 | Miscellanies in Verse and Prose |  |
From the same.
[Where art thou, Beauty's radiant Sphere?]
Where art thou, Beauty's radiant Sphere?
Why dost thou not, sweet Maid, appear?
Whose Graces so illustrious shine,
They seem not Human, but Divine.
Why dost thou not, sweet Maid, appear?
Whose Graces so illustrious shine,
They seem not Human, but Divine.
Empyreal Heav'n, where Love resides;
Thou Primum Mobile, which rolls
The Dance of Hearts, and smoothly guides,
Enchanting all Beholders Souls.
Thou Primum Mobile, which rolls
The Dance of Hearts, and smoothly guides,
Enchanting all Beholders Souls.
Crystalline Seat, from whence proceed
Transparent Waters, which refine
The Flames of Love, and richly feed,
And make the rising Passion shine.
Transparent Waters, which refine
The Flames of Love, and richly feed,
And make the rising Passion shine.
Gay Firmament, where fairly blaze
Two glittering Stars, for ever bright;
On Heav'n and Earth they cast their Rays,
Rich with their own unborrow'd Light.
Two glittering Stars, for ever bright;
On Heav'n and Earth they cast their Rays,
Rich with their own unborrow'd Light.
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Goddess of Joy, whose blithesome Pow'r
O'er-rules the sullen Saturn's Hour,
And scorns, with strange Humility,
The Grandeur Jove designs for thee.
O'er-rules the sullen Saturn's Hour,
And scorns, with strange Humility,
The Grandeur Jove designs for thee.
Fair Vanquisher of Warrior Mars,
Thou nobler Sun, whose keener Ray
So fierce and full a Lustre bears,
Ev'n Phœbus brings a weaker Day.
Thou nobler Sun, whose keener Ray
So fierce and full a Lustre bears,
Ev'n Phœbus brings a weaker Day.
Cœlestial Messenger, to whom
The God of Eloquence must yield;
Thy Silence will itself o'ercome
All florid Figures he can wield.
The God of Eloquence must yield;
Thy Silence will itself o'ercome
All florid Figures he can wield.
Nothing of Venus thou dost own,
Except her Beauty and her Grace;
And of the changeful Moon, alone
The Lustre has in thee a Place.
Except her Beauty and her Grace;
And of the changeful Moon, alone
The Lustre has in thee a Place.
Thou, Constance, art this wondrous Sphere,
But while, by Fortune's Malice crost,
This sordid Work you follow here,
The Beauties you possess, are lost.
But while, by Fortune's Malice crost,
This sordid Work you follow here,
The Beauties you possess, are lost.
Forsake then such a base Imploy,
Admit Addresses, be not coy,
And highborn Ladies will repine
To see their Charms depress'd by thine.
Admit Addresses, be not coy,
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To see their Charms depress'd by thine.
Ev'n now I offer, from my Heart,
A Love sincere, untaught by Art;
A Flame so pure, so strong a Fire,
Did never yet a Breast inspire.
A Love sincere, untaught by Art;
A Flame so pure, so strong a Fire,
Did never yet a Breast inspire.
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