Tobias Smollett Poems

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy banish'd peace - thy laurels torn!
Thy sons, for valour long renown'd,
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On Leven's banks, while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love;
I envied not the happiest swain
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Come listen, ye students of every degree;
I sing of a wit and a tutor perdie,
A statesman profound, a critic immense,
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From the man whom I love, though my heart I disguise,
I will freely describe the wretch I despise;
And, if he has sense but to balance a straw,
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Let the nymph still avoid and be deaf to the swain
Who in transports of passion affects to complain,
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To fix her!—’twere a task as vain
To count the April drops of rain,
To sow in Afric’s barren soil,
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While with fond rapture and amaze
On thy transcendent charms I gaze,
My cautious soul essays in vain
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When the rough North forgets to howl,
And Ocean's billows cease to roll;
When Libyan sands are bound in frost,
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Where now are all my flattering dreams of joy?
Monimia, give my soul her wonted rest;
Since first thy beauty fix'd my roving eye,
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Parent of joy! heart-easing Mirth!
Whether of Venus or Aurora born;
Yet goddess sure of heavenly birth,
Visit benign a son of Grief forlorn;
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