Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ye Muses, that frequent these Walks and Shades,
The Seat of calm Repose,
Which Howard's happy Genius chose;
Where, taught by You, his Lyre he strung,
And oft, like Philomel, in dusky Glades
Sweet amorous Voluntaries sung!
O Say, ye kind inspiring Powers!
With what melodious Strain
Will you indulge my pensive Vein,
And charm my Solitary Hours?

II.

Begin, and Echo shall the Song repeat;
While skreen'd from August's fev'rish Heat,
Beneath this spreading Elm I lie,
And view the yellow Harvest far around,
The neighb'ring Fields with Plenty crown'd,
And over Head a fair Unclouded Sky.
The Wood, the Park's romantick Scene,
The Deer, that innocent and gay
On the soft Turf's perpetual Green
Pass all their Lives in Love and Play,
Are various Objects of Delight,
That sport with Fancy, and invite
Your Aid, the Pleasure to compleat;
Begin—and Echo shall the Song repeat.

III.

Hark!—the kind inspiring Pow'rs
Answer from their secret Bow'rs,
Propitious to my Call!
They join their Choral Voices all,
To charm my Solitary Hours.
Listen, they cry, thou pensive Swain!
Tho' much the tuneful Sisters love
The Fields, the Park, the shady Grove:
The Fields, and Park, and shady Grove,
The tuneful Sisters now disdain,

And chuse to sooth thee with a sweeter Strain;
Molinda's Praises shall our Skill employ,
Molinda, Nature's Pride, and ev'ry Muse's Joy!
The Muses triumph'd at her Birth,
When, first descending from her Parent Skies,
This Star of Beauty shot to Earth;
Love saw the Fires that darted from her Eyes,
He saw, and smil'd—the winged Boy
Gave early Omens of her conquering Fame,
And to his Mother lisp'd her Name,
Molinda!—Nature's Pride, and ev'ry Muse's Joy.

IV.

Say, beauteous Asted! has thy honour'd Shade
Ever receiv'd that lovely Maid?
Ye Nymphs and Sylvan Deities, confess
That shining festal Day of Happiness!
For if the lovely Maid was here,
April himself, tho' in so fair a Dress
He clothe the Meads, tho' his delicious Show'rs
Awake the Blossoms and the breathing Flow'rs,
And new-create the fragrant Year;
April himself, or brighter May,
Assisted by the God of Day,
Never made your Grove so gay,
Or half so full of Charms appear.

lii

V.

Whatever rural Seat She now doth grace,
And shines a Goddess of the Plains,
Imperial Love new Triumphs there ordains,
Removes with her from Place to Place,
With her he keeps his Court, and where she lives he reigns.
A thousand bright Attendants more
Her glorious Equipage compose:
There circling Pleasure ever flows:
Friendship, and Arts, a well-selected Store,
Good-Humour, Wit, and Musick's soft Delight,
The shorten'd Minutes there beguile,
And sparkling Mirth, that never looks so bright,
As when it lightens in Molinda's Smile.

VI.

Thither, ye Guardian Pow'rs (if such there are,
Deputed from the Sky
To watch o'er Human-kind with friendly Care,)
Thither, ye gentle Spirits fly!
If Goodness like your own can move
Your constant Zeal, your tender'st Love,
For ever wait on this accomplish'd Fair!
Shield her from ev'ry ruder Breath of Air.
Nor let invading Sickness come
To blast those Beauties in their Bloom.

liii

May no misguided Choice, no hapless Doom,
Disturb the Heav'n of her fair Life
With Clouds of Grief, or Show'rs of melting Tears;
Let harsh Unkindness, and ungenerous Strife,
Repining Discontent, and boding Fears,
With ev'ry Shape of Woe, be driv'n away
Like Ghosts prohibited the Day.
Let Peace o'er her his Dovelike Wings display,
And smiling Joys crown all her blissful Years!

TO Mr. CONSTANTINE, On his PAINTINGS.

While o'er the Cloth thy happy Pencil strays,
And the pleas'd Eye its artful Course surveys,
Behold the magick Pow'r of Shade and Light!
A new Creation opens to our Sight.
Here tufted Groves rise boldly to the Sky,
There spacious Lawns more distant charm the Eye;
The Chrystal Lakes in borrow'd Tinctures shine,
And misty Hills the far Horizon join,

liv

Lost in the azure Borders of the Day,
Like Sounds remote that die in Air away.
The peopled Prospect various Pleasure yields,
Sheep grace the Hills, and Herds or Swains the Fields;
Harmonious Order o'er the Whole presides,
And Nature crowns the Work, which Judgment guides.

Nor with less Skill display'd by Thee appear
The different Products of the fertile Year;
While Fruits with imitated Ripeness glow,
And sudden Flow'rs beneath thy Pencil blow.
Such, and so various thy extensive Hand,
Oft in Suspence the pleas'd Spectators stand,
Doubtful to chuse, and fearing still to err,
When to thy self they would thy self prefer.
So when the Rival Gods at Athens strove,
By wondrous Works their Pow'r Divine to prove,
As Neptune's Trident strook the teeming Earth,
Here the proud Horse upstarted to his Birth;
And there, as Pallas bless'd the fruitful Scene,
The spreading Olive rear'd its Stately Green;
In dumb Surprize the gazing Crouds were lost,
Nor knew on which to fix their Wonder most.

TO URANIA, On her Arrival at Jamaica.

Thro' yielding Waves the Vessel swiftly flies,
That bears Urania from our eager Eyes;
A Prize more rich than Spain's whole Fleets could boast
From fam'd Peru, or Chili's golden Coast!
Deaf to our Call the Billows waft her o'er,
With Speed obsequious to a distant Shore;
There the glad Natives, on the crouded Strand,
With Wonder see the matchless Stranger land;
Transported Glories in her Features smile,
And a New Dawn of Beauty gilds their Isle.

So from the Sea when Venus rose Serene,
And by the Nymphs and Tritons first was seen,
The watry World beheld, with pleas'd Surprize,
O'er its wide Waste new Tracks of Light arise;
The Winds were hush'd, the Floods forgot to move,
And Nature own'd th'auspicious Queen of Love.

Henceforth no more the Cyprian Isle be nam'd,
Tho' for th'Abode of that bright Goddess fam'd;

lvi

Jamaica's happier Groves, conceal'd so long
Thro' Ages past, are now the Poet's Song.
The Graces there, and Virtues fix their Throne;
Urania makes th'adopted Land her own.

The Muse with her in Thought transported, sees
The opening Scene, the bloomy Plants and Trees,
By brighter Skies rais'd to a nobler Birth,
And Fruits deny'd to Europe's colder Earth.
At her Approach, like Courtiers doubly gay
To grace the Pomp of some lov'd Prince's Day,
The gladden'd Soil in all its Plenty shines,
New spreads its branching Palms, and new adorns its Pines;
With Gifts prepares the shining Guest to meet,
And pours its verdant Off'rings at her Feet.
As in the Fields with Pleasure she appears,
Smiles on the Labourers, and their Labours cheers,
The luscious Canes with sweeter Juices flow,
The Melons ripen, and the Citrons blow,
The Golden Orange takes a richer Dye,
And Slaves forget their Toil, while She is by.
Not Ceres' Self more Blessings could display,
When thro' the Earth she took her wand'ring Way,
Far from her Native Coast, and all around
Diffus'd ripe Harvests thro' the teeming Ground.

lvii

Mean while our drooping Vales deserted mourn,
Till happy Years bring on her wish'd Return;
New Honours then, Urania, shall be thine,
And Britain shall again the World outshine.

So when of late our Sun was veil'd from Sight
In dark Eclipse, and lost in sudden Night,
A shivering Cold each Heart with Horror thrill'd,
The Birds forsook the Skies, the Herds the Field;
But when the conqu'ring Orb, with One bright Ray
Broke thro' the Gloom, and reinthron'd the Day,
The Herds reviv'd, the Birds renew'd their Strains,
Unusual Transports rais'd the chearful Swains,
And Joy returning echo'd thro' the Plains.

MDCCXV.

lviii

[There let Time's creeping Winter shed]

[_]

The following Supplement and Conclusion to Mr. Milton's Incomparable Poem, entitled, Il Penseroso, or The Pensive Man, was also writ by Mr. Hughes. It seems necessary to quote the eight foregoing Lines for the right Understanding of it.

‘AND may at last my weary Age
‘Find out the peaceful Hermitage,
‘The Hairy Gown, and Mossy Cell,
‘Where I may sit, and rightly spell
‘Of every Star that Heav'n doth shew,
‘And every Herb that sips the Dew;
‘'Till old Experience do attain
‘To something like Prophetick Strain.’

There let Time's creeping Winter shed
His hoary Snow around my Head;
And while I feel, by fast Degrees,
My Sluggard Blood wax chill, and freeze,
Let Thought unveil to my fixt Eye
The Scenes of deep Eternity,
Till Life dissolving at the View,
I wake, and find those Visions true!

lxv

VERSES To the Memory of Mr. HUGHES.

By a LADY.

Round Hughes's humble, tho' distinguish'd Urn,
The Muses, wreath'd with baleful Cypress, mourn;
In every Face a deep Distress appears,
Each Eye o'erflows with Tributary Tears:
Such was the Scene, when by the Gods requir'd,
Majestick Homer from the World retir'd:
Such Grief the Nine o'er Maro's Tomb bestow'd;
And Tears like these for Addison late flow'd.

Snatch'd from the Earth, above its trifling Praise,
Thee, Hughes, to happier Climes thy Fate conveys;
Eas'd of its Load, thy gentle Spirit roves,
Through Realms refulgent, and Celestial Groves;
The Toils of Life, the Pangs of Death are o'er,
And Care, and Pain, and Sickness are no more.

lxvi

O may the Spot that holds thy blest Remains,
(The noblest Spoil Earth's spacious Breast contains,)
Its Tribute pay; may richest Flow'rs around,
Spring lightly forth, and mark the sacred Ground;
There may thy Bays its shady Honours spread,
And o'er thy Urn Eternal Odours shed;
Immortal as thy Fame, and Verse, still grow,
Till Those shall cease to live, and Thames to flow.

Nature subdu'd foretold the Great Decline,
And ev'ry Heart was plung'd in Grief, but Thine;
Thy Soul Serene, the Conflict did maintain,
And trac'd the Phantom Death, in Years of Pain;
Not Years of Pain thy steady Mind alarm'd,
By Judgment strengthen'd, and with Virtue arm'd;
Still like Thyself, when sinking Life ebb'd low,
Nor rashly dar'd, nor meanly fear'd the Blow;
Loose to the World, of ev'ry Grace possest,
Greatly resign'd, thou sought'st the Stranger, Rest:
Firm as his Fate, so thy own Phocyas dy'd,
While the barb'd Arrow trembled in his Side.—
Drawn by thy Pen, the Theory we see;
The Practick Part, too soon! beheld in Thee.

Who now shall strike the Lyre with Skill Divine,
Who to harmonious Sounds, harmonious Numbers join?

lxvii

Who the rapacious Tide of Vice controul,
And, while they charm the Sense, reform the Soul?
In whom the lovely Sister-Arts unite,
With Virtue, solid Sense, and boundless Wit?
Such was the Turn of thy exalted Mind,
Sparkling as polish'd Gems, as purest Gold refin'd.

Great Ruler of our Passions! who with Art
Subdu'd the fierce, and warm'd the frozen Heart,
Bid Glory in our Breasts with Temper beat,
And Valour, separate from Fev'rish Heat,
Love, in its true, its genuine Lustre rise,
And, in Eudocia, bid it charm our Eyes.
Virtue distrest, thy happy Lines disclose,
With more of Triumph than a Conqueror knows;
Touch'd by thy Hand, our stubborn Tempers bend,
And flowing Tears the well-wrought Scene attend,
That Silent Eloquence thy Power approv'd,
The Cause so great, 'twas generous to be mov'd.

What Pleasure can the bursting Heart possess,
In the last Parting, and Severe Distress?
Can Fame, Wealth, Honour, Titles, Joy bestow,
And make the lab'ring Breast with Transport glow?
These gaudy Trifles gild our Morning bright,
But O! how weak their Influence on our Night!
Then Fame, Wealth, Honour, Titles, vainly bloom,
Nor dart one Beam of Comfort on the Gloom;

lxviii

But if the Strug'ling Soul a Joy receives,
'Tis in the just Applause, that conscious Virtue gives:
This blameless Pride the dying Hughes possest,
Soften'd his Pain, sat lightly on his Breast,
And sooth'd his unoffending Soul to Rest.
Free from the Bigot's Fears, or Stoick's Pride,
Calm as our Christian Heroe liv'd, he dy'd.

As on the utmost Verge of Life he stood,
Ready to plunge, and seize th'immortal Good,
Collecting all his Rays diffus'd, in One,
His last great Work with heighten'd Lustre shone;
There his just Sentiments, transferr'd, we view'd,
But while our Eyes the shining Path persu'd,
And steep Ascent his steady Judgment gain'd,
The shining Path, alas! alone remain'd.—

So when the Sun to Worlds Unknown retires,
How strong! how boldly shoot his parting Fires!
Larger his Setting Orb our Eyes confess,
Eager we gaze, and the full Glory bless;
As o'er the Heav'ns, Sublime, his Course extends,
With equal State, the Radiant Globe descends,
Sinks, in a Cloud of Gold, and Azure bright,
And leaves, behind, gay Tracks of beamy Light.

1720.

Opera of Calypso and Telemachus.

Siege of Damascus.

lxix

[If for Our-selves the Tears profusely flow]

If for Our-selves the Tears profusely flow,
Too justly we indulge the tender Woe,
Since Thou in Virtue's Robes wast richly drest,
And of fine Arts Abundantly possest!
But if we rather should Congratulate
A Friend's Enlargement and exalted State;
Resign'd to Providence, what can we less
Than chearful hail thy long'd-for Happiness,
Who now releas'd from ev'ry piercing Pain,
Dost in the Realms of Light Triumphant reign!

February, 1719–20.

W. Duncombe.

[From thy long Languishing, and painful Strife]

From thy long Languishing, and painful Strife
Of Breath with Labour drawn, and wasting Life,
Accomplish'd Spirit! thou at length art free,
Born into Bliss and Immortality!
Thy Struggles are no more; the Palm is won;
Thy Brows encircled with the Victor's Crown;
While lonely left, and desolate below,
Full Grief I feel, and all a Brother's Woe!
Yet wou'd I linger on, a little Space,
Before I close my quick-expiring Race,
Till I have gather'd up, with grateful Pains,
Thy Works, thy dear Unperishing Remains;

lxx

An Undecaying Monument to stand,
Rais'd to thy Name by thy own skilful Hand.
Then let me wing from Earth my willing Way,
To meet thy Soul in Blaze of living Day,
Rapt to the Skies, like Thee, with joyful Flight,
An Inmate of the Heav'ns, adopted into Light!

30 March, 1720.

Jabez Hughes Ob. 17 Jan. 1731, Anno Æt. 46.

[Immortal Bard! tho' from the World retir'd]

Immortal Bard! tho' from the World retir'd,
Still known to Fame, still honour'd, and admir'd!
While fill'd with Joy, in happier Realms you stray,
And dwell in Mansions of eternal Day;
While You, conspicuous thro' the heav'nly Choir,
With swelling Rapture tune the chosen Lyre;
Where echoing Angels the glad Notes prolong,
Or with attentive Silence crown your Song;
Forgive the Muse that in unequal Lays
Offers this humble Tribute of her Praise.

Lost in thy Works, how oft I pass the Day,
While the swift Hours steal Unperceiv'd away;
There, in sweet Union, Wit and Virtue charm,
And noblest Sentiments the Bosom warm;

lxxi

The Brave, the Wise, the Virtuous, and the Fair,
May view themselves in fadeless Colours there.

Thro' ev'ry polish'd Piece Correctness flows,
Yet each bright Page with sprightly Fancy glows;
Oh! happy Elegance, where thus are join'd
A solid Judgment, and a Wit refin'd!

Here injur'd Phocyas and Eudocia claim
A lasting Pity and a lasting Fame:
Thy Heroine's softer Virtues charm the Sight,
And fill our Souls with ravishing Delight.
Exalted Love and dauntless Courage meet,
To make thy Hero's Character compleat.
This finish'd Piece the noblest Pens commend;
And ev'n the Criticks are the Poet's Friend.

Led on by Thee, those flow'ry Paths I view,
For ever Lovely, and for ever New,
Where all the Graces with joint Force engage,
To stem th'impetuous Follies of the Age:
Virtue, there deck'd in ever-blooming Charms,
With such resistless Rays of Beauty warms,
That Vice, abash'd, confounded, skulks away,
As Night retires at Dawn of rosy Day.

Struck with his Guilt, the hardy Atheist dreads
Approaching Fate, and trembles as he reads:

lxxii

Vanquish'd by Reason, yet asham'd to fly,
He dares nor Own a God, nor yet Deny:
Convinc'd, tho' late, Forgiveness he implores;
Shrinks from the Jaws of Hell, and Heav'n adores.

Hither the Wild, the Frolick, and the Gay,
As thoughtless thro' their wanton Rounds they stray,
Compell'd by Fame, repair with curious Eye,
And their own various Forms with Wonder spy.
The Censor so polite, so kindly true,
They see their Faults, and sicken at the View.
Hence trifling Damon ceases to be vain;
And Cloe scorns to give her Lover Pain:
Strephon is true, who ne'er was true before;
And Cælia bids him Love, but not Adore.

Tho' Addison and Steele the Honour claim,
Here to stand foremost on the List of Fame;
Yet still the Traces of Thy Hand we see,
Some of the brightest Thoughts are due to Thee.
While then for those Illustrious Bards we mourn,
The Muse shall visit thy Distinguish'd Urn;
With copious Tears bedew the Sacred Ground,
And plant the never-fading Bay around.

Here thro' the Gloom, aspiring Bards explore
These awful Relicts, and be vain no more:
Learning, and Wit, and Fame it self must die;
Virtue alone can tow'ring reach the Sky.

lxxiii

This crown'd his Life. Admire not, Heav'n in View,
He to the glorious Prize with Transport flew.
A Fate so blest shou'd check our streaming Woe,
He Reigns above, his Works Survive below.

J. Bunce.

Late of Trinity-Hall, Cambridge.

Alluding to the Spectators writ by Mr. Hughes.

lxxvi

PROLOGUE To the Memory of Mr. HUGHES.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[_]

Spoken by Mr. Milward, on the Revival of The Siege of Damascus, at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, 22 March, 1734–5

Here Force and Fancy, with United Charms,
Mingle the Sweets of Love with War's Alarms.
Our Author shows, in Eastern Pomp array'd,
The conqu'ring Heroe and the constant Maid.
None better knew, such Noble Heights to soar,
Tho' Phædra, and tho' Cato charm'd before.

While in the Lustre of his glowing Lines,
Th'Arabian Paradise so gaily shines,
With winy Rivers, racy Fruits supply'd,
And Beauties sparkling in Immortal Pride,
Gallants, You'll own that a resistless Fire
Did justly their Enamour'd Breasts inspire.

At first, a numerous Audience crown'd this Play,
And kind Applauses mark'd its happy Way,
While He, like his own Phocyas, snatch'd from View,
To fairer Realms with ripen'd Glory flew.
Humane, tho' Witty; Humble, tho' Admir'd;
Wept by the Great, the Virtuous Sage expir'd!

Still may the Bard, beneath kind Planets born,
Whom every Grace, and every Muse adorn,
Whose spreading Fame has reach'd to Foreign Lands,
Receive Some Tribute too from British Hands.

To Mr. JOHN HUGHES, On his POEM, entitled, The Triumph of Peace .

Inspir'd by what melodious Hughes has sung,
I'll tune a Lyre, that long has lain unstrung:
Awak'd from drowsy Sloth, and soothing Rest,
Poetick Transports fire my ravish'd Breast!

What Pleasure must retiring Dryden find,
To see that Art his skilful Muse refin'd,
So much improv'd by those he leaves behind?
So when a Father sees a careful Son
Enlarge those Coffers, which were first his own,
With Joy to Heav'n he lifts his aged Eyes,
Blesses his prosp'rous Heir, and calmly dies.

May all your Fortune, like your Numbers, shine,
And smoothly flow, without one rugged Line!
'Till we confess the Genius is the same,
That guides your Fortune, and Poetick Flame.

So when of old some sportive Amorous God,
Vouchsaf'd awhile to leave his blest Abode,
In whatsoever Form the Guest appear'd,
His heav'nly Lustre shone, and was rever'd.

Catharine-Hall, Cambridge.

W. Worts. February, 1697.

THE Triumph of Peace: Occasion'd by the PEACE of RESWICK, 1697.

Hear, Britain, hear a rough unpractis'd Tongue!
Tho' rough my Voice, the Muse inspires the Song,
The Heav'n-born Muse; e'en now she springs her Flight,
And bears my raptur'd Soul, thro' untrac'd Realms of Light.
We mount aloft, and, in our airy Way,
Retiring Kingdoms far beneath survey.

Amid the rest a spacious Tract appears,
Obscure in View, and on its Visage wears
Black hov'ring Mists, which thick'ning by degrees,
Extend a louring Storm o'er Earth and Seas.
But, lo! an Eastern Light, arising high,
Drives the tempestuous Wreck along the Sky!
Then thus the Muse—Look down, my Son! and see
The bright Procession of a Deity!
She spoke; the Storm dispers'd; vanish'd the Night;
And well-known Europe stands disclos'd to Sight.

Of various States, the various Bounds appear;
There wide Hispania, fruitful Gallia here;
Belgia's moist Soil, conspicuous from afar,
And Flandria, long the Field of a destructive War.
Germania too, with cluster'd Vines o'erspread;
And lovely Albion from her wat'ry Bed,
Beauteous above the rest, rears her auspicious Head.
Beneath her chalky Cliffs, Sea-Nymphs resort,
And awful Neptune keeps his reedy Court;
His darling Thames, rich Presents in his Hand
Of bounteous Ceres, traverses the Land;
And seems a mighty Snake, whose shining Pride
Does thro' the Meads in sinuous Volumes glide.

Ah, charming Isle! fairest of all the Main!
Too long thou dost my willing Eye detain.

For see a Heroe on the adverse Strand!
And, lo! a blooming Virgin in his Hand!
All hail, Celestial Pair!—a Goddess She,
Of Heav'nly Birth confest, a more than Mortal, He!
Victorious Laurels on his Brows he wears;
Th'attending Fair a branching Olive bears;
Slender her Shape, in silver Bands confin'd;
Her snowy Garments loosely flow behind,
Rich with embroider'd Stars, and ruffle in the Wind.
But once such diff'ring Beauty met before,
When Warrior Mars did Love's bright Queen adore;
E'en Love's bright Queen might seem less winning fair,
And Mars submit to his Heroick Air.
Not Jove himself, Imperial Jove, can show
A nobler Mien, or more undaunted Brow,
When his strong Arm, thro' Heav'n's Ætherial Plains,
Compels the kindled Bolt, and awful Rule maintains.

And now embark'd they seek the British Isles,
Pleas'd with the Charge, propitious Ocean smiles.
Before, old Neptune smooths the liquid way;
Obsequious Tritons on the Surface play;
And sportful Dolphins, with a nimble Glance,
To the bright Sun their glitt'ring Scales advance.
In oozy Beds profound, the Billows sleep,
No clamorous Winds awake the silent Deep;

Rebuk'd, they whisper in a gentle Breeze,
And all around is Universal Peace.

Proceed, my Muse! The following Pomp declare;
Say who, and what the bright Attendants were!
First Ceres, in her Chariot seated high,
By harness'd Dragons drawn along the Sky;
A Cornucopia fill'd her weaker Hand,
Charg'd with the various Offspring of the Land,
Fruit, Flowers, and Corn; her right a Sickle bore;
A yellow Wreath of twisted Wheat she wore.
Next Father Bacchus with his Tigers grac'd
The Show, and, squeezing Clusters as he pass'd,
Quaff'd flowing Goblets of rich-flavour'd Wine.
In Order, last succeed the tuneful Nine;
Apollo too was there; behind him hung
His useless Quiver, and his Bow unstrung;
He touch'd his Golden Lyre, and thus he sung.

