Miscellanies in Verse and Prose :: :: University of Virginia Library

Miscellanies in Verse and Prose

By Mr. Jabez Hughes

Hughes, Jabez (1684 or 5-1731)

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LETTERS ON Several Occasions.

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ÆTNA.

A POEM. Translated from the Latin.

Ætna , that from her broken Cells expires
Wide Inundations of devouring Fires;
The fruitful Causes of the furious Flame,
The dread Convulsions that disturb her Frame,
Shall be the Subject of my daring Song,
For Nature's Wonders to the Muse belong.)

Apollo, God of Numbers, gracious smile;
From Xanthos, Delphos, or the Delian Isle,
Resort to bless my Verse; and with thee bring
The tuneful Sisters from their sacred Spring,
To crown my Vows; if you supply your Store,
I safely shall pursue a Path untrod before.

Who has not heard of Saturn's Golden Reign?
When none with Labour sow'd the fruitful Grain,
Nor clear'd from rising Weeds th'encumber'd Plain;

But annual Harvests freely fill'd the Floor,
And Vines, unpress'd, supply'd their gen'rous Store:
When fragrant Honey from the Leaves distill'd,
And Oil spontaneous dropp'd upon the Field.
While Men, invited by a Life so sweet,
Made quiet Cottages their humble Seat.

Such Themes, by daily Use, are common grown,
And better than the present Age are known:
Who has not sung th'adventrous Youth of Greece,
To Colchis steering for the Golden Fleece?
Troy laid in Ashes by th'Argolic Train?
The Mother weeping for her Children slain?
The Serpent's Teeth? the Feast Thyestes made?
Th'unhappy Fair by Theseus' Fraud betray'd?
And whate'er wicked Deeds have been exprest
By antient Poets, and in Fables drest.

A Theme untouch'd my Muse attempts to sing;
From whence th'unwasted Fires of Ætna spring;
What Causes give them Vent, when, from below,
Huge molten Rocks with frightful Roar they throw:
When all around descends the sulph'rous Stream,
And sweeps the Country with the driving Flame.

No Faith is due to what the Poets feign,
That Vulcan does within the Caverns reign,
And, lab'ring at the Forge, rolls out the Tide
Of furious Fires, and shakes the Mountain's Side.
As if a Care so sordid cou'd employ
The sacred Pow'rs inhabiting the Sky;

But far remote in Heav'n, Sublime they reign,
And the base Toil of Human Trades disdain.

As fond the Notion, that beneath the Cave
Their noisy Shop the brawny Cyclops have,
With heavy Hammers on strong Anvils beat
The dreaded Bolt, and mighty Strokes repeat.
A shameless Fiction, so absurd and vain,
As no pretended Proofs can e'er maintain.

Nor less prophane, that the Gigantic Brood,
Oppress'd beneath, eject the fiery Flood.
This impious Race, 'tis said, with mad Design,
To storm the Starry Seats did boldly join,
Jove to depose, and rule with dreadful Awe,
And on the vanquish'd Heav'n impose the Law.
Down to the Groin a Human Form descends,
But in a Serpent's Folds the monstrous Figure ends.
Huge Mounds, to reach the starry Summit, rise;
On Pelion Ossa, and on Ossa lies
Olympus' Height, and swells within the Skies.
From these with fearless Insolence they strove
To scale the Spheres, and win the Seats above.
The furious Band attempt the trembling Sky,
And to the Combat all the Gods defy.
To guard the Heav'ns, Jove cast his Lightnings round,
And fiery Bolts with formidable Sound.
Th'enormous Crew assail, with barb'rous Cry;
With wrecking Winds he vindicates his Sky,
And rattling Thunders rushing from on high.

The Gods all hasten at the fierce Alarms,
And run Unanimous to ready Arms.
Mars fought amain, and ev'ry Deity;
But long their Fears in equal Balance lie,
'Till Jupiter his Master-Thunder play'd,
And their proud Piles in shatter'd Ruins lay'd.
Crush'd with their Works, the Rebels were subdu'd,
With Mother Earth, who still their Strength renew'd.
Then to the World was Peace restor'd, and then
Gay Bacchus visited the Skies agen;
The Gods triumphant take their former Place,
And now for Heav'n secur'd, receive the Victor's Grace.
Enceladus by Jove, above the rest,
With bell'wing Ætna's monstrous Weight was prest;
He sweats beneath the Load, and still expires
From his wide Jaws, the Flakes of mounting Fires.

Such empty Fictions the fond Vulgar hold,
By sportive Wits in Lying Poems told.
They, like the Drama, in their Verses show
The gloomy Manes, and the Ghosts below;
The Realms of Death, where ruthless Pluto reigns,
The Stygian Waters, and the dreery Plains:
To them we owe the Dog with triple Roar,
And Tityus' Bulk which spreads sev'n Acres o'er.
Thee, Tantalus, they teaze, in Plenty plac'd,
That still provokes, and still eludes thy eager Taste.
They sing how Minos gives the Phantoms Laws,
And Æacus decides the dubious Cause.

Condemn'd by them alone, Ixion's bound,
Fix'd on his restless Wheel, that rolls for ever round:
With other Stories of Infernal Woes,
Mere Fiction all! as conscious Nature knows.

Nor here they stop; ev'n into Heav'n they pry,
And trace the secret Actions of the Sky;
They know the Civil Wars of Gods above,
The Shapes in which they sought forbidden Love:
How Jove a Bull did to Europa seem,
And as a milk-white Swan to Leda came:
How glitt'ring in a precious Show'r he roll'd,
And vanquish'd Danaë in the Form of Gold.
Such Liberties as these the Poets take;
But I of Truth a strict Relation make;
I sing what fervid Springs of Matter fry
In Ætna's Hollow, and the Flame supply.

Where-e'er this ample Ball extends around,
And circling Ocean rolls its Waves profound,
It is not solid all, but Pores divide
The spreading Mass, and yawning Caverns wide;
For, like an Animal, in Veins below,
To feed its Life, the Waters ceaseless flow;
And in its Bowels rattling Winds are bred,
Which, struggling upwards, break their darksome Bed.

Or when the crude Materials of the World,
In rude Disorder and Confusion hurl'd,
Were portion'd out, and gave a beauteous Birth
To the new Forms of Heav'n, and Seas, and Earth;

Heav'n drew the purer Seeds, the Sea the next,
And lumpish Earth was of the coarsest mixt;
A discontinu'd Body; as in haste
A huddled Heap of Stones together cast,
And ill-compacted, of unequal Size,
Hollow beneath, and all disjointed lies:
Such is the Globe; not one united Mass,
But broken Channels thro' her Bowels pass.

Or thus at first these secret Pores were sluc'd,
With Earth coëval, and not since produc'd;
Or else the Winds, in close Confinement pent,
Shatter the Soil, to force a various Vent;
Or Waters, ever-running, wash away
The wearing Ground, and silently decay;
Or Fires, supprest beneath, with Rage demand
An upward Passage thro' the sunder'd Land;
Or all these Elements together jar,
And meet discordant in intestine War.

But here the Cause 'tis needless to pursue,
Since the known Fact is manifest to View.
For who that sees such num'rous Fountains spread,
And start emerging from their secret Bed,
Can doubt that Vacancies in Earth are bred?
Nor can they such a copious Stream sustain
By Vapours only, and by falling Rain,
But ample Hollows must include below
The plenteous Fund, from whence the Torrents flow:

And rolling Rivers frequently are found
To disappear, and plunge beneath the Ground;
In roomy Gulphs absorb'd, they perish quite,
Or blindly running on, conceal'd from Sight,
Gush sudden forth, and issuing out again,
Renew their Current on the fertile Plain.

If spacious Channels thus the Soil divide,
T'imbibe the Treasures of the smother'd Tide;
A Track for rising Fountains must be found,
And various Voids must perforate the Ground.
If Rivers, swallow'd up, are wholly lost,
Or rais'd again, a second Birth can boast;
Unknown before, if others make their way,
And from new Sources a new Stream display,
Where is the Wonder, that the working Wind
Shou'd ope itself a Passage, when confin'd?
Of this undoubted Proofs we may receive,
And the rent Earth can sad Examples give;
Breaches immensely wide, of dire Affright,
And gaping Chasms, where the descending Sight
May strange Abysses view, and Ruins hid in Night.

Ev'n savage Beasts can with their Feet, we find,
Delve deep in ample Forests Caverns blind.
So spacious are the downward Dens they frame,
That Floods of Water scarcely fill the same.
From all these Instances thus clear to View,
If just Deductions strictly we pursue,

We shall conclude, that in the dark Profound,
The like Effects may easily abound.
For Fire, by Nature fierce and violent,
More fierce becomes in straiten'd Caverns pent,
And restless strives, and breaking ev'ry Band,
Works out its Way, and separates the Land;
And when the stony Ground resists their Course,
Th'indignant Flames a Pass obliquely force.
This shakes the trembling Earth; when, coop'd beneath,
Thro' subterraneous Veins the Spirits breathe,
And kindle Motion, which cou'd never be,
If Earth were solid, and from Channels free;
No Motions then, that fill us with Affright,
Or Spectacles uncouth wou'd strike the Sight,
But the vast Ball wou'd rest a lifeless Weight.

If we suppose these Fires are only bred
In superficial Hollows, and are fed
In upper Chinks; 'tis false, and daily Sight
Disproves our Error, and will set us right:
For where the Cells an open Mouth display,
The falling Fires soon languish and decay;
And the free Winds, compress'd in Space no more,
Abate their Fury, and no longer roar:
But when in narrow Prisons they're inclos'd,
They heave and struggle, in their way oppos'd,
And pushing thro' the shatter'd Soil, repair
To shake their Wings aloft, and skim in upper Air.

The furious Blast o'erturns the trembling Wall;
And tott'ring Towns, at once supplanted, fall.
From hence the fairest Omen we may frame,
(If an Event so strange, Belief may claim,)
The World shall change its present Form again,
And Chaos re-assume his antient Reign.

As Earth is riven thus with secret Flaws,
The busy Winds thro' various Veins she draws;
This Ætna clearly shews; nor need'st thou here
Seek for the Causes, which so plain appear;
For many Wonders which the Hill supplys,
From evident Originals arise.

There yawning Breaches gape; and level here
Her Sides entire without a Wound appear:
And the deep Rock resists the fiery War.
Amid the Strife, some Parts are firmer fixt,
And stand the Flames, which prey upon the next.
From these rude Shocks th'embowel'd Mountain wears
A dreadful Aspect, and indented Scars.

The mystic Theme inflames the learned Mind
The certain Cause of the strange Fact to find.
The Fires will soon an Information give,
And what our Eyes behold, we must believe.
So might we try and prove it by the Touch,
But the fierce Flames forbid a near Approach:
The sacred Pow'r who rules th'intestine Fray,
To Distance drives all Witnesses away.

Yet may we judge what tortures thus the Hill,
And who conducts so great a Miracle.

Now Clouds of burning Sand involve the Sky,
And flaming Fragments now are whirl'd on high,
Rent from the Mountain's Base; and all around
The hollow Caverns thunder with the Sound.
The tortur'd Heav'ns now labour with the Weight
Of dusky Ruins in their cloudy Flight;
Jove from above th'outrageous Strife admires,
The mounting Fogs, and Floods of spiry Fires;
And fears the Giants shou'd rebell again,
Or Pluto, weary of his sable Reign,
Shou'd seek to win the Heav'n's serener Plain.
And fearing this, with his Almighty Hand
He presses down, and binds the heaving Land.
Aloft the Stones and putrid Sand are borne,
And, as they pass, the Tunnels overturn;
Not of themselves they mount, but wanting Stay,
By rushing Winds are hurry'd on their Way;
The mix'd Ingredients are compell'd around,
And toss'd and bandy'd in the vast Profound.
This kindles Burnings in the Mountain's Frame;
The fanning Winds provoke the languid Flame;
For tho' the Fires their active Force retain,
And press for Passage, yet they press in vain,
For Want of Aid to lift them from below,
But swiftly follow, when the Spirits blow;

The Wind, as Head-Commander, leads the Way,
The ready Fires the leading Wind obey.

Thus having shewn the Soil, and whence proceeds
The swelling Wind, and what the Burning feeds,
I'll sing what makes the fierce Convulsions cease,
How the hush'd Hill is lull'd in sudden Peace:
Immense the Labour which I here prepare,
But the Reward will recompense the Care.

Man shou'd not, like the Brutes, whose only Good
Is with a downward Head to graze their Food,
On Nature's Wonders stare with stupid Eyes,
But search the sev'ral Springs from whence they rise,
And worthily assert his Kindred Skies:
How many Elements, and what, explore,
The World compose, and why they are no more:
If a last Period waits the mighty Frame,
Or rolling Ages still shall flow the same.

To know the just Dimensions of the Sun,
And certain Compass of the changeful Moon;
Why in the Year twelve times She runs her Race,
Which He but once compleats with tardier Pace:
What Stars obey one Measure in their Dance,
And which, erratic, variously advance:
The Times and Laws the twice fix Signs retain;
Why the wan Moon foretells descending Rain;
Why flushing-red her Planet sometimes glows,
While Phœbus' Face a paler Aspect shows;

Why change the Seasons; why the Spring is lost
In Summer, Summer by the Autumn clos'd;
Why Autumn is in hoary Winter drown'd;
The Chace continu'd in perpetual Round:
To know the distant Polar Stars, and whence
The Comets shed their baleful Influence;
Why Lucifer appears at Dawn of Day,
At Ev'ning Hesperus with kindling Ray;
Whence moves Boötes slow; why Saturn's Star
Is wayward, griping; Mars provokes to War;
And which befriend the sailing Mariner:
The Bearings of the swelling Sea to know,
And various Courses of the Skies foreshow,
Orion's Track, and Sirius' sultry Way,
Their sev'ral Aspects, and their sev'ral Sway,
With ev'ry Miracle in Nature's Store,
Not blindly blended in the ruder Ore,
But in their proper Seat to range the Whole;
Is the Sublimest Pleasure of the Soul!

But Earth first claims our Thoughts, and searching Care,
As nearer us than the Cœlestial Sphere:
Vain Hopes and Madness of a mortal Mind
To seek the Secrets of the Skies to find,
And slothfully to slight a Scene that lies
So nobly great, and just before our Eyes!
Our Pains on Trifles meanly we employ,
For paltry Gain, incessant Labours try,
And pass the worthy Arts and useful Science by.

By Day and Night the Peasant tills his Lands,
Till callous from the Glebe return his Hands;
The Nature of the sev'ral Soils he proves,
Which suits with Corn, or Vines, or shady Groves;
Where Grass will thrive, or Forests shoot on high,
And which will best the feeding Flocks supply;
Dry Ground, he knows, will fatning Olives please,
And with the rougher Elm the wet agrees:
His Mind and Body both thus toil amain,
To fill his Casks, and heap his Barns with Grain,
And Ricks with Fodder for his bleating Train.
Still covetous of Wealth without a Bound,
From Thirst of Gold we break th'embowel'd Ground,
The trailing Silver in its Veins exquire,
With delving Ir'ns and Force of searching Fire.
Let each with gen'rous Arts improve his Mind;
These are the Fruits becoming of our Kind:
Be then our Study, Nature's Works to know,
And the strange Cause of Ætna's Flames below:
Let us not trembling view the lab'ring Hill,
As Heav'n were threat'ning in the Miracle,
But seek what shuts the Winds, and feeds the Fire,
And what as suddenly does Peace inspire;
What violates the Truce, and arms agen
The hostile Fray, and tumults all the Den:
Whether the Flames their ready Rage renew
In open Cells above, expos'd to View;

Or Earth, thro' narrow Pores attracting Air,
Wakes with the Wind the loud tempestuous War:

For where the Mountain elevates on high
Her ragged Spire, within the clouded Sky,
Here freely she admits the fanning Air,
With open Passage, and ejects it there;
Thro' sev'ral Flaws she lets a diff'rent Wind,
Which multiply their Fury, when combin'd:
Or Exhalations, issuing from beneath,
Press for a Vent, and thro' the Crannies breathe;
Or Waters, ent'ring thro' the Mountain's Side,
Force the fierce Spirits onwards as they glide,
And dash into a Heap whate'er resists their Tide.

As in an Organ, first the rushing Air
A Mass of Waters do's before it bear;
And then the Waters, in their Turn, we find,
Drive thro' the hollow Pipes the vanquish'd Wind,
Which strongly from its strait Confinement sent,
Comes loudly rattling thro' the narrow Vent;
Still as the Waters press, the Spirits sound,
And spread the bubling Symphony around.
So Air and Water meet; and wanting Room,
Contend with Fury in Earth's shatter'd Womb,
Till dreadful Murmurs from the Mountain come.
From the like Causes spring the Winds below,
(Reason suggests,) as in the Air they blow:

For when the Fires on various Bodies prey,
Some, disengag'd and loosen'd from their Stay,
Fall thro' the Void, and with the weighty Blow
Strike others off, and bear them down below.
If you suppose that other Things beget
These Hurricanes of Wind, 'tis certain yet
The bursting Caverns, tumbling in, expell
The struggling Air from the demolish'd Cell:
So where a River has o'erflow'd a Field,
A breathing Gale the steaming Vapours yield;
And from the Valleys, Exhalations rise
In heavy Mists, ascending to the Skies:
Ev'n slender Streams impell their ambient Air,
With blust'ring Atoms, fuming from afar.
If then in open Air, the swelling Wind
Such Pow'r obtains, what is it when confin'd?
Pent in, it pushes round with restless Force,
When Waters meet, and choak it in its Course:
As in the Billows of the tossing Sea,
The last protrudes the former on its Way,
So the press'd Spirits, with resistless Might,
Hungry along gross Bodies in their Flight,
Thro' Veins of Earth, till with the piercing Flame,
The Matter melts, and from her hollow Frame,
Rebellowing Ætna pours a fiery Stream.
If you believe, thro' the same Pores the Wind
Descends, and do's returning Passage find,

A thousand Things, which clearly strike our Eye,
Disprove th'Opinion, and the Fact deny.
Tho' the blue Heav'ns serenely smile around,
And open Beams shine golden on the Ground,
A pitchy Cloud, which humid Vapours fill
And double Night, o'er Ætna hovers still,
And loftily surveys the Labours of the Hill;
No Fires disperse it, but with th'ambient Air
It lightly wheels around, and settles there.
Yet on the steepy Crown, where ragged Flaws
The Mountain wears, and opes her yawning Jaws,
The Natives dare with Rites the Gods adore,
If the hush'd Fires, subsiding, cease to roar.

You ask then, since the forceful Spirits fly,
And tear the Rocks, and hurl the Flames on high,
Why with their Rage they never burst around
The hollow Arches, that support the Ground:
To this; so swift their nimble Torrent flies,
They 'scape the feeble View of human Eyes:
Thus in Lustrations, when the Priest the Band
Besprinkles round, and waves the sacred Brand,
The whirling Sparkles on our Bodies hit,
And harmless dye, as soon as they alight;
And kindling Flames on smoking Altars laid,
Burn up direct, nor on the Hedges spread,
Nor scorch the Grass upon the flow'ry Plain;
The Trees their leafy Honours still retain;

While od'rous Fumes from burning Incense play,
And the mild Fires affect no farther Prey.

Thus whether from above the Winds conspire,
Or from beneath, 'tis they awake the Fire;
Black Clouds of Sand they wildly toss on high,
While glowing Stones in dreadful Vollies fly,
And with tremendous Roar assail the Sky.
So when the Groves outrageous Tempests rend,
This Way and that the rattling Branches bend;
Against each other strike the bandy'd Boughs,
And chafe and kindle with the furious Blows.

But here the Vulgar's stupid Tale beware,
That the spent Hill, its Losses to repair,
Is calm a while, till re-inforc'd again,
New Floods of Fire are spouted on the Plain.
The Pow'rs that o'er th'intestine Fray preside,
Are not with Stores so scantily supply'd,
But endless Magazines at hand provide.
Tis true, a Truce succeeds; but whence the Cause,
Is yet unknown. Perhaps the Mountain's Jaws,
Choak'd up with Ruins, hold th'included Wind,
Beneath the Rubbish, in the Vaults confin'd.
Then the chill'd Mountain, weary'd in the Fight,
Securely may be clomb without Affright:
But quickly rallying, with impetuous Sway,
The Winds burst thro' th'opposing Bands their Way;
The Fires rekindle, with new Rage supply'd,
And stream afresh adown the Mountain's Side,

Subvert whate'er resists them as they go,
And overwhelm the ruin'd Fields below:
When the Winds cease, 'tis true the Storm is o'er,
But the Hill yields an unexhausted Store
Of ready Food, in ev'ry secret Vein,
To feed the fainting Fires, and raise again;
Still boils the Sulphur, and incessant fries
A clammy Liquor, and the Flame supplies;
And fat Bitumen in its secret Mine,
And all combustible Materials join:
For such as these the horrid Soil compose,
As ev'ry Stream that from the Mountain flows,
By its infected Waters clearly shows.

One Part is rocky, and dissolving feeds
The Fire with Oyl, that from its Veins proceeds.
Here various Stones are found, without a Name,
Which melt, and foster the perpetual Flame;
But the prime Matter is the Miller's Stone,
Which claims in chief the Mountain for its own;
By Sight and Touch, you never wou'd suppose
A Flint so hard cou'd secret Fire inclose;
But if you try it once with clashing Steel,
A Blaze of Sparkles will the Truth reveal:
Cast in the Flames, it soon becomes their Prey,
And readier runs than Ir'n, and melts away;
Because its Nature, easily expell'd,
Is vanquish'd, when in searching Fire 'tis held.

Yet its own native Flames securely dwell,
And fear no Force within their hollow Cell;
And scarcely can the sullen Stone be brought
T'eject the Fires intense, with which 'tis fraught.
Now it receives them in its trailing Veins,
But when admitted, stubbornly retains.

Yet will we not conclude, that this supplies
The chief Materials whence the Burnings rise,
Because it boasts the greater Part alone
Of Ætna's Hill, and is the Master Stone;
With Properties endu'd, surprizingly its own.
This farther Voucher to the Truth remains;
All other Matter that the Hill contains,
Once set on fire, is quite consum'd, or lyes
A Heap of Ashes; but this Stone defies
The fiercest Flames, and all their Vigour tries;
Endures the hot Attack, and slowly burns,
And, when it yields, to the dry Pumice turns.
In other Parts tho' flashing Fires arise,
The languid Stone, as its pale Hue implies,
Sufficient Matter for the Flame denies.

Th'Ænarian Isle, 'tis thought, was once the same,
Tho' now the Soil has choak'd the smother'd Flame;
And thus for Years the Fields that lye between
Naples and Cuma, cold and quench'd have been,
And still, tho' Sulphur issues from the Vein,
'Tis only gather'd up, and sold for Gain.

An Isle there is, 'tis sung by blazing Fame,
Whose circ'lar Figure has produc'd its Name,
Which more than raging Ætna do's abound
With Sulphur, tho' all solid is the Ground;
The rugged Stones the Seeds of Fire comprise,
But rarely thence or Fumes or Flames arise,
Or the weak Flame, exhausted, quickly dies.

