 | Translations and Poems Written on Several Subjects |  |
94
To Mr. M--- V---
An EPISTLE.
Omnia vincit Amcr, & nos cedamus Amori.
Virg.
Virg.
With
Love and all its Train of Woes opprest,
To thee, Cæsario! I apply for Rest,
To thee reveal the Sorrows of my Breast.
Friendship was form'd to soften ev'ry Smart,
To cure the Pangs of a tormented Heart;
To break the force of Woe and wasting Care,
To ease Affliction, and to heal Despair.
To thee, Cæsario! I apply for Rest,
To thee reveal the Sorrows of my Breast.
Friendship was form'd to soften ev'ry Smart,
To cure the Pangs of a tormented Heart;
To break the force of Woe and wasting Care,
To ease Affliction, and to heal Despair.
Oh, then, my Friend its sacred Influence prove!
Against that Foe to human Quiet, Love;
For Love some sov'reign Counter-Poison find,
And gain the general Blessing of Mankind;
Then try the Force of that harmonious Art,
That best can mitigate the raging Smart:
For soon as e'er the Magic Notes arise,
I feel new Passions in my Bosom rise,
Thy moving Voice can calm the stormy Breast,
And charm the wild tumultuous Soul to Rest!
But soon as e'er th'inchanting Sonnds are gone,
With Pow'r increas'd again the Foe comes on;
To all his Darts the soften'd Heart gives Way,
And Music helps to make the easier Prey.
Against that Foe to human Quiet, Love;
For Love some sov'reign Counter-Poison find,
And gain the general Blessing of Mankind;
Then try the Force of that harmonious Art,
That best can mitigate the raging Smart:
95
I feel new Passions in my Bosom rise,
Thy moving Voice can calm the stormy Breast,
And charm the wild tumultuous Soul to Rest!
But soon as e'er th'inchanting Sonnds are gone,
With Pow'r increas'd again the Foe comes on;
To all his Darts the soften'd Heart gives Way,
And Music helps to make the easier Prey.
So when fair Circe, with infernal Charms,
Allur'd Ulysses to her magic Arms,
His hardy Friends to mystic Pow'rs gave Way,
And fell to tuneful Rites an easy Prey;
Even the great Hero felt his Bosom warm,
And prov'd the Force of the mysterious Charm;
Till warn'd by Fate, in Deafness Help he found,
And clos'd his Ears from the destructive Sound.
Allur'd Ulysses to her magic Arms,
His hardy Friends to mystic Pow'rs gave Way,
And fell to tuneful Rites an easy Prey;
Even the great Hero felt his Bosom warm,
And prov'd the Force of the mysterious Charm;
Till warn'd by Fate, in Deafness Help he found,
And clos'd his Ears from the destructive Sound.
In vain, my Friend, our Sister-Arts we try,
Lost are my Lays, and lost thy Harmony.
In vain with Love unequal Pow'rs we join,
Against our selves our Sister-Arts combine!
While fair Emilia pains my captive Heart,
In vain thy Music would allay the Smart:
Nor from Belinda's pleasing Tyranny,
Can my weak Numbers set Cæsario free:
Alike our Arts united fruitless prove,
And yield to the Almighty Force of Love!
Lost are my Lays, and lost thy Harmony.
96
Against our selves our Sister-Arts combine!
While fair Emilia pains my captive Heart,
In vain thy Music would allay the Smart:
Nor from Belinda's pleasing Tyranny,
Can my weak Numbers set Cæsario free:
Alike our Arts united fruitless prove,
And yield to the Almighty Force of Love!
So the great Master of the sacred Throng,
The God of Verse, and Medicine, and Song,
When Daphne's beauteous Form his Eyes survey'd,
And saw the Graces of the Matchless Maid;
His Heart then first resistless Love confest,
New Fires, till then unfelt, inflam'd his Breast;
Tormented with the un-remitting Pain,
To each mysterious Art he turn'd in vain,
Nor Plants, nor Music, nor his sacred Art,
Could drive the lurking Mischief from his Heart;
In vain the cruel Virgin he implor'd
In vain pursu'd, and mortal Charms ador'd:
No Pray'rs th'inexorable Fair could move,
Or melt her stubborn Heart to mutual Love.
The God of Verse, and Medicine, and Song,
When Daphne's beauteous Form his Eyes survey'd,
And saw the Graces of the Matchless Maid;
His Heart then first resistless Love confest,
New Fires, till then unfelt, inflam'd his Breast;
Tormented with the un-remitting Pain,
To each mysterious Art he turn'd in vain,
Nor Plants, nor Music, nor his sacred Art,
Could drive the lurking Mischief from his Heart;
97
In vain pursu'd, and mortal Charms ador'd:
No Pray'rs th'inexorable Fair could move,
Or melt her stubborn Heart to mutual Love.
If Phoebus self the fatal Passion found,
Nor could his sacred Bays avert the Wound,
Then wonder not if we his Arrows prove,
“Love conquers all, and we must yeild to Love!”
Nor could his sacred Bays avert the Wound,
Then wonder not if we his Arrows prove,
“Love conquers all, and we must yeild to Love!”
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