skies.?To every Wind it op'd an ample door,?From every Wind tumultuous thousands pour.?With these I enter'd a stupendous Hall,?The scene of some approaching festival.?O'er the wide portals, full in sight, were spread?Banners of yellow hue, bestrip'd with red,?Whereon, in golden characters, were seen:?THE ANNIVERSARY OF FOLLY'S QUEEN!?Strange motley ornaments the Building grac'd,?With every emblem of corrupted Taste.?No stately Column rose to meet the Dome,?No Sculpture borrow'd from the Arts of Rome;?No well-wrought Frieze crept graceful on the walls,?Th' _Acanthus_ weav'd no splendid Capitals;?Nor did the Attic elegance supply?One simple foliage for the judging eye.?But, in their stead, Confusion void of Sense,?And all the pride of false Magnificence,?Display'd an idle, vain, fantastic show,?Fit only for the Crowd that gaz'd below.
Gay China's unsubstantial forms supply?The place of Beauty, Strength, Simplicity.?Each varied colour, of the brightest hue,?The green, the red, the yellow, and the blue,?In every part the dazzled eyes behold,?Here streak'd with silver, there enrich'd with gold;?While fancied forms upon the ceiling sprawl,?And shapeless monsters decorate the wall.
In every scatter'd niche I look'd in vain?For Heroes famous on th' embattled plain;?Or animated Bust, whose brow severe?Mark'd the sage Statesman or Philosopher.?But in the place of those whose Patriot fame?Gave glory to the Greek and Roman name,?Or Heroes who for Freedom bravely fought,?Men without heads,--and Heads that' never thought,?Greet my sick eye,--with all their names enroll'd?In the vain pomp of prostituted gold.
Nor had the Painter's active hand restrain'd?The all-bedaubing brush: the walls were stain'd?With the gay colourings of capricious Art,?Wherein nor Truth nor Genius bore a part.?There _Sigismunda_'s form again I knew,?Which FOLLY hinted, and old _Hogarth_ drew.?No sketch of REYNOLD's pencil did appear,?Science and Taste found no admittance there;?But the vain Painter had essay'd to trace,?In rude distortion, and with strange grimace,?Each story the Historic Pages tell,?Where FOLLY triumph'd, and where WISDOM fell.
There the great BACON, whose sagacious eye?Pierc'd through the gloom of dark Philosophy,?And to the World unveil'd her awful face,?Crouch'd a low, servile Courtier in disgrace.?There PULTENEY, who the first stout bulwark stood?Of British Freedom 'gainst the torrent flood?Of dire Corruption, having stemm'd the wave,?Shook off the Patriot, and became the Slave.?There PITT, whose great and comprehensive soul?No threats could frighten, no events controul;?Whose name dash'd terror on his Country's foes,?From GALLIA'S Shores to where the GANGES flows?Through Eastern Nations;--There he wore the chain?Of Royal Gold, and join'd the pension'd Train.?But the Muse weeps, and drops the silent tear?O'er the sad truths which were recorded there.
High, in the midst, a Pageant of a Throne?In the extreme of Tinsel Splendor shone.?No Sacred Ensigns, no Imperial Chair,?Mark'd the high worth of those who counseled there;?But, shaded by a Curtain's vivid green,?A splendid, soft, luxuriant Couch was seen.?The spangled Banners glitter'd all around,?And the unfolded Silver strew'd the ground;?While the false Mirrors pain the dazzled eye?With mingled Forms, and gay Perplexity.?Hung from the roof by many a golden thread,?The Canopy its airy cov'ring spread,?Inwove with plumage borrow'd from the wing }?Of India's feather'd Tribe, or those that sing }?'Mid the green woodlands of a Western Spring. }?Before the Throne a splendid Altar stood,?Inlaid, in curious forms, with fragrant wood;?Whereon the faithful Votaries might lay?Their Offerings sacred to the festal day.
Methought, that, tir'd of the disgusting scene,?Fit for Fools only, and their silly Queen,?I sought in haste to leave the inglorious Throng:?But as the pressing Crowd my steps prolong,?The deafening Cymbals, and the noisy