Sacred to Vulcan's Pow'r, another Isle
Was once on fire, but now th'extinguish'd Soil,
Quench'd for the greater Part, affords a Bay
For suff'ring Vessels from the boist'rous Sea.
The smaller Part continues burning still,
Tho' with less Fury than th'Ætnean Hill:
Ev'n this long since had ceas'd, but from below,
Thro' private Paths, fresh Veins of Matter flow,
And fanning Winds, thro' hollow Channels sent,
Awake the Fires, and busily foment.

But from the Thing itself the Truth is plain,
Nor shall we seek the certain Cause in vain;
For from the Mountain's Cells, dispers'd around
Its shatter'd Sides, hot glowing Stones are found;
Which plainly proves the Milstone do's sustain
The furious Burnings with its copious Vein,
Which languish when this fails, and die again.
When flaming out afresh, the wastful Stone,
On ev'ry Hand with fierce Explosion thrown,
Fires others with the Fall, and melts them down.

Nor is it strange the Fires above decay,
While inwardly they work their eager Way,
And the fierce Milstone do's new Mischief form,
And give the Signal of a second Storm;
For when the rushing Winds begin to blow,
And threat an angry Deluge from below,
A rocking Earthquake shakes the solid Ground,
And sullen Groans, and Murmurs dire resound,
And Flakes of livid Flames burst forth around:
Then to some distant Hill's securer Height,
With utmost Speed precipitate your Flight,
For hissing Streams o'erflow the ruin'd Coast,
And Fragments of the Rock aloft are tost,
And Loads of Sand are wildly whirl'd on high,
With hideous Roar, and blacken all the Sky.
These horrid Inmates thus dismist, the Hill
Relents, and its convulsive Pangs are still.

The Tempest past, huge Heaps are seen around
Of mingled Ruins, that o'erspread the Ground;
Like slaughter'd Soldiers, prostrate on the Plain,
Before the Ramparts they assail'd in vain.

The Stones, thus burnt, in a coarse Scurf expire,
Like the base Dregs of Metals purg'd by Fire;
And the dire Deluge of the mingled Mass
Of molten Flints, shot thro' the narrow Pass,
(For in the Mountain's Womb the raging Flame
Dissolves them, as the Forge's heated Frame)

In copious Streams do's from the Summit flow,
And rapid rolling ruin all below;
Twelve Miles in Length extends their wasteful Course,
Nor rising Mounds retard their fatal Force;
If Forests, or high Hills oppose, with Scorn
The Hills they master, and the Forests burn,
Sweep all before them with resistless Sway,
And th'unctuous Soil recruits them in the Way.
But if the furrow'd Ground in Vales below,
And ridgy Fields their fierce Career foreslow,
The Streams behind advance with hideous Roar,
And pressing onward, push the Streams before;
So when the Waves in Mountains rise, the last
Impells the first, and in its turn is chas'd.
Thus on their Way, the burning Waves proceed;
At length, discharg'd in some deep River's Bed,
They stop their headlong Race, and cooling there
By settling Waters, their first Hardness wear.

Ev'n then the former Fever lurks within,
And breathes reviv'd, in sultry Fumes agen:
And, breaking by their Weight, with thund'ring Sound,
The shatter'd Fragments, dash'd against the Ground,
Throw Sparkles keen, and flashing Flames around.
See from afar the raging Tempests play,
And Fires rekindled rushing on their Way.
If then, the liquid Ruins tumbling down,
The hissing Waters of a River drown,

Cak'd in a harden'd Heap, the Stones repell
The Force of delving Hinds and pointed Steel;
And many a toilsome Day must be employ'd,
T'unroot the Fibres, and the Mass divide.

But 'tis in vain the real Cause to trace,
If still the vulgar Fables you embrace;
Or fancy other Kinds of Matter join,
And, melting with the Master-Stone, combine
With Pow'rs united in the secret Mine,
And Sulphur and Bitumen mix, to raise
The blind Combustion, and the furious Blaze;
For from th'Eruption, liquid Chalk around
In copious Show'rs is cast upon the Ground;
Which Potters take, and cooling it, reduce
To hard Consistence, and reserve for Use.

But gen'ral Arguments uncertain are,
And Proofs more strict must the sure Truth declare.
As Brass retains its Nature still the same,
When fix'd, or molten in the piercing Flame,
The liquid Mass as easily is known,
As the cold Ore that ne'er was melted down;
Thus, whether fix'd, or molten by the Fire,
This Stone preserves its Qualities entire,
In Smell and Weight unchang'd, and still the same,
And only now more brittle in its Frame.

Yet, I deny not, but inflam'd within,
Some other Stones to kindle may begin;

Hence the Sicilians have impos'd the Name
Fricæ on some, t'express their fusile Frame;
But tho' they're fat, and secret Fuel own,
They never melt, 'till with the Master-Stone
Conjoin'd, th'united Fires reduce them down.

If it incredible appear to some,
That flinty Stones should be by Fire o'ercome,
Let them the sage Philosopher peruse,
Whose curious Treatise evidently shews,
Before the Force of Fire all Bodies fall,
Whose subtle Seeds are intermix'd in all.
So stubborn Metals, Ir'n and glitt'ring Brass,
No less than Lead, become a molten Mass;
So rocky Marbles, from the Quarries sent,
Confess their Gold, and in the Fire relent;
And many other things, beneath the Ground,
Of the same Nature might perhaps be found.

Uncertain Guesses here are put to flight,
The Fact is vouch'd by the convincing Sight.
With gentle Fire in open Air invade
The Flint, it keeps its Firmness undecay'd;
But shut it in a stifled Furnace close,
It yields, it melts, and do's its Hardness lose,
And what was solid Stone becomes a liquid Juice.

May not the Fire be more intense, and, fed
With stronger Fuel, stronger Heat be bred?
Don't Ætna's Forges, in her craggy Frame,
Exceed in Rage all artificial Flame?

The same in Kind with the fierce Bolt, that flys
From Jove's own Hand exploded thro' the Skys.
Add then the Vigour of the rushing Wind,
With Fury pressing thro' the Pores confin'd;
As Workmen from the Bellows' hollow Frame,
With frequent Blasts increase the rising Flame.

This, to conclude, is the undoubted Cause
Of Ætna's Rage, and of the Mountain's Flaws:
Thro' narrow Channels Earth attracts the Wind,
Which press'd and straiten'd in the Caverns blind,
To the fann'd Fire, such Vigour do's convey,
That hardest Stones, subdu'd, are made its Prey.

Statues, and Domes, and stately Fanes to view,
And Works that yet can Age in part subdue,
With ev'ry Relick fam'd in antient Time,
We travel far, and search from Clime to Clime.
Now Royal Thebes our fond Desire excites,
Its celebrated Walls, and sacred Rites;
The Herdsman's, and the Harper's Tomb, whose Lays
Have fix'd his Fame thro' all succeeding Days.
The Brethren's hostile Omen we admire;
On the same Altar the same common Fire
Breaks out in twain, and sever'd Flames aspire.
There lie the sev'n Heroic Chiefs renown'd,
And He, who perish'd, swallow'd in the Ground.

Majestic Sparta, famous for the Laws
Of sage Lycurgus, Admiration draws;

Whose trusty Band the Fate of War defy'd,
Well-train'd, and steady at their Leader's Side.
Then Athens, of her fam'd Poetic Croud
And Pallas' tutelary Honour, proud;
There Theseus, for his Perfidy, forgot
To change his Sails, to shew his prosp'rous Lot;
And there was slain Erigoné, the fair
Unhappy Virgin, now a sparkling Star;
There echoing Groves, a solitary Seat,
Call Philomel to their secure Retreat,
While her chang'd Sister the safe Roof obtains,
And guilty Tereus holds the desert Plains.
Now Troy's Imperial Ashes we admire,
Lost in her Champion, and involv'd in Fire;
Great Hector's little Tomb behold, and there
The fierce Achilles lies, and Paris fair,
Who vengeful slew his Brother's Murderer.

Now on the Painter's Art, with greedy Sight
We gaze insatiate, and with fix'd Delight:
Here Venus springing from the Main appears,
And the green Water trickles from her Hairs.
The harmless Babes about Medea play,
While she prepares to snatch their Lives away.
Sad Iphigenia, and her weeping Sire,
A Veil before his Eyes, approach the Fire,
The Grecian Chiefs the mournful Victim wait,
Sav'd by the substituted Hind from Fate.

There Myro's living Fame, the brazen Cow
Extends her Neck, and seems distinct to low.
These wondrous Works our ravish'd Sight entrance,
And justly we extoll their Excellence.
Such Objects to survey with curious Eye,
Patient of Toil, from Clime to Clime we fly;
But awful Ætna, Nobler does impart,
Nature th'Artificer, transcending Art;
What sudden Wonders fill th'astonish'd Eyes,
When scorching Sirius fires the glowing Skys!
Nor less amazing is the moving Tale,
When Piety did o'er the Fire prevail:
For when the Hill pour'd out a burning Stream,
From ev'ry op'ning Cell disgorging Flame,
The smoaking Deluge, issuing down amain,
With hideous Ruin roll'd along the Plain;
As gleamy Light'nings thro' the Tempest fly,
And flash sulphureous thro' the frowning Sky:
The raging Pest devour'd the standing Corn,
And Woods, and Hills, and Fields, and Houses burn.
Ere the Catanians thought their fatal Foe
Had mov'd his Camp, he gave the sudden Blow,
And, roaring from the Hill, invades the Town below.

The trembling Croud, as Strength or Fancy guides,
Each to secure some chosen Wealth provides.
This groans beneath his Gold; and that prepares
His Arms, and fondly on his Shoulders bears;

One, slow with guilty Gain, encumber'd flies,
While from the Flame the poor Man nimbly hies
Each what he values most, with wild Desire,
Attempts to rescue from the greedy Fire;
But while they linger, covetous of more,
The hasty Flames o'ertake them with their Store,
Wide-wasting all the Land, and sparing none;
Or the two pious Brothers spar'd alone.

For when the furious Conflagration spread
From Roof to Roof, and round the City fled,
Amphinomus and good Anapias join'd
To move their Store, and speedy Shelter find;
Each had his Load; when startling they beheld
Their aged Parents to the Danger yield;
Oppress'd with cumb'rous Years, the Couple wait,
Plac'd in the Portal, their approaching Fate.

Ye sordid Misers, cast your Wealth away,
And toss it to the Fire, a worthless Prey;
The brave Example of these Sons behold,
Who more their Parents priz'd than precious Gold;
Quick on their Shoulders the great Charge they take
And thro' the Fire, unhurt, a speedy Passage make.

O filial Love, thou social Virtue dear,
Thee, Gods and Men deservedly revere!
The Fires, o'eraw'd, where-e'er they bend their Feet,
To Distance fly, and bashfully retreat.
O happy Day! this glorious Act alone
Repairs the Loss, and will for All atone.

On either Hand the Flames insatiate play,
In blazing Volumes, and devour their Prey,
But shun the virtuous Pair, and yield them open Way;
Protected by their Burden, they retire,
And safe escape the Fury of the Fire.
Crown'd with deserv'd Applause, their gen'rous Name
Is sung in Verse, and made the Poet's Theme;
And Pluto to their spotless Souls assign'd
Distinguish'd Honours of the Noblest Kind;
Blest with Eternal Fame, they truly gain'd
The happy Seats, for pious Shades ordain'd.

1708.

Hecuba.

Ariadne.

Organon Hydraulicum.

Strongyle, now Stramboli.

Hiera.

Heraclitus.

Zethus and Amphion, the Founders of Thebes.

Eteocles and Polynices, the Sons of OEdipus.

Amphiaraus.

HORACE, Book II. Ode II.

Nullus Argento Color est, avaris, &c.

Sallust , whose noble Thoughts disdain
The Miser's hoarded Heaps of Gain,
Which close from Sight of dreaded Eyes
In Earth imprison'd blindly lies;
The sullen Silver casts no Rays
'Till gen'rous Use, Benevolence Divine,
To the dull Mass impart a Blaze,
The Metal burnish bright, and make it shine.

Extended to succeeding Days
Shall Proculeius' Name survive,

Who to his suff'ring Brethren, kind,
Express'd a Father's gracious Mind;
For this, his long-recorded Praise
Shall flourish ever fresh, and unextinguish'd live.

The Lust of Riches to restrain,
And ever-craving Avarice subdue,
Is greater than beneath thy sole Command
Wide Africk to reduce, and spacious Spain;
And with Majestic Glory view
Thy ample Sway stretch'd out o'er either Punic Land.

The fatal Dropsy swells within,
Indulg'd with flattering Draughts in vain;
The watry Humour puffs the pallid Skin,
Nor can th'impatient Thirst be quell'd,
'Till the dire Cause of all the Pain
Be from the Veins expell'd.

Restor'd to Cyrus' Throne, tho' proud
Phraates rules the spacious East,
Virtue, dissenting from the Croud,
Will not pronounce him blest.
The Vulgar's Style She soberly reclaims,
Which misapplys mistaken Names,
And points to Him the Diadem,
Who can, with unregarding Eye,
Pass the pil'd Heaps of Treasure by,
And the vain Sight contemn.

HORACE, Book III. Ode XXIV.

Intactis opulentior, &c.

Tho' vaster Riches thou cou'dst boast
Than Araby's unwasted Stores contain,
And swarthy India's wealthy Coast;
Tho' thy proud Palaces, with pompous Shade
O'er all the Tyrrhene and the Pontic Main
Their costly Columns spread:
If Fate her Adamantine Hand
Remorseless stretches to the Prey,
Nor Gold nor splendid Domes can turn away
The dire inflexible Demand,
Nor save thy destin'd Head, nor anxious Fears allay.

Better the wild-born Scythians live,
Whose loaded Wains, from Field to Field,
Where Meadows fresh, fresh Pasture yield,
Their wandring Houshold drive.
And better live the Getes by far,
Where Fruits are common, and the Grounds
No Fences mark, nor jealous Bounds;
One Year they exercise their Care,
To turn and dress the mellow Soil,
Industrious drive the sharpen'd Share,
And rest alternate one, recruiting from their Toil.

No Stepdame, by vile Motives led,
E'er practises upon the Life
Of Orphans by a former Bed;
Nor haughtily the portion'd Wife
Lords her insulted Husband there,
And while she vexes him with Strife,
Sighs for the foul Adulterer.
An honest Line, of Probity entire,
And Chastity with native Charms,
That bashful flies a Stranger's Arms,
Is all the Dowry they require.
To violate the Vow they generously disdain,
Or Death, the due Reward, pursues th'opprobrious Stain.

Whoe'er wou'd quell our Civil Rage,
Fierce Slaughter's impious Course assuage,
And have, on Public Statues rais'd,
This glorious Title to his Fame,
The Father of his Country, plac'd;
Let him with brave Heroic Soul
Leud lawless Insolence controul;
Then future Days shall crown his Name,
With full Applauses spread;
For Virtue tho' we still despise
Present, and flashing on our Eyes,
We honour it when dead.

But what avails it to complain?
Unless inflicted Punishments severe
Presumptuous Vice restrain.
And what avail well-chosen Laws?
If Manners dissolute shall dare
To pass the Bounds prescrib'd, as Lust or Lucre draws:
If neither the hot Climes, that fry
Beneath th'immediate Sun;
Nor rigid Coasts that frozen lye,
Where Snows unmelted never run,
The greedy Merchant can deter
To hunt for the forbidden Gain,
Nor all the Horrors of the Main
Prevent th'audacious Mariner:
And the false Shame of Poverty enjoyns,
All Things to suffer and to dare,
And quit th'uneasy Track of Virtue's scanty Lines.

Then either to the Capitol
Devoutly let us bear
Our Jewels, Gold and useless Store,
And while the glad Processions call
Resign them to the Thunderer;
Or safely standing on the Shore,
In the deep Billows of the Main
The Seeds of Mischief sink, and bury Wealth prophane.

If we renounce these censur'd Crimes
With Penitence sincerely true,
Let us disorder'd Appetite subdue
In Youth well-disciplin'd betimes;
And careful form their pliant Mind
To gen'rous Studies of a manly Kind.

Th'unpractis'd Boy, of noble Blood,
Knows not to sit the rapid Steed,
And dreads the boist'rous Chace to lead
Across the spacious Plain, or rolling Flood;
But with a Child's fantastic Art,
Can whip the whirling Top, or draw
The Gew-gaw Waggon and the Cart;
Or shake and throw the rattling Dye
Forbidden by the Law.
While the vile Sire, with watchful Care,
Inhuman, harden'd, perjur'd, sly,
Betrays his Friend, and cheats his Guest,
To raise for his unworthy Heir
A Heap of sordid Pelf, and large Estate unblest.
But tho' their Coffers thus they fill
With Riches, for no Use design'd,
To the low Wretches restless Mind,
This Thing or That is wanting still.

HORACE, Book III. Ode IV.

Descende Cœlo, & dic age Tibiâ, &c.

Descend from Heav'n, Calliope Divine,
Descend, and gracefully ordain
Of solemn Length some flowing Strain,
Thou sweetest of the tuneful Nine;
Whether the clear melodious Voice,
Or animated Lyre be thy propitious Choice.

Hark! hear ye not the Muse? or am I caught
With the gay Error of th'ecstatic Thought?
Methinks I hear the Muse, and see her stray
Along the sacred Groves delightful Way,
Where murm'ring Waters roll, and living Breezes play!

Me ev'n a Boy this Omen crown'd;
When roaming from Apulia's Bound,
My native Soil, and tir'd with Play,
On Vultur's Hill in careless Sleep I lay,
Soft Doves, the Birds of Venus, pleasing Pow'r!
With verdant Leaves officious strew'd me o'er.
The People too, residing nigh,
They who in Acherontia dwell,
Plac'd like a shelter'd Nest on high,
And Bantia hold, whose Woods excell,
Or where Ferentum's humbler Meadows lye,

Astonish'd saw me slumb'ring there,
Safe from the Viper and the Bear,
Wrap'd with the Laurel's lively Green,
And sprightly Myrtle mix'd between,
Protected by the Gods, an Infant void of Fear.

If to the Sabines rugged Fields I go,
Or cold Prœneste, chill with Snow,
Or climb the Tibur's hilly Height,
Or seek in Baiæ soft Delight,
Still I am yours, O charming Nine!
And worship still your Band Divine.

Devoted to your Choir and sacred Streams,
Unhurt I pass'd thro' dire Extreams;
Not Cæsar's Troops, when Brutus' Army fled,
Dispers'd, from sad Philippi's fatal Plain,
Nor that detested Tree, whose Fall
Threaten'd its Lord's endanger'd Head,
Nor Palinurus on Sicilia's Main,
Touch'd my safe Life, shielded by You from all.

By You attended, I defy
The Bosphorus's stormy Sea,
Or thro' Assyria take my Way,
Where scorching Sands and lonely Desarts lye;
Visit th'inhospitable Britons Shore,
Or them who quaff the Horses Gore,

Or the Gelonian Race, who bear
The furnish'd Quiver to the War,
Scythia's River pass, and any Danger dare.

When Cæsar, from their Martial Toil
His weary'd Legions breathes awhile,
Closing the Labours of the Field,
In the Pierian Cave your tuneful Train
Th'Imperial Victor entertain,
And chear with Joys the Muses only yield.
Mild Counsels still, serene and bright,
You give, and in the gracious Gift delight.

The Titans impious Race, we know,
And all the bold enormous Band,
He did with Thunders overthrow,
Who o'er the stedfast Earth and stormy Main,
O'er Cities, and the Realms below,
And Gods and mortal Men, with wide Command,
Do's single hold his righteous Reign.

The horrid Crew, confiding in their Might,
Struck Jove himself with strange Affright,
When on Olympus' lofty Shade
The daring Brethren Pelion laid.

But what can Typhon's Rage supply?
Or Mimas' Strength? or huge Porphyrion, high

In Stature, threat'ning like a Tow'r?
What Rhœcus? or Enceladus's Pow'r,
Whose single Arm cou'd tear and wield
Unrooted Trees across the warring Field,
When Pallas lifts her dreaded Shield?

Here Vulcan stood, and Juno there,
And He, whose Shoulders ever bear
The Quiver and unerring Bow,
And in Castalia's Streams, that clearly flow,
Washes his Length of loosely-waving Hair;
Who holds the Lycian Groves, his natal Soil,
And thence receives his double Style,
Delian Apollo call'd, and Patarean too.

But Strength, devoid of Prudence, falls to Ground
Self-baffled, while, approving Right,
The Gods enlarge well-govern'd Might,
And justly hate, and still confound
Pernicious Pow'rs, that with perverted Mind
All Mischief studious brood, to Villany resign'd.

Huge Gyas with his hundred Hands
A Witness of this Sentence stands,
And bold Orion, who presum'd to try
Diana's spotless Chastity,
When from her Virgin Bow, the Dart
Pierc'd the rude Ravisher's aspiring Heart.

And burthen'd Earth beneath the Load
Of her own vanquish'd Monsters sighs,
And weeps to see her slaughter'd Brood
Driv'n down, with Light'ning, to the Realms of Death;
Perpetual Flames from angry Ætna rise,
Cast on the Giant crush'd beneath;
Nor do's the rav'nous Vulture spare
Lewd Tityus' Liver, plac'd for ever there
Th'Avenger of his Crime, unsated and severe;
Nor can Pirithous e'er remove
His huge three hundred Chains for his unlawful Love.

The Description of a STORM, from the First Book of Statius's Thebais.

Jamque per emeriti surgens Confinia Phœbi,
Titanis, &c.

Now rising, as the Sun declin'd, the Moon
In Silence drove her dewy Chariot on;
The Beasts and Birds were hush'd; and quiet Sleep
On Cares began indulgently to creep,
And Toils of anxious Life in sweet Oblivion steep.
The low'ring Heav'n that usher'd in the Night,
Promis'd no Dawn, and quench'd at once the Light;
Night wrapp'd the Poles; th'Æolian Dens profound
Denounc'd the Tempest, with a roaring Sound;
The Winds, releas'd, their furious Circuit take,
And heave the Globe, and the fix'd Axle shake;

Each claims the Skys; the heavy South amain
The Clouds amasses, and pours down the Rain,
And Boreas beats his Hailstones on the Plain.
Thro' the black Storm, the wreathy Lightnings fly,
And streak with flashing Fires the sullen Sky:
Th'Arcadian Mountains, from their steepy Crown,
Roll rapidly a sudden Deluge down;
And, rising o'er their Beds, the Rivers rear
Their Waves to Heav'n, and wash the wintry Bear;
No Banks nor Mounds the hasty Flood restrain,
And Lerna's Lake now overflows again;
The ruin'd Groves are rudely shatter'd; all
The Forest thunders, and the Branches fall;
And deep Licæus, whose impervious Shade
Ne'er saw the Sun, ly's open and display'd.

From Barclay.

Sic roseis stat Forma Genis, &c.

'Tis thus their Cheeks the rosy Colour dyes,
Such pointed Honours from their Front arise,
And such gay Splendor sparkles in their Eyes.
See the Cœlestial Form! not, dress'd with Light,
The Pow'r of Day shines more divinely bright;
Nor the twin Stars, which when the Tempest roars,
The fearful Mariner with Vows implores.