‘Lead on, great William! in thy happy Reign
‘Peace and the Muses are restor'd again.
‘War, that fierce Lion, long disdaining Law,
‘Rang'd uncontroul'd, and kept the World in Awe,
‘While trembling Kingdoms crouch'd beneath his Paw.
‘At last the reeling Monster, drunk with Gore,
‘Falls at thy Feet subdu'd, and quells his Roar;
‘Tamely to Thee he bends his shaggy Mane,
‘And on his Neck admits the long-rejected Chain.

‘At thy protecting Court, for this blest Day,
‘Attending Nations their glad Thanks shall pay:
‘Not Belgia, and the rescu'd Isle alone,
‘But Europe shall her great Deliverer own.
‘Rome's mighty Grandeur was not more confest,
‘When great Antonius travel'd thro' the East,
‘And Crouds of Monarchs did each Morning wait
‘With early Homage at his Palace-Gate.
‘Haste then, bright Prince! thy Britain's Transport meet;
‘Haste to her Arms, and make her Bliss compleat!
‘Whate'er glad News has reach'd her list'ning Ear;
‘While her long-absent Lord provokes her Fear,
‘Her Joys are in Suspence, her Pleasures unsincere.
‘He comes, thy Heroe comes! O beauteous Isle!
‘Revive thy Genius with a chearful Smile!
‘Let thy rejoicing Sons fresh Palms prepare,
‘To grace the Trophies of the finish'd War;
‘On high be hung the martial Sword insheath'd,
‘The Shield with Ribbons dress'd, and Spear with Ivy wreath'd!
‘Let speaking Paint in various Tablets show
‘Past Scenes of Battle to the Croud below!
‘Round this triumphant Pile, in rustick Dance,
‘The shouting Swains shall, hand in hand, advance;

‘The wealthy Farmer from his Toils shall cease;
‘The Ploughman from the Yoke his smoking Steers release,
‘And join to solemnize the Festival of Peace.
‘No more for want of Hands th'unlabour'd Field,
‘Choak'd with rank Weeds, a sickly Crop shall yield:
‘Calm Peace returns; behold her shining Train!
‘And fruitful Plenty is restor'd again’.—
Apollo ceas'd;—The Muses take the Sound,
From Voice to Voice th'harmonious Notes rebound,
And echoing Lyres transmit the volant Fugue around!

Mean while the steddy Bark, with prosp'rous Gales,
Fills the large Sheets of her expanded Sails,
And gains th'intended Port; thick on the Strand,
Like swarming Bees, th'assembled Britons stand,
And press to see their welcome Sov'reign land:
At his Approach, unruly Transport reigns
In ev'ry Breast, and Rapture fires their Veins.
A general Shout succeeds, as when on high
Exploded Thunder rends the vaulted Sky.
A short Convulsion shakes the solid Shore,
And rocks th'adjacent Deep, unmov'd before;
Loud Acclamations thro' the Valleys ring,
While to Augusta's Wall, the Croud attend their King.

And now behold a finish'd Temple rise,
On lofty Pillars climbing to the Skies!
Of Bulk stupendous, its proud Pile it rears,
The gradual Product of successive Years.
An inner Gate, that folds with Iron Leaves,
The charm'd Spectator's ent'ring Steps receives,
Where curious Works in twisted Stems are seen
Of branching Foliage, vacuous between.
O'er this a vocal Organ, mounted high
On Marble Columns, strikes the wond'ring Eye;
And feeds at once two Senses with Delight,
Sweet to the Ear, and splendid to the Sight.
Marble the Floor, enrich'd with native Stains
Of various Dye, and streak'd with azure Veins.
E'en emulous Art with Nature seems to strive,
And the carv'd Figures almost breathe and live;
The painted Altar, glorious to behold,
Shines with delightful Blue, and dazzling Gold.
Here first th'illustrious Three, of Heav'nly Race,
Religion, Liberty, and Peace embrace;
Here joyful Crouds their pious Thanks express
For Peace restor'd, and Heav'n's Indulgence bless.
Auspicious Structure! Born in happy Days,
Whose first Employment is the Noblest, Praise!

So, when by just degrees th'Eternal Thought
His six Days Labour to Perfection brought,
With Laws of Motion first endu'd the Whole,
And bade the Heav'ns in destin'd Circles roll,
The polish'd Spheres commenc'd their Harmony;
All Nature in a Chorus did agree,
And the World's Birth-Day was a Jubilee.

Printed in 1697.

The Choir of St. Paul's was first open'd on the Day of Thanksgiving for the Peace.

THE Court of Neptune.

ON KING WILLIAM's Return from Holland, 1699.

Address'd to the Right Honourable CHARLES MONTAGUE, Esq;

Begin, Celestial Muse! a tuneful Strain
Of Albion's Prince conducted o'er the Main;
Of Courts conceal'd in Waves, and Neptune's wat'ry Reign!
Sing, from beneath, how the Green Deity
Rose to the Sov'reign of the British Sea;
To Pow'r confess'd, the Triple Mace resign'd,
O'er-rul'd the Floods, and charg'd the Rebel Wind;
Secur'd his Passage homeward, and restor'd,
Safe to the loveli'st Isle, the best-lov'd Lord.

The generous Name of Montague has long
Been fam'd in Verse, and grac'd the Poet's Song;
In Verse, himself can happy Wonders do,
The best of Patrons, and of Poets too.
Amid the skilful Choir that court his Ear,
If he vouchsafe these ruder Lays to hear,
His bright Example, while to him I sing,
Shall raise my feeble Flight, and mount me on the Wing.

On Albion's Eastern Coast, an ancient Town
O'erlooks the Sea, to Mariners well-known;
Where the swift Stourus ends his Snaky Train,
And pays his Wat'ry Tribute to the Main:
Stourus, whose Stream, prolifick as it glides,
Two fertile Counties in its Course divides,
And rolls to Seaward with a Lover's Pace:
There beauteous Orwell meets his fond Embrace;
They mix their amorous Streams, the briny Tide
Receives 'em join'd; their crooked Shores provide
A spacious Bay within, for Anchor'd Ships to ride.
Here, on the Margin of the rolling Flood,
Divinely Fair, like Sea-born Venus, stood
Britannia's Genius, in a Robe array'd
Of broider'd Arms, and Heraldry display'd:

A Crown of Cities charg'd her graceful Brows;
In waving Curls her Hair luxuriant flows;
Celestial Glories in her Eyes are seen;
Her Stature tall, majestick is her Mien.
With such a Presence, thro' th'adoring Skies,
Shines the Great Parent of the Deities;
Such Tow'ry Honours on her Temples rise,
When, drawn by Lions, she proceeds in State;
Trains of Attendant-Gods around her Chariot wait;
The Mother-Goddess, with superior Grace,
Surveys, and numbers o'er her bright Immortal Race.

While thus the lovely Genius hovers o'er
The Water's Brink, and from the sandy Shore
Beholds th'alternate Billows fall and rise,
(By Turns they sink below, by Turns they mount the Skies:)
‘And must, she said—
‘Then paus'd, and drew a Sigh of anxious Love;
‘Must my dear Lord this faithless Ocean prove?
‘Escap'd the Chance of War, and Fraud of Foes,
‘Wilt thou to warring Waves thy sacred Life expose?
‘Why am I thus divided by the Sea,
‘From all the World, and all the World in Thee?
‘Cou'd Sighs and Tears the Rage of Tempests bind,
‘With Tears I'd bribe the Seas, with Sighs the Wind:

‘Soft-sighing Gales thy Canvas shou'd inspire;
‘But hence, ye boistrous Storms! far hence retire
‘To inland Woods; there your mad Pow'rs appease,
‘And scour the dusty Plains, or strip the Forest Trees;
‘Or, lodg'd in hollow Rocks, profoundly sleep,
‘And rest from the loud Labours of the Deep!
‘Why shou'd I fear?—If Heroes be the Care
‘Of Heav'n above, and Heav'n inclines to Pray'r,
‘Thou sail'st secure; my Sons with lifted Eyes,
‘And pious Vows, for Thee have gain'd the Skies.
‘Come then, my much-lov'd Lord! No more th'Alarms
‘Of wasteful War require thee from my Arms.
‘Thy Sword gives plenteous Peace; but, without Thee,
‘Peace has no Charms, and Plenty's Poverty.
‘At length enjoy, for whom you've fought, the Queen
‘Of Islands, bright, majestick, and serene!
‘Unveil'd from Clouds, which did her Form disguise,
‘And hid a thousand Beauties from thy Eyes.
‘A thousand Treasures unsurvey'd invite
‘Their Lord to various Scenes of new Delight.
‘Come see the Dow'r I brought! My spacious Downs,
‘My num'rous Counties, and my ancient Towns;
‘Landskips of rising Mountains, shaggy Woods,
‘Green Vallies, smiling Meadows, silver Floods,
‘And Plains with lowing Herds enrich'd around,
‘The Hills with Flocks, the Flocks with Fleeces crown'd.

‘All these with native Wealth thy Pow'r maintain,
‘And bloom with Blessings of thy easy Reign.
‘Haste, hoist thy Sails! and thro' the foamy Brine,
‘Rush to my Arms! henceforth be wholly mine;
‘After nine toilsome Years, let Slaughter cease,
‘And flourish now secure, in the soft Arts of Peace!”

She said; th'intreated Winds her Accents bore,
And wing'd the Message to the Belgick Shore.
The pious Heroe heard, nor cou'd delay
To meet the lovely Voice, that summon'd him away;
The lovely Voice, whose soft-complaining Charms
Before had call'd the Succour of his Arms,
Nor call'd in vain; when fir'd with gen'rous Rage
T'oppose the Fury of a barb'rous Age,
Like Jove with awful Thunder in his Hand,
Thro' Storms and Fleets at Sea, and Foes at Land,
He urg'd his daring Way; before his Sight,
On Silver Wings, bright Glory took her Flight,
And left, to guide his Course, long shining Tracks of Light!

And now once more embark'd, propitious Gales
Blow fresh from Shore, and fill his hollow Sails.
As when the golden God, that rules the Day,
Drives down his flaming Chariot to the Sea,
And leaves the Nations here involv'd in Night,
To distant Regions he transports his Light;

So William's Rays, by turns, two Nations chear;
And when he sets to them, he rises here.

Forsaken Belgia, ere the Ship withdrew,
Shed gen'rous Tears, and breath'd this soft Adieu;
‘Since Empire calls thee, and a glorious Throne,
‘Thy People's weighty Int'rests, and thy own;
‘(Tho' struggling Love wou'd fain persuade thy Stay)
‘Go, where thy better Fortune leads the Way!
‘Mean while my Loss, allow me to complain,
‘And wish—ah no! that partial Wish were vain.
‘Tho' honour'd Crete had nurs'd the thund'ring God,
‘Crete was not always blest with his Abode;
‘Nor was it fit, that William's Godlike Mind,
‘For Nations born, shou'd be to One confin'd.
‘This only grant, since I must ask no more,
‘Revisit once again your Native Shore!
‘That Hope my Sorrows shall beguile; and thou,
‘My happy Rival! wilt that Hope allow;
‘'Tis all th'Enjoyment, Fate has left me now.
‘So may'st thou, fair Britannia! ever be
‘Firm to thy Sov'reign's Love, and his to Thee!
‘While widow'd I’—There rising Sighs repress'd
Her fainting Voice, and stifled in the rest.

Now, while the bounding Vessel drives before
The gusty Gales, and leaves the less'ning Shore,

Behold the parting Clouds to Distance fly,
And Golden Glories, pouring from on high,
New dress the Day, and chear th'enlighten'd Sky!
One shooting Beam, like Lightning doubly bright,
Darts on the Middle Main its streaming Light.
Lo! William's Guardian Angel there descends;
To Neptune's Court his heav'nly Message tends:
In Arms Celestial, how he shines afar,
Like Pallas marching to th'awaken'd War!
His left Hand gripes a spacious Orb of Shield,
With thousand intercepted Dangers fill'd,
And Deaths of various Kind; his right displays
A temper'd Blade, that spreads a formidable Blaze.
He strikes the Waves; th'obsequious Waves obey,
And, op'ning in a Gulph, disclose the downward Way.

O Muse! by Thee conducted down, I dare
The Secrets of the Wat'ry World declare;
For Nothing scapes Thy View; to Thee 'tis giv'n,
To range the Space of Earth, and Seas, and Heav'n,
Descry a thousand Forms, conceal'd from Sight,
And in Immortal Verse, to give the Visions Light.

A Rock there lies, in Depth of Sea profound;
About its Clefts, rich Beds of Pearl abound,
Where sportful Nature, cov'ring her Retreat
With flowing Waters, holds her secret Seat;

In Woods of Coral, intricate she strays,
And wreathes the Shells of Fish a thousand ways,
And animates the Spawn of all her finny Race.
Th'unnumber'd Species of the fertile Tide,
In Shoals, around their mighty Mother, glide.
From out the Rock's wide Caverns deep below,
The rushing Ocean rises to its Flow;
And, ebbing, here retires; within its sides,
In roomy Caves the God of Sea resides.
Pillars unhewn, of living Stone, bear high
His vaulted Courts; in Storms the Billows fly
O'er th'echoing Roof, like Thunder thro' the Skies,
And warn the Ruler of the Floods to rise,
And check the raving Winds, and the swoln Waves chastise.
Rich Spoils, by plund'ring Tempests hither borne,
An Universe of Wealth, the Palace-Rooms adorn.
Before its Entrance, broken Wracks are seen
In Heaps deform'd, a melancholy Scene.
But far within, upon a mossy Throne,
With washy Ooze and Samphire overgrown,
The Sea-green King his forky Sceptre rears;
Awful his Aspect, numerous are his Years.
A Pearly Crown circles his Brows Divine;
His Beard and dewy Hair shed trickling Drops of Brine.

The River-Gods, his numerous Progeny,
On Beds of Rushes round their Parent lie.
Here Danube and the Rhine; Nile's secret Source
Dwells here conceal'd; hence Tiber takes his Course;
Hence rapid Rhodanus his Current pours;
And, issuing from his Urn, Majestick Padus roars;
And Alpheus seeks, with silent Pace, the lov'd Sicilian Shores.
But, chief in Honour, Neptune's darling Son,
The beauteous Thames lies nearest to his Throne.
Nor thou, fair Boyne! shalt pass unmention'd by,
Already sung in Strains, that ne'er shall die.

These, and a thousand more, whose winding Trains
Seek various Lands, the wealthy Sire maintains;
Each Day, the fluid Portions he divides,
And fills their craving Urns with fresh-recruited Tides.
But not alike; for oft his partial Care
Bestows on some a disproportion'd Share;
From whence their swelling Currents, o'er-supply'd,
Thro' delug'd Fields in noisy Triumph ride.

The God was just preparing to renew
His daily Task, when sudden in his View
Appear'd the Guardian Pow'r, all dazling-bright;
And, entring, flash'd the Caves with Beamy Light.
Boyne, Rhine, the Sambre, on their Banks had seen
The glorious Form, and knew his Martial Mien;

In Throngs th'admiring Nereids round him press'd,
And Tritons croud to view the Heav'nly Guest.
Then thus, advancing, He his Will explains,
‘O mighty Sov'reign of the liquid Plains!
‘Haste, to the Surface of the Deep repair,
‘This Solemn Day requires thy Presence there,
‘To rule the Storms, the rising Waves restrain,
‘And shake thy Sceptre o'er the govern'd Main.
‘By breathing Gales on thy Dominions driv'n,
‘To Thee, three Kingdoms Hopes in Charge are giv'n,
‘The Glory of the World, and Best-belov'd of Heav'n.
‘Behold him figur'd here!’—He said, and held,
Refulgent to his View, the Guardian Shield.
On the rich Mould, inwrought with Skill Divine,
Great William's Wars in splendid Sculpture shine.
Here, how his saving Pow'r was first display'd,
And Holland rescu'd by his Youthful Aid;
When, kindling in his Soul, the Martial Flame
Broke fiercely out, preluding future Fame,
And round the Frontiers dealt avenging Fire;
Swift from the hot Pursuit the blasted Foes retire.
Then Battles, Sieges, Camps are grav'd afar,
And the long Progress of the dreadful War.
Above the rest Seneffe's immortal Fight,
In larger Figures offer'd to the Sight,
With Martial Terror charms, and gives a fierce Delight.

Here the Confed'rate Troops are forc'd to yield,
Driv'n by unequal Numbers thro' the Field:
With his bright Sword, young Nassau there withstands
Their Flight; with Pray'rs and Blows he urges his Commands,
Upbraids their fainting Force, and boldly throws
Himself the first amidst the wond'ring Foes.
What dare not Men, by such a Gen'ral led?
Rallying with Shouts, their Heroe at their Head,
Fir'd with new Rage, asham'd they once did fly,
Resolv'd t'o'ercome, or resolute to die,
Thro' trampled Heaps of Slain they rush to Victory.
Earth trembles at the Charge; Death, Blood, and Prey,
Insatiate riot all the murd'rous Day;
Nor Night it self their Fury can allay;
Till the pale Moon, that sickens at the Sight,
Retires behind a Cloud, to blind the bloody Fight.

Again, the Shield in Savage Prospect shows
An ancient Abby, which rough Woods inclose;
And Precipices vast abruptly rise,
Where, safe encamp'd, proud Luxemburgh defies
All open Violence, or close Surprize.
But see! a second Hannibal from far,
Up the steep Height, conducts th'entangled War.
Brave Ossory, attended with the Pride
Of English Valour, charges by his Side.

Inclos'd they fight; the Forests shine around
With flashing Fires; the thunder'd Hills rebound,
And the shock'd Country, wide beneath, rebellows to the Sound.
Forc'd from their Holds, at length they speed their Flight;
Rich Tents, and Stores of War, the Victor's Toils requite.
Then Peace ensues; and, in a shining Train,
The Friendly Chiefs assemble on the Plain.
An ardent Zeal the Gallick General warms
To see the Youth, that kindled such Alarms;
Wond'ring he views; secure the Soldiers press
Round their late Dread, and the glad Treaty bless.

Next, on the broad Circumference is wrought
The nine Years War for lov'd Britannia fought;
The Cause the same: Fair Liberty betray'd,
And banish'd Justice, fly to Him for Aid.
Here sailing Ships are drawn, the crowded Strand,
And Heav'n's Avenger hast'ning to the Land.
Oppression, Fraud, Confusion, and Affright,
Fierce Fiends, that ravag'd in the gloomy Night
Of Lawless Pow'r, defeated, fly before his dazling Light.
So to th'eclipsing Moon, by the still Side
Of some lone Thicket, rev'lling Haggs provide
Dire Charms, that threat the sleeping Neighbourhood,
And quaff, with Magick mix'd, vast Bowls of Human Blood;

But, when the Dawn reveals the purple East,
They vanish sullen from th'unfinish'd Feast.
Here joyful Crouds, Triumphant Arches rear
To their Deliv'rer's Praise; glad Senates there,
In splendid Pomp, the Regal State confer.

Hibernia's Fields new Triumphs then supply;
The Rival Kings, in Arms, the Fate of Empire try.
See where the Boyne two Warring Hosts divides,
And rolls between the Fight his murm'ring Tides!
In vain—Hills, Forests, Streams must all give place,
When William leads, and Victory's the Chase.
Thou saw'st him, Boyne! when thy charg'd Waters bore
The swimming Coursers to th'opposing Shore,
And, round thy Banks, thou heard'st the murd'ring Cannons roar.
What more than Mortal Bravery inspir'd
The daring Troops, by his Example fir'd!
Thou saw'st their wondrous Deeds; to Neptune's Court
Thy flying Waves convey'd the swift Report,
And, red with Slaughter, to their Father show'd
Streams not their own, and a discolour'd Flood.

Here, on th'Ætherial Mould, hurl'd from afar,
Th'exploded Ball had mark'd a dinted Scar.
'Twas destin'd thus; for when, all glowing-red,
The Angel took it from the Forge, he said;

This Part be left unfated from the Foe!
And, scarce escap'd, once let the Heroe know,
How much to my Protection he shall owe;
Yet, from the batter'd Shield, the Ball shall bound,
And on his Arm inflict a scarlet Wound.

Else where, behold Namure's proud Turrets rise,
Majestick to the Sight, advancing to the Skies!
The Meuse and Sambre here united flow,
Nature's Defence against th'invading Foe:
Industrious Art her Strength of Walls supplies;
Before the Town the British Army lies.
The Works are mann'd; with Fury they contend;
These thunder from the Plains, those from the Walls defend.
Red Globes of Fire from bellowing Engines fly,
And lead a sweeping Blaze, like Comets, thro' the Sky.
The kindled Region glows; with deaf'ning Sound
They burst; their Iron Entrails, hurl'd around,
Strow with thick-scatter'd Deaths the crimson Ground.
See, where the Genius of the War appears,
Nor shuns the Labour, nor the Danger fears!
In Clouds of sulph'rous Smoke he shines more bright,
For Glory round him waits, with Beams of living Light,
At length the widen'd Gates a Conquest own,
And to his Arms resign the yielding Town.

Here, from the Field return'd, with Olive crown'd,
Applauding Throngs their welcome Prince surround:

Bright Honours in his glorious Entry shine,
And Peace restor'd concludes the great Design.

Long, o'er the Figur'd Work, with vast Surprize,
Admiring Neptune roll'd his ravish'd Eyes;
Then, rising from his Throne, thus call'd aloud;
‘Ye lovely Daughters of the briny Flood!
‘Haste, comb your Silver Locks, and straight prepare
‘To fill my Train, and gaze in upper Air.
‘This Day, Majestick Glories you shall see;
‘Come all ye Wat'ry Pow'rs, who under me
‘Your little Tridents wield, and rule the boist'rous Sea!
‘What God, that views the Triumphs here display'd,
‘Can to such Worth refuse his Heavenly Aid?’
He said no more,—but bade two Tritons sound
Their crooked Shells, to spread the Summons round.
Thro' the wide Caves the Blast is heard afar;
With Speed two more provide his Azure Car,
A Concave Shell; two the finn'd Coursers join:
All wait officious round, and own th'accustom'd Sign;
The God ascends; his better Hand sustains
The three-fork'd Spear, his left directs the Reins.
Thro' breaking Waves, the Chariot mounts him high;
Before its thund'ring Course, the frothy Waters fly;
He gains the Surface; on his either Side,
The bright Attendants, rang'd with comely Pride,
Advance in just Array, and grace the pompous Tide.

Mean while Britannia's King conspicuous stood,
And, from his Deck, survey'd the boundless Flood.
Smooth was the glassy Scene, the Sun beheld
His Face unclouded in the liquid Field.
The gazing Nereids, in a shining Train,
Inclose the Ruler of the British Main,
And sweetly sing; suspended Winds forbear
Their loud Complaints, the soothing Lay to hear.
‘Hail, Sacred Charge! they cry; the Beauties We
‘Of Neptune's Court, are come t'attend on Thee;
‘Accept our offer'd Aid! thy potent Sway,
‘Unbounded by the Land, these wat'ry Realms obey;
‘And We, thy Subject-Pow'rs, our duteous Homage pay.
‘See Neptune's Self, inferior in Command,
‘Presents his Trident to thy honour'd Hand!’
They said; the Sire approach'd with Awe profound;
The Rite perform'd, their Shells the Tritons sound;
Swell'd with the shrill Alarm, the joyful Billows bound.

Now, from the Shore, Britannia first descries
White Sails afar; then bulky Vessels rise
Nearer to View; her beating Heart foretells
The pleasing News, and eager Transport feels.
Safe to her Arms, Imperial Neptune bears
Th'intrusted Charge, then diving disappears.

Harwich.

The River Stoure, that runs between Suffolk and Essex.

St. Dennis near Mons.

THE House of Nassau.

A PINDARICK ODE.

------ Cœlo demittitur alto
Chara Deûm Soboles ------
Virg.

[_]

Printed in 1702.

To His GRACE CHARLES DUKE of SOMERSET.

I.

