Miscellaneous poems and translations :: :: University of Virginia Library

Hail sacred Artist! what enlivening Skill
Flows from thy Hand, and arms each quickning Pill!
Nature her self perceives the glad Surprize,
And views thee here her great Vicegerent rise.

In vain Destruction arms her ghastly Train,
Pale Sickness, pining Heats, or frantic Pain,
Thy stronger Arts the ghastly Train withstand,
And mock the Rage of Death's deluded Hand;

Vex'd at thy Skill a new Revenge she tries,
And sounds the Trump of Variance thro' the Skies;
Then like the Vultur haunts th'embattled Plain,
Feeds on the mangled Carnage of the Slain,
Or grasps the Prey by coward Treason gor'd,
Aims the Thief's Gun, and wields the Murderer's Sword.

Strange Pow'r, that thus each fleeting Form can save,
Vie with Creation, and elude the Grave!
See the fond Youth implores thy guardian Aid,
Death's envious Hand demands some sickly Maid:
Sadly thy Arts relieve the am'rous Boy,
And teach th'enliven'd Beauty to destroy,
Revive the Charms that youthful Hearts ensnare,
And bid the Nymph be fatal as she's fair.

What Muse shall now in plaintive Numbers tell
How sweet the Lady liv'd; how soon she fell?
What sighing Lover o'er Belinda's Herse
Speak the soft Sorrow and sepulchral Verse?
Thy Arts forbid us to inscribe the Urn,
And Elegy by thee forgets to mourn.

How pleas'd are we to trace thro' ev'ry Part
The secret Systems of thy various Art,
Each embrio Atom curiously to scan,
And view the dawning Miniature of Man,
How from the Mass, which genial Seeds compose,
That Spark of infant Entity arose,
That sweetly thence its gradual Beauty took,
Bloom'd into Charms, and form'd a Cælia's Look;

Or how thy Hand protects the Fair from Ill,
How each Distemper owns thy sov'reign Skill,
Tho' short's the Period of our mortal Breath,
You thin the Triumphs of Disease and Death.

Thy ruling Pow'r the Deluge Dropsy spy'd,
Ebb'd at thy Call, and shrunk its less'ning Tide,
Smoothly you bad the liquid Pains escape,
And the rude Mass emaciate into Shape,
Aw'd by thy Voice the trembling Ague flies,
At thy Command its various Poison dies,
No more our Veins the boiling Torrent know,
But with salubrious Calmness gently glow.

Green-sickness blush'd, her sanguine Looks proclaim
The active Blood rekindling into Flame;

The conscious Maid with native Beauty gay
Views her new Charms in bright Confusion play;
No mimic Arts reflect a borrow'd Grace,
Tinge the dead Paleness, and disguise her Face,
The purple Streams a genuine Blush disclose,
And the true Crimson speaks th'inherent Rose.

His marble Nymph thus griev'd Pygmalion view'd,
Cold, lifeless, pale the mute Creation stood,
Venus beheld the suppliant Boy's Distress,
And crown'd his Labours with the wish'd Success:
She bad the vital Pow'rs exert their Strife,
And warm each varied Atom into Life,
Th'enliven'd Stone confess'd the Cyprian Dame,
Felt the soft Passion, and imbib'd the Flame.