With less distinguish'd Grace do's Mars appear,
Aray'd in all the Glory of the War;
[illeg.] when himself th'enervate Warrior arms
With tender Airs, and try's the Lover's Charms.

MARTIAL, Book VI. Epigr. XIX.

Non de Vi, neque Cæde, nec Veneno, &c.

My Lord, th'Indictment do's not run
On Houses fir'd, or Murders done;
Three Goats are missing, says my Brief,
And we tax Mæris for the Thief.
Thus, read profoundly in the Laws,
Our Posthumus unfolds his Cause.
Well, to your Evidence proceed,
Replies the Judge, and prove the Deed.
The Serjeant kindles on his Stand,
Prepares his Lungs, and waves his Hand;
Then Cannæ, Mithridates' War,
The Punic Perjury and Fear;
With Sylla, Marius, Mutius, all,
He mouths, and thunders thro' the Hall.
Dear Posthumus, enough of these,
And now, for Heav'n's sake, if you please,
Come to the Text, and mind your Notes
At length, and let us have the Goats.

AUSONIUS.

Infelix Dido, nulli bene nupta Marito:
Hoc pereunte fugis, hoc fugiente peris.

Poor Dido ne'er a happy Husband try'd:
When the first dy'd, she fled; and when this fled, she dy'd.

The Epithalamium of Stella and Violantilla.

From STATIUS.

From whence the sacred Harmony, that fills
With lively Notes of Joy the Latian Hills?
Phœbus, for whom dost thou new Songs inspire,
And on thy Shoulder hang the speaking Lyre?
See from the tuneful Heliconian Spring,
The nine sweet Sisters issue in a Ring;
They shake the Bridal Torch, and sprinkle round
Their sacred Streams, to sanctify the Ground.
And laughing Elegy, with sprightly Pace,
Meets the fair Quire, and calls them to the Race;
Essays the Dance, and wanton with Delight,
Seems of their Number, and deceives the Sight.

The Queen of Love her self leads on the Bride,
(Her modest Looks with virtuous Blushes dy'd)
Prepares the Rites, and to the View conceals
Her heav'nly Form, and all the Goddess vails;
Lays the full Lustre of her Charms aside,
To shine less radiant than the lovely Bride.
I know the Day, and what the Cause; for thee
This Chorus, Stella, make the Harmony;
For thee Apollo and the God of Wine,
And wing'd Cyllenius, mingled Garlands twine,
While laughing Love and all the Graces pour
On the pleas'd Fair an od'rous floral Show'r.
The Day is come, which smiling Fates decree
Shall crown the Pair with wish'd Felicity;
When Hymen call'd, shall publickly appear;
Forget your Anguish, and dismiss your Fear,
The Sorceries of Charms no more rehearse,
Nor try the Force of fascinating Verse:
Be silent, Fame; for Love submits to Law,
And bears the Bands desir'd, with willing Awe.
Suspicions walk the busy Town no more,
They see the Passion they believ'd before:
Yet thou, sweet Poet, fill'd with strange Affright,
Tho' just in Prospect of th'expected Night,
With anxious Wishes do'st afflict thy Mind,
And doubt'st the promis'd Bliss the Gods design'd.
Suppress thy Sighs; thine is the yielded Fair;
Thy free Access no Scruples now shall barr;

Nor jealous Porter keep the cautious Gate,
Nor Laws, nor Decencies thy Joys abate.
Thou shalt at length in wish'd Embraces close,
And think with Pleasure on thy former Woes.
For such a Prize, ev'n Juno might enjoin
The Toils of Hercules, and make them thine;
Condemn to face the Stygian Forms below,
Or by the fear'd Cyanean Rocks to go;
To run at Pisa, and to hear behind,
The Father's Shout, who flies before the Wind;
Shou'dst thou, like Paris, in the Question try'd,
Between the rival Goddesses decide,
Thou cou'dst not, for th'applauded Sentence, share
So rich a Favour from the Victor Fair;
Not if Aurora in her rosy Arms,
Inclos'd, and crown'd thee with her fragrant Charms.

But answer, Erato, from whence the Bard
Receiv'd the Boon, by whom it was conferr'd;
From whence the Joy, and while the Palace round
Is fill'd with servent Crouds, the Posts are crown'd,
And noble Guests from ev'ry Part abound,
The secret Cause, for well thou know'st, unvail,
And in soft Numbers sing the pleasing Tale.

It happ'd that where the nightly Heav'ns display
Their Silver Path, and shew the Milky Way,
Just as the Dawn its early Blush disclos'd,
Lay beauteous Venus on her Bed repos'd;

The little Loves officious wait around
The curious Couch, with Diligence profound;
They watch the Sign, what Torch to raise on high,
Or on what suff'ring Breast their Darts to try;
Whether on Earth to magnify her Sway,
Or exercise their Rage beneath the Sea,
Among the wat'ry Gods; or boldly fire
The Thund'rer's Breast, and vex him with Desire.
Uncertain where to fix, the Pow'r Divine
Enjoy'd her welcome Ease, and lay supine,
Stretch'd on the guilty Bed, o'er which the Chain
By Vulcan forg'd, had cast its Links in vain;
When starting from amidst the youthful Quire,
A bloomy Boy, adorn'd with brighter Fire,
(In his left Hand unerring Shafts were seen,)
With fair Address accosted thus the Queen;
Soft was the Wanton's Voice; in Silence drown'd,
His quiver'd Brethren hemm the Speaker round.

Mother, thou know'st how well my happy Hand
Has wag'd thy Wars, and spread thy wide Command;
No Man, or God, whom you vouchsaf'd to name,
But felt the Fury of the kindled Flame.
Now suffer us, with wonted Favour mild,
To Pray'rs and Tears and Vows at length to yield.
We are not from the harden'd Bowels hewn
Of flinty Rocks, our Nature is thy own.
A Latian Youth there is, of noble Race,
His Order's Honour, the Patricians Grace,

Whence at his Birth, presaging of his Fame,
They from our Heav'n impos'd his shining Name.
Him have I struck with unrelenting Heart,
And pierc'd him trembling with the sharpest Dart.
And tho' th'Ausonian Mothers strive with Pride,
For such a Son, and wish to be ally'd,
I keep him Captive in my cruel Snare,
To pine with Passion for the pow'rful Fair,
And hope, resign'd, for many a distant Year.
But with a slacken'd Bow and gentle Hand,
I touch'd the Nymph, for such was thy Command.
From hence, what Flames possess his anxious Breast,
By Night and Day, myself can well attest;
For scarcely have I in my wanton Round
Pierc'd any Bosom with so deep a Wound.
I saw Hippomenes the Race pursue,
Yet at the Goal less pallid was his Hue.
I saw the Boy defy the boist'rous Sea,
And prais'd him oft, and aided on his Way;
Yet were his Flames inferior far to thine,
O matchless Youth; thy Passion is divine,
Surpassing former Lovers widest Line.
Ev'n I myself have stood surpriz'd to see
Thy Throes of Anguish, and thy Constancy,
And, piteous of thy Pain, have gently try'd
To sooth thy Griefs, thy trickling Tears I dry'd,
And wip'd, with balmy Wings, the still-returning Tide.

How oft has great Apollo, with Disdain,
Reproach'd me for his Fav'rite Poet's Pain!
Then grant him, Mother, what his Vows demand,
Our Brother He, Companion of our Band;
For tho' his Muse cou'd hardy Deeds recite
Of warring Heroes, and th'ensanguin'd Fight,
His Lyre to thee he chuses to resign,
And with the Laurel do's thy Myrtle twine:
The Loves of Youth he sings, and fierce Desire,
And his own Passion and prevailing Fire;
And, from high Rev'rence to the Paphian Grove,
He mourn'd in tender Lays our darling Dove.

He said, and round his radiant Mother flung
His eager Arms, and on her Bosom hung;
With yielding Looks, the smiling Queen replies;
This youthful Bard affects no common Prize,
But such as Lovers whom I honour'd most
With bounteous Favours, seldom had to boast;
Th'illustrious Fair, in whom at once combine
Her House's Virtues and a noble Line,
Pleas'd with her Form, I took within my Arms,
New from the Birth, and touch'd her rising Charms.
Nor ceas'd my artful Hand with ready Care
To grace her Features and her wavy Hair.
My sweet Resemblance soon the Darling grew;
Her lofty Front and lovely Tresses view;
How brightly round her beauteous Looks she spreads,
And all the Latian Dames as far exceeds,

As Cynthia do's surpass her Nymphly Train,
Or I excell the Nereids of the Main.
Worthy with me t've issu'd from the Brine,
In the same Shell, and equally Divine;
Shou'd she ascend triumphant to the Skies,
She'd cheat my wond'ring Boy's deluded Eyes;
Tho' largely crown'd with Wealth, her gen'rous Mind
Transcends all Riches, and adorns her Kind.
For Her, the Seres strip their Groves too slow;
Nor Amber Tears enough, from the green Sisters flow;
Too slow the Fleece imbibes the crimson Stain;
Too slow congeals the Chrystal on the Plain.
Hermus for Her, I have with Gold supply'd;
For Her the Tagus rolls his glitt'ring Tide;
And Glaucus, Proteus, and the Nereid Train,
For Orient Pearls shall ransack all the Main.
If Phœbus, as he ran, this Face had view'd,
Daphne had fled secure, and unpursu'd;
Had she been present, Bacchus had refus'd
The Gnossian Fair, whom Theseus first abus'd.
And had not Juno, full of jealous Fear,
Secur'd my Friendship, with incessant Pray'r,
The Thunderer had worne his Plumes once more,
Or burnish'd Horns, or with resistless Pow'r
Convey'd the Lover in a Golden Show'r.
But I'll bestow her on the youthful Bard,
For whom thou hast desir'd the great Reward;

Long has she shun'd a second Husband's Name,
But now she kindles with an equal Flame.
So Venus said; then call'd her feather'd Train;
The harness'd Birds obey the ruling Rein;
Love took the Seat, and thro' the yielding Skies
The Chariot steers; the glitt'ring Chariot flies;
The Goddess reach'd th'Imperial Tow'rs of Rome,
And passing onwards to the genial Dome,
Beheld a Palace rais'd with lofty State,
And the pleas'd Swans with Songs approach the Gate.
The Building seem'd to rival with the Skies,
And worthy Venus drew the wond'ring Eyes.
There polish'd Marble, delicate in Stains,
From various Quarries, strove with various Veins:
The glitt'ring Onyx casts its yellow Rays,
And Porphyrite its purple Streaks displays.
Rows of firm Pillars bear the Cieling's Height,
And the rich Beams with sculptur'd Gold are bright.
The leafy Groves exclude the sultry Sun,
And Fountains fresh in polish'd Marble run;
The spacious Rooms were suited to the Year,
In this 'twas Winter, and 'twas Summer there:
So curious was the Whole, that, fill'd with Joy,
Th'exulting Goddess cast around her Eye;
Not her Idalian Bow'rs had pleas'd her more,
Her Grecian Temple, or her Paphian Shore.
Reclining on a Couch she found the Fair;
Then smiling thus address'd; My Darling Care,

By what improper Modesty mis-led,
Dost thou so long affect a single Bed?
What Manners, and what Faith too strictly strain'd,
From second Nuptials hold thy cautious Hand?
Think Age draws on; the present Hour employ,
Possess thy Charms, and seize the flitting Joy.
I gave thee not such Majesty divine,
Nor made thee ev'n another Venus shine,
Thus uselessly to pass thy widow'd Years,
And slight my Pow'r, and my endearing Cares;
Suffice it thee, so long to have deny'd
The Crouds of Suitors kneeling at thy Side;
But Stella's Soul on thee alone is bent;
Nor Form, nor Lineage do's the Heroe want.
Th'applauding City sings his happy Praise,
And Youths and Maidens learn his flowing Lays.
Thou seest the Fasces, by th'Imperial Grace,
Before the Time, declare the Consul's Place;
The Cybeleian Games he now ordains,
And reads the Sibyls dark Prophetic Strains.
The Father of his Country (I foreknow
The future Favours he will soon bestow)
Will to his Youth indulge an Honour rare,
The Purple Habit, and the Curule Chair;
And give to celebrate (what greater Praise?)
The laurell'd Triumph o'er the Dacian Race.
Then haste, my Fair, and shaking off Delay,
With joyning Hands make festival the Day.

What Hearts, what Nations, have not I, with Skill,
Caught in my Bands, and soften'd to my Will?
The winged Host, the Cattle of the Field,
And savage Creatures to my Influence yield.
The Skies and Mother Earth confess my Reign,
When fruitful Show'rs descend upon the Plain.
Where were the Saviour of the Trojan Name,
Who snatch'd his Gods devoutly from the Flame,
If I had not, to raise the Roman State,
Indulg'd th'Embraces of a Phrygian Mate?
Where were the Founder of my Julian Line?
And where th'Imperial Walls of Rome Divine?
Had not the Priestess, by my happy Aid,
Pir'd Mars's Heart, and to soft Love betray'd?
These balmy Words a silent Passage find,
And melt to Nuptial Sentiments her Mind;
And now the Presents and the pressing Pray'rs,
The Lover's Watchings and the falling Tears
Rise to her Thoughts, and all his anxious Cares.
Th'applauded Songs, in which her honour'd Name
Flew o'er the Town, and spread her Beauty's Fame,
By Night and Morn still echoing with the same.
Not Hylas' Name was more repeated round,
When the fair Youth unwarily was drown'd.
Her Soul is soften'd; see the welcome Shore,
Illustrious Poet, and despair no more.
Alpheus thus, with raging Passion fir'd,
Pursu'd the Nymph, whom he so much desir'd,

And diving down unseen, his Current guides
Pure and unmix'd with any foreign Tides,
Till issuing out at length, he rear'd his Head,
And seiz'd the Nais in her wat'ry Bed;
Surpriz'd, she wonders at the sweet Embrace,
Nor thought her Lover made the tedious Race.

How bright the Day, distinguish'd from the rest,
Which has thy Wishes, Noble Stella, blest!
And what tumultuous Joys swell in thy beating Breast!
In Ecstacy of Bliss, the shining Pole
Thou seem'st to touch, and o'er Olympus roll.
Th'Idalian Shepherd ne'er such Raptures bore,
When lovely Helen met him on the Shore;
Nor Peleus felt, when Thetis' rosy Charms
In Thessaly approach'd his longing Arms;
And, on his hinder Hooss erect in Air,
His darling Daughter, Chiron ey'd from far.
How long the Stars hang ling'ring in the Sky,
And the slow Morn retards thy promis'd Joy!

Soon as Apollo and the God of Wine
Receiv'd the News, they smil'd with Grace Divine,
Prepar'd their Quires, and Phœbus leads his Dance,
And Bacchus and his reeling Rout advance.
The Lycian Hills, and Thymbra's leafy Glade,
Parnassus' Height and brown Pangeus' Shade,
And Ismarus, and Naxos' genial Shore,
With Acclamations loudly echo o'er.

Before the Gates the merry Band appears;
Hung at his Back, his Harp Apollo bears,
But a Fawn's dappled Skin Lyæus wears.
Apollo strikes his Lyre with sprightly Sound;
And Bacchus shakes his wanton Banners round;
With Ivy this his bowsy Temples spread;
With Lawrel Wreaths, Apollo grac'd his Head.

With Torches shine the Streets, ere dawns the Morn,
And festal Pomps their Palaces adorn.
With Joy, the nobler Part of spacious Rome,
All Ranks of Honours, to the Bridal come.
The Commons shout, the Nobles croud along,
And Youths and Matrons mingle in the Throng.
They hail the Pair; but many in the Train
The Bridegroom envy, and repine in vain.
See ready Hymen, on a Post reclin'd,
Prepares a Poem of no Vulgar Kind:
The sacred Knot auspicious Juno tyes,
And Concord seals it, and confirms their Joys.
The lovely Bride outshines Lavinia's Grace,
At Turnus' Sight when Blushes warm'd her Face;
And Claudia, when before the gazing Throng,
She clear'd her Fame, and drew the Ship along.

Now let the Members of the Muses Quire,
In [illeg.]ival Verses strive, and wake the Lyre;
Each as his Genius prompts; but chiefly those
Who spritely Elegy with Skill compose;

This Day Philetas wou'd have crown'd with Praise,
And old Callimachus, in flowing Lays;
And soft Propertius in his Umbrian Shade;
And Naso, ev'n in Scythian Exile glad,
Touch'd with the Transports which these Rites inspire:
And pleas'd Tibullus by his chearful Fire.

United Causes, and my growing Love,
And Kindred Muses to this Service move;
My darling Stella's welcome Joys to sound,
Oft, in the Bands of holy Friendship bound,
The loaded Altars we have danc'd around.
Joyn'd in our Studies, and our Minds ally'd,
The same inspiring Springs our Urns supply'd.
And let my Naples lift within the Sky
Her tow'ry Front, and shoot her Columns high;
For in her City the fair Bride was born,
Whose matchless Beauties Italy adorn.
Then let the honour'd Land its Gladness show,
And pleas'd Sebetus in his swelling Flow.
Nor let the Naids of the Lucrine Shore,
And Sarnus, Stella, now delight thee more.
Haste now, and crown our Latium with a Race,
The Laws, the Camp, and Muses Train to grace.
Speed the tenth Month, kind Cynthia, by thy Pow'r,
And, O Lucina, aid her in that Hour!
And thou, sweet Offspring, with indulgent Throes,
Thy future Birth to vital Air disclose,

And spare thy Parents Pains; with secret Skill,
When Nature moulds thy Embrio in her Cell,
And forms the Features, may thy Air and Face
Speak thy Sire much, but more thy Mother's Grace.
Pride of thy Sex, now worthily possess'd
Of Stella's manly Love, and truly bless'd,
Improve the Bands which he so long has sought,
And chear his Passion with indulgent Thought;
So shall thy Charms long flourish fresh and gay,
And slowly fade with leasurely Decay.

Oenomaus.

Stella, a Star.

Leander.

THEOCRITUS, Idyll. XX.

When sweetly Eunica I went to kiss,
The flouting Hussy took it much amiss:
Heighday! quo' she, sure Goodman Lout, for Shame!
Pray know your Distance from a City-Dame.
I was not bred with Lubbard Hinds to play,
But spruce-dress'd Gentlemen, polite and gay.
Go hideous Rustick! nor, presumptuous, seem
To press such Lips, so much as in a Dream.
What Looks thou hast? and how the Creature talks!
How fine he toys! how gracefully he walks!
What tender Things, a Lady's Heart to move,
Flow from his Mouth? and how he makes his Love?

How neat thy Beard? how curious is thy Hair!
Tann'd are thy Hands; thy Lips a filthy Pair.
Fough! how he smells! Hence Monster, leave the Place
Nor poyson me with such a foul Embrace!

Main pettishly she said, and, spitting thrice,
From Head to Foot survey'd me in a trice;
And, mutt'ring strangely, with a sourish Look,
Pouted her Mouth, to mock me as she spoke.
My Blood is in a Flame; my Body glows
With burning Blushes, like a Crimson Rose;
Away she toss'd: But, Goodness! how I start!
'Maz'd e'en to Death, and stounded at the Heart,
That when I only meant a merry Buss,
The Jilt shou'd tauntingly deride me thus.

But, Shepherds, look, for I appeal to You,
Am I not handsome? Say, and tell me true;
Or has some God new-cast my former Face,
And marr'd my Shape, to work me this Disgrace?
Ere now I'm sure, I had a comely Mein,
And my brown Beard, upon my shaded Chin,
Flourish'd like Ivy on the lofty Pine.
Full bushy Locks my graceful Temples crown'd,
Thick as green Parsly springs upon the Ground.
My Milk-white Front two jetty Brows cou'd shew,
And ev'n Minerva had not Eyes so blue.
Than Cream fresh-skimm'd my Mouth was sweeter far,
Nor with my Breath cou'd Honey-Combs compare;

Dettly I sing, and neatly ken the Way,
The jocund Pipe, and chearful Reed to play.
The Virgins on our Hills my Flames approve,
They love me all, tho' she refus'd my Love.
My Calling she despis'd; and, swell'd with Pride,
Because I was a Neat-Herd, turn'd aside.
She never heard, belike, that in the Mead,
Fair Bacchus did his sporting Heifers feed;
Nor knows that Venus, Beauty's Queen above,
Pin'd, and was frantick for a Herdsman's Love;
His Herd she tended, and in Woods ador'd
Her dear Adonis, and in Woods deplor'd.
What was Endymion? Was he not, I ween,
Like me, an honest Herdsman on the Green?
Yet for his Sake the Silver-shining Moon
Forsook the Skys, and came inamour'd down.
She scrupled not the Crook, but in the Grove
Of Latmos follow'd, and enjoy'd her Love.
Nor did the Mother of the Gods disdain
O'er a poor Herdsman sadly to complain;
And Jove himself once left his Juno's Bed,
For the blithe Boy who grazing Oxen fed.
But Eunica, forsooth, with haughty Mind,
Shorts at a Neat-herd, and a homely Hind;
For she, it seems, is one of more Renown
Then Cybele, and Venus, and the Moon.
So let her be; and since she is so great,
This City-Dame, and takes such plaguy State,

May the shy Flirt, in Country or in Town,
Find none to love, but always lye alone.

An Epithalamium on the Marriage the Emperor Honorius with Maria, the Daughter of Stilicho.

From CLAUDIAN.

Honorius' Bosom burn'd with fierce Desire
For the vow'd Fair, and felt unusual Fire.
But, rude in Love, and Novice to the Flame,
He knew not yet from whence the Passion came.
The hunting Courser is no more his Care,
Nor Feats of Arms, nor Honours of the Spear;
The graceful Nymph alone employs his Soul,
On her his eager Thoughts in endless Circles roll.
Oft' from the bottom of his heaving Heart
Issue sad Groans, and Sighs sincerely start;
And oft' his Face with sudden Flushes glows;
Apparent Signs, that secret Love disclose:
His Hands unbidden write the charming Name,
And unaware his Tongue repeats the same.
Now Gifts and Ornaments of Dress, with Care,
The Lover chuses for the plighted Fair;
The Vests which Livia wore, and all the Line
Of noble Consorts of the Race Divine.

Erect in Hope, and brookless of Delay,
He thinks the Sun too slowly drives the Day,
And the Moon loiters in the nightly Skys,
The Time adjourning of his promis'd Joys.

Thus, innocent of Art, the Syrian Maid
Achilles' tender Youth to Love betray'd,
Employ'd his warlike Hands the Wool to twine,
And taught the Heroe at the Wheel to spin,
Toy'd with the Terror of the Trojan War,
And softly set in Curls his braided Hair.