Goddess of Numbers, and of Thoughts sublime!
Celestial Muse! whose tuneful Song
Can fix Heroick Acts, that glide along
Down the vast Sea of ever-wasting Time,
And all the gilded Images can stay,
Till Time's vast Sea it-self be roll'd away:
O now assist with consecrated Strains!
Let Art and Nature join to raise
A living Monument of Praise
O'er William's Great Remains.
While Thames, majestically sad, and slow,
Seems by that Reverend Dome to flow,
Which new-interr'd his Sacred Urn contains.

If thou, O Muse, wou'dst e'er Immortal be,
This Song bequeaths thee Immortality;
For William's Praise can ne'er expire,
Tho' Nature's Self at last must die,
And all this fair-erected Sky
Must sink with Earth and Sea, and melt away in Fire.

II.

Begin—the Spring of Virtue trace,
That, from afar-descending, flow'd
Thro' the rich Veins of all the Godlike Race,
And fair Renown on all the Godlike Race bestow'd!
This Antient Source of Noble Blood
Thro' thee, Germania, wand'ring wide,
Like thy own Rhine's enriching Tide,
In num'rous Branches long diffus'd its Flood.
Rhine, scarce more antient, never grac'd thee more,
Tho' mantling Vines his comely Head surround,
And all along his Sunny Shore
Eternal Plenty's found.

III.

From Heav'n it-self th'Illustrious Line began;
Ten Ages in Descent it ran,
In each Descent increas'd with Honours new.
Never did Heav'ns Supreme inspire
In Mortal Breasts a Nobler Fire,
Nor his own Image livelier drew.

Of pure Ætherial Flame their Souls he made,
And, as beneath his forming Hands they grew,
He bless'd the Master-work, and said;
‘Go forth, my honour'd Champions, Go,
‘To vindicate my Cause below!
‘Awful in Pow'r, defend for Me
‘Religion, Justice, Liberty,
‘And, at aspiring Tyranny,
‘My Delegated Thunder throw!
‘For this, the Great Nassovian Name I raise,
‘And still this Character Divine,
‘Distinguish'd thro' the Race shall shine,
Zeal for their Country's Good, and Thirst of virtuous Praise.

IV.

Now look, Britannia, look, and see
Thro' the clear Glass of History,
From whom thy mighty Sov'reign came,
And take a large Review of far-extended Fame.
See, Crouds of Heroes rise to Sight!
ADOLPHUS , with Imperial Spendor gay:
Brave PHILIBERT, unmatch'd in Fight,
Who led the German Eagle to his Prey;
Thro' Lombardy he mark'd his conquer'd Way,
And made proud Rome and Naples own his unresisted Might.

His gallant Nephew next appears,
And on his Brows the Wreaths of Conquest wears,
Tho' streaming Wounds the martial Figure stain;
For Thee, Great Charles, in Battle slain,
Slain in all a Soldier's Pride,
He fell triumphant by thy side,
And falling fought, and fighting dy'd,
And lay, a manly Corpse, extended on the Plain.

V.

See next, Majestically Great,
The Founder of the Belgick State!
The Sun of Glory, which so bright
Beam'd on all the Darling Line,
Did, from its golden Urn of Light,
On William's Head redoubled shine;
His Youthful Looks diffus'd an Awe.
Charles, who had try'd the Race before,
And knew great Merits to explore,
When He his rising Virtue saw,
He put in Friendship's Noble Claim;
To his Imperial Court the Heroe brought,
And there by early Honours sought
Alliance with his future Fame.
O generous Sympathy, that binds
In Chains unseen the bravest Minds!
O Love to worthy Deeds, in all great Souls the same!

VI.

But Time at last brought forth th'amazing Day,
When Charles, resolv'd to disengage
From Empire's Toils his weary Age,
Gave with each Hand a Crown away.
Phillip, his haughty Son, afraid
Of William's Virtues, basely chose
His Father's Favourite to depose;
His Tyrant Reign requir'd far other Aid;
And Alva's fiery Duke, his Scourge of Vengeance, rose;
With Flames of Inquisition rose from Hell,
Of Slaughter proud, and insolent in Blood.
What Hand can paint the Scenes of tragick Woes?
What Tongue, sad Belgia! can thy Story tell,
When with her lifted Ax proud Murder stood,
And thy brave Sons, in Crouds unnumber'd fell?
The Sun, with Horror of the Sight,
Withdraws his sickly Beams, and shrouds
His muffled Face in sullen Clouds,
And, on the Scaffolds, faintly sheds a pale malignant Light.

VII.

Thus Belgia's Liberty expiring lay,
And almost gasp'd her gen'rous Life away,
Till ORANGE hears her moving Cries;
He hears, and, marching from afar,
Brings to her Aid the sprightly War.

At his Approach, reviv'd with fresh Supplies
Of gather'd Strength, she on her Murd'rers flies.
But Heav'n, at first, resolv'd to try
By Proofs adverse his Constancy.
Four Armies lost, two Gallant Brothers slain,
Will he the desperate War maintain?
Tho' rolling Tempests darken all the Sky,
And thunder breaks around his Head,
Will he again the faithless Sea explore,
And, oft driv'n back, still quit the Shore?
He will—his Soul, averse to Dread,
Unweary'd, still the Spite of Fortune braves,
Superior, and Serene amidst the Stormy Waves.

VIII.

Such was the Man, so vast his Mind!
The steady Instrument of Fate,
To fix the Basis of a rising State!
My Muse with Horror views the Scene behind,
And fain wou'd draw a Shade, and fain
Wou'd hide his destin'd End, nor tell
How He—the dreaded Foe of Spain,
More fear'd than Thousands on the Plain,
By the vile Hand of a bold Ruffian fell.

No more—th'ungrateful Prospect let us leave!
And, in his room, behold arise,
Bright as th'immortal Twins that grace the Skies,
A Noble Pair, his Absence to retrieve!
In these the Heroe's Soul survives,
And WILLIAM doubly in his Offspring lives.

IX.

MAURICE, for Martial Greatness, far
His Father's Glorious Fame exceeds;
HENRY alone can match his Brother's Deeds;
Both were, like Scipio's Sons, the Thunderbolts of War.
None e'er, than Maurice, better knew,
Camps, Sieges, Battles to ordain;
None e'er, than Henry, fiercer did pursue
The flying Foe, or earlier Conquests gain.
For scarce Sixteen revolving Years he told,
When eager for the Fight, and bold,
Inflam'd by Glory's sprightly Charms,
His Brother brought him to the Field;
Taught his young Hand, the Truncheon well to wield,
And practis'd him betimes to Arms.

X.

Let Flandrian NEWPORT tell of Wonders wrought
Before her Walls, that memorable Day,

When the Victorious Youths in Concert fought
And matchless Valour did display!
How, ere the Battle join'd, they strove
With emulous Honour, and with mutual Love;
How Maurice, touch'd with tender Care
Of Henry's Safety, begg'd him to remove;
Henry refus'd, his blooming Youth to spare,
But with his much-lov'd Maurice vow'd to prove
Th'Extremes of War, and equal Dangers share.
O generous Strife! and worthy such a Pair!
How dear did Albert this Contention pay!
Witness the Floods of streaming Gore;
Witness the trampled Heaps, that choak'd the Plain,
And stop'd the Victors in their way;
Witness the neighb'ring Sea, and sandy Shore,
Drunk with the purple Life of twice three thousand slain!

XI.

Fortune, that on her Wheel capricious stands,
And waves her painted Wings, Inconstant, Proud,
Hood-wink'd, and shaking from her Hands
Promiscuous Gifts among the Croud,
Restless of Place, and still prepar'd for Flight,
Was Constant here, and seem'd restor'd to Sight;
Won by their Merit, and resolv'd to bless
The happy Brothers with a long Success—

Maurice, the first resign'd to Fate:
The Youngest had a longer Date,
And liv'd the Space appointed to complete
The great Republick, rais'd so high before;
Finish'd by him, the stately Fabrick bore
Its lofty Top aspiring to the Sky:
In vain the Winds and Rains around it beat;
In vain below, the Waves tempestuous roar,
They dash themselves, and break, and backward fly,
Dispers'd and murm'ring at its Feet.
Insulting Spain the fruitless Strife gives o'er,
And claims Dominion there no more.
Then Henry, ripe for Immortality,
His Flight to Heav'n eternal springs,
And, o'er his quiet Grave, Peace spreads her downy Wings.

XII.

His Son, a second WILLIAM, fills his Place,
And climbs to Manhood with so swift a Pace,
As if he knew, he had not long to stay:
Such young Marcellus was, the hopeful Grace
Of ancient Rome, but quickly snatch'd away.
BREDA beheld th'advent'rous Boy,
His tender Limbs in shining Armour dress'd.
Where, with his Father, the hot Siege he press'd.
His Father saw, with pleasing Joy,
His own reflected Worth, and youthful Charms express'd.

But, when his Country breath'd from War's Alarms,
His martial Virtues lay obscure;
Nor cou'd a Warrior, form'd for Arms,
Th'inglorious Rest endure;
But sicken'd soon, and sudden dy'd,
And left in Tears his pregnant Bride,
His Bride, the Daughter of Britannia's King;
Nor saw th'auspicious Pledge of Nuptial Love,
Which from that happy Marriage was to spring,
But with his Great Fore-fathers gain'd a blissful Seat above.

XIII.

Here pause, my Muse! and wind up higher
The Strings of thy Pindarick Lyre!
Then with bold Strains the lofty Song pursue;
And bid Britannia once again review
The numerous Worthies of the Line.
See, like Immortals, how they shine!
Each Life a History alone!
And last, to crown the great Design,
Look forward, and behold 'em all in One!
Look, but spare thy fruitless Tears—
'Tis thy own WILLIAM next appears.
Advance Celestial Form! Let Britain see
Th'accomplish'd Glory of thy Race in Thee!

XIV.

So, when some splendid Triumph was to come,
In long Procession thro' the Streets of Rome,
The Croud beheld, with vast Surprize,
The glittering Train in awful Order move,
To the bright Temple of Feretrian Jove;
And Trophies borne along, employ'd their dazzled Eyes:
But when the laurel'd Emperor, mounted high
Above the rest, appear'd to Sight,
In his proud Car of Victory,
Shining with Rays excessive bright,
He put the long preceding Pomp to Flight:
Their Wonder could no higher rise,
With Joy they throng his Chariot Wheels, and rend with Shouts the Skies.

XV.

To Thee, Great Prince! to thy extensive Mind,
Not by thy Country's narrow Bounds confin'd,
The Fates an ample Scene afford;
And injur'd Nations claim the Succour of thy Sword.
No Respite to thy Toils is giv'n,
'Till thou ascend thy native Heav'n:
One Hydra-Head cut off, still more abound,
And Twins sprout up to fill the Wound.
So endless is the Task that Heroes find
To tame the Monster Vice, and to reform Mankind.

For this, Alcides heretofore,
And mighty Theseus, travell'd o'er
Vast Tracts of Sea and Land, and slew
Wild Beasts and Serpents gorg'd with Human Prey;
From stony Dens fierce lurking Robbers drew,
And bid the chearful Traveller pass on his peaceful Way.
Yet, tho' the toilsom Work they long pursue,
To rid the World's wild pathless Field,
Still pois'nous Weeds, and Thorns in Clusters grew,
And large unwholsom Crops did yield,
To exercise their Hands with Labours ever-new.

XVI.

Thou, like Alcides, early didst begin,
And, e'en a Child didst Laurels win.
Two snaky Plagues around His Cradle twin'd,
Sent by the jealous Wife of Jove,
In speckled Wreaths of Death they strove,
The mighty Babe to bind:
And twisted Faction, in thy Infancy,
Darted her forky Tongue at Thee.
But, as Jove's Offspring slew his hissing Foes;
So thou, descended from a Line
Of Patriots no less Divine,
Didst quench the brutal Rage of those,
Who durst thy dawning Worth oppose.

The Viper Spight, crush'd by thy Virtue, shed
Its yellow Juice, and at thy Feet lay dead.
Thus, like the Sun, did thy great Genius rise,
With Clouds around his sacred Head,
Yet soon dispell'd the dropping Mists, and gilded all the Skies.

XVII.

Great JULIUS, who with gen'rous Envy view'd
The Statue of brave Philip's braver Son,
And wept to think, what such a Youth subdu'd,
While, more in Age, himself had yet so little done,
Had wept much more, if he had liv'd to see
The glorious Deeds atchiev'd by Thee;
To see thee, at a beardless Age,
Stand arm'd against th'Invader's Rage,
And bravely fighting for thy Country's Liberty;
While He inglorious Laurels sought,
And not to save his Country fought;
While He—O Stain upon the Greatest Name,
That e'er before was known to Fame!
When Rome, his awful Mother, did demand
The Sword from his unruly Hand,
The Sword she gave before,
Enrag'd, he spurn'd at her Command,
Hurl'd at her Breast the impious Steel, and bath'd it in her Gore.

XVIII.

Far other Battles thou hast won,
Thy Standard still the Publick Good;
Lavish of thine, to save thy People's Blood:
And when the hardy Task of War was done,
With what a mild well-temper'd Mind,
(A Mind unknown to Rome's ambitious Son,)
Thy pow'rful Armies were resign'd;
This Vict'ry o'er thyself was more,
Than all thy Conquests gain'd before:
'Twas more than Philip's Son cou'd do,
When for new Worlds the Madman cry'd;
Nor in his own wild Breast had spy'd
Tow'rs of Ambition, Hills of boundless Pride,
Too great for Armies to subdue.

XIX.

O savage Lust of Arbitrary Sway!
Insatiate Fury, which in Man we find,
In barbarous Man, to prey upon his Kind,
And make the World, enslav'd, his vicious Will obey!
How has this Fiend AMBITION long defac'd
Heav'n's Works, and laid the fair Creation waste!
Ask silver Rhine, with springing Rushes crown'd,
As to the Sea his Waters flow,
Where are the numerous Cities now,

That once he saw, his honour'd Banks around?
Scarce are their silent Ruins found;
But, in th'ensuing Age,
Trampled into common Ground,
Will hide the horrid Monuments of Gaul's destroying Rage.
All Europe too had shar'd this wretched Fate,
And mourn'd her heavy Woes too late,
Had not Britannia's Chief withstood
The threaten'd Deluge, and repell'd,
To its forsaken Banks, th'unwilling Flood,
And in his Hand the Scales of balanc'd Kingdoms held.
Well was this mighty Trust repos'd in Thee,
Whose faithful Soul, from private Int'rests free,
(Int'rests, which vulgar Princes know,)
O'er all its Passions sat exalted high,
As Ten'riff's Top enjoys a purer Sky,
And sees the moving Clouds at distance fly below.

XX.

Whoe'er thy warlike Annals reads,
Beholds reviv'd our valiant EDWARD's Deeds.
Great Edward and his Glorious Son
Will own themselves in Thee outdone,
Tho' Crecy's desperate Fight, eternal Honours won.
Tho' the Fifth HENRY too does claim
A shining Place among Britannia's Kings,

And Agincourt has rais'd his Lofty Name;
Yet the loud Voice of Ever-living Fame,
Of Thee more numerous Triumphs sings.
But tho' no Chief contends with Thee,
In all the long Records of History,
Thy own great Deeds together strive,
Which shall the fairest Light derive,
On thy Immortal Memory;
Whether SENEFF's amazing Field,
To celebrated MONS shall yield;
Or both give place to more amazing BOYNE;
Or if NAMURE's well-cover'd Siege, must all the rest outshine!

XXI.

While in Hibernia's Fields, the labouring Swain
Shall pass the Plough o'er Skulls of Warriors slain,
And turn up Bones, and broken Spears,
Amaz'd, he'll shew his Fellows of the Plain,
The Relicks of victorious Years;
And tell, how swift thy Arms that Kingdom did regain.
Flandria, a longer Witness to thy Glory,
With Wonder too repeats thy Story;
How oft the Foes thy lifted Sword have seen
In the hot Battle, when it bled
At all its open Veins, and oft have fled,
As if their evil Genius thou hadst been:

How, when the blooming Spring began t'appear,
And with new Life restor'd the Year,
Confederate Princes us'd to cry;
‘Call Britain's King—the sprightly Trumpet sound,
‘And spread the joyful Summons round!
‘Call Britain's King, and Victory!
So when the Flow'r of Greece, to Battle led
In Beauty's Cause, just Vengeance swore,
Upon the foul Adult'rer's Head,
That from her Royal Lord the ravish'd Helen bore,
The Grecian Chiefs, of mighty Fame,
Impatient for the Son of Thetis wait;
At last the Son of Thetis came;
Troy shook her nodding Tow'rs, and mourn'd th'impending Fate.

XXII.

O sacred Peace! Goddess serene!
Adorn'd with Robes of spotless White,
Fairer than silver Floods of Light!
How short has thy mild Empire been!
When pregnant Time brought forth this new-born Age,
At first we saw thee gently smile
On the young Birth, and thy sweet Voice awhile
Sung a soft Charm to martial Rage:
But soon the Lion wak'd again,
And stretch'd his opening Claws, and shook his grisly Main.

Soon was the Year of Triumphs past;
And JANUS, ushering in a New,
With backward Look did pompous Scenes review;
But his Fore-Face with Frowns was overcast;
He saw the gath'ring Storms of War,
And bid his Priests aloud, his Iron Gates unbar.

XXIII.

But Heav'n its Heroe can no longer spare,
To mix in our tumultuous Broils below;
Yet suffer'd his foreseeing Care,
Those Bolts of Vengeance to prepare,
Which other Hands shall throw;
That Glory to a mighty Queen remains,
To triumph o'er th'extinguish'd Foe;
She shall supply the Thunderer's Place;
As Pallas, from th'Ætherial Plains,
Warr'd on the Giants impious Race,
And laid their huge demolish'd Works, in smoky Ruins low.
Then ANNE's shall rival Great ELIZA's Reign;
And WILLIAM's Genius, with a grateful Smile,
Look down, and bless this happy Isle;
And Peace restor'd, shall wear her Olive Crown again.

Adolphus the Emperor, of the House of Nassau.

Renè of Nassau.

Charles V.

He was then in Germany.

The Counts Lodowick and Henry.

Sævis tranquillus in undis, the Prince's Motto.

Maurice and Henry.

Edward III, and the Black Prince.

Vicem gerit illa Tonantis. The Motto on her Majesty's Coronation Medals.

An ODE On the Death of a Friend.

I.

Apollo , God of Sounds and Verse,
Pathetick Airs and moving Thoughts inspire!
Whilst we thy Damon's Praise rehearse:
Damon himself cou'd animate the Lyre.
APOLLO, God of Sounds and Verse,
Pathetick Airs and moving Thoughts inspire!
Look down! and warm the Song with thy celestial Fire.

II.

Ah lovely Youth! when thou wert here,
Thyself a young Apollo did appear;
Young as that God, so sweet a Grace,
Such blooming Fragrance in thy Face;
So soft thy Air, thy Visage so serene,
That Harmony e'en in thy Look was seen.

III.

But when thou didst th'obedient Strings command,
And join in Consort thy melodious Hand,
E'en Fate it self, such wondrous Strains to hear,
Fate had been charm'd, had Fate an Ear.

But what does Musick's Skill avail?
When Orpheus did his Loss deplore,
Trees bow'd attentive to his Tale;
Hush'd were the Winds, wild Beasts forgot to roar;
But dear Eurydice came back no more.

IV.

Then cease, ye Sons of Harmony, to mourn;
Since Damon never can return.
See, see! he mounts, and cleaves the liquid Way!
Bright Choirs of Angels, on the Wing,
For the New Guest's Arrival stay,
And Hymns of Triumph sing.
They bear him to the happy Seats above,
Seats of eternal Harmony and Love;
Where artful Purcel went before.
Cease then, ye Sons of Musick, cease to mourn;
Your Damon never will return,
No, never, never more!

ANACREON, ODE THE THIRD.

At Dead of Night, when Mortals lose
Their various Cares in soft Repose,
I heard a Knocking at my Door:
Who's that, said I, at this late Hour
Disturbs my Rest?—It sobb'd and cry'd,
And thus in mournful Tone reply'd.
‘A poor unhappy Child am I,
‘That's come to beg your Charity;
‘Pray let me in!—You need not fear;
‘I mean no harm, I vow and swear;
‘But, wet and cold, crave Shelter here;
‘Betray'd by Night and led astray,
‘I've lost—alas! I've lost my Way.

Mov'd with this little Tale of Fate,
I took a Lamp and op'd the Gate;
When see! a naked Boy, before
The Threshold; at his Back he wore
A Pair of Wings, and by his Side
A crooked Bow and Quiver ty'd.

‘My pretty Angel! come, said I,
‘Come to the Fire, and do not cry!
I strok'd his Neck and Shoulders bare,
And squeez'd the Water from his Hair;
Then chaf'd his little Hands in mine,
And chear'd him with a Draught of Wine.
Recover'd thus, says he; ‘I'd know,
‘Whether the Rain has spoil'd my Bow;
‘Let's try—then shot me with a Dart.
The Venom throbb'd, did ake and smart,
As if a Bee had stung my Heart.
‘Are these your Thanks, ungrateful Child,
‘Are these your Thanks?—Th'Impostor smil'd:
‘Farewel, my loving Host, says he;
‘All's well; my Bow's unhurt, I see;
‘But what a Wretch I've made of Thee!

The STORY of Pyramus and Thisbe

[_]

From the Fourth Book of Ovid's Metamorphoses.

Where Babylon's proud Walls, erected high
By fam'd Semiramis, ascend the Sky,
Dwelt youthful Pyramus, and Thisbe fair;
Adjoining Houses held the lovely Pair.
His perfect Form all other Youths surpass'd;
Charms such as hers no Eastern Beauty grac'd.
Near Neighbourhood the first Acquaintance drew,
An early Promise of the Love t'ensue.
Time nurs'd the growing Flame; had Fate been kind,
The Nuptial Rites their faithful Hands had join'd;
But with vain Threats, forbidding Parents strove
To check the Joy; they cou'd not check the Love.
Each captive Heart consumes in like Desire;
The more conceal'd, the fiercer rag'd the Fire.
Soft Looks, the silent Eloquence of Eyes,
And secret Signs, secure from Houshold Spies,
Exchange their Thoughts; the common Wall, between
Each parted House, retain'd a Chink, unseen

For Ages past. The Lovers soon espy'd
This small Defect, for Love is Eagle-ey'd,
And in soft Whispers soon the Passage try'd.
Safe went the murmur'd Sounds, and every Day
A thousand amorous Blandishments convey;
And often, as they stood on either side,
To catch by turns the flitting Voice, they cry'd,
Why, envious Wall, ah! why dost thou destroy
The Lovers Hopes, and why forbid the Joy?
How shou'd we bless thee, wou'dst thou yield to Charms,
And, opening, let us rush into each others Arms;
At least, if that's too much, afford a space
To meeting Lips, nor shall we slight the Grace;
We owe to thee this Freedom to complain,
And breathe our Vows, but Vows, alas! in vain.
Thus having said, when Evening call'd to Rest,
The faithful Pair on either side imprest
An intercepted Kiss, then bade Good-night;
But when th'ensuing Dawn had put to flight
The Stars; and Phœbus, rising from his Bed,
Drank up the Dews, and dry'd the flow'ry Mead,
Again they meet, in Sighs again disclose
Their Grief, and last this bold Design propose;
That in the Dead of Night, both wou'd deceive
Their Keepers, and the House and City leave;

And lest, escap'd, without the Walls they stray
In pathless Fields, and wander from the Way,
At Ninus' Tomb their meeting they agree,
Beneath the shady Covert of a Tree;
The Tree well-known near a cool Fountain grew,
And bore fair Mulberries of snowy Hue.
The Project pleas'd; the Sun's unwelcome Light,
(That slowly seem'd to move, and slack his Flight)
Sunk in the Seas; from the same Seas arose the sable Night;
When, stealing thro' the Dark, the crafty Fair
Unlock'd the Door, and gain'd the open Air;
Love gave her Courage; unperceiv'd she went,
Wrapp'd in a Veil, and reach'd the Monument.
Then sat beneath th'appointed Tree alone;
But, by the glimmering of the shining Moon,
She sat not long, before from far she spy'd
A Lioness approach the Fountain-side;
Fierce was her Glare, her foamy Paws in Blood
Of slaughter'd Bulls besmear'd, and foul with Food;
For reeking from the Prey, the Savage came,
To drown her Thirst within the Neighb'ring Stream.
Affrighted Thisbe, trembling at the sight,
Fled to a darksom Den; but in her Flight
Her Veil dropp'd off behind. Deep of the Flood
The Monster drank, and, satiate, to the Wood

Returning, found the Garment as it lay,
And, torn with bloody Teeth, dispers'd it in her Way.
Belated Pyramus arriv'd, and found
The Mark of savage Feet along the sandy Ground:
All pale he turn'd, but soon as he beheld
The crimson'd Vesture scatter'd o'er the Field,
One Night, he cry'd, two Lovers shall destroy!
She worthy to have liv'd long Years of Joy,
But mine's the forseit Life; unhappy Maid!
'Twas I that slew thee, I th'Appointment made;
To Places full of Death, thy Innocence betray'd,
And came not first my self—O hither haste,
Ye Lions all, that roam this rocky Waste!
Tear my devoted Entrails, gnaw, divide,
And gorge your Famine in my open'd Side!
But Cowards call for Death!—Thus having spoke,
The fatal Garment from the Ground he took,
And bore it to the Tree; ardent he kiss'd,
And bath'd in flowing Tears the well-known Vest.
Now take a second Stain, the Lover said,
While from his Side he snatch'd his sharpen'd Blade,
And drove it in his Groin; then from the Wound
Withdrew the Steel, and stagg'ring fell to Ground:
As when, a Conduit broke, the Streams shoot high,
Starting in sudden Fountains thro' the Sky,

So spouts the living Stream, and sprinkled o'er
The Trees fair Berries with a Crimson Gore,
While, sapp'd in purple Floods, the conscious Root
Transmits the Stain of Murder to the Fruit.

