September’s poems
Two from The Oxford Book of Satirical Verse. The first is by a great figure imitating a great figure.
When first the college rolls receive his name,
The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame;
Through all his veins the fever of renown
Burns from the strong contagion of the gown;
O’er Bodley’s dome his future labours spread,
And Bacon’s mansion trembles o’er his head;
Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious youth,
And virtue guard thee to the throne of truth,
Yet should thy soul indulge the gen’rous heat,
Till captive science yields her last retreat;
Should reason guide thee with her brightest ray,
And pour on misty doubt resistless day;
Should no false kindness lure to loose delight,
Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright;
Should tempting novelty thy cell refrain,
And sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain;
Should beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart,
Nor claim the triumphs of a lettered heart;
Should no disease thy torpid veins invade,
Nor melancholy phantoms haunt thy shade;
Yet hope not life from grief or danger free,
Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee:
Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes,
And pause awhile from letters to be wise;
There mark what ills the scholar’s life assail,
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail.
(Samuel Johnson, in The Vanity of Human Wishes: The Tenth Satire of Juvenal Imitated)
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The second poem is by a man who, for good or ill, seems not to have been greatly taken with Johnson or his biographers. It didn’t help that Johnson panned his book.
Here lies poor Johnson. Reader! have a care,
Tread lightly, lest you rouse a sleeping bear.
Religious, moral, generous and humane,
He was, but self-conceited, rude, and vain:
Ill-bred, and overbearing in dispute,
A scholar and a Christian, yet a brute.
Would you know all his wisdom and his folly,
His actions, sayings, mirth, and melancholy,
Boswell and Thrale, retailers of his wit,
Will tell you how he wrote, and talked, and spit.
(Soame Jenyns)
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
The Scholar’s LifeWhen first the college rolls receive his name,
The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame;
Through all his veins the fever of renown
Burns from the strong contagion of the gown;
O’er Bodley’s dome his future labours spread,
And Bacon’s mansion trembles o’er his head;
Are these thy views? Proceed, illustrious youth,
And virtue guard thee to the throne of truth,
Yet should thy soul indulge the gen’rous heat,
Till captive science yields her last retreat;
Should reason guide thee with her brightest ray,
And pour on misty doubt resistless day;
Should no false kindness lure to loose delight,
Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright;
Should tempting novelty thy cell refrain,
And sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain;
Should beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart,
Nor claim the triumphs of a lettered heart;
Should no disease thy torpid veins invade,
Nor melancholy phantoms haunt thy shade;
Yet hope not life from grief or danger free,
Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee:
Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes,
And pause awhile from letters to be wise;
There mark what ills the scholar’s life assail,
Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
(Samuel Johnson, in The Vanity of Human Wishes: The Tenth Satire of Juvenal Imitated)
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
The second poem is by a man who, for good or ill, seems not to have been greatly taken with Johnson or his biographers. It didn’t help that Johnson panned his book.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Dr JohnsonHere lies poor Johnson. Reader! have a care,
Tread lightly, lest you rouse a sleeping bear.
Religious, moral, generous and humane,
He was, but self-conceited, rude, and vain:
Ill-bred, and overbearing in dispute,
A scholar and a Christian, yet a brute.
Would you know all his wisdom and his folly,
His actions, sayings, mirth, and melancholy,
Boswell and Thrale, retailers of his wit,
Will tell you how he wrote, and talked, and spit.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
(Soame Jenyns)