Then thus the Royal Lover said; Ah why
Shou'd fair Maria's Sire retard my Joy!
Why still delay our promis'd Hands to joyn,
Since his Consent already makes her mine?
From no false Portraiture my Passion springs;
The careless Manner of luxuriant Kings.
I chuse not thus by an uncertain Grace,
Nor wanton wed a dubious-fancy'd Face;
Nor from a former Husband's rightful Side,
With foul Injustice tear the weeping Bride;
But in these Nuptials I at once fulfill
Our plighted Vows, and my dead Father's Will.
Besides, our Grandsire on the Mother's Side
Unites the Line, and makes our Blood ally'd.
Nor little is the Merit which I claim,
That at her Knees a Suppliant I became,
My State submitting and Imperial Name;

And from my Court my Purple Nobles send
To plead my Passion, and my Suit commend.
The Prize I ask is mighty, I confess;
But sprung from such a Sire, I sure deserve not less.
With his own Neice he bless'd thy Nuptial Vow,
Thus thou to him dost fair Maria owe;
To me, his Son, then hesitate no more,
To pay the Debt contracted thus before,
But to th'Imperial Court th'Imperial Race restore.
Perhaps the Mother to my earnest Pray'r
Wou'd sooner yield, and lend a milder Ear;
O Daughter of my Uncle, to whose Name
I rose an Heir, of Spain the living Fame,
A Sister by Adoption, but in Love
A very Parent, to my Succour move:
Within thy Arms a helpless Infant laid,
I grew to Strength, and on thy Lap was bred.
Except my Birth alone, in ev'ry Part
More than Flaccilla, thou my Mother art.
Then wilt thou part us, nor be kindly won
To grant Maria to thy Foster Son?
Or shall the long-expected Day arrive,
And the wish'd Night our solemn Vows receive?

Love smil'd, and gliding thro' the peaceful Skys,
A willing Envoy to his Mother flys,
And all his little Wings, to speed his Journey, plys.

Th'Ionian Quarter of the Cyprian Shore,
A craggy Mountain cooly shadows o'er;

Untrod by human Feet: and, from its Head,
Nile's sev'nfold Mouths, and Proteus' Pharian Bed,
Th'Ægyptian Coast, in distant Prospect lye;
No louring Storms e'er cloud the happy Sky.
To Love and Luxury th'indulgent Scene
Devoted lies, and wears Eternal Green.
Nor the bleak Seasons that deform the Year,
Nor wintry Months disgracefully appear,
But Spring's immortal Beauties flourish here.
On its high Top a Field extends around,
With a rich Fence of Golden Hedges crown'd.

This curious Borden, Mulciber, 'tis said,
Uxorious, for his Wife's Embraces paid;
A Bribe to purchase Love: The Meadows smile;
Nor Culture need, for Zephyr tends the Soil.
No Bird presumes to warble in these Groves,
But such whose Voice the Goddess first approves;
The Victors triumph, and the vanquish'd Train
Are chas'd away to Distance on the Plain.
To Love the chearful Vegetables rise;
And ev'ry Tree seems sensible of Joys;
His Boughs the Alder with the Alder twines,
And, close-embracing, conjugally joyns.
The Poplar to the Poplar sighs his Pains,
And Beech to Beech, alternately, complains.

Two Fountains roll: one sweet, and bitter one,
Whose hateful Streams all Mirth and Pleasure drown.

Here Cupid, Fame reports, his Darts prepares,
And dips the cruel Weapons of his Wars.
A thousand Brothers on the Margin play,
Alike in Face and Dress, all young and gay,
The Family of Loves, of unresisted Sway.

The rest sprung from the Nymphs, but this alone
Of better Birth, is Golden Venus' Son;
Heav'n and the Gods are subject to his Throne;
On Princes his distinguish'd Shafts he spends;
O'er meaner Hearts the meaner Race attends.
Nor other wasteful Pow'rs are wanting here;
Voluptuous License, which no Bound can bear;
And hasty Anger, easily aton'd,
And Watchings, drench'd in Wine, inhabit round:
Blushes and Paleness, Loves alternate Hue,
Boldness, at first abash'd with Raptures new;
Delightful Fears, and Pleasures unsincere,
And wanton Perjuries on Wing appear;
Presumptuous Youth is still at hand to chase
Decrepit Age from this enchanting Place.

The glitt'ring Palace shoots a various Blaze
Thro' the brown Grove, and shines with mingled Rays;
By Vulcan rear'd, who added Art to Price;
Gems mix'd with Gold here strike th'admiring Eyes.
On Em'rald Bases plac'd the Pillars stand,
Hew'd from clear Hyacinth with happy Hand:

The Walls were Beryl; sparkling Jaspers joyn
To form the Doors, and nicely polish'd shine;
Rich Agat pav'd the Floor, dispos'd with Skill Divine.
Full in the midst an ample Plain appears,
Which curious Plants and od'rous Harvests bears;
Here sweet Amomum, and the Cassia's Spice,
And soft Sabean Cinnamon arise;
Nor grudgingly their Gumms the Branches yield,
But the rich Balm distills o'er all the Field.

Here Cupid clos'd his tedious Flight, and strait
Pass'd sprightly on, and enter'd thro the Gate;
On her soft Couch, his Mother then with Care
Was nicely forming her dishevel'd Hair;
On either Side th'Idalian Sisters stand;
This serves ambrosial Oyl with ready Hand,
That, with the Comb, divides th'entangled Train
Of mingling Locks, and disembroils again;
A third the Tresses forms with watchful Art,
And studiously neglected leaves a Part;
Th'Omission gave a Grace; the Goddess bright
No Mirror needed to direct her Sight;
Where-e'er she turns, her radiant Form she spys,
And her fair Image floats before her Eyes:
Now as her self she view'd with pleasing Pride,
Her Son approaching, on the Walls she spy'd;
Then to her fragrant Breast she clasps the Boy,
And thus accosts; From whence this swelling Joy?

What Battles, Wanton, dost thou form? And who
Has fall'n a Victim to thy cruel Bow?
Hast thou again the Thunderer compell'd
To low among the Heifers in the Field?
Or vanquish'd Phœbus? or recall'd agen
The shining Moon to her nocturnal Den?
Some stubborn God thou surely hast subdu'd,
Some Deity indignant, rough and rude.

Embracing her, he eagerly replys:
Mother rejoice, I boast no vulgar Prize;
A noble Trophy I have bravely won,
Honorius feels my Bow, and is our own.
Thou know'st Maria and her warlike Sire,
Who made the fierce Barbarian Troops retire,
And covers either Gaul, and Italy;
Nor is Serena's Fame unknown to thee.
Then yield propitious to the Royal Vows,
Unite their Hands; At once the Goddess rose,
Dismiss'd the Cupid from her Arms, and bound
Her flowing Hair, and throws her Robe around;
Her Love-inspiring Zone she snatch'd in haste,
And careless ty'd about her shapely Waste;
With this she calms the rapid Rivers Rage,
And do's the Winds and swelling Seas assuage;
And stills the rolling Thunder's angry Roar;
And now arriv'd upon the sandy Shore,
She in these Words accosts her winged Train;
Which spritely Youth will plunge below the Main,

And call old Triton up, to waft me o'er;
A Service so desir'd, was scarcely known before;
The Bridal is not of a common Line
I now attend, but Sacred and Divine.
Search ev'ry Quarter; whether with his Shell
He makes th'Ægean Seas, or Libyan Ocean swell;
Whoever finds, and brings him here, shall bear
A Golden Quiver, to reward his Care.

She spoke; th'officious Emissaries fly,
To serve their Queen, and search with curious Eye.
Beneath the Depth of the Carpathian Main,
Triton was sporting with the wat'ry Train;
He chas'd Cymothoe; she, with wild Affright,
Deceiv'd his Arms, and scudded from his Sight;
Love saw the Game; What! dost thou think to hide,
Said he, thy Gambols by the wavy Tide?
My Message heed, and instantly prepare
Our beauteous Queen across the Seas to bear.
No slight Reward shall gratify thy Pain,
Cynothoe, who now flys thee, thou shalt gain:
This thy Reward. Now thro' the rolling Flood,
With eager Vigour, bounds the Monster-God;
About his Shoulders hang his Sedgy Hairs,
And filmy Feet below his Groin he bears,
Where with the Man the Fish unites; he gain'd,
At the fourth rushing Spring, the Paphian Strand;
A shady Canopy, his Tail he spread,
Form'd in an Arch, above the Goddess' Head;

And on his scaly Back obsequious lays
The Leaves of Roses, a soft Seat to raise:

Embarqu'd, the Goddess sails; secure she glides,
Her Feet skim smoothly thro' the curling Tides;
The winged Loves attend her on the Way,
And shake with nimble Oars the smiling Sea;
Old Neptune's Palace is with Garlands crown'd,
And all the Nymphs in Pastimes meet around;
Leucothoë sports and with a rosy Rein
Palæmon guides his Dolphin on the Main;
With Herbs immortal, Glaucus binds his Hairs,
And Nereus, Reeds with Vi'lets mingled, wears.
On Water-Monsters borne, the Nereids came;
This on a glaring Tiger swiftly swam;
One mounts a Lyoness, and scuds along,
And on a Bullock's Back this joins the Throng.
With various Gifts the Goddess they address,
To crown the Nuptials, and their Joy express;
Cymothoë gave a Girdle for the Fair;
A Necklace Galatea, rich and rare;
A Diadem by Spatalé was brought,
Enrich'd with Pearls which she herself had sought.
All in a trice smooth Doto dives below,
And gathers blushing Corals where they grow:
What was a Twig when first she seiz'd it there,
Behold a Gemm, when she arose in Air.

Lost in a Ring the Goddess they salute,
And graceful recommend their ardent Suit.

These Ornaments, our Gifts, to grace the Fair,
Like thee a Queen, do thou vouchsafe to bear;
And say, the like not Thetis cou'd obtain,
Nor Amphitrité, Sister of our Train,
When she espous'd the Ruler of the Main.
And let this Tribute that we gladly pay,
Attest the prompt Obeisance of the Sea;
Victorious Vessels often we have borne,
With her great Father in his wish'd Return,
When the rebellious Greeks his Arms had quell'd,
And all the Fury of the Foe repell'd.

Now Triton's foamy Breast, advancing, bore,
And made the Margin of Liguria's Shore;
He stretch'd his Tail unfolded on the Tide,
And sweeping by the Coast in all his Pride,
Pass'd swiftly on, and to the City came,
Which from the fleecy Sow receiv'd its Name.
At Venus' Sight, the Clouds forsake the Sky,
And o'er the brighten'd Alps the North-winds fly;
The Soldier's Heart a sudden Gladness feeds,
He joys, yet knows not whence his Joy proceeds.
A Bloom of Flow'rs the martial Ensigns wear,
And Leaves sprout spritely from the pointed Spear.

Then turning to her Loves; Awhile, said she,
Bid Mars retire, and leave the Court to me;

Far be the dreadful Blaze of Helms abhorr'd,
And let the Scabbard sheath the shining Sword;
Let now the Roman Eagles quit the Sight,
And all, to-day, beneath my Banners fight.
For the shrill Cornet's and the Trumpet's Sound,
Let mellow Flutes and Lyres be heard around.
Let the rough Soldier now indulge his Soul,
And chearful crown in Arms the laughing Bowl.
Its awful State let Majesty dismiss;
And, without Scruple, in the gen'ral Bliss
Nobles and Commons undistinguish'd share;
Let loose the Reins to Jollity sincere,
Nor let the rigid Laws to smile forbear.
Prepare the Torches, Hymen; and the Flow'rs
Ye Graces gather from the sweetest Bow'rs;
Thou, Concord, for the Night two Crowns provide,
And ye, the wing'd Companions of my Side,
Lend all your Hands, with Diligence obey,
Each as he's call'd, and spritely shun Delay.
Dispose the sparkling Lamps to gild the Night,
And from a thousand Branches shed their Light.
These with my Myrtle dress the Pillars crown'd,
And those the living Nectar sprinkle round;
Let rich Sabæan Incense feed the Fire,
And from the Wardrobe all the gay Attire
Magnificent display, and hide the Floor
With rich Sidonian Carpets cover'd o'er:

With artful Texture form the Bridal Bed;
Let pictur'd Pillars raise the lofty Head;
And, glitt'ring in the curious Work Divine,
Bright Gemms, enwoven, elegantly shine.
Such be the Structure as may far outvye,
What Pelops ow'd to Lydian Luxury;
And what the Nymphs prepar'd the God of Wine,
With Indian Trophies and the branching Vine.
There all the Spoils display, her Parents gain'd,
What her fam'd Grandsire from the Moor obtain'd,
And vanquish'd Saxon; and what-e'er his Son,
With Stilicho, in num'rous Battles won;
What the Geloni and Armenia gave,
And swarthy Meroe, wash'd with Nilus' Wave;
What from the Mede were brought with Conquest home,
When suppliant Parthia bought its Peace of Rome.
Let on the Whole, Barbarian Wealth be spread,
And all the Triumphs crown the pompous Bed.
She said; and to the House, without Delay,
An unexpected Guest, pursu'd her Way.
Careless of Nuptials, and the Bridal Hour,
The Maid was list'ning to her Mother's Lore,
Imbib'd her Manners, and the Patterns weigh'd
Of Chastity in former Times display'd;
Nor did she spare, her studious Mind to please
With Roman Writers and the Wits of Greece;

A ready Pupil, by her Mother taught,
What antient Homer, or what Orpheus wrote,
Or Sappho sung to her enchanting Lyre,
She read, and did judiciously admire.
So by Latona was Diana led,
And so Mnemosyné, Thalia bred.

Now suddenly the Day grows doubly fair,
And heav'nly Odours fill the balmy Air;
Th'Occasion soon appears; before their Sight,
The Goddess shines, in all her Glory bright.
Struck with Amaze, awhile she silent stood,
And now the Daughter's Form, and now the Mother's view'd;
She Both admires; the Mother's comely Grace,
The Daughter's radiant Eyes, and beauteous Face.
This, like a dawning Crescent, freshly bright,
That, like the Moon full-orb'd, salutes the Sight;
Or, as beneath the Parent's ample Shade,
An Infant Laurel lifts its little Head,
And gaily promises, in time to bear
Th'accomplish'd Honours of the leafy Hair:
Or, as in one sweet floral Stem are seen
Two Roses shining on a Pæstan Green;
Indulg'd with Vernal Dews, this spreads abroad
Its finish'd Pomp; while, bashful in the Bud,
That lurking lies, and, fearful to be blown,
Dares not admit the warm-embracing Sun.
Long Cytherea thus the Pair survey'd,
Then tenderly accosts the lovely Maid.

Of fair Serena, Hail thou Daughter fair!
From Kings descended, future Kings to bear!
For thee I left my Paphian Seats; for thee
Have Toils sustain'd, and pass'd a Length of Sea,
That thou no more a private Life shou'dst lead,
And his fierce Flames Honorius pining feed.
Receive the Pomps that do thy Birth become,
And for thy Children's sake, the Diadem resume.
To that Imperial Palace, whence before
Thy Mother came, do thou thy self restore;
In Bands of Kindred tho' thou didst not joyn,
Nor wast descended of a Princely Line,
Thou might'st an Empire by thy Form alone
Deserve; what Face so worthy of a Throne?
Whose Person can a Crown so justly claim?
Thy ruddy Lips the Rose's Tincture shame;
Not Maiden Frosts can with thy Neck compare,
Nor purple Vi'lets with thy shaded Hair,
Nor Flames with thy keen Eyes, that sparkle heav'nly fair.
How smooth thy Brows! how nicely they divide
Their equal Arch, produc'd on either Side!
How thy Complexion charms the ravish'd Sight!
The Red so mildly mingling with the White.
Aurora's Fingers, and Diana's Pride
Of Shape and Stature, are by thee outvy'd;
And ev'n thy Mother thou dost now surpass,
In ev'ry Feature of enchanting Grace.

If Bacchus for his Love cou'd mark the Sky
With his fair dotal Crown, display'd on high,
Why for a Virgin so much more Divine,
Shou'd not some radiant Constellation shine?
For thee, Boötes sparkling Wreaths prepares,
And Heav'n lights up a Train of new-born Stars.
Go then, and make a worthy Prince thy own,
And share the Glories of so great a Throne.
Ister shall worship thee, with Faith sincere,
And willing People shall thy Name revere:
The Rhine and Elbe shall their Obeisance pay,
And rough Sicambrians own thy Royal Sway.
But single Nations why shou'd I recite?
The World's thy Dow'r, submitted to thy Right.

She said; and then before her Sight display'd
The splendid Presents which the Nereids made.
With her own Hands she fits them to the Fair,
She sets her Garments, and she forms her Hair,
The Nuptial Vail applies, adjusting all with Care.
Before the Gate resounds the Pomp; with Pride
Adorn'd, the Chariot waits the coming Bride.
The Prince is all on fire the Train to lead,
And wish'd the tardy Sun wou'd hide his Head.
Not otherwise the spritely Courser, stung
With Rage of Love, bounds furiously along,
Erects his Head, and shakes his comely Main,
And scours impetuous o'er the sounding Plain;

With ardent Neighs he seeks the neighb'ring Flood,
His fiery Nostrils breathe a smoky Cloud;
His Master smiles, and views him with Delight,
And all the Herd are gladded at the Sight.

Their Arms dismiss'd, mean time the Troops conspire
T'express their Joy, and hail the happy Sire;
The mingled Flow'rs the jocund Soldiers pour,
And on their Leader throw a rosy Show'r;
With Laurel and with Myrtle bind their Brows,
And in these Words their common Transport flows.

Great Father of thy Country, whether thou
Dwell'st in Olympus, or enjoy'st below,
Th'Elysian Fields, the happy Place assign'd
To worthy Spirits of a better Kind;
See Stilicho fulfils his plighted Vow,
Th'auspicious Season is accomplish'd now,
With glad Requital, when thy foster Care
Of him, in others amply he'll repair;
The Nuptial Honour, which with Royal Grace
Thou gav'st to him, he to thy Son repays.
Thy prudent Choice thou never shalt repent,
And thy last Trust is answer'd in th'Event.
Well worthy He, to whom, when near thy End,
Thou shou'dst thy Offspring and the State commend.
What Battels fought by Hæmus' lofty Hill,
Thy House's Praise, might here our Numbers fill?
What Fights that dy'd rough Strymon's Flood with Gore,
And swell'd the Waves encumber'd to the Shore!

How did he lift his Shield, and on the Foe
With what a Force his Martial Thunder throw!
But Hymen this forbids; his softer Rites
Require our Song; a milder Theme invites.
Who better knows with clear sagacious Mind,
The Mean of Right and Equity to find!
What never did in One before conspire,
Unite in thee, to raise thy Merit high'r,
Valour with Counsel, and with Prudence Fire.
Who boasts an equal Mien and Air? and whom
Wou'd Roman Majesty so well become?
What Arm so great a Charge can better bear?
And wield the Burden of the Publick Care?
Tho' meanly mingled in the common Croud,
Whoever saw thee, strait wou'd cry aloud,
This, this is Stilicho; thus art thou shown,
Thus pointed out, and by thy Presence known;
A Dignity not form'd by Arts of Pride,
By haughty Speeches, and a lofty Stride:
What others strive laboriously to gain,
By Imitation, and with Study feign,
That Nature gives to thee; in thee appear
A Mildness free, and Greatness not severe;
And Age's venerable Hue is seen,
T'augment the Honours of thy awful Mien;
For Youth and Years at once in thee display
Their mutual Ensigns, and assert their Sway,
A Gravity rever'd, and Strength without Decay.

In thee, the Man the Fortune do's adorn,
No guilty Arms by thee were ever borne;
No Swords nor Jav'lins dipp'd in Civil Gore,
Pollute the Triumphs which thou gain'dst before.
Thou dost not Hatred by thy Terrors raise,
Nor spare the Guilty out of partial Grace;
Our Hearts to thee agreeing Passions prove,
At once we fear thee, and at once we love.
The Fear we bear thee, our Affection draws,
Thou just Dispenser of impartial Laws;
Thou strict Observer of the plighted Peace,
Thou best of Leaders; lov'd by all Degrees.
The Duty which we owe our Sov'reign, now
New Tyes enhance; we gladly must avow,
That he, unconquer'd Heroe, is thy Son;
Then wave thy Rank, and lay thy Grandeur down,
To join our chearful Choir, and wear the floral Crown.
So may Eucherius his great Sire excell,
And fair Thermantia light the Torch as well;
And may Maria fruitfully increase,
And bring a young Honorius forth with Ease,
In Purple born, to press his Grandsire's Knees.

Milan.

CANTATA.

Recitative.

While the silent Hours were passing,
Minutes flying, Minutes chasing,
Cloë's Image rose to View;
Ev'ry Charm her Face arraying,
Ev'ry Charm a Heart betraying,
Nearer still the Vision drew.
I, revering
Her Appearing,
Seem'd with Transport thus to sue.

AIR.

Beauteous Boast of lovely Nature,
Fair in Mind and ev'ry Feature,
Radiant Ruler of my Heart,
Can a Form so gayly shining,
Slight a Passion undeclining,
Genuine, ardent, free from Art;
Virtuous Pleasure,
Brightest Treasure,
Sooth a suff'ring Lover's Smart!

Recitative.

Softly then, my Cares beguiling,
Spoke the glitt'ring Phantom Smiling;

AIR.

Coyness may become the Fair,
But a Passion undeceiving,
Hoping still, and still believing,
Is too Noble to despair.

The WISH.

Ye Pow'rs, who sway the Skies above,
The Load of Mortal Life remove:
I cannot, lab'ring thus, sustain
Th'excessive Burthen of my Pain!
A Dance of Pleasures, hurrying by,
Enduring Griefs, a Glimpse of Joy;
With Blessings of a brittle Kind,
Inconstant, shifting as the Wind,
Are all your Suppliant has known,
Since first his ling'ring Race begun.
In Pity, then, pronounce my Fate,
And here conclude my shorten'd Date;
'Tis all I ask you, to bestow
A safe Retreat from future Woe!

A Thought in Affliction.

I

Where shall the Persecuted fly,
To shun the Blows of angry Fate?
No Succour, no Relief is nigh:
How can I bear this ruin'd State!

II

Unpity'd, unsustain'd, oppress'd,
On ev'ry Side, at once distress'd,
All fly from my contagious Woes,
And Sorrow's Waves upon me close!

III

Help, Heav'n! in this my utmost Need,
On thee, my earnest Hope is stay'd;
Let Innocence, at last, succeed,
And be thou present to my Aid!

IV

On hurtful Malice, justly frown,
And suff'ring Virtue's Cause assert,
By Vice, insulting, trampled down;
The threaten'd Danger, oh! avert!

V

On thy Assistance I depend,
My certain and unfailing Prop;
By which for a successful End,
I look with Confidence of Hope.

VI

And see, at length, expected Joy,
Tho' long-protracted, makes Return!
Thus, slowly, in the clouded Sky,
And ling'ring breaks the chearful Morn.

VII

My Fears are o'er, and foul Despair,
Which rack'd my ever-anxious Breast,
Is fled with ev'ry haunting Care,
And left my Soul becalm'd in Rest.
So stalking Ghosts, at dawning Light,
Post swiftly to their native Night.

The Morning Apparition.

Written at Wallington-House, 1719.