The Fair, who fear'd to disappoint her Love,
Yet trembling with the Fright, forsook the Grove,
And sought the Youth, impatient to relate
Her new Adventure, and th'avoided Fate.
She saw the vary'd Tree had lost its White,
And doubting stood if that could be the right,
Nor doubted long; for now her Eyes beheld
A dying Person spurn the sanguine Field.
Aghast she started back, and shook with Pain,
As rising Breezes curl the trembling Main.
She gaz'd awhile intranc'd, but when she found
It was her Lover welt'ring on the Ground,
She beat her lovely Breast, and tore her Hair,
Clasp'd the dear Corpse, and frantick in Despair,
Kiss'd his cold Face, supply'd a briny Flood
To the wide Wound, and mingled Tears with Blood.
Say, Pyramus, Oh say, what Chance severe
Has snatch'd thee from my Arms?—
'Tis thy own Thisbe calls, look up and hear!
At Thisbe's Name he lifts his dying Eyes,
And, having seen her, clos'd 'em up, and dies.

But when she knew the bloody Veil, and spy'd
The Iv'ry Scabbard empty by his side,
Ah! wretched Youth, said she, by Love betray'd!
Thy hapless Hand guided the fatal Blade.
Weak as I am, I boast as strong a Love;
For such a Deed, this Hand as bold shall prove.
I'll follow thee to Death; the World shall call
Thisbe the Cause, and Partner of thy Fall;
And e'en in Death, which cou'd alone disjoin
Our Persons, yet in Death thou shalt be mine.
But hear, in both our Names, this dying Pray'r,
Ye wretched Parents of a wretched Pair!
Let in One Urn our Ashes be confin'd,
Whom mutual Love, and the same Fate have join'd.
And thou, fair Tree, beneath whose friendly Shade,
One lifeless Lover is already laid,
And soon shalt cover Two; for ever wear
Death's sable Hue, and purple Berries bear!
She said, and plunges in her Breast the Sword,
Yet warm, and reeking from its slaughter'd Lord.
Relenting Heav'n allows her last Request,
And Pity touch'd their mournful Parents Breast.
The Fruit, when ripe, a purple Dye retains;
And in One Urn are plac'd their dear Remains.

THE Triumph of Love.

[_]

In Imitation of OVID, Amorum Lib. I. Eleg. 2.

Tell me, some God, whence does this Change arise;
Why gentle Sleep forsakes my weary Eyes?
Why, turning often, all the tedious Night
In Pain I lie, and watch the springing Light?—
What cruel Dæmon haunts my tortur'd Mind?
Sure, if 'twere Love, I shou'd th'Invader find;
Unless disguis'd he lurks, the crafty Boy,
With silent Arts Ingenious to destroy.
Alas! 'tis so—'tis fix'd the secret Dart;
I feel the Tyrant ravaging my Heart.
Then, shall I yield; or th'Infant Flame oppose?
I yield!—Resistance wou'd increase my Woes:
For struggling Slaves a sharper Doom sustain,
Than such as stoop Obedient to the Chain.
I own thy Pow'r, Almighty Love! I'm thine;
With pinion'd Hands behold me here resign!
Let this Submission then my Life obtain;
Small Praise 'twill be, if thus unarm'd I'm slain.

Go, join thy Mother's Doves; with Myrtle braid thy Hair;
The God of War Himself a Chariot shall prepare;
Then Thou Triumphant thro' the Shouting Throng
Shalt ride, and move with Art the willing Birds along;
While Captive Youths and Maids, in solemn State
Adorn the Scene, and on thy Triumph wait.
There I, a later Conquest of thy Bow,
In Chains will follow too; and as I go,
To pitying Eyes the new-made Wound will show.
Next, all that dare Love's Sov'reign Pow'r defy,
In Fetters bound inglorious shall pass by:
All shall submit to thee—Th'applauding Crowd
Shall lift their Hands, and sing thy Praise aloud.
Soft Looks shall in thy Equipage appear,
With am'rous Play, Mistake, and jealous Fear.
Be this thy Guard, Great Love!—be this thy Train;
Since these extend o'er Men and Gods thy Reign;
But robb'd of these, thy Pow'r is weak and vain.
From Heav'n thy Mother shall the Pomp survey,
And smiling, scatter fragrant Show'rs of Roses in thy way;
Whilst Thou, array'd in thy unrivall'd Pride,
On Golden Wheels, all Gold thy Self, shalt ride:
Thy spreading Wings shall richest Di'monds wear,
And Gems shall sparkle in thy lovely Hair.

Thus passing by, thy Arm shall hurl around
Ten Thousand Fires, Ten Thousand Hearts shall wound.
This is thy Practice, Love, and this thy Gain;
From this thou canst not, if thou wou'dst, refrain;
Since e'en thy Presence, with prolifick Heat,
Does reach the Heart, and active Flames create.
From Conquer'd India, so the Jovial God,
Drawn o'er the Plains by harness'd Tigers, rode.
Then since, Great Love, I take a willing Place
Amidst thy Spoils, the Sacred Show to grace;
O cease to wound, and let thy fatal Store
Of piercing Shafts be spent on me no more.
No more, too pow'rful in my Charmer's Eyes,
Torment a Slave, that for her Beauty dies;
Or look in Smiles from thence, and I shall be
A Slave no longer, but a God, like Thee!

BACCHUS.

THE PICTURE.

Come, my Muse, a Venus draw;
Not the same the Grecians saw,
By the fam'd Apelles wrought,
Beauteous Offspring of his Thought.
No fantastick Goddess mine,
Fiction far She does outshine.

Queen of Fancy! hither bring
On thy gaudy-feather'd Wing
All the Beauties of the Spring.
Like the Bee's industrious Pains
To collect his Golden Gains,
So from ev'ry Flow'r and Plant
Gather first th'immortal Paint.
Fetch me Lilies, fetch me Roses,
Daisies, Vi'lets, Cowslip-Posies,

Amaranthus' Parrot Pride,
Woodbines, Pinks, and what beside
Does th'embroider'd Meads adorn,
Where the Fawns and Satyrs play
In the merry Month of May.
Steal the Blush of op'ning Morn;

Borrow Cynthia's Silver White,
When She shines at Noon of Night,
Free from Clouds to veil her Light.
Juno's Bird his Tail shall spread,
Iris' Bow its Colours shed,
All to deck this Charming Piece,
Far surpassing Antient Greece.

First her Graceful Stature show,
Not too Tall, not yet too Low.
Fat She must not be, nor Lean;
Let her Shape be Straight and Clean;
Small her Waste, and, thence increast,
Gently swells her rising Breast.

Next, in comely Order trace
All the Glories of her Face.
Paint her Neck of Ivory,
Smiling Cheeks, and Forehead high,
Ruby Lips, and sparkling Eyes,
Whence resistless Lightning flies.

Foolish Muse! what hast thou done?
Scarce th'Outlines are yet begun,
Ere thy Pencil's thrown aside!
'Tis no matter, Love reply'd;
(Love's unluckly God stood by)
At one Stroke behold how I
Will th'unfinish'd Draught supply.

Smiling then He took his Dart,
And drew her Picture in my Heart.

BARN-ELMS.

Let Phœbus his late Happiness rehearse,
And grace Barn-Elms with never-dying Verse!
Smooth was the Thames, his Waters sleeping lay,
Unwak'd by Winds that o'er the Surface play;
When th'early God arising from the East,
Disclos'd the Golden Dawn, with Blushes drest.
First in the Stream his own bright Form he sees,
But brighter Forms shine thro' the neighb'ring Trees.
He speeds the rising Day, and sheds his Light
Redoubled on the Grove, to gain a nearer Sight.
Not with more Speed his Daphne he pursu'd,
Nor fair Leucothoe with such Pleasure view'd;
Five dazzling Nymphs in graceful Pomp appear;
He thinks his Daphne and Leucothoe here,
Join'd with that Heav'nly Three, who on Mount Ide
Descending once the Prize of Beauty try'd.

Ye Verdant Elms, that tow'ring grace this Grove,
Be Sacred still to Beauty, and to Love!

No Thunder break, nor Lightning glare between
Your twisted Boughs, but Such as then was seen.
The Grateful Sun will ev'ry Morning rise
Propitious here, saluting from the Skies
Your lofty Tops, indulg'd with sweetest Air,
And ev'ry Spring your Losses he'll repair;
Nor his own Laurels more shall be his Care.

On the Friendship of Phoebe and Asteria; And the Sickness of the Former.

An Altar raise to Friendship's holy Flame,
Inscrib'd with Phœbe's and Asteria's Name!
Around it, mingled in a solemn Band,
Let Phœbe's Lovers, and Asteria's stand,
With fervent Vows t'attend the Sacrifice;
While rich Perfumes from melted Gums arise,
To bribe for Phœbe's Health the partial Skies.

Forbid it, Love, that sickly Blasts consume
The Flow'r of Beauty in its tender Bloom!

Shall She so soon to her own Heav'n retire,
Who gave so oft, yet never felt thy Fire?
Who late at splendid Feasts so Graceful shone,
By pleasing Smiles and numerous Conquests known;
Where 'midst the brightest Nymphs, She bore the Prize
From all—from all but her Asteria's Eyes.
Behold the Maid, who then Secure repell'd
The Shafts of Love, by fainting Sickness quell'd!
(As Beauty's Goddess once a Wound sustain'd,
Not from her Son, but from a Mortal's Hand)
Asteria too forgets her sprightly Charms,
And drooping lies within her Phœbe's Arms.

Thus in Romantick Histories we read
Of Tournaments by some great Prince decreed,
Where Two Companion-Knights their Lances wield
With matchless Force, and win, from All, the Field;
'Till One, o'erheated in the Course, retires,
And feels within his Veins a Fever's Fires;
His grieving Friend his Laurels throws away,
And mourns the dear-bought Triumphs of the Day.

So strict's the Union of this tender Pair,
What Heav'n decrees for One, they Both must share.
Like meeting Rivers, in One Stream they flow,
And no divided Joys or Sorrows know.
Not the bright Twins, prefer'd in Heav'n to shine,
Fair Leda's Sons, in such a League cou'd join.

One Soul, as Fables tell, by turns supply'd
That Heav'nly Pair, by turns they liv'd and dy'd.
But these have sworn a matchless Sympathy,
They'll live together, or together die.

When Heav'n did at Asteria's Birth bestow
Those Lavish Charms, with which She wounds us so,
To form her Glorious Mind, it did inspire
A Double Portion of th'Ætherial Fire,
That Half might afterward be thence convey'd,
To animate that other Lovely Maid.
Thus Native Instinct does their Hearts combine,
In Knots too close for Fortune to untwine.

So India boasts a Tree, that spreads around
Its am'rous Boughs, which bending reach the Ground,
Where taking Root again, the Branches raise
A Second Tree to meet its fond Embrace;
Then Side by Side the friendly Neighbours thrive,
Fed by one Sap, and in each other live.

Of Phœbe's Health we need not send to know
How Nature strives with her invading Foe,
What Symptoms good or ill each Day arise;
We read those Changes in Asteria's Eyes.
Thus in some Crystal Fountain you may spy
The Face of Heav'n, and the reflected Sky,
See what black Clouds arise, when Tempests low'r,
And gath'ring Mists portend a falling Show'r,

And when the Sun breaks out, with conqu'ring Ray
To chase the Darkness, and restore the Day.

Such be thy Fate, bright Maid! from this Decline
Arise renew'd in Charms, and doubly shine!
And as that dawning Planet was addrest
With Offer'd Incense by th'adoring East,
So We'll with Songs thy glad Recov'ry greet,
The Muse shall lay her Presents at thy Feet;
With open Arms, Asteria shall receive
The dearest Pledge propitious Heav'n can give.
Fann'd by these Winds, your Friendship's gen'rous Fire
Shall burn more bright, and to such Heights aspire,
The wond'ring World shall think you from Above
Come down to teach how Happy Angels love.

Diomedes.

Castor and Pollux.

SONG.

[Fame of Dorinda's Conquests brought]

I

Fame of Dorinda's Conquests brought
The God of Love her Charms to view;
To wound th'unwary Maid he thought,
But soon became her Conquest too.

II

He dropp'd half drawn his feeble Bow,
He look'd, he rav'd, and sighing pin'd;
And wish'd in vain he had been now,
As Painters falslly draw him blind.

III

Disarm'd, he to his Mother flies;
Help, Venus, help thy wretched Son!
Who now will pay Us Sacrifice?
For Love Himself's, alas! undone.

IV

To Cupid now no Lover's Pray'r
Shall be address'd in suppliant Sighs;
My Darts are gone, but oh beware,
Fond Mortals, of Dorinda's Eyes.

To Octavia Indispos'd.

A round your Couch while Sighing Lovers view
Wit, Beauty, Goodness suff'ring all in You;
So mournful is the Scene, 'tis hard to tell
Which Face betrays the Sick, or who is Well.
They feel not their own Pains, while Your's they share,
Worse tortur'd now, than lately by Despair.

For bleeding Veins a like Relief is found,
When Iron red-hot by burning stops the Wound.
Grant, Heav'n, they cry, this Moment our Desire,
To see Her Well, tho' We the next expire.

Beauty and Musick.

I

Ye Swains, whom Radiant Beauty moves,
Or Musick's Art with Sounds Divine,
Think how the Rapt'rous Charm improves,
Where Two such Gifts Celestial join;

II

Where Cupid's Bow, and Phœbus' Lyre,
In the same pow'rful Hand are found;
Where Lovely Eyes inflame Desire,
While trembling Notes are taught to wound.

III

Inquire not who's the matchless Fair,
That can this Double Death bestow:
If young HARMONIA's Strains you hear,
Or view her Eyes, too well you'll know.

Cupid's Review.

Cupid , survey thy Shining Train around
Of Fav'rite Nymphs, for Conquest most renown'd;
The Lovely Warriors that in bright Array
Thy Pow'r support, and propagate thy Sway.
Then say what Beauteous Gen'ral wilt thou choose,
To lead the Fair Brigade against thy Rebel Foes?

Behold the God advance in Comely Pride,
Arm'd with his Bow, his Quiver by his Side.
Inferior Cupids on their Master wait;
He smiles well-pleas'd, and waves his Wings in State.
His little Hands imperial Trophies bear,
And Laurel-Wreaths to grace th'elected Fair.

Hide-Park the Scene for the Review he nam'd,
Hide-Park for Pleasure and for Beauty fam'd.
Where, oft from Western Skies the God of Light
Sees new-arising Suns, than his more bright;
Then sets in Blushes, and conveys his Fire
To distant Lands, that more his Beams require.

And now the Charming Candidates appear.
Behold Britannia's Victor-Graces there,
Who vindicate their Country's ancient Claim
To Love's Preeminence, and Beauty's Fame.

Some, who, at ANNA's Court, in Honour rais'd,
Adorn Birth-Nights, by Crowding Nations prais'd;
Preserv'd in Kneller's Pictures ever young,
In Strains immortal by the Muses sung.

Around the Ring th'Illustrious Rivals move,
And teach to Love Himself the Pow'r of Love.
Scarce, tho' a God, he can with Safety gaze
On Glory so profuse, such mingled Rays;
For Love had Eyes on this important Day,
And Venus from his Forehead took the blinding Cloth away.

Here Mira pass'd, and fix'd his wond'ring View,
Her perfect Shape distinguish'd Praises drew;
Tall, Beauteous, and Majestick to the Sight,
She led the Train, and sparkled in the Light.

There Stella claims the Wreath, and pleads her Eyes,
By which each Day some new Adorer dies.

Serena, by Good-humour doubly Fair,
With Native Sweetness charms, and Smiling Air.
While Flora's youthful Years and Looks display
The Bloom of rip'ning Fruits, the Innocence of May,
The op'ning Sweets that Months of Pleasure bring,
The Dawn of Love, and Life's indulgent Spring.

'Twere endless to describe the various Darts,
With which the Fair are arm'd to conquer Hearts.
Whatever can the ravish'd Soul inspire
With tender Thoughts and animate Desire,

All Arts and Virtues mingled in the Train;
And long the Lovely Rivals strove in vain,
While Cupid unresolv'd still search'd around the Plain.
O! cou'd I find, said Love, the Phœnix She,
In whom at once these sev'ral Charms agree;
That Phœnix She the Laurel Crown shou'd have,
And Love Himself with Pride become her Slave.

He scarce had spoke, when see—HARMONIA came!
Chance brought Her there, and not Desire of Fame,
Unknowing of the Choice, till She beheld
The God approach to crown Her in the Field.
Th'unwilling Maid, with wondrous Modesty,
Disclaim'd her Right, and put the Laurel by:
Warm Blushes on her tender Cheeks arise,
And double Softness beautify'd her Eyes.

At this, more charm'd, the rather I bestow,
Said Love, these Honours You in vain forego;
Take then the Wreath, which You, Victorious Fair,
Have most deserv'd, yet least affect to wear.

To a Beautiful LADY playing on the ORGAN.

When fam'd Cæcilia on the Organ play'd,
And fill'd with moving Sounds the tuneful Frame,
Drawn by the Charm, to hear the Sacred Maid,
From Heav'n, 'tis said, a listning Angel came.

Thus Antient Legends wou'd our Faith abuse;
In vain—for were the bold Tradition true,
While your harmonious Touch that Charm renews,
Again the Seraph wou'd appear to You.

O Happy Fair! in whom with purest Light
Virtue's united Beams with Beauty's shine!
Shou'd Heav'nly Guests descend to bless our Sight,
What Form more Lovely cou'd they wear than thine?

SONNET.

[I die with too transporting Joy]

I die with too transporting Joy,
If She I love rewards my Fire;
If She's inexorably Coy,
With too much Passion I expire.

No Way the Fates afford to shun
The cruel Torment I endure;
Since I am doom'd to be undone
By the Disease, or by the Cure.

TO A PAINTER.

Painter, if thou canst safely gaze
On all the Wonders of that Face;
If thou hast Charms to guard a Heart
Secure by Secrets of thy Art;
O! teach the mighty Charm, that We
May gaze securely too, like thee.
Canst thou Love's brightest Light'ning draw,
Which none e'er yet unwounded saw?
To what then wilt thou next aspire,
Unless to imitate Jove's Fire?
Which is a less advent'rous Pride,
Tho' 'twas for That Salmoneus dy'd.
That beauteous, that victorious Fair,
Whose Chains so many Lovers wear;
Who with a Look can Arts infuse,
Create a Painter, or a Muse;
Whom Crouds with awful Rapture view;
She sits Serene, and smiles on You!
Your Genius thus inspir'd will soar
To wondrous Heights unknown before,
And to her Beauty you will own
Your future Skill and fix'd Renown.

So when of old great Ammon's Son,
Adorn'd with Spoils in Battle won,
In graceful Picture chose to stand,
The Work of fam'd Apelles' Hand;
‘Exert thy Fire, the Monarch said,
‘Now be thy boldest Strokes display'd,
‘To let admiring Nations see
‘Their dreaded Victor drawn by thee;
‘To Others thou mayst Life impart,
‘But I'll Immortalize thy Art!

TO THE Author of Fatal Friendship, A Tragedy.

As when Camilla once, a warlike Dame,
In bloody Battles won immortal Fame,
Forsook her Female Arts, and chose to bear
The pond'rous Shield, and heave the massy Spear,
Superior to her Sex; so swift she flew
Around the Field, and such vast Numbers slew,

That Friends and Foes, alike surpris'd, behold
The brave Virago desperately bold,
And thought Her Pallas in a human Mold.
Such is our Wonder, matchless Maid! to see
The Tragic Laurel thus deserv'd by Thee.

Still greater Praise is yours; Camilla shines
For ever bright in Virgil's sacred Lines,
You in your Own.—
Nor need You to another's Bounty owe,
For what yourself can on yourself bestow;
So Monarchs in full Health are wont to rear,
At their own Charge, their future Sepulcher.

Who Thy Perfections fully wou'd commend,
Must think how Others their vain Hours mispend,
In trifling Visits, Pride, Impertinence,
Dress, Dancing, and Discourse devoid of Sense;
To twirl a Fan, to please some foolish Beau,
And sing an empty Song, the most they know;
In Body weak, more impotent of Mind.
Thus some have represented Woman-kind.
But You, your Sex's Champion, are come forth
To fight their Quarrel, and assert their Worth;
Our Salick Law of Wit you have destroy'd,
Establish'd Female Claim, and triumph'd o'er our Pride
While we look on, and with repining Eyes
Behold you bearing off so rich a Prize,

Spite of Ill-nature, we are forc'd t'approve
Such dazzling Charms, and spite of Envy love.

Nor is this all th'Applause that is your Due,
You stand the first of Stage-Reformers too;
No vicious Strains pollute your moral Scene,
Chaste are your Thoughts, and your Expression clean;
Strains such as yours the strictest Test will bear,
Sing boldly then, nor busy Censure fear,
Your Virgin Voice offends no Virgin Ear.
Proceed, in Tragick Numbers to disclose
Strange Turns of Fate, and unexpected Woes.
Reward, and punish! awfully dispense
Heav'n's Judgments, and declare a Providence.
Nor let the Comic Muse your Labours share,
'Tis Meanness, after this, the Sock to wear:
Tho' That too merit Praise, 'tis nobler Toil
T'extort a Tear, than to provoke a Smile.
What Hand, that can design a History,
Wou'd copy Low-Land Boors at Snic-a-Snee?

Accept this Tribute, Madam, and excuse
The hasty Raptures of a Stranger Muse.

1698.

ON Divine Poetry.

In Nature's Golden Age, when new-born Day
Array'd the Skies, and Earth was green and gay;
When God, with Pleasure all his Works survey'd,
And Virgin Innocence before him play'd;
In that illustrious Morn, that lovely Spring,
The Muse, by Heav'n inspir'd, began to sing.
Descending Angels, in harmonious Lays,
Taught the first happy Pair their Maker's Praise.
Such was this Sacred Art—We now deplore
The Muse's Loss, since Eden is no more.
When Vice from Hell rear'd up its Hydra-Head,
Th'affrighted Maid, with chaste Astræa, fled,
And sought Protection in her native Sky;
In vain the Heathen Nine her Absence wou'd supply.

