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The Works of Hildebrand Jacob

... Containing Poems on Various Subjects, and Occasions; With the Fatal Constancy, a Tragedy; and Several Pieces in Prose. The Greatest Part Never Before Publish'd
  

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TALE VI. The Apparition.
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87

TALE VI. The Apparition.

Visa mihi ante oculos, & notâ major imago.
Virg.

The Guardian Pow'rs are ready still,
To keep the honest Man from Ill;
For, as by Dian's friendly Ray
To Cloe's Arms I took my Way,
To Cloe, ever kind, and gay,
Close by the Mansion of the Fair,
Whose easy Chains with Joy I wear,
I saw, Syrisca's Ghost appear.
How chang'd from her, whom we of late
Beheld, accomplish all her Fate,

88

A Martyr to the common Cause,
A Victim to too rigid Laws!
Majestic now she seem'd to stand,
Her quondam Fasces in her Hand,
With Leaves, and Blossoms spangled o'er,
Tho' Rods of wither'd Birch before.
Not Venus self on Dido's Coast
Cou'd more refulgent Glory boast,
When to her Son, a while conceal'd,
At once the Goddess stood reveal'd.
Trembling with Fear, amaz'd, oppress'd,
And pale, the Phantom I address'd.
O say, departed Matron, say,
Why we again that Form survey?
Why from Infernal Realms you rove,
Or leave th' eternal Bow'rs above?
What Wealth conceal'd, what Debts unpaid
Disturb your venerable Shade?
Nor Debts, she cry'd, nor Wealth conceal'd,
To rightful Heirs to be reveal'd,

89

The Business of each common Ghost,
Call me from th' illustrious Post,
Where under Venus I command,
Distinguish'd in the Paphian Band.
For you alone, a Guardian Spright,
I travel thro' the Gloom of Night;
However rais'd, I cannot grow
Unmindful of old Friends below:
Fly then, lov'd Mortal, or ingage
A surly, illbred Cuckold's Rage;
The charming Cloe you adore,
The willing Nymph is free no more:
From Winds, and Waves, all Dangers past,
Rough Triton is return'd at last,
Caresses now his wanton Spouse,
And half believes her faithless Vows,
Jealous, as Heroes of their Fame,
And watchful, as the am'rous Dame:
Shun the late hospitable Gate;
One gentle Tap proclaims your Fate.

90

Prostrate I fell, and, O kind Shade,
What Thanks, said I, shou'd here be paid!
What's the Reward of Love so true,
What to immortal Friendship due?
Now by those Rods you still confess,
Those Emblems of your late Address,
Pow'rful as Love to pain, and please,
Inspiring as Cantharides,
E'en by those sacred Rods I swear,
And by your now Ambrosian Hair,
If on the Muse we dare rely,
Syrisca's Name shall never dye!
With Flow'rs your Shrine shall still be crown'd,
And Midnight Brawls your Praise resound.