All things were hush'd, as Noise itself were dead;
No midnight Mice stirr'd round my silent Bed;
Not ev'n a Gnat disturb'd the Peace profound;
Dumb, o'er my Pillow, hung my Watch unwound;
No ticking Death-worm told a fancy'd Doom,
Nor hidden Cricket chirrupt in the Room.
No Breeze the Casement shook, or fann'd the Leaves,
Nor Drops of Rain fell soft from off the Eaves,
Nor noisy Splinter made the Candle weep,
But the dim Watch-Light seem'd itself asleep,
When tir'd I clos'd my Eyes—how long I lay
In Slumber wrapt, I list not now to say;
When hark, a sudden Noise!—See—open flies
The yielding Door—I, starting, rubb'd my Eyes,

Fast-clos'd awhile, and, as their Lids I rear'd,
Full at my Feet a tall thin Form appear'd,
While thro' my parted Curtains rushing broke
A Light like Day, ere yet the Figure spoke.
Cold Sweats bedew'd my Limbs—nor did I dream;
(Hear, Mortals, hear! for real Truth's my Theme;)
And now more bold I rais'd my trembling Bones
To look—when lo! 'twas honest Master Jones,
Who wav'd his Hand, to banish Fears and Sorrow,
Well-charg'd with Toast and Sack, and cry'd Good-morrow.

The Butler.

To the Memory of John Hughes, Esq

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;
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!

March 30, 1720.

EPIGRAM.

Written in the Year 1720; on occasion of the Author's not being admitted into the South-Sea Subscription, while his Friends generally succeeded.

[Like Gideon's second Fleece, my luckless Lot]

Like Gideon's second Fleece, my luckless Lot
No Moisture feeds; a parch'd unwater'd Spot;
On ev'ry Side the Dews around me lie,
While, in the midst, my little Wool is dry.

PERSEUS and PHINEUS.

From the Fifth Book of Ovid's Metamorphoses.

Perseus, who was Jupiter's Son by Danae, having rescu'd Andromeda from the Sea-Monster to which she was expos'd, she is given to him in Marriage. At the Nuptial Feast he relates his Encounter with Medusa, whose Head be cut off, and wore in his Shield. He had scarcely ended the Story, when Phineus, the Uncle of Andromeda, to whom she had been contracted, attacks Perseus in Revenge for the Loss of his Bride, and the Friends on both Sides engage in the Quarrel.

While thus the Prince his wondrous Story told,
A surly Clamour thro' the Palace roll'd;

Not like the Voices at a Nuptial Feast,
But such as Arms, and angry War exprest.
In such Confusion was the Banquet lost,
As peaceful Seas by sudden Tempests toss'd.

Phineus, the daring Author of the War,
Led first the Way, and shook his shining Spear;
Behold, behold me here, he raving cry'd,
The vow'd Avenger of the ravish'd Bride;
Nor flitting Wings, nor Jove in lying Gold
Disguis'd, shall save thee, or the Stroke withhold.
Cepheus observ'd him as the Dart he aim'd,
What Fury, Brother, loudly he exclaim'd,
Provokes this impious Deed! Is this the way,
These the Rewards such Merit to repay?
Is this the Dow'r you wou'd bestow on him,
Who did my Daughter's forfeit Life redeem?
Not Perseus, but the Horned Ammon's Reign,
Dread Neptune, and the Monster of the Main,
Which sought my hapless Offspring for his Prey,
From thy Embrace have snatch'd the Bride away;
She then was lost to you, when doom'd to die;
Unless her Death wou'd give thee brutal Joy;
By our Affliction thus to chear your own,
And in our common Grief your Sorrows drown.
Is't not enough, that she before your Eyes
Was chain'd, while you, tho' bound by double Tyes
Of Spouse and Uncle, did no Succour give;
But will you, with unmanly Malice, grieve

That she was rescu'd by another's Hand,
And meanly rob him of the Prize he gain'd?
If such a Value in your Mind it bore,
You shou'd have won it from the Rocks before.
Then suffer him, who sav'd her, and by whom
My Age escap'd a childless Parent's Doom,
T'enjoy his Palm in Peace, since so decree
His Merit and my Word; for not to thee,
But certain Death, he was preferr'd by me.

Phineus, without Reply, look'd sternly round
On both, in doubt on whom to fix the Wound.
Then, with what Force his Malice cou'd supply,
He let the pointed Lance at Perseus fly;
Frustrate it drove within the Royal Bed:
Th'avenging Prince sprung from the Couch with Speed,
And back return'd the flying Spear again,
And by the flying Spear the Sender had been slain,
But, slunk behind an Altar's Frame for Fear,
He lay unworthily defended there.
Th'unerring Weapon, with such Fury thrown,
Cut deep in Rhætus' Front, and pierc'd the riven Bone:
He fell, and broke the Jav'lin from the Wound,
And, quiv'ring, spurns the reeking Gore around.

And now the Commons, with Revenge inspir'd,
Join in the Fray, and some to Death requir'd
Good Cepheus, with his Son: But he, with Care,
Had left the growing Tumult of the War;

The hospitable Gods, his Faith, the Right,
He calls to witness, and disclaims the Fight.

Pallas unseen did with her Shield defend
Her dauntless Brother, and new Courage lend;
Athis, an Indian, follow'd Phineus' Lore;
Him fair Limnate, sprung from Ganges, bore
In Sea-green Caves, if Fame the Truth express;
His lovely Form was heighten'd by his Dress:
In Bloom of Youth, elate with rich Array,
A Tyrian Scarf, with golden Borders gay,
He wore; bright Chains of Gold his Neck adorn,
And in a costly Caul his scented Locks are borne.
From far he guided dext'rously the Dart,
But knew to bend the Bow, with better Art:
Then too he drew the Horns with skilful Hand;
But Perseus sudden caught a flaming Brand,
And with the Leaver strongly striking down,
Crush'd his fair Face within the pounded Bone.

Assyrian Lycabas with Pity view'd
Th'illustrious Boy in his own Blood imbru'd:
His ardent Lover, with a Zeal sincere,
He still attended, and was ever near:
And now with Tears he mourn'd his Athis dead,
Then snatch'd the ready Bow, and thus he said;
Inhuman Chief! on Me your Valour show,
For long the Trophies of so young a Foe
Thou shalt not boast; from this no shining Name,
But Hatred rises, to the Victor's Shame.

Scarcely he spoke, when he the Dart dismist,
But Perseus shuns, and takes it in his Vest.
Then turning on his Foe, unsheath'd his Sword,
Foul with Medusa's Blood; the Blade his Bosom bor'd.
The Shades of Night swim sickly o'er his Eyes;
Dying, he sought where his lov'd Athis lies,
And falling on him, did below relate
The pleasing News of their united Fate.
As fi'ry Phorbas, and Amphimedon,
Eager t'engage the War, came rushing on,
The slipp'ry Pavement, moist with Human Gore,
Deceiv'd their Feet, and laid them on the Floor:
The Sword forbad their Rise; it pierc'd the Sides
Of proud Amphimedon, and Phorbas' Throat divides.
But luckless Erythis, who strongly rear'd
A Battel-Ax, a diff'rent Fortune shar'd:
For Perseus snatching up a Cup of Cost,
With Figures roughly prominent, emboss'd,
Full on his Crown the pond'rous Mazer toss'd.
He vomits out a Stream of ruddy Gore,
And knocks his Head supine upon the Floor.
Then Polydæmon fell, who drew his Line
From fair Semiramis; and Abarin,
Lycetus, Elycen with Locks unshorn,
Phlegias and Clytus take their fatal Turn.
The Prince the Palace with their Bodies spread,
A bloody Heap, and tramples on the Dead:

While Phineus dares not closely face his Foe,
Content from far his brandish'd Lance to throw;
On peaceful Idas drove the wand'ring Spear,
Who Neuter stood in vain, nor mingled in the War:
Since, (with a stern, distorted Look, he said,)
Me in your Broils a Partner you have made,
Prove what a Foe I am, and here repay
With Wounds the Wound you gave: He made Essay
To launch the Spear drawn reeking from the Wound,
But, faint with Loss of Blood, sunk grov'ling on the Ground.

Odites there by Clymenus was slain,
The first in Honour of the Royal Train.
Here old Emathion was; with pious Fear
The Gods he worshipp'd, and a Heart sincere;
Still just, and still observant of the Right;
And since his cumb'rous Years forbad the Fight,
He battel'd with his Tongue, and cry'd from far
Against their Broils, and blam'd this impious War.
But closely round an Altar as he clung,
And with his trembling Arms upon it hung,
Fierce Chromis lopp'd his Head, and lopp'd so well,
The jointed Head upon the Altar fell;
Gasping, it seem'd to curse amid the Fires,
And in a shining Blaze at last expires.

Two Brothers, who did Iron Gauntlets wield,
Broteas and Ammon, matchless in the Field,
(If pointed Swords cou'd to the Gauntlet yield,)

Phineus dispatch'd; and Ampycus, the Priest
Of Ceres, with a white Tiara dress'd.
And thou, Cœlestial Bard, whose tuneful Skill,
With Seasons such as this, accorded ill,
Whose spritely Lyre, the Voice of Peace and Love,
With soothing Sounds did pleasing Transports move,
West bidden here, amid the jovial Throng,
To cheer the Banquet with harmonious Song;
But bloody Pettalus cry'd, scoffing, Go,
And play thy merry Notes to Ghosts below;
And his left Temple pierc'd with one malicious Blow.
By chance, the Strings his trembling Fingers found,
And temper'd, as he dy'd, a mournful Sound.
Not unreveng'd his Death Lycormas bore,
From the right Beam a massy Bar he tore,
And dash'd it thro' his Skull: He rush'd to Ground,
Just like an Ox beneath the Butcher's Wound.
While Pelates attempts to rend the next,
Swift Corythus's Dart his Hand transfixt,
And pinion'd to the Wood; and Abas' Sword
Enter'd his fenceless Side, and deeply bor'd:
He fell not with the Wound, but fasten'd there,
Suspended from the Beam, his Soul expir'd in Air.

Then Melaneus, who chose the Prince's Side,
And wealthy Dorilas, in Battel dy'd:
Rich Dorilas, than whom was none possess'd
Of larger Lands, or ampler Harvests press'd;

The Lance obliquely, with a mortal Wound,
Sunk in his Groin; and when the Victor found
His Soul just ebbing, and his swimming Eyes
Rolling in Death, insultingly he cries;
This now of all your num'rous Lands possess,
This single Spot, which with your Corse you press;
And left him breathless. Perseus from the Dead
Snatch'd the warm Weapon, and, with Vengeance led,
Drove thro' the Boaster's Nose and Neck the Spear,
Which did at once on either Side appear.
While Fortune's Favour did his Strokes pursue,
Clytius and Clanis, two fair Twins, he slew:
Their Wounds were diff'rent; for the former lies
With the sharp Lance transpierc'd thro' both his Thighs;
Thro' Clanis' op'ning Mouth the fatal Jav'lin flies.

And Celadon, and Astreus next expire;
His Mother known, but dubious was his Sire.
Ethion, who cou'd future Fates foretell;
But his Art failing, the fond Augur fell:
With him the Royal Squire, Thoactes, dy'd,
And dire Agyrtes, stain'd with Parricide.

So many slain, yet more appear behind,
And press the weary'd Prince, with Force combin'd;
Him to destroy, they urge the furious Fight,
In Violation of Desert and Right.
The pious Father, and the tender Bride,
With the sad Mother, favour'd Perseus' Side;

They pray'd for his Success, with pitying Eyes,
And fill'd the Court with Screams and clam'rous Cries:
The Din of clashing Arms their Clamours drown'd,
And Groans of wounded Men, expiring on the Ground.
The fainting Fight Bellona still renew'd,
With Streams of Blood the Houshold Gods imbru'd.

Now Phineus and his Band the Prince inclose,
And each his Dart with eager Fury throws;
As thick the Storm of thronging Jav'lins flies,
As rattling Hail descends from wint'ry Skies,
And rings about his Sides, his Ears and Eyes.
Behind a Pillar's Breadth he shields his Back,
And thus secur'd, sustains the Foe's Attack.
Chaonian Molpeus, from the Left, the Fight
Urg'd, and Ethemon press'd him on the Right.

As when a Tyger, scow'ring on his Way,
Hears from two diff'rent Cotes the bleating Prey,
Distracted in his Choice, his Grinders churn,
On both he'd rush, on both his Fury turn:
So Perseus fares; and on the Left and Right,
Doubtful whom first t'attack, maintain'd the Fight.
Wolpeus disabled, fled, and unpursu'd;
Ethemon's Rage no second Blow allow'd;
Aiming at Perseus' Neck a furious Stroke,
With heedless Force, the Blade in Pieces broke,
And from the Beam, a Fragment of the Sword
Rebounding back, its Master's Weazon bor'd;

Yet, not dispatch'd, he lifts his Hands to pray,
But the sharp Sword prevents him in his Way.

When Perseus found true Valour over-laid
By Multitude: Why then my Foes shall aid,
Since so my Needs require; My Friends, beware,
Avert your Eyes, he said, nor turn them here;
And saying, Gorgon's Snaky Head did rear.
Vain Aid, such Miracles are lost on us,
Nor move the Mind, cry'd furious Thescelus:
But while he stood in very Act to throw,
Fix'd with his offer'd Dart, he did a Marble grow.
Amphyx succeeds his Friend, and eager prest,
And push'd his Sword at bold Lyncides' Breast;
His Arm was stiffen'd in the Thrust, and stay'd
In the Mid Pass, nor further Motion made.
Nileus, who boasts from Sevenfold Nile his Race,
His ample Shield the Sevenfold Channels grace;
Part wrought in paler Silver, and the rest
In Gold were cast, with Elegance exprest;
See, Prince, he cry'd, our Lineage; and below,
Among the silent Ghosts, contented go,
Since you receive from Me the fatal Blow.
So spoke the vaunting Youth: The latter Sound
Dy'd in the Birth, nor perfect Passage found:
He gapes for issuing Words, but gapes in vain;
Choak'd in the Stone, the Words unform'd remain.

Enrag'd at the Defeat, no Gorgon's Head,
But Fear congeals your Hearts, fierce Eryx said,

Come, join, my Friends; and, spite of boasted Charms,
We'll slay the Youngster with his Magic Arms.
In start to run, the Ground his Feet detain'd,
The Champion motionless a Stone remain'd.
These justly fell. But as Aconteus fought
In Perseus' Side, unwarily he caught
The Gorgon in his View: the Snakes beheld,
In a hard Quarry the chang'd Man congeal'd.
So well the Shape the heedless Eye deceiv'd,
Astyages mistook, and thought he liv'd.
With his long Sword he lash'd and hew'd around,
The forceful Blows against the Statue sound.
Amazement seiz'd on the deluded Foe,
And as he star'd, he did a Statue grow;
The staring Statue do's Amazement show.

The Commons Names 'twere tedious to recite;
Two Hundred had surviv'd the Fatal Fight,
Two Hundred now were Images to Sight.

Phineus, too late, repents his impious War;
What shou'd he do? he saw the Figures there,
In various Postures fix'd; his Friends he knew,
And calls by Name, and do's for Succour sue;
And, faithless still, and not convinc'd, prepar'd
To touch; he touch'd, and found the Figures hard;
Then, in a mortal Fright, averts his Eyes,
Upholds his folded Hands, and thus he cries;
'Tis thine; the Conquest's thine; at length I yield:
But oh, I beg, take hence thy Gorgon Shield!

Nor Lust of Empire did my Quarrel move,
Nor envious Hate; 'twas for the Bride I strove.
Thy Cause, in Merit, Mine in Time was best;
I blush, I did thy better Claim contest;
Give, Heroe, but my Life, I all resign;
But Life I ask; the Rest be wholly thine.
Anxious he begg'd, nor dar'd to lift his Eyes;
When the fierce Prince disdainfully replies;
Take what I can, and this I can bestow,
And to thy Dastard Soul a mighty Bounty too;
Dismiss thy empty Fears, and rest secure,
No Steel shall violate thy Body more;
A lasting Monument I'll fix thee here,
Thy promis'd Spouse still with thy Sight to chear.

He said; and as he spoke, the Snakes he held
Where trembling Phineus turn'd to shun the Shield.
He went to catch away; his stiffen'd Neck
Was sudden stay'd; his Eyes in Marble stick.
The Marble Man a trembling Mouth displays,
A fearful Look, invoking wanted Grace,
With Hands submiss, and a dejected Face.

Jäpetides.

Halcyoneus.

On NOVEMBER the 4th 1712.

The Anniversary of the Birth of His Late Majesty King WILLIAM the Third.

As with Cherubic Hosts and Choirs Divine,
In Songs of Joy, thou dost exulting join,
Cast not a Look, Illustrious Mind, below,
Nor wish thy Britain's present State to know;
Lest the dire Scene arising to the View,
The sad Idea in thy Soul renew,
Of our Unthankfulness in former Years,
Of Service ill-receiv'd, and unrewarded Cares;
When for Religion, Liberties and Laws,
Snatch'd, and asserted from th'Invader's Jaws,
And all the Benefits of Safety giv'n,
At once we murmur'd against Thee and Heav'n.

The same wild Phrenzy seizes us again,
Tasteless of Freedom, we invite the Chain,
Forget th'Oppressions we so lately bore,
And seek that Ægypt which we fled before.
The Joshua who supply'd the Leader's Place,
When thou, our Moses, left'st this moody Race,
Who, form'd by thy Example, crown'd our Isle
With annual Trophies of Triumphant Spoil,
So far have wicked Wiles destroy'd our Mind,
So far can Lies a Nation's Judgment blind)

Has found the same bad Recompence with Thee,
Slurr'd with feign'd Crimes, and Vulgar Calumny.

One was the Course of thy important Life,
For common Good one brave incessant Strife;
From the first Moment of thy vital Breath,
To the last Hour of thy lamented Death.
Ev'n in thy Bloom, when scarce thy Cheeks began
To shew the shaded Down, and mark the Man,
From proud rapacious Hands, thy early Toil
Wrested the Prey, and freed thy Native Soil.
And when these sighing Nations hung the Head,
And with repeated Vows implor'd thy Aid,
Thou gav'st thy Aid, and from impending Fate
Did'st nobly save Britannia's falling State.
Nor cou'dst thou close contentedly thy Eyes,
But still delay'dst thy Passage to the Skies,
'Till thou hadst finish'd thy August Design,
To fix the Crown upon the Brunswick Line.

For this shall Tongues unborn, in future Days,
Break forth with Transport, and Applauses raise;
While all the sour Maligners of thy Reign,
Behold our Happiness, and rage in vain:

Tho' now too far their foul fallacious Arts
Pervert the People, and corrupt their Hearts,
Defame thy Conduct, endless Slanders spread,
And sacrilegiously asperse the Dead,
Yet shortly shall the Fascination break,
And Britons from their heavy Trance awake,

Exert themselves, and recognize thy Name,
With Honours due, and renovated Fame;
Thy Memory Immortal shall revere,
With copious Praise and Gratitude sincere,
And hold this Day of their Deliverer dear.

The Duke of Marlborough.

UPON READING.

Mr. DRYDENS's FABLES.

Our great Forefathers in Poetic Song
Were rude in Diction, tho' their Sense was strong;
Well-measur'd Verse they knew not how to frame,
Their Words ungraceful, and the Cadence lame:
Too far they wildly rang'd to start the Prey,
And did too much of Fairy Land display;
And in their rugged Dissonance of Lines,
True manly Thought debas'd with Trifles shines.
'Tis not each Flow'r which wantons on the Mead,
That must appear within the curious Bed;
But Nature's chosen Birth shou'd flourish there,
And with their Beauties crown the rich Parterre.

Such was the Scene, when Dryden came to found
More perfect Lays, with Harmony of Sound:
What lively Colours glow on ev'ry Draught!
How bright his Images, how rais'd his Thought!

The Parts proportion'd to their proper Place,
With Strength supported, and adorn'd with Grace.

With what Perfection did his artful Hand
The various Kinds of Poësy command!
The ready Choir of Muses, at his Call,
To his rich Song, which was inspir'd by All,
Touch'd the sweet Cords of their enchanting Lyre,
And gave his Breast the Fulness of their Fire!

As while the Sun displays his Lordly Light,
The Host of Stars are humbly veil'd from Sight,
'Till when he falls, they kindle all on high,
And gaily sparkle in the nightly Sky;
His Fellow Bards suspended thus their Ray,
Drown'd in the strong Effulgence of his Day;
But glowing to their Rise, at his Decline,
Each cast his Beams, and each began to shine.

As Years advance, th'abated Soul in most
Sinks to low Ebb, in second Childhood lost;
And feeble Age, dishonouring our Kind,
Robs all the Treasures of the wasted Mind;
With hov'ring Clouds obscures the muffled Sight,
And dim Suffusion of enduring Night:
But the rich Fervour of his rising Rage
Prevail'd o'er all th'Infirmities of Age;
And, unimpair'd by Injuries of Time,
Enjoy'd the Bloom of a perpetual Prime:
His Fire not less, he more correctly writ,
With ripen'd Judgment and digested Wit,

When the luxuriant Ardour of his Youth
Succeeding Years had tam'd to better Growth,
And seem'd to break the Body's Crust away,
To give th'expanded Mind more Room to play;
Which, in its Evening, open'd on the Sight
Surprizing Beams of full Meridian Light,
As thrifty of its Splendor it had been,
And all its Lustre had reserv'd 'till then.

So the descending Sun, which hid his Ray
In Mists before, diminishing the Day,
Breaks radiant out upon the dazled Eye,
And in a Blaze of Glory leaves the Sky.

Revolving Time had injur'd Chaucer's Name,
And dimm'd the brilliant Lustre of his Fame;
Deform'd his Language, and his Wit depress'd,
His serious Sense oft sinking to a Jest;
Almost a Stranger ev'n to British Eyes,
We scarcely knew him in the rude Disguise:
But cloath'd by Thee, the burnish'd Bard appears
In all his Glory, and new Honours wears.
Thus Ennius was by Virgil chang'd of old;
He found him Rubbish, and he left him Gold.

Who but thyself cou'd Homer's Weight sustain,
And match the Voice of his Majestic Strain,
When Phœbus' Wrath the Sov'reign Poet sings,
And the big Passion of contending Kings’
No tender Pinions of a gentle Muse,
Who little Points in Epigram pursues,

And, with a short Excursion, meekly plays
Its flutt'ring Wings in mean enervate Lays,
Cou'd make a Flight like this; to reach the Skies,
An Eagle's Vigour can alone suffice.

In ev'ry Part the courtly Ovid's Style,
Thy various Versions beautifully foil.
Here smoothly turn'd, melodious Measures move,
And feed the Flame, and multiply the Love:
So sweet they flow, so touch the heaving Heart,
They teach the Doctor in his boasted Art.
But when the Theme demands a manly Tone,
Sublime he speaks in Accents not his own.
The bristly Boar, and the tremendous Rage
When the fell Centaurs in the Fight engage;
The cruel Storm where Ceyx lost his Life,
And the deep Sorrows of his widow'd Wife;
The cover'd Cavern, and the still Abode
Of empty Visions, and the sleepy God;
The Pow'rs of Nature in her wond'rous Reign,
Old Forms subverting, to produce again,
And mould the Mass anew; th'important Verse
Do's with such Dignity of Words rehearse,
That Virgil, proud of unexampled Fame,
Looks with Concern, and fears a Rival Name.