Yet to some Few, whose dazzling Virtues shone
In Ages past, her heav'nly Charms were known.
Hence learn'd the Bard, in lofty Strains to tell
How patient Virtue triumph'd over Hell;
And hence the Chief, who led the chosen Race
Thro' parting Seas, deriv'd his Songs of Praise:
She gave the rapturous Ode, whose ardent Lay
Sings Female Force, and vanquish'd Sisera;

She tun'd to pious Notes the Psalmist's Lyre,
And fill'd Isaiah's Breast with more than Pindar's Fire!

SONG. Written for the Late Duke of Gloucester's BIRTH-DAY.

I

While Venus in her Snowy Arms
The God of Battles held,
And sooth'd him with her tender Charms,
Victorious from the Field;
By chance She cast a Lovely Smile,
Propitious, down to Earth,
And view'd in Britain's Happy Isle
Great Gloucester's Glorious Birth.

II

Look, Mars, She said; look down, and see
A Child of Royal Race!
Let's crown the Bright Nativity
With ev'ry Princely Grace:

Thy Heav'nly Image let him bear,
And shine a Mars below;
Form You his Mind to warlike Care,
I'll softer Gifts bestow.

III

Thus at his Birth Two Deities
Their Blessings did impart;
And Love was breath'd into his Eyes,
And Glory form'd his Heart.
His Childhood makes of War a Game;
Betimes his Beauty charms
The Fair; who burn with equal Flame
For Him, as He for Arms.

1699.

ON A PEACOCK

Finely cut in Vellum by Molinda.

When Fancy did Molinda's Hand invite,
Without the help of Colour, Shade, or Light,
To form in Vellum, spotless as her Mind,
The fairest Image of the feather'd Kind,

Nature her self a strict Attendance paid,
Charm'd with th'Attainments of th'illustrious Maid,
Inspir'd her Thought, and, smiling, said, I'll see
How well this Fair One's Art can copy me.

So to her Fav'rite Titian once she came,
To guide his Pencil, and attest his Fame,
With Transport granting all that she cou'd give,
And bid his Works to wond'ring Ages live.

Not with less Transport here the Goddess sees
The curious Piece advance by slow Degrees;
At last such Skill in ev'ry Part was shown,
It seem'd a true Creation of her own;
She starts to view the finish'd Figure rise,
And spread his ample Train, enrich'd with Eyes;
To see, with lively Grace, his Form exprest,
The stately Honours of his rising Crest,
His comely Wings, and his soft silky Breast!
The Leaves of creeping Vines around him play,
And Nature's Leaves less perfect seem than they.

O matchless Bird! whose Race, with nicest Care,
Heav'n seems in Pleasure to have form'd so fair!
From whose gay Plumes e'en Phœbus with Delight,
Sees his own Rays reflected doubly bright!
Tho' num'rous Rivals of the Wing there be
That share our Praise, when not compar'd to Thee,

Soon as thy rising Glories strike our Eyes,
Their Beauty shines no more, their Lustre dies.
So when Molinda, with superior Charms,
Dazzles the Ring, and other Nymphs disarms,
To Her the rallying Loves and Graces fly,
And, fixing there, proclaim the Victory.

No wonder then, since she was born t'excell,
This Bird's fair Image she describes so well:
Happy, as in some Temple thus to stand,
Immortaliz'd by her successful Hand!

ON Lucinda's Tea-Table.

Poets invoke, when they rehearse
In happy Strains their pleasing Dreams,
Some Muse unseen to crown their Verse,
And boast of Heliconian Streams:

But here, a real Muse inspires
(Who more reviving Streams imparts)
Our Fancies with the Poets Fires,
And with a nobler Flame our Hearts.

While from her Hand each honour'd Guest
Receives his Cup with Liquor crown'd,
He thinks 'tis Jove's immortal Feast,
And Venus deals the Nectar round.

As o'er each Fountain, Poets sing,
Some lovely Guardian-Nymph has Sway,
Who from the consecrated Spring,
Wild Beasts and Satyrs drives away:

So hither dares no Savage press,
Who Beauty's Sov'reign Pow'r defies;
All, drinking here, her Charms confess,
Proud to be conquer'd by her Eyes.

When Phœbus try'd his Herbs in vain
On Hyacinth, had She been there,
With Tea She wou'd have cur'd the Swain,
Who only then had dy'd for Her.

January 1, 1701.

The MARCH.

Victoria comes! She leaves the forag'd Groves!
Her flying Camp of Graces and of Loves
Strike all their Tents, and for the March prepare,
And to new Scenes of Triumph wait the Fair.

Unlike the Slaves which other Warriors gain,
That loath Subjection, and wou'd break their Chain,
Her rural Slaves their absent Victor mourn,
And wish not Liberty, but her Return.
The conquer'd Countries droop, while she's away,
And slowly to the Spring their Contribution pay,
While cooing Turtles, doubly now alone,
With their lost Loves another Loss bemoan.

Mean time in peopled Cities Crouds press on,
And jealous seem who shall be first undone.
Vict'ries, like Fame, before th'Invader fly,
And Lovers yet unseeing haste to die.
While She, with careless unelated Mind,
Hears daily Conquests which She ne'er design'd:
In Her a soft, yet cruel Heart is found,
Averse to cure, and vainly griev'd to wound.

Written in a Lady's Prayer-Book.

So fair a Form, with such Devotion join'd!
A Virgin Body, and a spotless Mind!
Pleas'd with her Pray'rs, while Heav'n propitious sees
The lovely Vot'ress on her bended Knees,
Sure it must think some Angel lost its Way,
And happ'ning on our wretched Earth to stray;
Tir'd with our Follies, fain wou'd take its Flight,
And begs to be restor'd to those blest Realms of Light.

ODE on the SPRING.

For the Month of May.

I

Wanton Zephyr, come away!
On this sweet, this silent Grove,
Sacred to the Muse and Love,
In gentle whisper'd Murmurs play!
Come let thy soft, thy balmy Breeze
Diffuse the Vernal Sweets around
From sprouting Flow'rs, and blossom'd Trees;
While Hills and echoing Vales resound

100

With Notes, which wing'd Musicians sing
In Honour to the Bloom of Spring.

II

Lovely Season of Desire!
Nature smiles with Joy to see
The Amorous Months led on by thee,
That kindly wake her genial Fire.
The brightest Object in the Skies,
The fairest Lights that shine below,
The Sun, and Mira's Charming Eyes,
At thy Return more Charming grow:
With double Glory they appear,
To warm and grace the Infant Year.

HORACE, ODE III. Book III.

[_]

The Design of this Ode was to insinuate to Augustus the Danger of transferring the Seat of the Empire from Rome to Troy, which we are inform'd be once entertain'd thoughts of.

[I.]

The Man, to Right inflexibly inclin'd,
Poising on Virtue's Base his Mind,
Rests in himself secure,
Indissolubly firm in Good;

101

Let Tempests rise, and Billows rage,
All Rock within, he can unmov'd endure
The foaming Fury of the Flood,
When bellowing Winds their jarring Troops engage,
Or wastful civil Tumults roll along
With fiercer Strength, and louder Roar,
Driving the Torrent of the Throng,
And gath'ring into Pow'r.
Let a proud Tyrant cast a killing Frown;
Or Jove in angry Thunder on the World look down;
Nay, let the Frame of Nature crack,
And all the spacious Globes on high,
Shatter'd with Universal Rack,
Come tumbling from the Sky:
Yet he'll survey the horrid Scene
With steady Courage, and undaunted Mien,
The only thing Serene!

II.

Thus Pollux, and great Hercules,
Roam'd thro' the World, and blest the Nations round,
Till, rais'd at length to heav'nly Palaces,
Mankind, as Gods, their Benefactors crown'd.
With these, Augustus shall for ever shine,
And stain his rosy Lips in Cups Divine.
Thus his fierce Tigers dauntless Bacchus bear;
The glaring Savages resist in vain,

102

Impatient of the Bit, and fretting on the Rein;
Thro' yielding Clouds he drives th'impetuous Car.
Great Romulus pursu'd the shining Trace,
And leapt the Lake, where all
The rest of Mortals fall,
And with his Father's Horses scour'd the same bright airy Race.

III.

Then in full Senate of the Deities,
Settling the Seats of Pow'r, and future Fate,
Juno began the high Debate,
And with this righteous Sentence pleas'd the Skies:
‘O Troy! she said, O hated Troy!
‘A Foreign Woman, and a Boy,
‘Leud, partial, and unjust,
‘Shook all thy proudest Tow'rs to Dust;
‘Inclin'd to Ruin from the time,
‘Thy King did mock two Pow'rs Divine,
‘And rais'd thy fated Walls in Perjury.
‘But doubly damn'd by that Offence,
‘Which did Minerva's Rage incense,
‘And offer'd Wrong to Me.
‘No more the treach'rous Ravisher
‘Shines in full Pomp and youthful Charms;

103

‘Nor Priam's impious House with Hector's Spear,
‘Repels the Violence of Grecian Arms.

IV.

‘Our Feuds did long embroil the Mortal Rout,
‘At last the Storm is spent,
‘My Fury with it ebbing out,
‘These Terms of Peace content;
‘To Mars I grant among the Stars a Place
‘For his Son Romulus, of Trojan Race;
‘Here shall he dwell in these Divine Abodes,
‘Drink of the heav'nly Bowl,
‘And in this shining Court his Name enrol,
‘With the serene and ever-vacant Gods;
‘While Seas shall rage between his Rome, and Troy,
‘The horrid Distance breaking wide,
‘The banish'd Trojans shall the Globe enjoy,
‘And reign in ev'ry place beside;
‘While Beasts insult my Judge's Dust, and hide
‘Their Litter in his cursed Tomb,
‘The shining Capitol of Rome
‘Shall overlook the World with awful Pride,
‘And Parthians take their Law from that Eternal Dome.

V

‘Let Rome extend her Fame to ev'ry Shore;
‘And let no Banks or Mounds restrain

104

‘Th'impetuous Torrent of her wide Command;
‘The Seas from Europe, Africk part in vain;
‘Swelling above those Floods, her Pow'r
‘Shall, like its Nile, o'erflow the Libyan Land.
‘Shining in polish'd Steel, she dares
‘The glitt'ring Beams of Gold despise,
‘Gold, the great Source of human Cares,
‘Hid wisely deep from mortal Eyes,
‘Till, sought in evil hour by Hands unblest,
‘Opening the dark Abodes,
‘There issu'd forth a direful Train of Woes,
‘That give Mankind no Rest;
‘For Gold, devoted to th'Infernal Gods,
‘No native human Uses knows.

VI.

‘Where-e'er great Jove did place
‘The Bounds of Nature yet unseen,
‘He meant a Goal of Glory to the Race
‘The Roman Arms shall win:
‘Rejoicing, onward they approach
‘To view the Outworks of the World,
‘The madding Fires, in wild Debauch,
‘The Snows and Rains unborn, in endless Eddies whirl'd!

VII.

‘'Tis I, O Rome, pronounce these Fates behind,
‘But will thy Reign with this Condition bind,

105

‘That no false Filial Piety,
‘In idle Shapes deluding Thee,
‘Or Confidence of Pow'r,
‘Tempt thee again to raise a Trojan Tow'r;
‘Troy, plac'd beneath malignant Stars,
‘Haunted with Omens still the same,
‘Rebuilt shall but renew the former Flame,
‘Jove's Wife and Sister leading on the Wars,
‘Thrice let her shine with Brasen Walls,
‘Rear'd up by heav'nly Hands;
‘And thrice in fatal Dust she falls,
‘By faithful Grecian Bands;
‘Thrice the dire Scene shall on the World return,
‘And Captive Wives again their Sons and Husbands mourn.
But stop, presumptuous Muse, thy daring Flight,
Nor hope, in thy weak Lyrick Lay,
The heav'nly Language to display,
Or bring the Counsels of the Gods to Light.

Romulus was supposed to be the Son of Mars by the Priestess Ilia.

Helen.

Paris.

106

GREENWICH-PARK.

The Paphian Isle was once the blest Abode
Of Beauty's Goddess and her Archer-God.
There blissful Bow'rs and amorous Shades were seen,
Fair Cypress Walks, and Myrtles ever green.
'Twas there, surrounded by a hallow'd Wood,
Sacred to Love a splendid Temple stood;
Where Altars were with costly Gums perfum'd,
And Lovers Sighs arose, and Smoke from Hearts consum'd.
'Till thence remov'd, the Queen of Beauty flies
To BRITAIN, fam'd for bright victorious Eyes.
Here fix'd, She chose a sweeter Seat for Love,
And GREENWICH-PARK is now her Cyprian Grove.

Nor fair Parnassus with this Hill can vie,
Which gently swells into the wond'ring Sky,
Commanding all that can transport our Sight,
And varying with each View the fresh Delight.
From hence my Muse prepares to wing her Way,
And wanton, like the Thames, thro' smiling Meads wou'd stray,

107

Describe the Groves beneath, the Sylvan Bow'rs,
The River's winding Train, and great Augusta's Tow'rs.

But see!—a living Prospect drawing near
At once transports, and raises awful Fear!
Love's Fav'rite Band, selected to maintain
His choicest Triumphs, and support his Reign.
Muse, pay thy Homage here—Yet oh beware!
And draw the glorious Scene with artful Care,
For foolish Praise is Satire on the Fair.

Behold where bright URANIA does advance,
And lightens thro' the Trees with ev'ry Glance!
A careless Pleasure in her Air is seen;
Diana shines with such a graceful Mien,
When in her darling Woods she's feign'd to rove,
The Chase pursuing, and avoiding Love.
At flying Deer the Goddess boasts her Aim,
But Cupid shews the Nymph a nobler Game.
Th'unerring Shafts so various fly around,
'Tis hard to say which gives the deepest Wound.
Or if with greater Glory We submit,
Pierc'd by her Eyes, her Humour, or her Wit.

See next her charming Sister, young and gay,
In Beauty's Bloom like the sweet Month of May!
The sportful Nymph once in the neighb'ring Grove
Surpris'd by Chance the sleeping God of Love;

108

His Head reclin'd upon a Tuft of Green,
And by him scatter'd lay his Arrows bright and keen;
She ty'd his Wings, and stole his wanton Darts,
Then, laughing, wak'd the Tyrant Lord of Hearts;
He smil'd,—and said—'Tis well, insulting Fair!
Yet how you sport with sleeping Love beware!
My Loss of Darts I quickly can supply,
Your Looks shall triumph for Love's Deity:
And tho' you now my feeble Pow'r disdain,
You once perhaps may feel a Lover's Pain.

Tho' Helen's Form, and Cleopatra's Charms,
The Boast of Fame, once kindled dire Alarms:
Those dazzling Lights the World no more must view,
And scarce wou'd think the bright Description true,
Did not that Ray of Beauty, more divine,
In MIRA's Eyes by Transmigration shine.
Her Shape, her Air, Proportion, lovely Face,
And matchless Skin contend with Rival Grace;
And Venus' self, proud of th'officious Aid,
With all her Charms adorns th'illustrious Maid.

But hark!—What more than Mortal Sounds are these?
Be Still ye whisp'ring Winds, and moving Trees!
A second MIRA does all Hearts surprize,
At once victorious with her Voice and Eyes.

109

Her Eyes alone can tender'st Love inspire,
Her heav'nly Voice improves the young Desire.
So Western Gales in fragrant Gardens play
On Buds produc'd by the Sun's quickning Ray,
And spread 'em into Life, and gently chide their Stay.
We court that Skill, by which We're sure to die,
The modest Fair wou'd fain our Suit deny,
And sings unwillingly, with trembling Fear,
As if concern'd our Ruin is so near;
So generous Victors softest Pity know,
And with Reluctance strike the fatal Blow.

Engaging CYNTHIA's arm'd with every Grace;
Her lovely Mind shines chearful thro' her Face,
A sacred Lamp in a fair Crystal Case.
Not Venus-Star, the brightest of the Sphere,
Smiles so serene, or casts a Light so clear.
O happy Brother of this wondrous Fair!
The best of Sisters well deserves thy Care;
Her sighing Lovers, who in Crouds adore,
Wou'd wish thy Place, did they not wish for more.
What Angels are, when We desire to know,
We form a Thought by such as She below,
And thence conclude they're bright beyond Compare,
Compos'd of all that's Good, and all that's Fair.

There yet remains unnam'd a dazzling Throng
Of Nymphs, who to these happy Shades belong.

110

O Venus! lovely Queen of soft Desires!
For ever dwell where Such supply thy Fires!
May Virtue still with Beauty share the Sway,
And the glad World with willing Zeal obey!

TO MOLINDA.

Th' inspiring Muses and the God of Love,
Which most shou'd grace the fair Molinda strove;
Love arm'd her with his Bow and keenest Darts,
The Muses more enrich'd her Mind with Arts.
Tho' Greece in shining Temples heretofore
Did Venus and Minerva's Pow'rs adore,
The Antients thought no single Goddess fit
To reign at once o'er Beauty and o'er Wit;
Each was a separate Claim; till now we find
The different Titles in Molinda join'd.
From hence, when at the Court, the Park, the Play,
She gilds the Evening, or improves the Day,
All Eyes regard her with transporting Fire,
One Sex with Envy burns, and one with fierce Desire:
But when, withdrawn from Publick Show and Noise,
In silent Works her Fancy she employs,

111

A smiling Train of Arts around her stand,
And court Improvement from her curious Hand.
She, their bright Patroness, o'er all presides,
And with like Skill the Pen and Needle guides;
By this we see gay silken Landskips wrought,
By that the Landskip of a beauteous Thought:
Whether her Voice in tuneful Airs she moves,
Or cuts dissembled Flow'rs and paper Groves,
Her Voice transports the Ear with soft Delight,
Her Flow'rs and Groves surprize the ravish'd Sight;
Which e'en to Nature's Wonders we prefer,
All but that Wonder Nature form'd in Her.

A Letter to a Friend in the Country.

Whilst thou art happy in a blest Retreat,
And free from Care dost rural Songs repeat,
Whilst fragrant Air fans thy Poetick Fire,
And pleasant Groves with sprightly Notes inspire,
(Groves, whose Recesses and refreshing Shade
Indulge th'Invention, and the Judgment aid)
I, 'midst the Smoke and Clamours of the Town,
That choke my Muse and weigh my Fancy down,
Pass my unactive Hours;—

112

In such an Air, how can soft Numbers flow,
Or in such Soil the sacred Laurel grow?
All we can boast of the Poetick Fire,
Are but some Sparks that soon as born expire.

Hail happy Woods! Harbours of Peace and Joy!
Where no black Cares the Mind's Repose destroy!
Where grateful Silence unmolested reigns,
Assists the Muse and quickens all her Strains.
Such were the Scenes of our first Parents Love,
In Eden's Groves with equal Flames they strove,
While warbling Birds, soft whisp'ring Breaths of Wind,
And murmuring Streams, to grace their Nuptials join'd.
All Nature smil'd; the Plains were fresh and green,
Unstain'd the Fountains, and the Heav'ns serene.

Ye blest Remains of that illustrious Age!
Delightful Springs and Woods!—
Might I with You my peaceful Days live o'er,
You, and my Friend, whose Absence I deplore,
Calm as a gentle Brook's unruffled Tide
Shou'd the delicious flowing Minutes glide;
Discharg'd of Care, on unfrequented Plains,
We'd sing of rural Joys in rural Strains.
No false corrupt Delights our Thoughts shou'd move,
But Joys of Friendship, Poetry and Love.
While others fondly feed Ambition's Fire,
And to the Top of human State aspire,

113

That from their Airy Eminence they may
With Pride and Scorn th'inferior World survey,
Here we shou'd dwell obscure, yet happier far than they.

HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XXII.

Imitated in Paraphrase.

Integer vitæ, scelerisque purus
Non eget Mauris jaculis, neque arcu, &c.

I.

Hence slavish Fear! thy Stygian Wings display!
Thou ugly Fiend of Hell, away!
Wrapp'd in thick Clouds, and Shades of Night,
To conscious Souls direct thy Flight!
There brood on Guilt, fix there a loath'd Embrace,
And propagate vain Terrors, Frights,
Dreams, Goblins, and imagin'd Sprights,
Thy visionary Tribe, thy black and monstrous Race.
Go, haunt the Slave that stains his Hands in Gore!
Possess the perjur'd Mind, and rack the Usurer more,
Than his Oppression did the Poor before.

II.

Vainly, you feeble Wretches, you prepare
The glitt'ring Forgery of War;

114

The poison'd Shaft, the Parthian Bow, and Spear
Like that the warlike Moor is wont to wield,
Which pois'd and guided from his Ear
He hurls impetuous thro' the Field:
In vain you lace the Helm, and heave in vain the Shield;
He's only safe, whose Armour of Defence
Is Adamantine Innocence.

III.

If o'er the Steepy Alps he go,
Vast Mountains of eternal Snow,
Or where fam'd Ganges and Hydaspes flow;
If o'er parch'd Libya's desart Land,
Where, threatning from afar,
Th'affrighted Traveller
Encounters moving Hills of Sand;
No Sense of Danger can disturb his Rest;
He fears no human Force, nor savage Beast;
Impenetrable Courage steels his manly Breast.

IV.

Thus, late within the Sabine Grove,
While free from Care, and full of Love,
I raise my tuneful Voice, and stray
Regardless of myself and Way,
A grizly Wolf, with glaring Eye,
View'd me unarm'd, yet pass'd unhurtful by.

115

A fiercer Monster ne'er, in Quest of Food,
Apulian Forests did molest;
Numidia never saw a more prodigious Beast;
Numidia, Mother of the yellow Brood,
Where the stern Lion shakes his knotted Mane,
And roars aloud for Prey, and scours the spacious Plain.

V.

Place me where no soft Breeze of Summer Wind
Did e'er the stiffen'd Soil unbind,
Where no refreshing Warmth e'er durst invade,
But Winter holds his unmolested Seat,
In all his hoary Robes array'd,
And rattling Storms of Hail, and noisy Tempests beat.
Place me beneath the scorching Blaze
Of the fierce Sun's immediate Rays,
Where House or Cottage ne'er were seen,
Nor rooted Plant or Tree, nor springing Green;
Yet, lovely LALAGE, my generous Flame
Shall ne'er expire; I'll boldly sing of Thee,
Charm'd with the Musick of thy Name,
And guarded by the Gods of Love and Poetry.

116

HORACE, BOOK II. ODE XVI. TO GROSPHUS.

Imitated in Paraphrase.

Otium Divos rogat in patenti
Prensus Ægæo, &c.

[I.]

Indulgent Quiet! Pow'r Serene,
Mother of Peace, and Joy, and Love!
O say, thou calm propitious Queen,
Say, in what solitary Grove,
Within what hollow Rock, or winding Cell,
By human Eyes unseen,
Like some retreated Druid dost thou dwell?
And why, illusive Goddess! why,
When we thy Mansion would surround,
Why dost thou lead us thro' inchanted Ground,
To mock our vain Research, and from our Wishes fly?

II.

The wand'ring Sailors, pale with Fear,
For Thee the Gods implore,
When the tempestuous Sea runs high,
And when, thro' all the dark benighted Sky,
No friendly Moon or Stars appear
To guide their Steerage to the Shore:

117

For Thee the weary Soldier prays;
Furious in Fight the Sons of Thrace,
And Medes, that wear majestick by their Side
A full-charg'd Quiver's decent Pride,
Gladly with Thee would pass inglorious Days,
Renounce the Warrior's tempting Praise,
And buy thee, if thou might'st be sold,
With Gems, and Purple Vests, and Stores of plunder'd Gold.

III.

But neither boundless Wealth, nor Guards that wait
Around the Consul's honour'd Gate,
Nor Anti-chambers with Attendants fill'd,
The Mind's unhappy Tumults can abate,
Or banish sullen Cares, that fly
Across the gilded Rooms of State,
And their foul Nests, like Swallows, build
Close to the Palace-Roofs, and Tow'rs that pierce the Sky.
Much less will Nature's modest Wants supply;
And happier lives the homely Swain,
Who, in some Cottage, far from Noise
His few Paternal Goods enjoys,
Nor knows the sordid Lust of Gain,
Nor with Fear's tormenting Pain
His hovering Sleeps destroys.