What vaunting Grecians, of their Knowledge vain,
In lying Legends insolently feign

Of Magic Verses, whose persuasive Charm
Appeas'd the Soul with glowing Passion warm,
Then discompos'd the Calm, and chang'd the Scene,
And with the Height of Madness vex'd agen;
Thou hast accomplish'd in thy wond'rous Song,
With utmost Energy of Numbers strong.
A Flow of Rage comes hurrying on amain,
And now the refluent Tide ebbs out again;
A quiet Pause succeeds; when unconfin'd
It rushes back, and swells upon the Mind.
Th'inimitable Lay, thro' all the Maze
Of Harmony's sweet Labyrinth, displays
The Pow'r of Musick, and Cecilia's Praise.

At first it lifts the flatter'd Monarch high,
With boasted Lineage, to his kindred Sky;
Then to the Pleasures of the flowing Bowl
And mellow Mirth, unbends his easy Soul;
And humbles now, and saddens all the Feast,
With Sense of Human Miseries express'd;
Relenting Pity in each Face appears,
And heavy Sorrow ripens into Tears.
Grief is forbid; and see in ev'ry Eye
The Gaiety of Love, and wanton Joy,
Soft Smiles and Airs, which tenderly inspire
Delightful Hope, and languishing Desire.
But lo! the pealing Verse provokes around
The Frown of Rage, and kindles with the Sound;

100

Behold the low'ring Storm at once arise,
And ardent Vengeance sparkling in their Eyes;
Fury boils high, and Zeal of fell Debate,
Demanding Ruin, and denouncing Fate.

Ye British Beauties, in whose finish'd Face
Smile the gay Honours of each bloomy Grace;
Whose Forms, inimitably fair, invite
The sighing Heart, and chear the ravish'd Sight,
Say, what sweet Transports and complacent Joy
Rise in your Bosoms, and your Soul employ,
When Royal Emily the tuneful Bard
Paints in his Song, and makes the rich Reward
Of Knightly Arms in costly Lists array'd,
The World at once contending for the Maid.
How nobly great do's Sigismonda shine,
With constant Faith, and Courage Masculine!
No Menaces cou'd bend her Mind to fear,
But for her Love she dies without a Tear.
There Iphigenia, with her radiant Eyes,
As the bright Sun illuminates the Skies,
In clouded Cymon chearful Day began,
Awak'd the sleeping Soul, and charm'd him into Man.
The pleasing Legends, to your Honour, prove
The Pow'r of Beauty, and the Force of Love.

Who after him can equally rehearse
Such various Subjects in such various Verse?
And with the Raptures of his Strain controul
At Will each Passion, and command the Soul?

101

Not Orpheus self, whose animating Lyre
Did Beasts and Rocks and rooted Woods inspire,
More sweetly sung, nor with superior Art
Sooth'd the sad Shades, and soften'd Pluto's Heart.
All own'd at Distance his distinguish'd Name,
Nor vainly vy'd to share his awful Fame;
Unrivall'd living he enlarg'd his Praise,
And dying left without an Heir his Bays.
So Philip's Son, his universal Reign,
Extended amply over Earth and Main,
Thro' conquer'd Climes with ready Triumph rode,
And rul'd the Nations with his pow'rful Nod;
But when Fate call'd the mighty Chief away,
None cou'd succeed to his Imperial Sway,
And his wide Empire languish'd to Decay.

Ego sum Præceptor Amoris. Art. Am. lib. 1.

His Ode on St. Cecilia's Day, entitled Alexander's Feast, or the [illeg.]wer of Musick.

ON THE DEATH of ARMINIUS.

From the Latin of HUGO GROTIUS. Inscrib'd to the Memory of Dr. SAMUEL CLARK.

Thou great Researcher into Truth profound,
A Soul sublime, with Erudition crown'd,
Distinguish'd Pattern of a piercing Mind,
Arminius, from an Age perplex'd and blind,

102

Serenely thou art call'd, with happy Flight,
To the fair Regions of Cœlestial Light.

Pure were thy Views; and whether thou hast serv'd
Truth's glorious Cause, and in no Notion swerv'd,
Or by the Lot attending human Kind,
Which dimly sees, with Faculties confin'd,
In any Part, unheeded Error spread
Her obvious Snare, and thy Pursuit mis-led;
(A curious Question, and for them to show,
Who have both Right to judge, and Skill to know:)
Yet wast thou seen, in this contentious Age,
A strict Peruser of the Sacred Page;
Yet didst thou not in Words of Man confide,
Relying rashly on a dubious Guide:
For which th'Applauses of a Conscience clear,
True to it self, still humble and sincere,
At Heav'ns impartial Bar thou dost with Rapture hear!

There, from the Sorrows of this Life releas'd,
Of perfect Ease, and perfect Joy possess'd,
The Science you so long pursu'd below,
You largely now obtain, and truly know.
From that Irradiance of Cœlestial Day,
You look, and see unhappy Mortals stray,
In Ignorance involv'd, and miss the Way;
How vain the Thing, which Knowledge here we name;
An empty Vapour, and an idle Dream!
Yet swell'd with this, we others proudly spurn,
And are again insulted in our Turn.

103

Hence Wars of sour disputing Doctors rise,
The People's Rage, and endless Enmities.
While Holy Truth, of Holy Peace the Friend,
Escapes unseen, as fiercely they contend.
From whence this Lust of Quarrel and Debate,
This Zeal of Parties, and pernicious Hate?
Has our dear Lord's infernal Foe, conceal'd,
Sown this bad Seed, and scatter'd o'er his Field?
Or do's the hasty Wrath of mortal Man,
And Wit deprav'd, th'unhallow'd Strife maintain,
And to vile Ends the Cause of God prophane?
Or while the World, inquisitive to know,
All Secrets scans, and Things forbid below,
Is this the righteous Punishment assign'd,
T'abash the Boldness of the curious Mind?
As when of old the madding People strove,
From their proud Tow'r to scale ev'n Heav'n above,
A thousand erring Tongues their Speech embroil'd,
And with wild Jargon the vain Counsel foil'd.

Ah! what do we attempt? the little Stock
Selected from the World, the purchas'd Flock
Invades it self, and rends with mutual Spite,
While Turks rejoyce, and Jews applaud the Sight.

Bless'd the Religion, which from factious Heat
Chastly preserv'd, and Arts of Human Wit,
Shines in its own Simplicity compleat!
Which Pardon, by our Saviour's Death procur'd,
Expects with stedfast Faith, and Hope assur'd;

104

Salvation as the Gift of Heav'n receives,
And Punishments ordain'd for Sins believes;
Of gentle Love the kind Indulgence tries,
Content to be with Moderation wise;
Which never will in rash Inquiries strive,
Whether Events by a fix'd Fate arrive;
How, void of Evil, by establish'd Laws,
The Sov'reign Ruler, as the Sov'reign Cause,
Decrees and disallows committed Ill,
And by a pow'rful Nod, conducts the Human Will.

And bless'd the Man! who from Ambition free,
Nor Gain pursues, nor earthly Vanity;
Nor meanly courts the Flatteries of Praise,
But do's to Heav'n his glad Devotion raise;
To know the Deity his Study bends,
And in the Flames of righteous Zeal ascends;
Who safely guided by th'unerring Clue
Of Sacred Writ, its Precepts does pursue;
And thro' the Maze of various Life, with Care
Directs his Way, and 'scapes the ready Snare;
With Charity his Freedom tempers well,
And can in Peace with diff'ring Parties dwell:
Pious and just, who does Contention shun,
Tho' damn'd himself by Others, damning None;
Who never will with Confidence presume,
But now disputes for Truth, and now for Peace is dumb.

These Lessons often, nor without Success,
Thou didst in publick, and in private press;

105

These with redoubled Energy commend,
When nearer now approaching to thy End;
Worne with the Labours of exerted Life,
And nauseating an Age involv'd in Strife,
Full of itself, beyond Instruction wise,
Ungrateful, and delighting to despise;
Broke in thy worse, but in thy nobler Part
Firm and entire, thou didst with ardent Heart,
(So does thy Soul the rapt'rous Prospect fire!)
To that blest Kingdom earnestly aspire,
To which, while Heav'n prolong'd thy useful Stay,
Thou hadst to thousands pointed out the Way.

There now a Star, with Rays eternal grac'd,
And in the Father's glorious Temple plac'd,
In Pray'r to God, thou humbly dost unite,
To shed upon his Fold sufficient Light,
And grant they may with That rest satisfy'd;
Teachers to give them, pure from worldly Pride,
To propagate his Gospel, not an Art,
And Union send of Tongues, at least of Heart:
Of Controversies blind, to chase the Night,
With his own Lustre, prevalently bright;
That the whole Church of Christ, made One in Love,
May persevere; and, aided from above,
Their Life to Men, and Faith to Heav'n approve.

106

On OUR Saviour's Incarnation.

An ODE.

I.

Wake all thy Fire, Cœlestial Muse,
The lofty Song requires it all:
Abundantly into my Breast infuse
The strong Enthusiastic Heat:
Great is my Subject, let thy Aid be great;
Lest, unsustain'd, ingloriously I fall;
Who zealously affect Immortal Height,
And seek with willing Wings a more than human Flight.
Do thou approve and sanctify the Rhyme;
Exalt me with thy sacred Flame;
And with thy living Energy sublime
Ennoble, and succeed the consecrated Theme.

II.

The dedicated Verse propounds to sing
The Son of God, descending from above
T'unlock on Earth th'Eternal Spring
Of Wisdom by the Church, and seal the Father's Love.
Ev'n He, who, vested with Creating Might,
Gave to the various Worlds their Birth,

107

And fram'd the Heav'n, the Seas, and Earth;
Who in the vast Expansion's Height
The radiant Luminaries slung,
Numberless Orbs of wakeful Light,
Unpropp'd in ambient Æther hung:
The Brightness of Paternal Glory, crown'd
With Pomp and Pow'rs ineffably Divine,
Anointed Regent of the Worlds around,
To finish his august Design,
Renounc'd his Royalties awhile,
And humbly in a Servant's Form was found;
And thus of gracious Choice did undergo
Humanity debas'd, and endless Toil:
Pursu'd with agonizing Woe,
Of Wrath awak'd the lashing Scourge he bore;
Pressures of urging Sorrows unallay'd,
By fiery Vengeance of Almighty Pow'r,
Driv'n home, and fasten'd in his Soul:
Guiltless, for us a guilty Victim made,
He drank the bitter Dregs, and felt for us the Whole.

III.

On Mercy's Golden Leaf, the Great Design
Was register'd in Characters Divine:
And there the native Spirits of the Sky,
(Th'unchanging Scroll permitted to their Eye,)
Acquainted with th'intended Wonder grew,
And early read it with preventing View.

108

Below, the Prophets præscious Rage
Foretold th'amazing Birth, and sung in mystic Page.
On this desir'd expected Day
The Patriarch Line fix'd their believing Sight;
Tho' then behind a Length of Time it lay;
Of Years unborn thro' the wide Ocean, they,
To Vision purg'd and Distance of Survey,
Transfer'd their Prospect clear, and hail'd it with Delight:
And big and lab'ring with Desire,
All earnestly accomplish'd Grace require;
When, lo! the destin'd, the distinguish'd Hour,
The Flight of intermediate Ages past,
Turn'd up, and smil'd upon the World, at last,
To save from Hell deserv'd, and forfeit Bliss restore.

IV.

Lull'd in a Calm of Peace our Earth was found,
When on the solemn Ambassy,
Eternal Concord to promulge around,
The Prince and Pledge of Peace descended from on high,
And, with his Birth, the Golden Æra crown'd.
A Sov'reign rais'd, whose stedfast Throne
Founded imperishable, unconfin'd,
An Earthly Sceptre greatly do's disown,
And solely claims Dominion of the Mind.
Titles and Train, and Honours cumb'rous Load,
With all the splendid Vanities of Pow'r,

109

Gay Toys, which wretched Man allure,
And tempt the silly Creature to be Proud;
Rejected to their mean Admirers lie,
Who taste the Steams of Praise, and worship Pageantry.
Then, unalarm'd with jealous Fear,
Imperial Cæsar, hold thy ample Reign,
Conquests perform, and Trophies rear,
Stretch out unwieldy Empire's Bound,
And thro' the many Nations round,
Enlarge Command Supream, and Lordly Rule maintain.

V.

Born to superior Deeds; to drive
Delusive Error and her various Train;
Unblemish'd Truth and Virtue to revive;
To rescue and assert degenerate Man
From Vassalage of Vice, this humble Monarch came:
Thus builds his Empire, thus aspires to Sway;
Reigns Spiritual, and signifies his Way
To Grandeur eminent, and large-predicted Fame.
Not introduc'd by Comets hung on high,
Flaming dire Omens in the nightly Sky;
By Kingdoms ruin'd, and by shaken Thrones,
A Waste of Battel, and translated Crowns.
But War, her boisterous Tempest o'er,
Slumber'd Supine, and hush'd her brazen Roar;
And a fair Sky, all chearful and serene,
Disclos'd, and gave an Auspice to the Scene.

110

VI.

Proceed, my Muse, if able to sustain
Th'o'erwhelming Thought; and, trembling, see
Lone, unsurrounded with his shining Train,
Him, who had held the Honours of a God,
Humbly, and in a mean Abode,
Entring on Infant Life, beginning now to Be.
Shorn with Eclipse, dishonour'd, spoil'd
Of his effulgent Glory, bare to Sight,
Behold the Sacred Child!
Disrob'd of that excessive Light,
Which, on the Gross of antient Night,
Shot fierce, and made uncomely Darkness yield;
All pale it sicken'd into Day;
And, kindling from his Blaze their borrow'd Ray,
The sparkling Lamps on high rose in the Starry Way.

VII.

Hark! in the lightsome Chambers of the Sky,
Echo's the Sound of Solemn Harmony.
Sweetly the circling Spheres above,
In tuneful Revolutions move:
More sweetly the Cherubic Choir,
And joyful Saints, their Voices raise,
In Halleluiahs of Praise:

111

And, taught by Master Spirits skill'd,
The breathing Pipe and copious Lyre
Speak Airs Divine, and waken round
Loud Melody in all its Tones fulfill'd;
And the big Organ and the Trump conspire
T'incorporate their stronger pealing Sound.
The Sons of God their Choral Strain,
Thus on Creation's Morn began,
Symphonious to th'Omnific Builder's Fame;
While from th'unreal vacuous Deep, amain,
Apparent Entity emerging came;
And, working off Confusion's black Array,
The new-born Worlds were publish'd into Day.
A World created, and a World preserv'd,
Occasion'd equal Joy, and equally deserv'd.

VIII.

Wing'd from the Presence, to convey
Th'important News, with speedy Flight,
Down thro' the trackless Sky's unmeasur'd Way,
Falls a swift Train of Seraphs bright:
And a fair Globe of running Light
From the brown Meadows rolls the Night,
Distinguishing the Heav'n, and calls the Shepherds Sight.
In Ecstasy the humble Swains
Receiv'd the Vision on the Plains;
And as with awful Fear they gaze,
Th'illustrious Host prepare their Lays;

112

To tuneful Instruments around,
Glad Tidings, then the Song began;
To The Supream Ador'd, Eternal Praise;
Immortal Peace; Benevolence To Man;
An Universal Shout the Concert crown'd,
And to the Gates of Heav'n return'd the welcome Sound.

IX.

To lab'ring Nature's sickly Frame,
New Life the salutary Message brought;
Establish'd on her Base again:
But Horror and distracting Shame,
Disseiz'd and vanquish'd of his Reign,
Abaddon's raging Monarch caught.
He and his Traytor Crew of Hell,
(Vengeance defer'd but gathers Weight,
Strikes deeper, and with more of Fate)
Like hasty Lightning, from on high,
Swept down, precipitately fell,
And clear'd the disincumber'd Sky;
Defeated in th'accurs'd Design,
The new Creation to confound,
To spread their wasteful Empire round,
And Man with them in Ruin joyn.
For this, vindictive Wrath Divine

113

Flam'd out, and visited intense:
Sharp Arrows, wing'd with righteous Ire,
From which they vainly wish Defence,
Shot Agonies, immortal Pain
Within them; and impetuous Fire
Pursu'd in raging Show'rs amain:
The long-impending Tempest, strongly blown,
Broke on them, and disgorg'd the sultry Deluge down.

X.

From meagre Death his lifted Weapon fell;
The sallying Dart all suddenly was stay'd;
Which long had stock'd the boundless Waste of Hell,
And, fierce of Prey, enormous Carnage made.
Reform'd to Grace, the horrid Mien,
And griesly Shape no more are seen;
A Friend become of an invet'rate Foe,
Pleasant his Look and mild his Brow,
Balmy the Shafts he sends, and Sov'reign is the Blow!
From Sorrows, and oppressive Cares,
From Sickness and unwieldy Years,
The Pains, Indecencies and Scorn
Of Sense obtuse, and Life to Ruin worn,
Welcome Deliv'rer! thou Release,
To fadeless Joys and Elegance of Bliss.

114

XI.

Infinite King! Who can suffice,
The Secrets of thy Throne to trace?
Or dare to try, with curious Eyes,
Th'Abyss of thy Mysterious Ways?
Awful, inextricable Maze!
And what an Ocean is thy Grace!
The flaming Ardors of the Sky,
Pure Sons of Morn, a Princely Train,
Magnificent in Majesty,
And with exalted Honours crown'd;
Once dignify'd to serve around
Th'immediate Godhead, and sustain
His great Commands, amid the blazing Ray
Of living Light, and strong Cœlestial Day;
Revers'd in Form, and from their Station thrown,
Expung'd th'Eternal Roll on high,
Damnation sinks for ever down:
Chain'd in th'unfathom'd Gulf, they lie
Despairing, and unpity'd groan,
With Torture's eating Plague, and perfect Misery.

XII.

Far otherwise, O Father, Judge Supream!
With fallen Man thy Methods were:
To Him all Charity; to Them
Consuming Wrath unquench'd, and Punishment severe.

115

What a Distinction hast thou made!
Of lofty Seraphim the radiant Row,
Disclaim'd and lost, no Pardon know,
Out of the Line of Grace, and Mercy's Aid:
While Man, a Creature meanly born of Clay,
A sudden Thing of Yesterday,
Reduc'd in Mind, and sluggishly allay'd
With Body, of abated Soul;
Spirit tam'd with Sense, and lessen'd in the Whole:
When vilely from his Faith he fell,
And dar'd, Allegiance to depose;
Supplanted by th'industrious Wiles of Hell,
Th'Extent of thy Compassion found;
Plenipotent th'imbosom'd Son arose
On his Behalf; and, in his Stead,
Who can prescribe his Love, and streighten with a Bound?)
The Fury of insulted Law,
Receiv'd, discharging on his Head.
Aghast th'Apostate Spirits saw,
When, to conclude the tainted Race,
Justice, inflam'd, reach'd hasty to the Blow,
The rushing Stroke, in Pity, stay'd;
And Exhibitions of absolving Grace,
The Deity, assuag'd, indulgently bestow.

116

XIII.

Bought with a Price, and not our own;
His Claim appropriate we are,
Who paid the costly Ransom down;
Be Righteous then to Gratitude, nor dare
Profanely to defraud th'Almighty Purchaser.
Unhallow'd Lusts let be expell'd,
That impiously usurp'd the Sway within;
Each guilty Passion combated and quell'd;
With Native White the Soul renew'd agen,
From all discolour'd Soil and Turpitude of Sin;
And Sanctify, with Innocence, the Mind,
Ornate in Virtue's Garb Divine;
A Royal separated Shrine,
Inscrib'd to Heav'n, and from the World refin'd.
To Spirit purifying, when our End
Mature accomplishes for perfect Joys,
Th'immortal Mansions thus we shall ascend,
Assum'd to high Promotions in the Skies;
From whence th'unnumber'd shining Legions fell;
In Glory with the Hierarchies to dwell,
A Holy Church select, and fill their Vacancies.

XIV.

Increas'd from Infancy's imperfect Years
To smiling Youth, and thence absolv'd to Man,
One Tenour of the sacred Life appears:
Opprobriously he set, as lowly he began.

117

A Life still varying, and distinguish'd still
With Wants, Contempt, and exercising Ill.
Rais'd by Adversity, superior grew
The Deity, to more Advantage shown,
Vouch'd and attested thus to View,
The genuine Son of God, Messiah true,
Deeds, no less than Name, a real Saviour known.
Of Grace abundant, on the Croud
Promiscuous Mercies he bestow'd;
For scurril Taunts, and Blasphemy abhorr'd,
He rais'd the Dead, the Lame restor'd,
Expell'd possessing Fiends, and wasting Sickness cur'd.
Constant, and truly regular,
He roll'd along his destin'd Sphere,
And greatly measur'd his compleated Year.
Thus in the Skies the Champion Sun,
(If Things so Great we may compare with Small)
Drives steadily his Chariot on;
Sweeping around the glitt'ring Belt on high,
His chearful Beams he freely throws on all,
While climbing Fogs and Vapours vainly try
To blunt his Golden Rays, and cloud th'Etherial Ball.

XV.

But, conscious of abated Fire, forbear,
My weary'd Muse, t'attempt the rest,
Thy feeble Force exceeding far,
And curb thyself in thy ungovern'd Haste.

118

A Train of Virtues so divinely bright,
Able t'endure the proving Test
Proportion'd, perfect, of Immortal Height,
Cannot be worthily exprest.
Besides the Wonders of his Death behind:
When, lab'ring on the Cross, his earnest Pray'rs
(Made prevalent by Blood and Tears)
Were for his Murderers design'd:
In Blessings then his anguish'd Soul he breath'd,
And everlasting Life to Rebel Man bequeath'd!
The Glories, also, thou must leave untrac'd,
When, breaking from the solitary Tomb, he rose,
August with purchas'd Honours grac'd,
In Triumph o'er his vanquish'd Foes.
Thro' purple Clouds serenely as he rode,
Applauding Angels, spread on high,
With Songs of Joy receiv'd the Victor God:
A Blaze of Suns the frequent Host appear'd;
And loudly, in th'expanded Sky,
The choral Voice of hailing Praise was heard.
Such Crouds, and such a pompous Train
Agen shall fill that spacious Plain,
When his Tribunal high
Erected in the Sky,
Shall, by the Trumpet's Clangor wake
The sleepy Dead, and their long Slumber break;
And summon all the World, to come,
And meet their Just and Everlasting Doom.

1709.

119

From the GREEK of GREGORY NAZIANZEN.

[I once was in my Prime, but now decline]

I once was in my Prime, but now decline;
Nor did I then insult, nor now repine:
To fade, and flourish, is a diff'rent State;
But I am still the same, unchang'd in either Date.

From the same.

[This Good I have from the Physicians won]

This Good I have from the Physicians won,
Equal with thee, O Christ, to value none;
For all Things do from thee derive their Pow'r,
And 'tis from thee alone, that Med'cines cure.