118

IV.

Vain Man! that in a narrow Space
At endless Game projects the daring Spear!
For short is Life's uncertain Race;
Then why, capricious Mortal! why
Dost thou for Happiness repair
To distant Climates, and a foreign Air?
Fool! from thyself thou canst not fly,
Thyself, the Source of all thy Care.
So flies the wounded Stag, provok'd with Pain,
Bounds o'er the spacious Downs in vain;
The feather'd Torment sticks within his Side,
And from the smarting Wound a Purple Tide
Marks all his Way with Blood, and dyes the grassy Plain.

V.

But swifter far is execrable Care
Than Stags, or Winds that thro' the Skies
Thick-driving Snows and gather'd Tempests bear;
Pursuing Care the sailing Ship out-flies,
Climbs the tall Vessel's painted Sides;
Nor leaves arm'd Squadrons in the Field,
But with the marching Horsemen rides,
And dwells alike in Courts and Camps, and makes all Places yield.

119

VI.

Then, since no State's compleatly blest,
Let's learn the Bitter to allay
With gentle Mirth, and wisely gay
Enjoy at least the present Day,
And leave to Fate the rest.
Nor with vain Fear of Ills to come
Anticipate th'appointed Doom.
Soon did Achilles quit the Stage,
The Heroe fell by sudden Death;
While Tithon to a tedious wasting Age
Drew his protracted Breath.
And thus old partial Time, my Friend,
Perhaps unask'd to worthless Me
Those Hours of lengthen'd Life may lend,
Which he'll refuse to Thee.

VII.

Thee shining Wealth and plenteous Joys surround,
And, all thy fruitful Fields around,
Unnumber'd Herds of Cattle stray.
Thy harness'd Steeds with sprightly Voice
Make neighb'ring Vales and Hills rejoice,
While smoothly thy gay Chariot flies o'er the swift measur'd Way.
To Me the Stars, with less Profusion kind,
An humble Fortune have assign'd,

120

And no untuneful Lyrick Vein,
But a sincere contented Mind,
That can the vile malignant Crowd disdain.

THE Birth of the Rose.

From the French.

Once, on a solemn Festal Day
Held by th'Immortals in the Skies,
FLORA had summon'd all the Deities
That rule o'er Gardens, or survey
The Birth of Greens and springing Flow'rs,
And thus address'd the Genial Pow'rs.

Ye shining Graces of my Courtly Train,
The Cause of this Assembly know!
In Sov'reign Majesty I reign
O'er the gay flow'ry Universe below;
Yet, my increasing Glory to maintain,
A Queen I'll chuse, with spotless Honour fair,
The delegated Crown to wear.

121

Let me your Counsel and Assistance ask,
T'accomplish this momentous Task.

The Deities that stood around,
At first return'd a murm'ring Sound;
Then said, Fair Goddess, do you know
The factious Feuds this must create,
What jealous Rage and mutual Hate
Among the Rival Flow'rs will grow?
The vilest Thistle that infests the Plain,
Will think his tawdry painted Pride
Deserves the Crown; and, if deny'd,
Perhaps with Traitor-Plots molest your Reign.
Vain are your Fears, FLORA reply'd,
'Tis fix'd—and hear how I'll the Cause decide.

Deep in a Venerable Wood,
Where Oaks, with Vocal Skill endu'd,
Did wondrous Oracles of old impart,
Beneath a little Hill's inclining Side
A Grotto's seen, where Nature's Art
Is exercis'd in all her smiling Pride.
Retir'd in this sweet grassy Cell,
A Lovely Wood-Nymph once did dwell.
She always pleas'd; for more than mortal Fire

122

Shone in her Eyes, and did her Charms inspire;
A Dryad bore the beauteous Nymph, a Sylvan was her Sire.

Chaste, wise, devout, she still obey'd
With humble Zeal Heav'n's dread Commands,
To ev'ry Action ask'd our Aid,
And oft before our Altars pray'd;
Pure was her Heart, and undefil'd her Hands.
She's dead—and from her sweet Remains
The wondrous Mixture I wou'd take,
This much-desir'd, this perfect Flow'r to make.
Assist, and thus with our transforming Pains,
We'll dignify the Garden-Beds, and grace our fav'rite Plains.

Th'applauding Deities with Pleasure heard,
And for the grateful Work prepar'd.
A busy Face the God of Gardens wore;
Vertumnus of the Party too,
From various Sweets th'exhaling Spirits drew;
While, in full Canisters, Pomona bore
Of richest Fruits a plenteous Store;
And Vesta promis'd wondrous Things to do.
Gay Venus led a lively Train
Of Smiles and Graces: The plump God of Wine

123

From Clusters did the flowing Nectar strain,
And fill'd large Goblets with his Juice divine.
Thus charg'd, they seek the honour'd Shade
Where liv'd and dy'd the spotless Maid.
On a soft Couch of Turf the Body lay;
Th'approaching Deities press'd all around,
Prepar'd the Sacred Rites to pay
In Silence, and with Awe profound.
FLORA thrice bow'd, and thus was heard to pray.
Jove! mighty Jove! whom all adore;
Exert thy Great Creative Pow'r!
Let this Fair Corpse be Mortal Clay no more;
Transform it to a Tree, to bear a beauteous Flow'r—
Scarce had the Goddess spoke; when see!
The Nymph's extended Limbs the Form of Branches wear:
Behold the wondrous Change, the fragrant Tree!
To Leaves was turn'd her flowing Hair;
And rich diffus'd Perfumes regal'd the wanton Air.

Heav'ns! what new Charm, what sudden Light
Improves the Grot, and entertains the Sight!
A sprouting Bud begins the Tree t'adorn;
The large, the sweet Vermilion Flow'r is born!
The Goddess thrice on the fair Infant breath'd,
To spread it into Life, and to convey

124

The fragrant Soul, and ev'ry Charm bequeath'd,
To make the Vegetable Princess gay;
Then kiss'd it thrice: The gen'ral Silence broke,
And thus in loud rejoicing Accents spoke.

Ye Flow'rs at my Command attendant here,
Pay Homage, and your Sov'reign ROSE revere!
No Sorrow on your drooping Leaves be seen;
Let all be proud of such a Queen,
So fit the Floral Crown to wear,
To glorify the Day, and grace the youthful Year!

Thus speaking, She the new-born Fav'rite crown'd;
The Transformation was compleat;
The Deities with Songs the Queen of Flow'rs did greet:
Soft Flutes and tuneful Harps were heard to sound;
While now to Heav'n the well-pleas'd Goddess flies
With her bright Train, and reascends the Skies.

125

SIX CANTATA'S OR Poems for Musick.

After the Manner of the Italians.

[_]

Set to Musick by Mr. PEPUSCH.

Charming Sounds! that sweetly languish,
Musick, O compose my Anguish!
Ev'ry Passion yields to thee:
Phœbus, quickly then relieve me;
Cupid shall no more deceive me;
I'll to sprightlier Joys be free.

Recitative.

Apollo heard the foolish Swain;
He knew, when Daphne once he lov'd,
How weak, t'asswage an Am'rous Pain,
His own Harmonious Art had prov'd,
And all his Healing Herbs how vain.

134

Then thus he strikes the speaking Strings,
Preluding to his Voice, and sings.

AIR.

Sounds, tho' charming, can't relieve thee;
Do not, Shepherd, then deceive thee,
Musick is the Voice of Love.
If the tender Maid believe thee,
Soft Relenting,
Kind Consenting,
Will alone thy Pain remove.

CANTATA III. ON THE SPRING.

[With Violins.]

AIR.

Fragrant FLORA! haste, appear,
Goddess of the youthful Year!
Zephyr gently courts thee now;
On thy Buds of Roses playing,
All thy breathing Sweets displaying,
Hark, his amorous Breezes blow!

135

Fragrant FLORA, haste, appear!
Goddess of the youthful Year!
Zephyr gently courts thee now.

Recitative.

Thus on a fruitful Hill, in the fair Bloom of Spring,
The tuneful Collinet his Voice did raise,
The Vales remurmur'd with his Lays,
And list'ning Birds hung hov'ring on the Wing.
In whisp'ring Sighs soft Zephyr by him flew,
While thus the Shepherd did his Song renew.

AIR.

Love and Pleasures gaily flowing,
Come this charming Season grace!
Smile, ye Fair! your Joys bestowing,
Spring and Youth will soon be going,
Seize the Blessings ere they pass.
Love and Pleasures gaily flowing,
Come this charming Season grace!

Set by Mr. D. PURCELL.

AIR.

Love , I defy thee!
VENUS, I fly thee!
I'm of chaste DIANA's Train.
Away, thou winged Boy!
Thou bear'st thy Darts in vain,
I hate the languid Joy,
I mock the trifling Pain.
LOVE, I defy thee!
VENUS, I fly thee!
I'm of chaste DIANA's Train.

Recitative.

Bright VENUS and her Son stood by,
And heard a proud disdainful Fair
Thus boast her wretched Liberty;
They scorn'd she should the Raptures share,
Which their happier Captives know,
Nor wou'd CUPID draw his Bow
To wound the Nymph, but laugh'd out this Reply.

145

AIR.

Proud and foolish! hear your Fate!
Waste your Youth, and sigh too late
For Joys, which now you say you hate.
When your decaying Eyes
Can dart their Fires no more,
The Wrinkles of Threescore
Shall make you vainly Wise.
Proud and foolish! hear your Fate!
Waste your Youth, and sigh too late
For Joys, which now you say you hate.

SONG.

[Wou'd you gain the tender Creature]

Wou'd you gain the tender Creature,
Softly—gently—kindly—treat Her;
Suff'ring is the Lover's Part:
Beauty by Constraint possessing,
You enjoy but Half the Blessing,
Lifeless Charms without the Heart.

146

Cupid and Scarlati.

A CANTATA.

[_]

Set by Mr. PEPUSCH.

Recitative.

On silver TYBER's vocal Shore,
The fam'd SCARLATI strook his Lyre,
And strove, with Charms unknown before,
The Springs of tuneful Sound t'explore,
Beyond what Art alone cou'd e'er inspire;
When see,—the sweet Essay to hear,
VENUS with her Son drew near,
And, pleas'd to ask the Master's Aid,
The Mother Goddess smiling said.

AIR.

Harmonious Son of PHOEBUS, See!
'Tis LOVE, 'tis little LOVE I bring.
The Queen of Beauty sues to Thee,
To teach her wanton Boy to sing.

147

Recitative.

The pleas'd Musician heard with Joy,
And, proud to teach th'immortal Boy,
Did all his Songs and heav'nly Skill impart;
The Boy, to recompense his Art,
Repeating did each Song improve,
And breath'd into his Airs the Charms of Love,
And taught the Master thus to touch the Heart.

AIR.

Love, inspiring
Sounds persuading,
Makes his Darts resistless fly:
Beauty, aiding
Arts aspiring,
Gives them Wings to rise more high.

148

A CANTATA.

[_]

Set with Symphonies by Signior NICOLINI HAYM.

AIR.

Ye tender Pow'rs! how shall I move
A careless Maid that laughs at Love?
CUPID, to my Succour fly!
Come with all thy thrilling Darts,
Thy melting Flames to soften Hearts;
Conquer for me, or I die!
Ye tender Pow'rs! how shall I move
A careless Maid that laughs at Love?
CUPID, to my Succour fly!

Recitative.

Thus, in a melancholy Shade,
A pensive Lover to his Aid
Invok'd the God of warm Desire;
LOVE heard him, and to gain the Maid
Did this successful Thought inspire.

149

AIR.

Take her Humour, smile, be gay,
In her fav'rite Follies join,
That's the Charm will make her thine.
Cast thy serious Airs away,
Freely courting,
Toying, sporting,
Sooth her Hours with Am'rous Play.
Take her Humour, smile, be gay,
In her fav'rite Follies join,
That's the Charm will make her thine.

PASTORA,

A CANTATA.

[_]

Set by Mr. PEPUSCH.

Recitative.

On fam'd Arcadia's flow'ry Plains,
The gay PASTORA once was heard to sing;
Close by a Fountain's Crystal Spring
She warbled out her merry Strains.

150

AIR.

Shepherds, wou'd you hope to please us,
You must every Humour try;
Sometimes flatter, sometimes teaze us,
Often laugh, and sometimes cry.
Shepherds, wou'd you hope to please us,
You must ev'ry Humour try.
Soft Denials
Are but Trials,
You must follow when we fly.
Shepherds, wou'd you hope to please us,
You must ev'ry Humour try.

Recitative.

DAMON, who long ador'd this sprightly Maid,
Yet never durst his Love relate,
Resolv'd at last to try his Fate.
He sigh'd;—She smil'd;—He kneel'd and pray'd;—
She frown'd;—He rose, and walk'd away,
But soon returning look'd more gay,
And sung and danc'd, and on his Pipe a chearful Echo play'd.

AIR.

[With an Echo of Flutes.]
PASTORA fled to a shady Grove;
DAMON view'd her,
And pursu'd her;
CUPID laugh'd, and crown'd his Love.

151

The Nymph look'd back, well pleas'd to see
That DAMON ran as swift as She.
PASTORA fled to a shady Grove,
DAMON view'd her,
And pursu'd her;
CUPID laugh'd, and crown'd his Love.

A Pastoral Masque.

SCENE, A Prospect of a Wood.
Enter a Shepherd, and sings.

Ye Nymphs and Shepherds of the Grove,
That know the pleasing Pains of Love,
Eager for th'expected Blessing,
Sighing, panting for possessing!
Leave your Flocks, and haste away,
With solemn State
To celebrate
CUPID and HYMEN's Holiday.

152

Enter a Band of Shepherds on one side with Garlands; on the other side, Shepherdesses with Canisters of Flowers.
CHORUS.
From the echoing Hills, and the jovial Plains,
Where Pleasure and Plenty and Happiness reigns,
We leave our Flocks, and haste away,
With solemn State
To celebrate
CUPID and HYMEN's Holiday.

[A DANCE here.]
SCENE opening discovers a pleasant Bower, with the God of Love asleep, attended by Cupids, some playing with his Bow, others sharpening his Arrows, &c. On each side the Bower, Walks of Cypress-Trees, and Fountains playing; a distant Landskip terminates the Prospect.

Verse for a Shepherdess, with Flutes.

See the mighty Pow'r of Love
Sleeping in a Cyprian Grove!
Nymphs and Shepherds, gently shed
Spices round his sacred Head;

153

On his lovely Body show'r
Leaves of Roses, Virgin Lillies,
Cowslips, Vi'lets, Daffadillies,
And with Garlands dress the Bow'r.

Rittornel of Flutes. After which Cupid rises, and sings with his Bow drawn.
Yield to the God of soft Desires!
Whose gentle Influence inspires
Every Creature
Throughout Nature
With sprightly Joys and genial Fires.

Chorus of the Shepherds and Nymphs.

Hail thou potent Deity!
Every Creature
Throughout Nature
Owns thy Pow'r as well as we.

Enter Hymen in a Saffron-colour'd Robe, a Chaplet of Flowers on his Head, and in his Hand the Nuptial Torch; attended by Priests.
HYMEN.
Behold a greater Pow'r than He,
Behold the Marriage Deity!

154

Chorus, by Hymen's Attendants.

Behold the Marriage Deity!

CUPID,
smiling.
Behold the God of Houshold Strife,
That spoils the happy Lover's Life,
And turns a Mistress to a Wife!

HYMEN.
Foolish and inconstant Boy!
Thine's a transitory Joy;
Sudden Fits in Pleasure's Fever;
HYMEN's Blessings last for ever.

CUPID.
HYMEN's Bondage lasts for ever;
Love's free Pleasures failing never.

HYMEN.
Love's stol'n Pleasures, insincere,
Purchas'd at a Rate too dear,
Shame and Sorrow will destroy,
If HYMEN license not the Joy.

[Both together.]
Then let us join Hands and unite.

155

Last Chorus of the Shepherds and Nymphs.

How happy, how happy, how happy are we,
Where CUPID and HYMEN in Consort agree!
We'll revel all Day with Sports and Delight,
And HYMEN and CUPID shall govern the Night.

A CANTATA.

[_]

Set by Mr. Galliard.

Recitative.

Venus! thy Throne of Beauty now resign!
Behold on Earth a conqu'ring Fair,
Who more deserves Love's Crown to wear!
Not thy own Star so bright in Heav'n does shine.
Ask of thy Son her Name, who with his Dart
Has deeply grav'd it in my Heart;

156

Or ask the God of tuneful Sound,
Who sings it to his Lyre,
And does this Maid inspire
With his own Art, to give a surer Wound.

AIR.

Hark! the Groves her Songs repeat;
Echo lurks in hollow Springs,
And, transported while She sings,
Learns her Voice, and grows more sweet;
Cou'd Narcissus see or hear Her,
From his Fountain he wou'd fly,
And, with Awe approaching near Her,
For a real Beauty die.
Hark! the Groves her Songs repeat;
Echo lurks in hollow Springs,
And, transported while she sings,
Learns her Voice, and grows more sweet.

Recitative.

Yet VENUS once again my Suit attend!
And when from Heav'n you shall descend,
This shining Empress to array,
When you present her all your Train of Loves,
Your Chariot, and your murm'ring Doves,
Tell her She wants one Charm to make the rest more gay,
Then Smiling to th'harmonious Beauty say,

157

AIR.

To a lovely Face and Air,
Let a tender Heart be join'd.
Love can make you doubly fair;
Musick's sweeter when you're kind.
To a lovely Face and Air,
Let a tender Heart be join'd.

A FRAGMENT.

[In every Age, to brighter Honours born]

In every Age, to brighter Honours born,
Which loveliest Nymphs and sweetest Bards adorn,
Beauty and Wit each other's Aid require,
And Poets sing what first the Fair inspire;
The Fair for ever thus their Charms prolong,
And live rewarded in the tuneful Song.
Thus SACHARISSA shines in WALLER's Lays,
And She, who rais'd his Genius, shares his Praise.
Each does in each a mutual Life infuse,
Th'inspiring Beauty, the recording Muse. [OMITTED]

158

CLAUDIANUS: In Epithalamio Honorii & Mariæ

TRANSLATED.

VENUS coming to a Nuptial Ceremony, and entering the Room, sees the Bride and her Mother sitting together, &c. On which Occasion Claudian makes the following Description.

The Goddess paus'd; and, held in deep Amaze,
Now views the Mother's, now the Daughter's Face;

159

Different in each, yet equal Beauty glows,
That, the full Moon, and This, the Crescent shows:
Thus, rais'd beneath its Parent Tree is seen
The Laurel Shoot, while, in its early Green,
Thick-sprouting Leaves and Branches are essay'd,
And all the Promise of a future Shade.
Or, blooming thus, in happy Pæstan Fields,
One common Stock two Lovely Roses yields;
Mature by Vernal Dews, This dares display
Its Leaves full-blown, and boldly meets the Day;
That, folded in its tender Nonage lies,
A beauteous Bud, nor yet admits the Skies.

A CANTATA.

[_]

Set by Mr. PEPUSCH.

AIR.

Foolish LOVE! I scorn thy Darts,
And all thy little wanton Arts,
To captivate unmanly Hearts.

160

Shall a Woman, proud and coy,
Make me languish for a Toy?
Foolish LOVE! I scorn thy Darts,
And all thy little wanton Arts,
To captivate unmanly Hearts.

Recitative.

Thus STREPHON mock'd the Pow'r of Love, and swore
His Freedom he wou'd still maintain,
Nor ever wear th'inglorious Chain,
Or slavishly adore.
But when LAMIRA cross'd the Plain,
The Shepherd gaz'd, and thus revers'd his Strain.

AIR.

LOVE, I feel thy Pow'r Divine,
And blushing now my Heart resign!
Ye Swains, my Folly don't despise!
But look on fair LAMIRA's Eyes,
Then tell me if you can be wise.
LOVE, I feel thy Pow'r Divine,
And blushing now my Heart resign!

161

THE Soldier in Love.

A CANTATA.

[_]

Set with Symphonies by Mr. PEPUSCH.

AIR.

Why , too amorous Heroe! why
Dost thou the War forego,
At CELIA's Feet to lie,
And sighing tell thy Woe?
Can you think that Sneaking Air
Fit to move th'unpitying Fair?
She laughs to see thee trifle so.
Why, too amorous Heroe! why
Dost thou the War forego,
At CELIA's Feet to lie,
And sighing tell thy Woe?

162

Recitative.

CLEANDER heard not this Advice,
Nor wou'd his Languishing refrain.
But while to CELIA once he pray'd in vain,
By chance his Image in a Glass he spies,
And blushing at the Sight, he grew a Man again.

AIR.

[With a Trumpet.]
Hark! the Trumpet sounds to Arms!
I come, I come, the Warrior cries,
And from scornful CELIA flies,
To court VICTORIA's Charms.
CELIA beholds his alter'd Brow,
And wou'd regain her Lover now.
Hark! the Trumpet sounds to Arms!
I come, I come, the Warrior cries,
And from scornful CELIA flies,
To court VICTORIA's Charms.

163

AN ODE IN PRAISE OF MUSICK.

Perform'd at Stationers-Hall, 1703.

Descende Cœlo, & dic age tibiâ
Regina longum Calliope melos!
Seu Voce nunc mavis acutâ,
Seu fidibus, Cytharâve Phœbi.
Hor.

[Begin with a CHORUS.]

I.

Awake, Cœlestial Harmony!
Awake, Cœlestial Harmony!
Turn thy Vocal Sphere around,
Goddess of Melodious Sound.
Let the Trumpet's shrill Voice,
And the Drum's thundring Noise,
Rouze ev'ry dull Mortal from Sorrows profound.

164

See, See!
The mighty Pow'r of Harmony!
Behold how soon its Charms can chase
Grief and Gloom from ev'ry Face!
How swift its Raptures fly,
And thrill thro' ev'ry Soul, and brighten ev'ry Eye!

II.

Proceed, sweet Charmer of the Ear!
Proceed; and thro' the mellow Flute,
The moving Lyre,
And solitary Lute,
Melting Airs, soft Joys inspire:
Airs for drooping Hope to hear,
Melting as a Lover's Pray'r;
Joys to flatter dull Despair,
And softly sooth the Amorous Fire.

CHORUS.

Melting Airs, soft Joys inspire:
Airs for drooping Hope to hear,
Melting as a Lover's Pray'r;
Joys to flatter dull Despair,
And softly sooth the Amorous Fire.

165

III.

Now let the sprightly Violin
A louder Strain begin;
And now
Let the deep-mouth'd Organ blow,
Swell it high, and sink it low.
Hark!—how the Treble and Bass
In wanton Fuge's each other chace,
And swift Divisions run their airy Race!
Thro' all the travers'd Scale they fly,
In winding Labyrinths of Harmony;
By turns they rise and fall, by turns we live and die.

CHORUS.

In winding Labyrinths of Harmony,
Thro' all the travers'd Scale they fly;
By turns they rise and fall, by turns we live and die.

IV.

Ye Sons of Art once more renew your Strains;
In loftier Verse, and loftier Lays,
Your Voices raise
To MUSICK's Praise!
A Nobler Song remains.
Sing how the Great Creator-God
On Wings of flaming Cherubs rode,

166

To make a World; and round the Dark Abyss,
Turn'd the Golden Compasses,
The Compasses in Fate's High Storehouse found;
Thus far extend, He said, be this,
O World, thy Measur'd Bound.
Mean while a thousand Harps were play'd on high;
Be this thy Measur'd Bound,
Was echo'd all around:
And now arise, Ye Earth and Seas, and Sky!
A Thousand Voices made Reply,
Arise, Ye Earth and Seas, and Sky!

MILTON.

V.

What can MUSICK's Pow'r controul?
When Nature's sleeping Soul
Perceiv'd th'Enchanting Sound,
It wak'd, and shook off foul Deformity;
The mighty Melody
Nature's secret Chains unbound;
And Earth arose, and Seas, and Sky.
Aloft expanded Spheres were slung,
With Shining Luminaries hung;
A Vast Creation stood display'd,
By Heav'n's Inspiring MUSICK made.

167

CHORUS.

O wondrous Force of Harmony!

VI.

Divinest Art, whose Fame shall never cease!
Thy Honour'd Voice proclaim'd the Saviour's Birth;
When Heav'n vouchsaf'd to treat with Earth,
MUSICK was Herald of the Peace:
Thy Voice cou'd best the Joyful Tidings tell;
Immortal Mercy! Boundless Love!
A God descending from Above,
To conquer Death and Hell.

VII.

There yet remains an Hour of Fate,
When MUSICK must again its Charms employ;
The Trumpet's Sound
Shall call the Num'rous Nations under Ground.
The Num'rous Nations straight
Appear; and some with Grief, and some with Joy
Their Final Sentence wait.

GRAND CHORUS.

Then other Arts shall pass away:
Proud Architecture shall in Ruins lie,
And Painting fade and die,

168

Nay Earth, and Heav'n itself, in wasteful Fire decay.
MUSICK alone, and POESY,
Triumphant o'er the Flame, shall see
The World's Last Blaze.
The Tuneful Sisters shall Embrace,
And Praise and Sing, and Sing and Praise,
In never-ceasing Choirs to all Eternity.

Apollo and Daphne.

A CANTATA.

[_]

Set by Mr. GALLIARD.

Recitative.

Daphne , the Beautiful, the Coy,
Along the winding Shore of Peneus flew,
To shun Love's tender, offer'd Joy;
Tho' 'twas a God that did her Charms pursue.
While thus APOLLO, in a moving Strain,
Awak'd his Lyre, and softly breath'd his Amorous Pain.

169

AIR.

Fairest Mortal! Stay and hear;
Cannot Love with Musick join'd,
Touch thy unrelenting Mind?
Turn thee, leave thy trembling Fear;
Fairest Mortal! Stay and hear;
Cannot Love with Musick join'd,
Touch thy unrelenting Mind?

Recitative.

The River's echoing Banks with Pleasure did prolong
The sweetly warbled Sounds, and murmur'd with the Song.
DAPHNE fled swifter, in Despair,
To 'scape the God's Embrace:
And to the Genius of the Place,
She sigh'd this wondrous Pray'r:

AIR.

Father PENEUS, hear me, aid me!
Let some sudden Change invade me;
Fix me rooted on thy Shore.
Cease, APOLLO, to persuade me;
I am DAPHNE now no more.
Father PENEUS, hear me, aid me!
Let some sudden Change invade me;
Fix me rooted on thy Shore.

170

Recitative.

APOLLO wond'ring stood to see
The Nymph transform'd into a Tree.
Vain were his Lyre, his Voice, his Tuneful Art,
His Passion, and his Race Divine;
Nor cou'd th'Eternal Beams that round his Temples shine,
Melt the Cold Virgin's frozen Heart.

AIR.

Nature alone can Love inspire;
Art is vain to move Desire.
If Nature once the Fair incline,
To their own Passion they resign.
Nature alone can Love inspire;
Art is vain to move Desire.

171

A THOUGHT n a GARDEN.

Written in the Year 1704.

Delightful Mansion! Blest Retreat!
Where all is Silent, all is Sweet!
Here Contemplation prunes her Wings,
The raptur'd Muse more tuneful Sings,
While May leads on the Chearful Hours,
And opens a New World of Flow'rs.
Gay Pleasure here all Dresses wears,
And in a Thousand Shapes appears.
Pursu'd by Fancy, how she roves
Thro' Airy Walks, and Museful Groves;
Springs in each Plant and blossom'd Tree,
And Charms in all I hear and see!
In this Elysium while I stray,
And Nature's fairest Face survey,
Earth seems new-born, and Life more bright;
Time steals away, and smooths his Flight;
And Thought's bewilder'd in Delight.

172

Where are the Crowds I saw of late?
What are those Tales of Europe's Fate?
Of Anjou, and the Spanish Crown;
And Leagues to pull Usurpers down?
Of Marching Armies, Distant Wars;
Of Factions, and Domestick Jars?
Sure these are last Night's Dreams, no more;
Or some Romance, read lately o'er;
Like Homer's antique Tale of Troy,
And Pow'rs Confed'rate to destroy
Priam's proud House, the Dardan Name,
With Him that stole the ravish'd Dame,
And, to possess another's Right,
Durst the whole World to Arms excite.
Come, gentle Sleep, my Eye-lids close,
These dull Impressions help me lose:
Let Fancy take her Wing, and find
Some better Dream to sooth my Mind;
Or waking, let me learn to Live;
The Prospect will Instruction give.
For see, where beauteous Thames does glide
Serene, but with a fruitful Tide;
Free from Extremes of Ebb and Flow,
Not swell'd too high, nor sunk too low:

173

Such let my Life's smooth Current be,
Till, from Time's narrow Shore set free,
It mingle with th'Eternal Sea;
And, there enlarg'd, shall be no more
That trifling Thing it was before.

A WISH TO THE New Year, 1705.

I.

Janus! great Leader of the rolling Year,
Since all that's past no Vows can e'er restore,
But Joys and Griefs alike, once hurry'd o'er,
No longer now deserve a Smile or Tear;
Close the fantastick Scenes—but grace
With brightest Aspects thy Foreface,
While Time's new Offspring hastens to appear.

174

With lucky Omens guide the coming Hours,
Command the Circling Seasons to advance,
And form their renovated Dance,
With flowing Pleasures fraught, and bless'd by friendly Pow'rs.

II.

Thy Month, O Janus! gave me first to know
A Mortal's trifling Cares below;
My Race of Life began with thee.
Thus far, from great Misfortunes free,
Contented, I my Lot endure,
Nor Nature's rigid Laws arraign,
Nor spurn at common Ills in vain,
Which Folly cannot shun, nor wise Reflexion cure.

III.

But oh!—more anxious for the Year to come,
I wou'd foreknow my future Doom.
Then tell me, Janus, canst thou spy
Events that yet in Embrio lie
For me, in Time's mysterious Womb?
Tell me—nor shall I dread to hear
A Thousand Accidents severe;
I'll fortify my Soul the Load to bear,

175

If Love rejected add not to its Weight,
To finish me in Woes, and crush me down with Fate.

IV.

But if the Goddess, in whose charming Eyes,
More clearly written than in Fate's dark Book,
My Joy, my Grief, my All of future Fortune lies;
If She must with a less propitious Look
Forbid my humble Sacrifice,
Or blast me with a killing Frown;
If, Janus, this thou seest in Store,
Cut short my mortal Thread, and now
Take back the Gift thou didst bestow!
Here let me lay my Burden down,
And cease to love in vain, and be a Wretch no more.

176

CANTATA.

[While on your blooming Charms I gaze]

[_]

Set by Mr. GALLIARD.

While on your blooming Charms I gaze,
Your tender Lips, your soft enchanting Eyes,
And all the VENUS in your Face,
I'm fill'd with Pleasure and Surprize:
But, cruel Goddess! when I find
DIANA's Coldness in your Mind,
How can I bear that fix'd Disdain?
My Pleasure dies, and I but live in Pain.

AIR.

Tyrant CUPID! when, relenting,
Will you touch the Charmer's Heart?
Sooth her Breast to soft Consenting,
Or remove from mine the Dart!
Tyrant CUPID! when, relenting,
Will you touch the Charmer's Heart?

Recitative.

But see! while to my Passion Voice I give,
Th'applauded Beauty, doubly bright,
Seems in the moving Tale to take Delight,
And looks, as She wou'd let me live;

177

And yet She chides, but with so sweet an Air,
That while She Love denies, She yet forbids Despair.

AIR.

Fear not, doubting Fair! t'approve me;
Can you love me?
Frown not, if you answer No,
If you answer, frown not, No.
When again I ask, pursuing,
If you'll stay and see my Ruin?
Fly—but let me with you go!
Blush not, doubting Fair, t'approve me;
Can you love me?
Smile, and ev'ry Fear forego?

178

AN ODE FOR Vocal and Instrumental MUSICK.

To the Memory of the most Noble WILLIAM Duke of Devonshire. Obiit Anno MDCCVII.

[_]

Set to Musick by Mr. Pepusch.

[Overture of soft Musick.]
BRITANNIA.

Recitative.

Ye generous Arts and Muses join;
While down your Cheeks the streaming Sorrows flow,
Let murm'ring Strings with the soft Voice combine
T'express the Melody of Woe.

179

And thou, AUGUSTA! rise and wait
With decent Honours on the Great;
Condole my Loss, and weep DEVONIO's Fate.

Signiora Margarita.

AIR.

[With Flutes.]
Queen of Cities! leave awhile
Thy beauteous Smile,
Turn to tender Grief thy Joy.
From thy Shore of Thames replying,
Gentlest Echoes fainting, dying,
Shall their Sorrow too employ.
Queen of Cities! leave awhile
Thy beauteous Smile,
Turn to tender Grief thy Joy.
AUGUSTA.

Recitative.

'Tis Fame's chief Immortality,
BRITANNIA, to be mourn'd by thee.
I know the Loss; from midnight Skies
Ill Omens late did strike my Eyes;
Near the radiant Northern Carr
I look'd, and saw a falling Star.

Mrs. Tofts.

180

AIR.

For see—the Duke and Patriot still survives,
And in his Great Successor lives.

BRITANNIA.

Recitative.

I own the new arising Light,
I see Paternal Grandeur shine,
Descending, thro' th'Illustrious Line,
In the same Royal Favours bright.

Last DUETTO with all the Instruments.

Brit.
Gently smooth thy Flight, O Time!

Aug.
Smoothly wing thy Flight, O Time!

Both.
And as thou flying growest old,
Still this happy Race behold
In BRITANNIA's Court Sublime.

Brit.
Lead along their smiling Hours;

Aug.
Long produce their smiling Hours;

Both.
Blest by all auspicious Pow'rs.

Brit.
Gently smooth thy Flight, O Time!

Aug.
Smoothly wing thy Flight, O Time!

Both.
And as thou flying growest old,
Still this happy Race behold
In BRITANNIA's Court Sublime.

184

EPILOGUE. Spoken by Mr. MILLS at the QUEEN's Theatre, on his Benefit-Night, February 16, 1709; a little before the DUKE of MARLBOROUGH's going for Holland.

Whether our Stage all others does excell
In Strength of Wit, we'll not presume to tell:
But this, with Noble, Conscious Pride, we'll say,
No Theatre such Glories can display;
Such Worth conspicuous, Beauty so divine,
As in One British Audience mingled shine.
Who can, without Amazement, turn his Sight,
And mark the Awful Circle here to Night?
Warriors, with ever-living Laurels, brought
From Empires Sav'd, from Battles bravely fought,
Here sit; whose matchless Story shall adorn
Scenes yet unwrit, and charm e'en Ages yet unborn.
Yet who would not expect such Martial Fire,
That sees what Eyes those Gallant Deeds inspire?
Valour and Beauty still were Britain's Claim,
Both are her great Prerogatives of Fame;
By both the Muses live, from both they catch their Flame.

185

Then as by You, in solid Glory bright,
Our envy'd Isle thro' EUROPE spreads her Light,
And rising Honours ev'ry Year sustain,
And mark the Golden Track of ANNE's distinguish'd Reign;
So, by your Presence here, we'll strive to raise
To Nobler Heights our Action and our Plays;
And Poets from your Favours shall derive
That Immortality they boast to give.

189

THE TENTH BOOK OF Lucan's Pharsalia, TRANSLATED.

The Argument and Connexion of the Story with the foregoing Books.

Pompey, flying to Ægypt, after his Defeat at Pharsalia, was by the King's Consent basely murder'd by Pothinus, and his Head presented to Cæsar, as he approach'd the Ægyptian Coast, in pursuit of his Enemy. The Poet having represented this Catastrophe in the two former Books; the Argument of the Tenth Book is as follows.

Cæsar lands in Ægypt. He goes to Alexandria; visits the Temple, and the Sepulchre of the Kings, in which Alexander the Great was buried. The Poet, in a beautiful Digression, declaims against the Ambition of that Monarch. Ptolemy the young King of Ægypt meets Cæsar at his Arrival, and receives him into his Palace. His Sister Cleopatra, who had been kept a Prisoner in Pharos, makes her Escape, and privately getting Admittance to Cæsar, implores his Protection. By his Means she is reconcil'd to her Brother; after which she entertains Cæsar at a Feast. The Supper being ended, Cæsar requests of Achoreus the Priest an Account of the Antiquities of Egypt, particularly of the River Nile. Achoreus's Reply. The Course of that River describ'd, with an Enumeration of the various Opinions concerning its Spring, and the Causes of its Overflowing. Pothinus plots the Death ofCæsar. His Message to Achillas to invite him to join in this attempt. Achillas marches against Alexandria with an Army compos'd of Ægyptians and Romans, and besieges Cæsar in the Palace, who seizes Ptolemy as a Pledge for his own Security. A Herald, sent from the King to enquire the Cause of this Tumult, is slain. An Attack being made, Cæsar defends himself, burns the Ægyptian Ships in the Harbour, and possesses himself of Pharos, where he puts Pothinus to death. Arsinoe, younger Sister of Ptolemey, by the Aid of Ganimede her Governor, arriving in the Camp, causes Achillas to be slain. Ganimede renews the Attack against Cæsar, who is block'd up in Pharos, and reduc'd to the greatest Extremity.

When conqu'ring Cæsar follow'd to the Land
His Rival's Head, and trod the barbarous Strand,
His Fortune strove with guilty Ægypt's Fate
In doubtful Fight, and this the dire Debate;
Shall Roman Arms great Lagus' Realm enthrall?
Or shall the Victor, like the Vanquish'd, fall
By Ægypt's Sword? Pompey, thy Ghost withstood
Th'impending Blow, and sav'd the Gen'ral's Blood,

190

Lest Rome, too happy after Loss of thee,
Shou'd rule the Nile, her self from Bondage free.

Secure, and with this barbarous Pledge content,
To Alexandria now the Conqu'ror went.
The Croud that saw his Entry, while, before,
Advancing Guards the Rods of Empire bore,
In murmur'd Sounds their jealous Rage disclos'd,
At Roman Rites and foreign Law impos'd.
Observing Cæsar soon his Error spy'd,
That not for him his mighty Rival dy'd,
Yet smooth'd his Brow, all Marks of Fear suppress'd,
And hid his Cares, deep bury'd in his Breast.

Then with intrepid Mien he took his Way,
The City Walls and Temples to survey,
Works which thy ancient Pow'r, great Macedon, display.
He view'd the splendid Fanes with careless Eyes,
Shrines rich with Gold and sacred Mysteries,
Nor fix'd his Sight, but, eager in his Pace,
Descends the Vault, which holds the Royal Race.
Philip's mad Son, the Prosp'rous Robber, bound
In Fate's eternal Chains, here sleeps profound,
Whom Death forbad his Rapines to pursue,
And in the World's Revenge the Monster slew.
His impious Bones, which thro' each Climate tost,
The Sport of Winds, or in the Ocean lost,

191

Had met a juster Fate, this Tomb obtain'd,
And Sacred, to that Kingdom's End, remain'd.
O! shou'd auspicious Years roll round again,
And Godlike Liberty resume her Reign,
Preserv'd to Scorn the Reliques wou'd be shown
Of the bold Chief, whose boundless Pride alone
This curst Example to Ambition gave,
How many Realms One Mortal can enslave!

Disdaining what his Father won before,
Aspiring still, and restless after more,
He left his Home; while Fortune smooth'd his Way,
And o'er the fruitful East enlarg'd his Sway.
Red Slaughter mark'd his Progress, as he past;
The guilty Sword laid Human Nature waste,
Discolour'd Ganges', and Euphrates' Flood,
With Persian This, and That with Indian Blood.
He seem'd in Terror to the Nations sent,
The Wrath of Heav'n, a Star of dire Portent,
And shook, like Thunder, all the Continent!

Nor yet content, a Navy he provides,
To Seas remote his Triumphs now he guides,
Nor Winds nor Waves his Progress cou'd withstand;
Nor Libya's scorching Heat, and desart Land,
Nor rolling Mountains of collected Sand.
Had Heav'n but giv'n him Line, he had outrun
The farthest Journey of the Setting Sun,

192

March'd round the Poles, and drank discover'd Nile
At his Spring-Head—But winged Fate the while
Comes on with Speed, the Fun'ral Hour draws near;
Death only cou'd arrest his mad Career,
Who to his Grave the World's Sole Empire bore,
With the same Envy 'twas acquir'd before;
And, wanting a Successor to his Reign,
Left all to suffer Conquest once again.

Yet Babylon first yielded to his Arms,
And Parthia trembled at his proud Alarms.
Oh Shame to tell! cou'd haughty Parthia fear
The Græcian Dart, and not the Roman Spear?
What tho' the North, and South, and West are ours,
Th'unconquer'd East defies our feeble Pow'rs,
So fatal once to Rome's great Crassi known,
A Province now to Pella's puny Town.

Now from Pelusium, where expanding wide
Nile pours into the Sea his ample Tide,
Came the Boy-King; His Presence soon appeas'd
The People's Rage, and giddy Tumult ceas'd.
In Ægypt's Palace, Cæsar sleeps Secure;
This Princely Hostage does awhile ensure
His Terms of Peace; when lo! the Sister-Queen,
In a small Boat conceal'd, securely mean,
With Gold corrupts the Keeper of the Port,
And undiscover'd lands, and lurks within the Court.

193

The Royal Whore! her Country's worst Disgrace,
The Fate and Fury of the Roman Race!
As Helen's soft incendiary Charms
Provok'd the Græcian and the Trojan Arms,
No less did Cleopatra's Eyes inspire
Italian Flames, and spread the kindled Fire.
A Rabble Rout, a vile enervate Band
Presum'd th'Imperial Eagles to withstand;
Canopus march'd, a Woman at their Head,
And then, if ever Rome knew aught of Dread,
E'en mighty Rome with Terror heard the Jar
Of clatter'd Cymbals tinkling to the War,
And shook her lofty Tow'rs, and trembled from afar.
What Triumphs had proud Alexandria seen,
Had great Octavius then a Captive been,
When hov'ring Vict'ry, at Leucate's Bay,
Hung on her Wings, and 'twas a Strife that Day,
If the lost World a Distaff shou'd obey.
From that curst Night this daring Hope arose,
That shameful Night, the Source of future Woes,
Which first commenc'd polluted Loves, between
A Roman Gen'ral and Ægyptian Queen.
O who can Anthony's wild Passion blame?
E'en Cæsar's flinty Heart confess'd the soft'ning Flame!
The foul Adult'rer, reeking with the Stains
Of impious Slaughter on Thessalian Plains,

194

Unwash'd from Blood, amidst the Rage of War
In Joys obscene forgets his cruel Care.
Tho' Pompey's Ghost yet haunt those barbarous Walls,
And howling in his Ears for Vengeance calls,
Secure in Guilt, he hugs a Harlot's Charms,
And mingles lawless Love with lawless Arms,
Nor mindful of his chaster Progeny,
A Bastard-Brother, Julia, gives to thee.
His rallying Foes on Libyan Plains rejoin;
Luxurious Cæsar, shamefully Supine,
Forgoes his Gains, and for a Kiss or Smile
Sells the dear Purchase of his martial Toil.

Him Cleopatra sought t'espouse her Care;
Presuming of her Charms, the mournful Fair
In wild Disorder loos'd her lovely Hair,
And, with a Face inviting sure Relief,
In tender Accents thus disclos'd her Grief:

Great Cæsar, look! of Lagus' Royal Race,
So thou restore me to my rightful Place,
I kneel a Queen. Expell'd my Father's Throne,
My Hope of Succour is in You alone.
You rise a prosp'rous Star to Ægypt's Aid;
Oh shine propitious on an injur'd Maid!
My Sex has oft the Pharian Scepter sway'd,
For so the Laws admit. Let Cæsar read
Our Parent's Will; my Brother's Crown and Bed

195

Are mine to share, and were the Youth but free
From saucy Tutors, he wou'd marry me.
But by Pothinus' Nod his Passions move,
Pothinus wields his Sword, and manages his Love.
Forbid that Crime; I freely quit my Claim,
But save from such Reproach our House and Name.
Rescue the Royal Boy from mean Command,
Restore the Scepter to his trembling Hand,
This vile Domestick's lawless Pride restrain,
Remove the Traitor-Guard, and teach the King to reign.
Th'imperious Slave, who kill'd great Cæsar's Foe,
Inur'd to Blood wou'd murder Cæsar too,
But far, far hence, ye Gods, avert the threatned Blow!
Let Pompey's Head suffice Pothinus' Fame,
Nor let a nobler Death increase our Shame!

Here paus'd the Queen, and spoke in Looks the rest;
Not Words alone cou'd move his savage Breast;
Her Eyes enforce her Pray'rs; soft Beauty pleads
And brib'd the Judge; a Night of Guilt succeeds.
Then soon for Peace th'affrighted Brother sought,
And with rich Gifts his Reconcilement bought.

Affairs united thus, the Court ordains
A solemn Feast, where Joy tumultuous reigns.
Here Cleopatra's Genius first was shown,
And Arts till then to frugal Rome unknown.

196

The Hall a Temple seem'd; corrupter Days
Scarce to the Gods wou'd such a Structure raise.
Rich was the fretted Roof, and cover'd o'er
With pond'rous Gold; all Onyx was the Floor.
Nor Marble Plates alone the Walls incas'd,
Beauteous to Sight, and all th'Apartment grac'd,
But solid Pillars of thick Agate stood,
And Ebony supply'd for common Wood.
Iv'ry the Doors, with Indian Tortoise seen
Inlaid, and studded Emerald between.
The Beds too shone, profuse of Gems, on high,
Their Cov'rings Tyrian Silk, of double Dye,
Embroider'd part with Gold, with Scarlet part,
A curious Mixture of Ægyptian Art.

And now the Croud of menial Slaves appears,
Of various Skin, and Size, and various Years.
Some, swarthy Africans with frizled Hair;
Black Æthiops these; and those, like Germans, fair,
With yellow Locks, which, Cæsar owns, outshine
In Colour e'en the Natives of the Rhine;
Beside th'unhappy Youth by Steel unmann'd,
And soften'd from their Sex, a beardless Band;
An abler Train was rang'd in adverse Rows,
Yet scarce their Cheeks did the first Down disclose.

The Princes took their Seats; amid the rest
Sat lordly Cæsar, their superior Guest.

197

Proud Cleopatra, not content alone
T'enjoy a Brother-Spouse, and share his Throne,
Had stain'd her Cheeks, and arm'd with artful Care
Her fatal Eyes, new Conquest to prepare;
Bright Jewels grac'd her Neck, and sparkled in her Hair.
O'ercharg'd with Spoils which the Red-Sea supply'd,
Scarce can She move beneath the pond'rous Pride.
Sidonian Silk her snowy Breasts array'd,
Which thro' the Net-work Veil a thousand Charms display'd.
Here might be seen large Oval Tables, wrought
Of Citron from Atlantick Forests brought,
Their Tressels Iv'ry; not so rich a Sort
Was Cæsar's Prize in vanquish'd Juba's Court.
Blind Ostentatious Madness! to display
Your Wealth, to whom e'en Civil War's a Play,
And tempt an armed Guest to seize the Prey!
Grant Riches not the Purpose of his Toil,
Nor with rapacious Arms to hunt for Spoil,
Think him a Heroe of that chaster Time,
When Poverty was Praise, and Gold a Crime;
Suppose Fabricius present at the Show,
Or the rough Consul chosen from the Plough,
Or virtuous Curius; each wou'd wish to come
With such a Triumph back to wond'ring Rome.

198

What Earth and Air, the Sea and Nile afford,
In Golden Vessels heaps the plenteous Board;
Whate'er ambitious Luxury cou'd find
Thro' the search'd Globe, and more than Want enjoin'd;
Herds of Ægyptian Gods, and Fowl of various Kind.
In Crystal Ew'rs Nilus supplies around
His purest Streams; vast glitt'ring Bowls abound
With Wine from Meroe's Isle, whose noble Age
Fermenting, sparkles with ungovern'd Rage:
With twisted Wreaths, which fragrant Flow'rs compose,
Delightful Nard, and ever-blooming Rose,
They crown their Brows; and strow their oily Hair
With Spice from neighb'ring Fields, not yet expir'd in Air.
Here Cæsar learns the fruitful World to drain,
While conscious Thoughts his secret Soul arraign;
Blushing he inward mourns the dire Debate
With his poor Son, but mourns, alas! too late,
And longs for War with Ægypt's wealthy State.