From the same.

[I languish, and have now another Call]

I languish, and have now another Call
To think of Heav'n, and quit this Earthly Ball;
The Benefit I own; but, Lord, in Love,
Assuage the Sickness, and the Pain remove;
Or if That is not fit, then give me Grace,
To bear it firmly, and with chearful Face.

120

From the same.

[Why shou'd I longer covet wretched Life]

Why shou'd I longer covet wretched Life,
A Mark for Envy, Mockery and Strife?
Let others wish for Pomp, I only pray
A quick Dismission, and to go my Way.

From the same.

[I hear the Call, and hasten as I hear]

I hear the Call, and hasten as I hear;
But ah! the rich Man's Flames and Gulph I fear;
Who will secure me an immortal Crown,
And in the Patriarch's Bosom lay me down?

The Epithalamium of Palladius and Celerina.

Alter'd from Claudian.

Within a secret Grove, the Paphian Queen
Extended careless on the various Green,
Serenely slept: all lovely Flow'rs compose
The fragrant Bed, and round the Goddess rose.
Across the Borders of the pleasing Glade,
The purple Vine its ample Foliage play'd,

121

And hung its ruddy Fruit: The Breezes fly
Between the quiv'ring Leaves, and cool the sultry Sky.

Th'Idalian Family, a joyous Train,
And chearful Graces lay upon the Plain,
Beneath a spacious Oak; and, fond of Shade,
The sprightly Cupids o'er the Meadows stray'd.
High in the Wind, the whistling Boughs among,
Their deadly Darts, and sighing Quivers hung.
Some exercise in Sport, and Others pry
For downy Nests of Birds, in Hedges nigh,
Our pelt the ripen'd Apples from on high.
This the tall Elm, with mighty Labour, climbs,
And on the trembling Branches trusts his Limbs:
With Watch and Ward, another keeps the Grove,
And makes the peeping Dryades remove;
Nor lets the Woodland Pow'rs approach the Scene,
Or lustful Fawns inspect the sacred Den.

While thus their sev'ral Games the Wantons ply,
All suddenly was heard a various Cry,
A Peal of echoing Shouts; and by the Noise,
It seem'd of merry Youths the sprightly Voice,
In Chorus with the Lyre; and clearly round,
Fair Celerina's Name the hollow Mountains sound:
The winding Circuit of the Fields along,
Palladius' Name was answer'd to the Song.
To Venus soon the jovial Clamour flies,
And chas'd the Slumber from her radiant Eyes:

122

She rais'd her Head, and summon'd, thro' the Groves,
The youthful Hymen from her wand'ring Loves:
A Muse his Mother; with becoming Pride,
Hymen do's o'er the Marriage Bed preside:
He lights the Torch: Without his kindly Aid,
No sacred Nuptial Union can be made.

At length she finds him: Shelter'd in the Grove,
The busy Boy, in idle Pastime, strove
Unequal Reeds in working Wax to bind;
Then to his Lips the pastoral Flute he joyn'd,
And various Notes excites with modulated Wind.
But when he saw the Queen, he hush'd his Tune,
And blushing dropp'd the Rural Whistle down.
Bright were his Eyes; the Sun, and conscious Shame,
His snowy Cheeks had kindled in a Flame.
Speechless he gaz'd; when thus the Goddess broke
The Silence first, and with a Smile bespoke.

Fair Offspring of the Muse, thou lovely Boy,
For ever do thy Mother's Arts employ
Thy downy Hours, and Songs of Marriage Joy?
What tender Airs, amid' the Noon-day Heat,
Dost thou alone melodiously repeat?
Or dost thou scorn the Harp, and with the Flocks,
Blow the blithe Shepherd's Pipe, while Echo mocks
With ready Voice, and answers from the Rocks?
But tell, my Child, what means this sudden Joy?
What Bridal Pomp is sweetly passing by?

123

Can you, said Hymen, Goddess, linger here,
When such a Bridal's celebrating there?

Phœbus, the radiant Pow'r, whose Beams Divine
On Heav'n and Earth with chearful Glory shine;
Skill'd in the Lyre, to multiply around
The joyous Notes, and Harmony of Sound;
Who forms the tuneful Lay, and fully knows
What virtuous Plant, and sov'reign Simple grows:
To raise his Worth, at once the Youth inspires,
With Arts of Med'cine, and Poetic Fires:
The lov'd Iäpis, with diminish'd Praise,
Preferr'd the Leech's Skill, and scorn'd the Bays;
But, capable of both, his rising Name
This Youth improves, and shares a double Fame.
While, in the Bride, thy own delightful Grace
Thou hast express'd, and Comeliness of Face;
How elegant she shines! the lovely Kind
Confess her Form; where sweetly are combin'd,
A beauteous Person, and a prudent Mind.
Since such a Couple give their Hands to-day,
Your happy Presence, Queen, no more delay.
Come, lead your little Loves; I'm all on fire,
To scatter dewy Crowns amid the Quire;
To shake my bridal Torch, and bless the Night
With Mirth sincere, and Fulness of Delight.
This rural Pipe, of Rushes rudely made,
Shall in the merry Chorus join: he said;
And Venus, rising from her fragrant Bed,

124

Mov'd to the Fount, and in the cooling Streams
Her Body bath'd, and wash'd her beauteous Limbs;
Her flowing Locks in curious Order ty'd,
And dress'd her Heav'nly Form in utmost Pride:
With gather'd Flow'rs she strew'd her Chariot round,
With scatter'd Flow'rs the silken Meads were crown'd,
And her soft Doves in Flow'ry Harness bound.

Thick Flights of Birds in Rings attend the Car,
Of ev'ry Kind, repairing from afar,
Such as around the running River build,
And hold the silent Woods, or open Field.
The laughing Loves, who saw the feather'd Train,
For Coursers press'd, and curb'd them with the Rein,
And rode them round the Skies, with Grace before their Queen.

Quick, with a Shout, in merry Fight they close;
Their little Hands are clench'd for sturdy Blows;
And here and there a Fall the Wantons caught,
Then flew with better Speed, to mend the Fault.

Th'officious Cupids, at the Bridal Door,
Of mingled Violets and Roses pour,
From their full Canisters, a fragrant Show'r.
Others, from sparkling Boxes, fill the Room
With Scent of precious Balm; the rich Perfume
Was caught as dropping from the bleeding Wound,
Where the cleft Bark wept Odours on the Ground.

125

Then to the Fair a fav'rite Cupid prest,
And led her blushing from her Mother's Breast:
Glad Venus join'd the Bride and Bridegroom's Hands,
And solemnly thus ty'd the Nuptial Bands.

Live Happy Both, crown'd by the Pow'rs above;
Abundant be your Joys, and permanent your Love!
With soft Address, and Tenderness of Care,
Invite, my Son, and captivate the Fair:
And thou, O Fair, receive the marry'd Life,
And chearful yield thyself a virtuous Wife.
Why in thine Eyes o'erflow the rising Tears?
Why heaves thy Breast? Dismiss thy bashful Fears:
With ev'ry Charm thy Face serenely dress,
And let gay Smiles thy secret Flame confess.

So Cytherea spoke; then call'd aloud
Two wing'd Attendants of her circling Croud:
The fluttering Boys with costly Plumes appear'd,
And, dipp'd in Balm, their pointed Arrows rear'd;
One to the Virgin's Bosom was addrest,
The other doom'd to pierce the Bridegroom's Breast:
Sounded at once the Horns, at once the Darts
Sunk in their Marrow, and transfix'd their Hearts.

Calliopè.

126

From the Spanish of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra.

[Good Mother, if you please, you may]

Good Mother, if you please, you may
Set Guards and Spys to watch my Way;
But if myself I do not keep,
Instead of watching, they may sleep.

'Tis said of old, by Sayers sage,
Restraint do's Appetite enrage,
And Love, by strict Confinement, turns
More violent, and fiercer burns.
'Tis better then to leave me free,
Than shut me under Lock and Key:
For if myself I do not keep,
Instead of watching, you may sleep.

Unless my Will itself restrain,
All threatned Dangers are in vain;
Thro' Death itself it dares the Way,
And finds unthought-of Means to stray:
For if myself I do not keep,
Instead of watching, you may sleep.

When Love do's once the Breast inspire,
As Flies invited by the Fire,

127

Thro' careful Guards and wakeful Spies,
It rushes fearless to the Prize:
For if myself I do not keep,
Instead of watching, you may sleep.

In spite of them, my Thoughts will rove
On the dear Object of my Love:
For Lovers Hands are melting Wax,
Their Wishes Fire, their ready Hand
No Diligence or Cunning lacks,
Their Head do's ev'ry Wile command;
Their Eyes have Voice; their Feet, believe me,
Are shod with Silence to deceive ye.
And if myself I do not keep,
Instead of watching, you may sleep.

From the same.

[Surprising Fair, whose lovely Face]

Surprising Fair, whose lovely Face
To Beauty's self imparts a Grace;
In whose inchanting Shape and Mien,
The Sov'reign Skill of Nature's seen.
Whether you speak, or laugh, or sing,
Or smile, or frown, or rest, or move,
Such Charms your Actions sweetly bring,
All Hearts are fir'd, and sigh with Love.

128

No longer in a base Imploy,
Such Glories and such Virtues hide,
For Kings and Monarchs wou'd, with Joy,
Attend obsequious at your Side.

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.

Empyreal Heav'n, where Love resides;
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.

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.

129

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.

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.

Cœlestial Messenger, to whom
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.

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.

Forsake then such a base Imploy,
Admit Addresses, be not coy,

130

And highborn Ladies will repine
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.

From the same.

[Who is fortunate in Love?]

Who is fortunate in Love?
He that's silent. Who subdues
Its Cruelty? He that can prove
Constant, and faithfully pursues.

Who does its pleasing Joys obtain?
The dauntless persevering Man.
Success then I can never fear,
Since I am silent, fix'd, and persevere.

What feeds the Flame, and what repells?
Smiles nourish it, and Frowning quells.
Since then nor Smiles nor Frowns I see,
My Flame must sure immortal be.

What is th'Event of black Despair?
Death. Then it is best to dye.
Live rather, and thy Fortune try,
And trust the Kindness of the Fair.

131

Since gentle Calms a Tempest close,
Shall I my secret Love expose?
At a fit Time thou may'st. But still
If that shou'd never come? It will.
It will! alas! more speedy Death
Will come before, and stop my Breath.

These sad Surmises all are vain,
Still cherish Hope, and Truth maintain,
So brightly let thy Virtues shine,
That Constance, when she knows thy Pain,
May crown thy Passion, and be thine.

From the same.

Upon the Defence of Goleta, in Africk, besieg'd by the Moors.

Intrepid Spirits, who set free
From Flesh and gross Mortality,
By noble Deeds have mounted high
From this low Earth, and reach'd the Sky:
Inflam'd with honourable Zeal,
You bravely fought, and greatly fell,
And with your own and Moorish Blood,
Stain'd all the Shore and neighb'ring Flood:

132

Unweary'd in the gen'rous Strife,
Your Courage fail'd not but with Life;
Below, acquiring bright Renown,
In Heav'n inheriting a Crown.

From the same.

Upon the Defence of the Fort.

From this small Spot of barren Earth
Three thousand Christian Warriors rose
To Heav'n, by an Immortal Birth,
O'erwhelm'd with Multitudes of Foes.

Long they exerted in the Fight
Surprising Prowess, tho' in vain,
Till spent, and failing, in their Might,
The Champions were by Numbers slain.

In ev'ry Age this fatal Ground
With Deaths distinguish'd has been crown'd,
But never from th'ill-omen'd Soil,
Souls more Heroic gain'd the Sky,
Nor in it, after virtuous Toil,
Did Corps more manly, bury'd lye.

133

From the same.

[Before the sacred Altar bows]

Before the sacred Altar bows
The noblest Queen that Europe knows;
And for her safe Deliv'ry pays
{To} Heav'n her ardent Thanks and Praise.
Devoutly as she lifts her Eyes,
[illeg.] how the pleas'd Spectators Joys
With Transports swell their Breasts, to view
Such Piety and Splendor too.
Sure she's deputed from the Skies,
With all their Pomp to strike our Eyes;
While on her either Hand is drawn
The Sun of Austria, and the Dawn;
Behind her, breaking from the Night,
The Star of Morn salutes the Sight;
And all the Constellations spread
Their sparkling Glories round her Head:
Here Saturn trims his sullen Beam,
And smartly shoots a burnish'd Stream;
With spritely Pace begins t'advance,
No longer loitring in the Dance:
The Speaker-God, whose trolling Tongue
With Eloquence and Wit is hung,
And Cupid, arm'd with Darts of Love,
Delightfully around her move:

134

There Mars, enraptur'd with her Charms,
Sighs, and forgets his angry Arms:
And next is seen Imperial Jove,
Obnoxious to the Charms of Love,
Reflecting on the Queen his Rays,
T'augment the Keenness of the Blaze.
In either Cheek, the lovely Grace
Of the fair Moon adorns her Face;
And Venus adds her chearful Dye,
And shines resistless from her Eye.
In the trim Girdle on her Side
A thousand Ganimedes reside;
And in her gorgeous Veil, the Rays
Of India's costly Diamonds blaze,
And rich Arabia's Spices play
Around her, and refresh the Day.

While Envy sours disloyal Hearts,
To honest Spaniards it imparts
High Joy and Triumph, to behold
Their Queen, outvying Pearls and Gold.
And as a thousand Blessings rise,
From ev'ry Breast, with mute Surprize,
At last the Fulness of their Joy
Broke into Voice, and shook the Sky;
And thro' the vaulted Temple ran,
From Mouth to Mouth, this ardent Strain.

For ever flourish, fruitful Vine,
And round thy Elm supported twine;

135

The branching Shelter of whose Arms
Shall shield thy tender Growth from Harms.
For ever flourish, for thy own,
And for Hispania's fair Renown;
The Faith to cherish, and defeat
Th'Imposter-Sect of Mahomet.

Long may'st thou live, then others cry'd,
Unspotted Dove, Hispania's Pride,
To crown us with a Royal Brood,
Descended from thy gen'rous Blood;
With Eagle Reign to chase away
The Vulture Crew, and Birds of Prey,
And trembling Virtue safely hide
Beneath their Wings, and shelt'ring Side.

With chearful Tongues and speaking Eyes
Thus others utter'd loud their Joys:
How rich a Pearl, with bright Renown,
Hast thou affix'd on Austria's Crown!
What Plans, with future Glory bright,
Are now unfolded to the Sight!
What Hopes in ev'ry Bosom glow!
What Terrors strike the daunted Foe!
Amid those Shouts, with solemn Grace,
The pious Queen advanc'd her Pace
To the great Phœnix-Martyr's Dome,
Who vouch'd the Faith in Fire at Rome,

136

And glorious won a living Name,
By the dread Tryal of the Flame:
Then kneeling, from a pious Breast,
Her Vows to Heaven she thus addrest.

This Gift thy gracious Bounty gave,
Still let thy gracious Goodness save;
As on thy Altar I resign
The Gift, which righteously is thine,
And to thee while I thus restore
The welcome First-Fruits which I bore,
Accept them at thy Suppliant's Hand,
And smile indulgent on the Land.
Cherish this Babe, and greatly raise
To Power and Fame in coming Days;
That worthily he may succeed
In his applauded Father's stead;
Who strongly now sustains the Weight
Of ample Empire and the State,
And, Atlas-like, the Burden bears
Of distant Climes and Royal Cares.

She said, and loudly in the Close
A Peal of full Applauses rose.

The King.

The Infante, new born.

St. Lawrence.

137

From the same.

[Sweet Gypsy, Preciosa fair]

Sweet Gypsy, Preciosa fair,
The precious Stones less precious are;
Yet as thy Name implies with Art,
Hard, tho' a Jewel, is thy Heart.
This Truth confirm'd in thee we find,
That Scorn is still with Beauty join'd.
If as you open to the Sight,
With ripen'd Rays of fuller Light,
You practise this severe Disdain,
Ah! what will be thy rigid Reign!
While Basilisks are in thy Eyes,
At which the fond Beholder dies.
If the mean Cottage or the Field
You'd Birth to such bright Graces yield,
And near our humble River's Bed
Thy radiant Infancy was bred,
Mançanares shall vye in Fame
With ample Tagus' Golden Stream,
Of this distinguish'd Honour proud;
And equal Ganges' wealthy Flood.
Fair Fortunes, good as they desire,
You promise any who enquire;
Yet cruel cause the worst of Ills,
While your relentless Beauty kills.

138

Your strolling Tribe, as Rumour tells,
Are skill'd in Sorceries and Spells;
But sure the Charms employ'd by you,
Are more prevailing, and are true.
If in the spritely Dance you move,
Our Wonder kindles into Love;
One Glance deprives us of our Breath,
And thy soft Siren Voice is Death:
For whatsoe'er to thee belongs,
Thy Silence, Speech, thy Looks, thy Songs,
Approach, Withdrawing, give Desire,
And fiercely blow the fatal Fire.
Submitted to thy pow'rful Sway,
The haughtiest Hearts thy Rule obey,
As mine, rejoycing in its Chain,
Dear Preciosa, owns thy Reign.

Thus, as his secret Soul indites,
Thy poor and wretched Lover writes.

From the same.

[As when upon the Mountain-Heads]

As when upon the Mountain-Heads
The Sun his Golden Splendor spreads,
And with a sudden Spring of Light,
Extinguishes the dazled Sight;
Or as the Diamond's various Ray
Reflects, with keener Beams, the Day;

139

Thy radiant Charms with gay Surprize,
Fair Moor, attract and wound my Eyes;
And cruel Love's contagious Dart
Is fix'd, and festers in my Heart.

From the same.

Song between Andrew and Clement.

Andrew.
Clement , behold you starry Veil
Unfolded on the Face of Night,
Whose glitt'ring Splendors scarcely fail
To rival Day's refulgent Light.
Then, if thy Wit can reach so high,
Th'enchanting Form thou may'st divine,
Where ev'ry Grace strikes ev'ry Eye;
And Beauty's brightest Glories shine.

Clement.
Fair Beauty's brightest Glories shine
In Preciosa's finish'd Face;
In Her the Graces all combine,
And Virtue doubles ev'ry Grace.
Whatever Pen attempts her Praise,
Harmonious flows the ready Rhyme;
The happy Subject tunes the Lays,
Unequall'd, soothing and sublime.

140

Andrew.
Unequall'd, soothing and sublime,
Is ev'ry Song that sounds her Name;
See how my chearful Numbers climb,
By that inspir'd, and purchase Fame!
With pleasing Rapture and Surprize,
My Verse her Magic Name shall bear
Triumphant thro' the list'ning Skies,
To teach it to the rolling Sphere.

Clement.
To teach it to the rolling Sphere,
Becomes a gladded Lover's Art;
Th'applauding Heav'ns transported hear,
And in the Concert bear a Part.
The mellow Musick of the same,
On Earth re-echo'd, shall controul
All Hearts, rebounding at her Name,
Which charms the Senses, and the Soul.

Andrew.
It charms the Senses, and the Soul,
To hear the Syren's warbling Voice
Carol her Song; her Accents troll
So sweetly, Heaven and Earth rejoyce.
Such, Preciosa, thou art found,
That Beauty is thy lowest Praise;
My dear Delight, serenely crown'd
With Honour, Goodness, ev'ry Grace.

141

Clement.
With Honour, Goodness, ev'ry Grace,
Thy Mind is furnish'd, Gypsy fair;
Mild Zephyr-Breeze, that cooly plays,
Sweet Freshness of soft Morning Air;
Smart Light'ning-Blaze, by which with Art
Love fires to Flame a Breast of Snow;
Keen Shaft, which wounds the sighing Heart
With Pleasure, from his sportful Bow.

SONG. From the same.

Sung by Preciosa, in Return to the Former.

My Virtue on my low Estate
A golden Lustre richly sheds;
And Wealth, and gaudy Titles great,
In its intrinsic Worth exceeds.

My quiet Bosom never sighs,
That I am lov'd or prais'd by none;
The Peace my chearful Mind enjoys,
Depends upon my self alone.

My honest Heart, renouncing Ill,
Is natively to Truth inclin'd;
And watchful Heav'n, indulgent still,
Will guide my Fortune, and be kind.

142

Fain wou'd I see if Beauty's Pow'r
Can boast the high Prerogative
To be accepted for a Dow'r,
And of it self Promotion give.

If Souls are equal, as 'tis said,
A Peasant's then may nobly vye
With Monarchs proud, in Pomp array'd,
And boast as real Dignity.

And something in my own I find,
Which bids me hope a higher Fate;
Tho' Love and Greatness in one Mind
Cou'd never yet erect their Seat.

SONG. From the same.

[When Preciosa's gentle Touch]

When Preciosa's gentle Touch
Awakes the Lute with spritely Art,
Her flying Fingers Charms are such,
They slide unheeded to the Heart.

And when her Voice, with sweet Surprize,
Melodious strikes the raptur'd Ear;
What gay Applauses fill the Skies!
What Pleasures gladden all that hear!

143

Her Looks, her Virtue, and her Wit,
A thousand Hearts enthrall'd command;
While Cupid humbly at her Feet
Resigns his Arrows to her Hand.

Her sparkling Eyes, with blazing Day,
Oppress the rash Beholder's Sight;
And Love, by Her, his cruel Sway
Extends with unresisted Might.

Orphean Verses.

From the Greek.

To well-purg'd Ears, deserving of the Lay,
In Strains Sublime my Song I will display:
Retire, ye Rout prophane, far, far away!
But thou, Musæus, shalt my Pupil be;
Important Truths I will reveal to Thee.

Lest impious Error early Entrance find,
And from Life's Noble End divert thy Mind,
Sincerely upright, gratefully adore
The Heav'nly Reason, and confess his Pow'r,
Who Sole produc'd this Universal Frame,
Eternal, Self-sufficient, still the Same!
He fills the Whole; diffus'd thro' ample Space,
His Spirit mingles with the mighty Mass!

144

Unseen himself, yet seeing all, he reigns,
And Nature's Course immutably maintains!

From Aratus.

Εκ Διος αρχωμεα: τον ουδεποτ' ανδρες εωμεν Αρρητον: &c.

Begin from Jove, ye Muses; his great Name
Joyful adore, and magnify the same.
Ineffable! his Presence knows no Bound;
He fills the Air, and Earth, and Seas profound!
We use, enjoy him, and his Influence share
To cherish Life; for we his Offspring are.
By chearful Signs, good Fortune he foreshows,
And Tasks of healthful Labour does impose,
To rouze the Nations from enervate Ease,
Life to consult, and tend its Services.
He gives, the Seasons of the Year to know,
To plant, to water, and the Grain to sow,
And when to dig the Soil, or turn it with the Plow.
In order rang'd along the Plains on high,
The burnish'd Stars he kindled in the Sky,
And mark'd their Measures; his extensive Care,
For ev'ry Quarter of the rolling Year,
Its Constellation furnish'd, when to reign,
And in his Bus'ness guide th'industrious Swain:
All to subserve the Whole; and all proceed
By the fix'd Laws and Methods he decreed.