At length, the Tumult of the Banquet o'er,
When sated Luxury requir'd no more,
Cæsar protracts the silent Hours of Night,
And, turning to Achoreus cloth'd in white,
High on a lofty Couch—Say, holy Seer!
Whose hoary Age thy Guardian Gods revere,

199

Devoted to their Rites! wilt thou relate
The Rise and Progress of the Pharian State?
Describe the Land's Extent, what Humours sway
The Peoples Minds, and to what Pow'rs you pray,
What Customs keep, and what Devotion pay.
Whate'er your ancient Monuments contain,
Produce to Light, and willing Gods explain.
If Plato once obtain'd a like Request,
To whom your Sires their mystick Rites confest,
This let me boast, perhaps you have not here
A meaner Guest, or less judicious Ear.
Fame of my Rival led me first, 'tis true,
To Ægypt's Coast, yet join'd with Fame of You.
I still had vacant Hours amidst my Wars,
To read the Heav'ns, and to review the Stars;
Henceforth all Calendars must yield to mine,
And e'en Eudoxus shall the Palm resign.
But more than all, the Love of Truth, which fires
My glowing Breast, an ardent Wish inspires
To learn, what num'rous Ages ne'er cou'd know,
Your River's Source, and Causes of its Flow.
Indulge my Hope Nile's secret Birth to view,
No more in Arms I'll civil Strife pursue.

He paus'd; when thus Achoreus made Reply;
Ye rev'rend Shades of our great Ancestry!

200

While I to Cæsar Nature's Works explain,
And open Stores yet hid from Eyes profane,
Be it no Crime your Secrets to reveal!
Let others hold it pious to conceal
Such mighty Truths. I think the Gods design'd
Works such as these to pass all human Kind,
And teach the wondring World their Laws and heav'nly Mind.

At Nature's Birth, a various Pow'r was given
To various Stars, that cross the Poles of Heav'n,
And slack the rolling Sphere. With Sov'reign Rays
The Sun divides the Months, the Nights, the Days;
Fix'd in his Orb the wandring Course restrains
Of other Stars, and the great Dance ordains.
The changeful Moon intends th'alternate Tides.
Saturn o'er Ice and snowy Zones presides;
Mars rules the Winds, and the wing'd Thunder guides.
Jove's is a Sky serene and temp'rate Air;
The Seeds of Life are Venus' kindly Care.
O'er spreading Streams, Cyllenius, is thy Reign:
And when that Part of Heav'n thou dost attain,
Where Cancer with the Lion mingles Rays,
And Sirius all his fiery Rage displays,
Beneath whose hot Survey, deep in his Bed
Obscure from Sight, old Nilus veils his Head;

201

When thou from thence, in thy cœlestial Course,
Ruler of Floods, dost strike the River's Source,
The conscious Streams break out, and flowing soon
Obey thy Call, as Ocean does the Moon;
Nor check their Tide, till Night has from the Sun
Regain'd those Hours th'advancing Summer won.

Vain was the Faith of old, that melted Snow
From Æthiopian Hills produc'd this Flow;
For let the Natives Sun-burnt Skins declare,
That no bleak North breathes wintry Tempests there,
But Vapours from the South possess the parching Air.
Besides, such Torrents as by Snows increase,
Begin to swell when Spring does first release
Those wint'ry Stores; Nile ne'er provokes his Streams,
Till the hot Dog-Star shoot his angry Beams;
Nor then resumes his Banks, till Libra weighs
In equal Scale the measur'd Nights and Days.
Hence He the Laws of other Streams declines,
Nor flows in Winter, when at distance shines
The moderate Sun; commanded to repair
In Summer's Heat, to cool th'intemp'rate Air.
When scorch'd Siene feels her Cancer's Fire,
Then lest the World, consum'd in Flame, expire,
Nile to its Aid his wat'ry Forces draws,
And swells against the Lion's burning Jaws,

202

Moist'ning the Plains, till Phœbus late descends
To Autumn's cooler Couch, and Meroe's Shade extends.
Who can the Cause of such great Changes read?
E'en so our Parent Nature had decreed
Nile's constant Course, and so the World has need.

As vainly too Antiquity apply'd
Th'Etesian Winds to raise this wondrous Tide,
Which blow at stated Seasons of the Year
For several Days, and long possess the Air;
Or thought vast Clouds, which driv'n before them fly
Beyond the South, discharg'd the burden'd Sky
On Nilus' Head, and thence his Current swell'd;
Or that those Winds the River's Course repell'd,
Which stopp'd, and press'd by th'entring Sea, disdains
His Banks, and issuing boils along the Plains.

Some think vast Pores, and Gaps in Earth abound,
Where Streams in silent Veins creep under Ground,
Led from the chilling North, the Line to meet,
When pointed Beams direct on Meroe beat,
While the parch'd Earth a watry Succour craves;
Then Po and Ganges roll their smother'd Waves
Deep thro' the Vaults beneath; and Nile supply'd
Discharges at One Vent their mingled Tide,
Nor can the gather'd Flood in One straight Channel ride.

203

Some think the Sea, which round all Lands extends
His liquid Arms, these gushing Waters sends;
That Length of Course the Saltness wears away;
Or thus; since Phœbus and the Stars, we say,
Drink Ocean's Streams; when, near hot Cancer's Claws,
The thirsty Sun a larger Portion draws,
That more than Air digests, attracted so,
Falls back by Night, and causes Nile to flow.

Might I in so perplex'd a Cause engage,
I think, since Nature grew mature in Age,
Some Waters, Cæsar, have deriv'd their Birth
From Veins by strong Convulsions broke in Earth;
And some coæval with the World began,
And starting thro' appointed Channels ran,
When this whole Frame th'Almighty Builder rear'd,
Ordain'd its Laws, and its first Motions steer'd.

The Kings of Greece, of Ægypt, and the East,
Ardent like You, were with this Wish possest,
And ev'ry Age has labour'd to attain
The wondrous Truth, but labour'd still in vain,
For Nature lurks obscure, and mocks their Pain.
Philip's great Son, whose consecrated Name
Memphis adores, the first in Regal Fame,
Envious of this, detach'd a chosen Band
To range th'Extreme of Æthiopa's Land;

204

They pass the scorching Soil, and only view
Where hotter Streams their constant Way pursue.
The farthest West our great Sesostris saw,
While harness'd Kings his lofty Chariot draw,
Yet drank your Rhodanus and Padus first
At both their Springs, ere Nile obey'd his Thirst.
Cambyses, mad with Lust of Pow'r t'o'er-run
The long-liv'd Nations of the rising Sun,
To promis'd Spoils a num'rous Army led;
His famish'd Soldiers on each other fed,
Exhausted he return'd, nor saw great Nilus' Head:
Nor boasting Fame pretends to make it known;
Where'er thou flow'st, thy Spring's possest by none,
And not One Land can call thee, Nile, her own.
Yet what the God, who did thy Birth conceal,
Has giv'n to know, to Cæsar I'll reveal.

First from the Southern Pole thy Stream we trace,
Which rolling forward with a speedy Pace,
Under hot Cancer is directly driv'n
Against Bootes' Wain, far in the North of Heav'n.

205

Yet winding in thy Course from East to West,
Arabia now, now Libya's Sands are blest
With thy cool Flood; which first the Seres spy,
Yet seek thee too; thy Current, rolling by,
Thro' Æthiopia next, a Stranger, flows.
Nor can the World perceive to whom it owes
Thy sacred Birth, which Nature hid from all,
Lest any Nation shou'd behold thee small,
And, cov'ring deep thy Infant Head, requir'd
That None shou'd find what is by All admir'd.

Thou, by a Law to other Streams unknown,
In Summer's Solstice o'er thy Banks art thrown,
And bring'st in thy full Tide a Winter of thy own.
To thee alone 'tis giv'n thy Waves to roll
Athwart the Globe, enlarg'd to either Pole;
These Nations seek thy Fountain, those wou'd trace
Thy Gulph. With spacious Arms thou dost embrace
Hot Meroe, fruitful to a sooty Race,
And proud of Ebon Woods; yet no Retreat
Their useless Shades afford to shun th'excessive Heat.
Then thro' the Regions of the scorching Sun,
Not lessen'd by his Thirst, thy Waters run.
O'er barren Sands they take a tedious Course,
Now rolling in one Tide their gather'd Force;
Now wandring in their way, and sprinkled round,
O'er yielding Banks thy wanton Billows bound.

206

Thy Channel here its scatter'd Troops regains,
Between th'Ægyptian and Arabian Plains,
Where Philas bounds the Realm; with easy Pace
Thy slipp'ry Waves thro' Desarts cut their Race,
Where Nature by a Tract of Land divides
Our Sea, distinguish'd from the Red-Sea's Tides.
Who that beholds thee here so gently flow,
Wou'd think thou ever cou'dst tempestuous grow?
But when o'er rugged Cliffs and Ways unev'n
In steepy Cataracts thou'rt headlong driv'n,
Thy rushing Waves resisted, fiercer fly,
And batter'd Froth rebounding fills the Sky.
The Hills remurmur with the dashing Sound,
Thy Billows ride triumphant far around,
And rear their conqu'ring Heads with hoary Honours crown'd.
Hence shaken Abatos first feels thy Rage,
And Rocks, which in our great Forefathers Age
Were call'd the River's Veins; because they show
His first Increase, and Symptoms of his Flow.
Vast Piles of Mountains here encompass wide
His Streams, to Libya's thirsty Land deny'd,
Which thus inclos'd in a deep Valley glide.
At Memphis first he sees the open Plains,
Then flows at large, and his low Banks disdains.

207

While thus Secure, as if no Danger nigh,
Till Night's black Steeds had travell'd half the Sky,
They pass the Hours of Rest, Pothinus' Mind
From brooding Mischief can no Leisure find.
Season'd in Sacred Blood, what Crime can scare
The Wretch, that late cou'd such a Murder dare?
Great Pompey's Ghost dwells in his Breast, t'inspire
New Monsters there; and Furies add their Fire.
He hopes ignoble Hands shall wear those Stains,
Which Heav'n for injur'd Roman Chiefs ordains,
And that blind Fortune to a Slave that Day,
The Senate's Vengeance shou'd bequeath away,
The Debt for Civil War, which Cæsar once shall pay.
But oh! Ye righteous Pow'rs exert your Care!
The guilty Life in Brutus' Absence spare!
Nor let vile Ægypt, Rome's great Justice boast,
And this Example to the World be lost!

Vain is th'Attempt; yet, scorning secret Snares,
Steel'd by his Crimes, the desp'rate Villain dares,
With open War th'unconquer'd Chief provoke,
And dooms his Head already to the Stroke,
Designs to bid the slaughter'd Father go,
And seek his Son in dreary Shades below.
Yet first he sends a trusty Slave, to bear
This hasty Message to Achillas' Ear,

208

His Partner-Ruffian in great Pompey's Fall,
Whom the weak King had made his General,
And, thoughtless of his own Defence, resign'd
A Pow'r against himself and all Mankind.

Go, Sluggard, to thy Bed of Down, and steep
Thy heavy Eyelids in luxurious Sleep!
While Cleopatra does the Court invade,
And Pharos is not privately betray'd,
But giv'n away; dost thou alone forbear
To grace the Nuptials of thy Mistress here?
Th'incestuous Sister shall her Brother wed,
Ally'd already to the Roman's Bed,
And sharing both by turns; Ægypt's her Hire,
Already paid, and Rome she may require.
Cou'd Cleopatra's Sorceries decoy
E'en Cæsar's Age, and shall we trust a Boy?
Whom if one Night she fold within her Arms,
Drunk with lewd Joys, and fascinating Charms,
Whatever pious Name the Crime allay,
Between each Kiss, He'll give our Heads away,
And we by Racks or Flames must for her Beauty pay.
In this Distress Fate no Relief allows;
Cæsar's her Lover, and the King her Spouse;
And She herself, no doubt, the Doom has past
On us, and all who wou'd have left her chast.

209

But by the Deed which we together shar'd,
In vain, if not by new Attempts repair'd,
By that strict League a Hero's Blood has bound,
Bring speedy War, and all their Joys confound.
Rush boldly on; with Slaughter let us stain
Their Nuptial Torch; the cruel Bride be slain
E'en in her Bed, and which soe'er supplies
In present turn the Husband's Place, he dies.
Nor Cæsar's Name our Purpose shall appall;
Fortune's the common Mistress of us all,
And She, that lifts him now above Mankind,
Courted by us, may be to us as kind.
We share his brightest Glory, and are great
By Pompey's Death, as He by his Defeat.
Look on the Shore, and read good Omens there,
And ask the bloody Waves what we may dare.
Behold what Tomb the wretched Trunk supplies,
Half hid in Sand, half naked to the Skies!
Yet this was Cæsar's Equal whom we slew.
And doubt we then new Glory to pursue?
Grant that our Birth's obscure; yet, shall we need
Kings or rich States confed'rate to the Deed?
No, Fate's our own, and Fortune in our way,
Without our Toil, presents a nobler Prey;
Appease we now the Romans while we may!

210

This second Victim shall their Rage remove
For Pompey's Death, and turn their Hate to Love.
Nor dread we mighty Names, which Slaves adore;
Stripp'd of his Army what's this Soldier more
Than Thou or I?—to-night then let us end
His Civil Wars; to-night the Fates shall send
A Sacrifice to Troops of Ghosts below,
And pay that Head, which to the World they owe.
At Cæsar's Throat let the fierce Soldiers fly,
And Ægypt's Youth with Rome's their Force apply,
Those for their King, and these for Liberty.
No more, but haste, and take the Foe Supine,
Prepar'd for Lust, and gorg'd with Food and Wine.
Be bold, and think the Gods to thee commend
The Cause, which Brutus' Pray'rs and Cato's will defend.

To Mischief swift, Achillas soon obey'd
This Summons, yet his sudden March betray'd
By no loud Signal, nor the Trumpet's Jar:
In silent Haste he lead a barb'rous Train of War.
Degen'rate Crouds of Romans fill his Bands,
So lost in Vice, so chang'd in foreign Lands,
That they, who shou'd have scorn'd the King's Commands,
Forgetful of their Country and their Fame,
Under a vile Domestick's Conduct came.

211

No Faith, no Honour can the Herd restrain,
That follow Camps, and fight for sordid Gain;
Like Ruffians brib'd they ne'er the Cause enquire,
That Side's the Just, which gives the largest Hire.
If by your Swords proud Cæsar were to bleed,
Strike for your selves, Ye Slaves! nor sell the Deed!
Oh wretched Rome! where'er thy Eagle flies,
New Civil Wars, new Fury will arise;
E'en on Nile's Banks, far from Thessalian Plains,
Amidst thy Troops their Country's Madness reigns.
What more cou'd the bold House of Lagus dare,
Had Pompey found a just Protection there?
No Roman Hand's exempt, but each must spill
His Share of Blood, and Heav'n's Decrees fulfil.
Such vengeful Plagues it pleas'd the Gods to send,
And with such num'rous Wounds the Latian State to rend.

Not for the Son or Father now they fight;
A base-born Slave can Civil Arms excite,
Achillas mingles in the Roman Strife;
And, had not Fate protected Cæsar's Life,
These had prevail'd; each Villain ready stood,
This waits without, and that within, for Blood.
The Court, dissolv'd in Feasting, open lay
To treach'rous Snares, a careless easy Prey.
Then o'er the Royal Cups had Cæsar bled,
And on the Board had fall'n his sever'd Head,

212

But lest, amid the Darkness of the Night,
Their Swords unconscious, in the huddled Fight,
Might slay the King, the Slaves awhile took Breath,
And slipp'd th'important Hour of Cæsar's Death.
They thought to make him soon the Loss repay,
And fall a Sacrifice in open Day.
One Night is giv'n him; by Pothinus' Grace
He sees the Sun once more renew his Race.

Now the fair Morning-Star began to show
The Sign of Day from Cassia's lofty Brow,
And e'en the Dawn made Sultry Ægypt glow.
When from afar the marching Troops appear,
Not in loose Squadrons scatter'd here and there,
But one broad Front of War, as if that Day
To meet an equal Force, and fight in just Array.
While Cæsar thinks not the Town-Walls Secure,
He bars the Palace-Gates, compell'd t'endure
Th'inglorious Siege, and in a Corner hide
Inclos'd, nor dares to the whole Court confide.
In haste he arms his Friends; his anxious Breast,
Now fir'd with Fury, now with Doubt deprest,
Much fears th'Assault, yet more that Fear disdains;
So when some gen'rous Savage, bound with Chains,
Is shut within his Den, he howls with Rage,
And breaks his Teeth against the massy Cage:

213

And thus, if by new Weight of Hills impos'd
Sicilian Ætna's breathing Jaws were clos'd,
E'en thus th'imprison'd God of Fire wou'd rave,
And drive his Flames rebellowing round the Cave.
Behold the Man, who lately scorn'd to dread
The Senate's Army to just Battle led,
The Flow'r of Roman Lords, and Pompey at their Head,
Who, in a Cause forbidding Hope, cou'd trust
That Providence for Him shou'd prove unjust,
Behold him now Opprest, forlorn of Aid,
Driv'n to a House, and of a Slave afraid!
He, whom rough Scythians had not dar'd abuse,
Nor savage Moors, who barbarously use
In Sport, to try inhospitable Arts
On Strangers bound, their living Mark for Darts;
Tho' Rome's extended World, tho' India join'd
With Tyrian Gades seems a Realm confin'd,
A Space too scanty to his vaster Mind,
Now, like a Boy or tender Maid, he flies,
When sudden Arms th'invaded Works surprize;
He traverses the Court, each Room explores,
His Hope is all in Bars and bolted Doors.
Yet doubtful while he wanders here and there,
He leads the Captive King his Fate to share,
Or expiate that Death the Slaves for Him prepare.

214

If Darts or missive Flames shall fail, he'll throw
Their Sov'reign's Head against th'advancing Foe.
So, when Medea fled her native Clime,
And fear'd just Vengeance on her impious Crime,
With ready Steel the cruel Sorceress stood,
To greet her Father with her Brother's Blood,
Prepar'd his Head, to stop, with dire Affright,
A Parent's Speed, and to assure her Flight.

Yet Cæsar, that unequal Arms might cease,
Suspends his Fury, and essays a Peace.
A Herald from the King is sent, t'assuage
His Rebel Servants, and upbraid their Rage,
And in their absent Tyrant's Name t'enquire
The secret Author of this kindled Fire.
But scornful of Reproach, th'audacious Crew
The sacred Laws of Nations overthrew,
And for his Speech the Royal Envoy slew.
Inhuman Deed! that swells the guilty Score
Of Ægypt's Monsters, well increas'd before.
Not Thessaly, not Juba's savage Train,
Pharnaces' impious Troops, not cruel Spain,
Nor Pontus, nor the Syrtes' barb'rous Land,
Dar'd an Attempt like this voluptuous Band.

Th'Attack is form'd, the Palace closely pent;
Huge Jav'lins to the shaken Walls are sent,

215

A Storm of flying Spears; yet from below
No batt'ring Rams resistless drive their Blow,
No Engine's brought, no Fires; the giddy Croud
In Parties roam, and with brute Clamours loud,
In several Bands their wasted Strength divide,
And here and there to force an Entrance try'd;
In vain, for Fortune fights on Cæsar's Side.

Then, where the Palace 'midst surrounding Waves
Projects luxuriant, and their Fury braves,
The Ships too their united Force apply,
And swiftly hurl the Naval War on high.
Yet present ev'ry where with Sword or Fire,
Cæsar th'Approaches guards, and makes the Foes retire.
To all by turns he brings successful Aids,
Inverts the War, and, tho' besieg'd, invades.
Fireballs, and Torches drest with unctuous Spoil
Of Tar combustible, and frying Oil,
Kindled he launch'd against the Fleet; nor slow
The catching Flames invest the smould'ring Tow.
The pitchy Planks their crackling Prey become;
The painted Sterns, and Rowers Seats consume.
There, Hulks half-burnt sink in the Main; and here,
Arms on the Waves and drowning Men appear.

Nor thus suffic'd, the Flames from thence aspire,
And seize the Buildings with contagious Fire.

216

Swift o'er the Roofs, by Winds increas'd, they fly;
So shooting Meteors blaze along the Sky,
And lead their wand'ring Course with sudden Glare,
By sulph'rous Atoms fed in Fields of thinnest Air.

Affrighted Crouds the growing Ruin view;
To save the City from the Siege they flew,
When Cæsar, wont the lucky Hour to chuse
Of sudden Chance in War, and wisely use,
Lost not in slothful Rest the fav'ring Night,
But shipp'd his Men, and sudden took his Flight.
Pharos he seiz'd, an Island heretofore,
When Prophet Proteus Ægypt's Scepter bore,
Now by a Chain of Moles contiguous to the Shore.
Here Cæsar's Arms a double Use obtain;
Hence from the straiten'd Foe he bars the Main,
While to his Friends th'important Harbour lies
A safe Retreat, and open to Supplies.
Nor longer now the Doom suspended stands,
Which Justice on Pothinus' Guilt demands.
Yet not as Guilt, unmatch'd like his, requires,
Not by the shameful Cross, or torturing Fires,
Nor torn by rav'nous Beasts the howling Wretch expires.
The Sword dishonour'd did his Head divide,
And by a Fate like Rome's best Son he dy'd.

217

Arsinoe now, by well-concerted Snares
'Scap'd from the Palace, to the Foe repairs;
The trusty Ganymede assists her Flight.
Then o'er the Camp she claim'd a Sov'reign's Right;
Her Brother absent, she assumes the Sword,
And frees the Tyrant from his Houshold Lord;
By her just Hand Achillas meets his Fate,
Rebel accurs'd! in Blood and Mischief great!
Another Victim, Pompey, to thy Shade;
But think not yet the full Atonement made,
Tho' Ægypt's King, tho' all the Royal Line
Shou'd fall, thy murmuring Ghost wou'd still repine,
Still unreveng'd thy Murder wou'd remain,
Till Cæsar's purple Life the Senate's Swords shall stain.

Nor does the Swelling Tempest yet subside.
The Chief remov'd that did its Fury guide,
To the same Charge bold Ganymede succeeds,
Prosp'rous awhile in many hardy Deeds.
So long th'Event of War in Balance lay,
So great the Dangers of that doubtful Day,
That Cæsar from that Day alone might claim
Immortal Wreaths, and all the Warrior's Fame.

Now while to quit the straiten'd Mole he strove,
And to the vacant Ships the Fight remove,
War's utmost Terrors press on ev'ry side;
Before the Strand besieging Navies ride;

218

Behind, the Troops advance. No way is seen
T'escape, or scarce a glorious Death to win.
No room with slaughter'd Foes to strew the Plain,
And bravely fall amidst a Pile of Slain.
A Captive to the Place he now appears,
Doubtful if Death shou'd move his Hope, or Fears.
In this Distress a sudden Thought inspir'd
His hardy Breast, by great Examples fir'd;
Bold Scæva's Action he to Mind recalls,
And Glory won near fam'd Dyrrachium's Walls;
Where, whilst his Men a doubtful Fight maintain,
And Pompey strove the batter'd Works to gain,
Amidst a Field of Foes, that hemm'd him round,
Alone the brave Centurion kept his Ground.

[OMITTED]

Here the Original Poem breaks off abruptly, having been left unfinish'd by the Author.

If the Reader is curious to know the Source of the Nile, he may consult Peter Pais's Account of it in the Description of Africa by Dr. Olphert Dappert, and Father Telles the Jesuit in his History of Æthiopia; or Monsieur Le Bruyn's Voyage to the Levant, printed for Jacob Tonson, 1702, p. 161, where the Accounts of both these Authors are quoted at large, and compared.