145

Thee first, Thee last, with Sacrifice of Praise,
I will invoke, and worship in my Lays,
Indulgent Father of the human Race!

From Euripides.

Then suffer ye, the Dead, in Earth to have
The last Possession of the quiet Grave;
For thither all Things, in their End, return,
From whence they were originally born:
The Spirit seeks the Skies; the Body must
Corrupt, and mingle with its Native Dust.
The brittle Tenement is not our own,
But lent awhile; and, when the Lease is run,
The foodful Mother claims the trusted Loan.

From the Greek.

['Tis fix'd; 'twill come, 'twill come, that fatal Day]

Εσται γαρ εσται κεινος αιωνων χ[]νος, &c.

'Tis fix'd; 'twill come, 'twill come, that fatal Day,
When all this Globe in Fire shall melt away!
The mighty Flame shall rage without Controul,
Involve the Sky, and catch on either Pole.
No Waters then shall swell th'exhausted Main,
No chearful Greens shall flourish on the Plain,
Nor Air, adust, its winged Host maintain.

146

From Lucan's Phars. Book I.

------ Sic, cum Compage solutâ
Secula tot mundi suprema coëgerit hora, &c.

Thus, when the last concluding Hour is come,
That finish'd Nature shall receive her Doom;
The loosen'd Fabrick shall in Pieces fall,
And antient Chaos triumph over all.
Stars shocking Stars, shall lose their wonted Way,
Cast from their Spheres, and drop into the Sea:
The Shores no longer shall the Waves restrain,
But on the Land admit the rushing Main;
The Moon shall cease her nightly Stage to run,
Usurp her Brother's Course, and thwart the Sun;
And the whole Frame, in wild Confusion hurl'd,
Shall mar the Union of the shatter'd World.

On the Death of a Young Lady, Mrs. E. D

Obiit 7 August, 1712. Anno Ætat. 23.

IMPERFECT.

Eliza 's shining Character to spread,
And from Oblivion save the pious Dead,
Is the glad Theme my Muse shall here pursue:
The Song is pleasing, and the Virtues true.

Thus to the Fair, whil I attempt to raise
A Monument recordant of her Praise,

147

Receive with Candour what the Muse shall sing,
Nor fear these Numbers shou'd Dishonour bring:
Her Virtues, which they faithfully rehearse,
Shall give them Life, and dignify the Verse;
The great Original shall save the Draught,
Which to the Pattern is so strictly wrought.

When first we saw her tender Life display
Its op'ning Beams, and signify the Day,
So bright she shone with ev'ry pleasing Grace,
Exact in Form and Symmetry of Face;
Such were the high Endowments of her Mind,
(To Reason's Rule, her Passions still resign'd,)
Heav'n, we believ'd, with merciful Intent,
This finish'd Pattern to the World had sent,
By mild Example sweetly to prevail,
While rigid Lessons of dry Morals fail.

But at her early Fate our Hopes decay,
Light as a Vision at the dawning Day;
And all the pleasing Prospect dies away.
Struck with her Loss, we feel augmented Woe;
New Sighs proceed, and Tears abundant flow.
Yet shall it yield our Sorrows some Relief,
Keen as they are, and lenify our Grief;
Her various Virtues to review, and show,
That all their Number and Degree may know.
And, zealous of her Fame, the Muse shall strive
T'embalm her Memory, and make it live.

148

And it shall live, if I have tuneful Lays
To build the Noble Column of her Praise.
O! that while thus her Goodness we declare,
The Beauties of a Character so fair,
With pious Heat the Living may inspire,
And with a Zeal of Emulation fire!

The Holy Flames of Love Divine possest
Her happy Soul, and purify'd her Breast.
Glad her Devotion, genuine and strong;
It thought no Offices of Worship long.
And, as She was with copious Favours crown'd,
She did in fervent Gratitude abound;
Observing duteously to Praise and Pray,
('Tis all to God we can for Mercies pay.)
As, duly when the Close of Day return'd,
Rich Clouds of Incense in the Temple burn'd,
And cast a fragrant Odour to the Skies,
The Lord's Munificence to recognize:
So for the Blessings which the Day had giv'n,
Her Thanks, at Ev'ning, she address'd to Heav'n:
Not slightly, with Irrev'rence, hasten'd o'er,
As droning Monks their measur'd Vespers score,
But with an awful Mind and chearful Voice;
She in th'Imployment did so far rejoice,
It was not Duty, but Delight and Choice.

When smoothly in Prosperity we reign,
We soon grow wanton, and the Heart is vain.

149

In gratitude and Pride corrupt the Mind;
Full of our selves, and scorning of our Kind;
Careless of Heav'n we independent live,
And rather claim his Goodness, than receive:
Till, by Affliction chasten'd, we begin
To see our Folly, and forsake our Sin;
And wholesome Suff'ring, graciously design'd,
Dispells this gay Intemperance of Mind.

But She so strict a Vigilance maintain'd,
That Pleasures from her no Advantage gain'd:
She tasted soberly the tempting Draught;
And arm'd with holy Jealousy her Thought.
What was there worth her ardent Love below?
A Scene of Guilt, and of o'erwhelming Woe;
Imperfect Comforts, transitory Bliss,
A lonely Waste, and howling Wilderness!
The gaudy Pomps of Life, and sensual Joy,
Cou'd not a Mind so Spiritual employ:
Nor wou'd She so unwise a Bargain drive,
(Sure of the Bliss, Eternity shall give,)
To barter Heav'n for what this World can own;
Or put to Hazard an Immortal Crown.

Her pure Religion was not vainly plac'd
In outward Show, nor haughtily debas'd
With Confidence of Merit; but the Whole
Was real Adoration of the Soul.
Nor rudely, with the Blemish'd, or the Lame,
Before th'Almighty Majesty She came;

150

But offer'd up the best, and cull'd her Stock;
Like Abel's Choice, the fairest of the Flock;
A perfect Sacrifice, sincerely giv'n;
A pleasing Odour, and receiv'd of Heav'n.

The vain Applause of Men She still declin'd;
Content that God approv'd, who saw the Mind:
For Men can only view th'external Part;
But God the Spirit trys, and weighs the Heart.

Attest, Ye flaming Seraphim above,
Her holy Zeal, the Raptures of her Love;
(As far as 'tis permitted You to know
The State and Virtues of the Saints below,)
Her various Graces, active Piety;
By which prepar'd, and fitted for the Sky,
When She had finish'd her appointed Race,
In your bright Mansions She receiv'd a Place;
Where now She joins, with all th'illustrious Throng,
Before the Throne Divine, in your triumphant Song.

Compassion of the Poor so fill'd her Heart,
That in their Wants She seem'd to bear a Part:
Griev'd at the Cares, She saw them undergo:
Yet pleas'd that She was able to bestow.
No Importunity was needful here;
No Fav'rite Friend to recommend a Pray'r;
Distress itself was Merit, and prevail'd;
The Wretched never su'd to Her, and sail'd.
So freely she dispens'd, so largely gave,
As if dispersing were the Way to save:

151

She gave, and gain'd; for all the Good she wrought,
Th'exerted Action, or intended Thought,
The Seeds she sow'd, with large Increase shall rise,
In a rich Harvest of Cœlestial Joys.

Tho' frequent were her Alms, her humble Soul
No Trumpet sounded when She made the Dole;
But generously abhorr'd the sordid Aim
Of Worldly Honour, and an Earthly Fame.
Her plenteous Benefits in Silence fell;
As gentle Dews in quiet Night distill.
When her mild Lord, in Majesty array'd,
With his own Glory and the Father's clad,
Shall at the last important Day appear,
To doom the Sinner, and the Just to clear;
From all her pious Acts he'll draw the Veil,
Which She endeavour'd meekly to conceal.

Bright Scenes of Glory, and Eternal Joy,
Thy raptur'd Soul in Paradise employ;
Where no Vicissitudes affect thy Bliss;
Nor Fear of Ill impairs thy Happiness.
'Tis Exultation all: and when the Hour,
Fulfill'd, arrives, whole Nature to restore;
When the firm Pillars of the Sky shall fall;
And searching Fires consume this Earthly Ball;
When the purg'd Elements, together hurl'd,
Shall mix anew, to build a better World;
The Body, which the deathless Soul inclos'd,
The precious Pledge that is in Earth depos'd,

152

Wak'd from the faithful Grave, again shall rise,
Made pure, and capable of endless Joys.
That which was laid with Grief and Anguish down,
In Pain and Weakness and Corruption sown,
Reviv'd in Grace and Energy divine,
Shall with thy Saviour's Heavenly Image shine.

Thus to the Sight, in Ev'ning Shades the Sun
Extinguish'd, sinks with wasted Lustre down;
But chearly in the Morn renews his way,
Flames out again, and with his Orient Ray,
Throws on the World regenerated Day!

[OMITTED] [OMITTED]

From Marino's Adonis.

BOOK I.

I

Hear, Cytherea! beauteous Queen of Love,
The radiant Daughter of Imperial Jove,
Whose chearful Star, with Beams of pleasing Light,
Preludes the Morn, and ushers in the Night;
Who dart'st thy Rays and fruitful Fires, around
The glad Creation, with thy Blessings crown'd.
At Thy Approach, all Nature gaily smiles;
Of painful Life, thy Balm relieves the Toils.

153

II

Soft Peace, 'tis thine, Sweet Charmer, to bestow;
To hush Debate, and lull the World below;
The double Janus' Temple Gates to bar,
Quell fierce Bellona, and compose the War.
For Thee, the God of Arms from Fight retires,
To glow, and languish in thy gentle Fires;
Resigns the pond'rous Shield, and dreadful Spear,
To win thy Love, and joyful revel here.

From the same.

[Musick and Poësy bear Sister-Parts]

Canto VII.

Musick and Poësy bear Sister-Parts
To sooth the Sad, and chear the troubled Meen;
To calm the Tempest of afflicted Hearts,
And make, with Melody, the Soul serene.
Than these the World can boast no nobler Arts,
Whose sweet Effects more pleasingly are seen;
Not Scythia has a Breast so hard, that can
Resist the Charms of Verse, and Musick's Strain.

154

HORACE, Book III. Ode 30, Paraphras'd:

The Latin of which was set to Musick, and sung at Mr. Dryden's Funerals before the Herse, 1700.

I've rais'd a Monument, by far
More strong and durable than Brass,
The sculptur'd Trophy of accomplish'd War:
Not Ægypt's Pyramids shall this surpass,
Tho' gaining on th'insulted Skies,
Their lofty Heads magnificently rise:
Not beating Show'rs tempestuous Force,
Nor, sweeping wide a wasteful Course,
Th'impetuous North this Fabrick shall deface;
Nor wearing Years revolving Race,
Nor Time's incessant Flux decay,
Or down its Deluge bear the stedfast Frame away!
I shall not, all extinguish'd, wholly dye,
My better Part will Death defy;
And freshly my increasing Fame survive
The fun'ral Pomps, and eminently live.
Their Praise ev'n late Posterity shall pay,
Who wait, unborn, their coming Day:
And while the Priests Religious Train
Their venerable Rites maintain,
And Rivers to their Parent Ocean glide,
And render back the borrow'd Tide,
My honour'd Name shall be renown'd;
Who, sweetly, from my tuneful Store,
Unlock'd harmonious Lays, unknown before,
And Verse with all the Charms of Cadence crown'd.

155

Advance, my Muse, and boldly claim
The merited Reward of Fame:
Let thy own Hand adorn my Brows
With fadeless Honours of Phœbæan Boughs.

Claudian's Two Books against Rufinus a very corrupt and rapacious Minister under the Emperors Theodosius and Arcadius, A. D. 395.

Translated from the Latin.

BOOK I.

Argument.

Alecto, in a general Assembly of the Furies, upbraids them with the Happiness the World enjoy'd under the excellent Administration of the Emperor Theodosius, and urges them to unite their Powers to throw all Things into Confusion. Megæra seconds the Motion, and, as the most effectual Means, proposes to introduce Rufinus into the Prince's Court. Her Advice is approv'd, and she proceeds to put it in Execution. His Avarice and Ambition strongly describ'd, and his Cruelty and Perfidiousness. Stilicho at last prepares to put a Stop to his Depredations. The two Characters finely oppos'd. Megæra insulting Justice upon Rufinus's Success and Conduct, the Goddess rebukes her Insolence, foretells Rufinus's sudden Fall, and the happy Consequences of it.

Oft has an anxious Doubt my Mind possest,
And fill'd with Tumult my debating Breast,
Whether the Gods direct the World below,
Or all Things by uncertain Fortune flow;

156

For when I did the Course of Nature weigh,
The Bounds prescrib'd to the tempestuous Sea,
The Changes of the Year, of Night and Day;
Some Pow'r, I thought, administer'd the Whole,
Who bade the Stars by Laws appointed roll;
In sev'ral Seasons sev'ral Fruits arise;
With borrow'd Beams the Moon to chear the Skies,
While his own Light the radiant Sun supplies;
Who to the Waters set the Shore unpass'd,
And in mid Air the balanc'd Earth has plac'd.
But when I saw th'Affairs of Human-Kind
In Clouds involv'd, impervious to the Mind,
The Wicked flourishing, from Trouble free,
The Righteous vex'd with long Adversity,
Then Piety, again supplanted, fail'd,
And that wild Thought, unwillingly, prevail'd,
That, blindly moving, and without Design,
The Seeds of Things, help'd by no Pow'r Divine,
Roll'd thro' the Void, and, all at random hurl'd,
Assum'd new Figures, and compos'd the World;
While or no Gods there are, or none who know
How Things proceed, and interpose below.
At length Rufinus' Punishment dispell'd
The impious Thoughts, that in my Bosom swell'd;
And justify'd the Gods: I now complain
No more, that wicked Men triumphant reign:

157

Rais'd up on high, they gain a guilty Crown,
To fall with more impetuous Ruin down.

Ye Sacred Muses, to your Bard disclose
Whence that dire Ill, and furious Pest arose.

Repining Malice fir'd Alecto's Breast,
To see the World in Peace securely blest;
In dreadful Senate strait she summons all
Her griesly Sisters to th'Infernal Hall.
The Plagues of Erebus unnumber'd come,
Which sullen Night bore from her hideous Womb:
Discord, the Nurse of War, fierce Famine's Rage,
And Death's decrepit Brother, sinking Age;
Sickness impatient of itself, and Spite,
And Grief with Garments rent, and sadden'd Sight;
Fear, and blind Rashness, Luxury, the Bane
Of Wealth, and Want still foll'wing in her Train;
With a long Race of ever-waking Cares,
Which sordid Av'rice in her Bosom bears.

On Iron Seats the grim Assembly plac'd,
Croud the dark Council from th'Infernal Waste.
Full in the midst the fierce Alecto stands,
And a deep Silence awfully commands;
Her hissing Snakes, in various Volumes twin'd,
From her fell Face the Fury cast behind,
And gave them to her Back; then from her Heart,
In wrathful Words she spoke her inward Smart.

And shall we thus permit, in lasting Rest,
Unnumber'd Nations to continue blest?

158

Has Clemency our native Rage destroy'd?
And do's our inborn Cruelty subside?
What now avail the sounding Whips we bear,
The blazing Brands, that terribly we rear?
Our listless Crew, from Heav'n the Thund'rer drives;
On Earth Theodosius of all Pow'r deprives:
Behold again a Golden Age is born!
Behold again the antient Race return!
Concord and Virtue move with equal Pace,
And Piety and Truth erect their Face,
And proudly triumph o'er our vanquish'd Race.
See! swift descending from her native Skies,
Justice insults me with disdainful Eyes,
Invet'rate Vice from her deep Root she draws,
And from their Fetters frees th'encumber'd Laws.
Shall We for Ages thus, in Sloth Supine,
Cast from all Realms, disgracefully decline?
Assert yourselves, your wonted Pow'r assume,
And let your Deeds the Furies Race become.
Illustrious Acts of Horror now decree,
Worthy this awful Synod, worthy me.
I burn with Rage, against the Stars to play
Our Stygian Clouds, and mar the heav'nly Day;
To break the Bounds of the tempestuous Main,
To roll the Rivers o'er the ruin'd Plain;
And Nature's Course subvert. With Rage she speaks,
And opens all the Hissings of her Snakes,
And from her flaky Hair a livid Poyson shakes.

159

A dubious Motion in the Croud appears;
Part for a War against the Gods declares,
Part urge their Sov'reign's Right: Debates arise,
And wild Dissention multiplies their Cries.

Thus when a Storm the troubled Deep has stirr'd,
And spent its Force, a murm'ring Sound is heard;
And on the working Waves remain behind
The hoarse Convulsions of the sinking Wind.

Then from her Seat, accurs'd Megæra rose,
From whom mad Tumult and Confusion flows,
Daring Impiety, and pining Gloom,
And wasteful Ire, that churns the rising Foam.
No Blood she tastes, but what a Father's Hand,
Or Brother's sheds, in Kindred Murder stain'd:
'Twas she with Frenzy struck Alcides' Breast,
Defil'd the Bow that gave the Nations Rest;
She guided Athamas's cruel Dart,
Of his own Son to pierce the guiltless Heart;
In Agamemnon's Palace pleas'd her Spite,
And in th'alternate Slaughters took Delight;
She lighted up the horrid Torch, that led
Dire OEdipus to seek his Mother's Bed;
'Twas she, Thyestes to his Daughter join'd:
With a fierce Tone she utters thus her Mind;

Against the Gods our Ensigns to display,
Nor Right nor Pow'r we have; a surer Way
To vex the World, and human Bliss confound,

That's your Choice, I can with Ease propound;

160

A Monster I can boast, by far more fell
Than all the Hydra's that with Venom swell;
Than pregnant Tigers more to Rage inclin'd,
More false than Calms, and wilder than the Wind,
Rufinus; whom to vital Air disclos'd,
I first receiv'd, and on my Lap repos'd:
Around my Neck the new-born Infant prest
His clinging Arms, and crying sought the Breast.
Their Kindred Plague my curling Serpents knew,
And lick'd his Face, and form'd him as he grew.
I taught him Craft, and each destructive Art,
To hide his Passions, and disguise his Heart;
With a false Smile, and smooth-dissembled Meen,
To cover o'er the Frauds that lye within.
Barbarian Cruelty, and Lust of Gain
Possess his Soul, and in his Bosom reign.
Not all the Treasures in the Tagus roll'd,
Nor red Pactolus' Waves, that shine with Gold,
Nor Riches found in Hermus' noble Stream,
His boundless Appetite suffice to tame.
Greatly inform'd the heedless Mind to snare,
And antient Friends with mutual Malice tear:
Had the first Age of Men his Equal found,
The faithful Theseus had Perithous shun'd;
From Pylades, Orestes wou'd have fled,
And Pollux curs'd his sacred Brother's Head.
The prompt Disciple has improv'd so well,
I own, his Tutor he do's far excell;

161

To summ the whole; his single Breast contains
Whatever Ill in all the Furies reigns.
Him, if you think it will effect our End,
I'll to the Prince's Royal Palace send;
Tho' wise as Numa or as Minos, still
My Foster-Son shall bend him to his Will.

Loud Shouts attend her Speech; the ghastly Crew
Approve the Thought, and with Applause pursue.
When she with Diamond Knots her Hair had bound,
And with a Snake her Vesture gather'd round,
She sought re-sounding Phlegethon, and stood
Upon the Borders of the burning Flood;
There in the pitchy Waves, with hasty Hand,
Plung'd a huge Pine, and fires the hissing Brand;
Involv'd with Darkness then her Wings she spread,
Along the Regions of the slothful Dead.

A Place there lies on Gallia's utmost Shore,
Where rising Billows rage, and vainly roar;
With Steams of Blood, where sage Ulysses drew
The hov'ring Ghosts, and fed their hungry Crew;
Whence sad Complaints and lamentable Cries
Of gliding Spirits oft are heard to rise;
And oft the Swains behold, with dire Affright,
Pale Phantoms stalk, and Spectres of the Night.
From hence the Fury, with a griesly Meen,
Baleful sprung forth, and blasts the Light serene;
With deadly Screams she breaks th'infected Air;
Britannia felt the Clangor from afar;

162

At the shrill Yell, the Gallic Meadows quake,
The Towns re-echo, and the Cities shake;
The Tide rolls backward, and suspends the Sea;
And in his Urn, the Rhine retreated lay.
Her Serpents change themselves to hoary Hairs,
An old Man's Form the crafty Demon bears,
And on her famish'd Face deep Wrinkles wears.
She feigns a feeble Pace, and stagg'ring go's,
And seeks Elusa, and the destin'd House;
O'erjoy'd she stood a while, to view the Man,
With livid Eyes, and thus at length began.

Shall shameful Sloth, Rufinus, thus consume
The glorious Promise of thy youthful Bloom?
Obscurely ling'ring in thy private Home.
Alas! thou know'st not what the Fates declare
In thy behalf, nor what thy Stars prepare.
To what I counsel, if thou wilt incline,
The whole Dominion of the World is thine:
Scorn not my Age, nor hastily despise
My Limbs decrepit, and my sinking Eyes;
All Magic Arts are mine; my prudent Breast
With the sure Gift of Præscience is possest:
I know the Songs of the Thessalian Train,
Which from the Skies the shining Moon constrain:
The Spells of Ægypt, the Chaldæan Skill,
By which the Gods are subject to their Will:
The deadly Juice of no pernicious Tree,
Or baneful Simple, is conceal'd from Me.

163

What poys'nous Herbs on Caucasus arise,
And Scythian Rocks, to help the Witches Cries,
I understand; and ev'ry Plant that grows;
What dire Medea cull'd, and Circe chose.
The horrid Manes often, on the Lawn
To nightly Rites, with Hecate, I have drawn;
Produc'd the bury'd Dead to Life again;
The Living, tho' the Fates forbade, have slain,
And call'd deep-rooted Oaks across the Plain;
The rushing Thunder stay'd, and Rivers led,
With refluent Motion, to their Fountain's Head.
And, lest my Words shou'd be delusive thought,
Look round, and see what Changes I have wrought.
She said; at once the snowy Pillars turn
Of a bright Colour, and with Riches burn;
Refulgent Plates the glitt'ring Beams infold,
And all the Chamber glows with dazzling Gold.
The Charm succeeds: With fond deluded Eyes,
He views the Treasure, and affects the Prize.
So the vain King at first with Pride was swell'd,
As his increasing Treasures he beheld,
But when for Food he saw the Tables shine
With massy Metal, and with solid Wine,
He found the fatal Gift, and curs'd, too late,
His rash Petition, and the barren Plate.
Whoe'er thou art, or God or Man, the Way
Do thou direct, and gladly I obey,

164

Exultingly he cries; and strait addrest,
At her Command, to reach the distant East.
The fear'd Symplegades he pass'd, the Streight
Renown'd of old for Jason's golden Freight;
Where the pleas'd Bosphorus surveys with Pride
Th'Imperial City glitt'ring on its Side,
And with its Stream divides the neighb'ring Bounds
Of Asian Meadows and the Thracian Grounds.

His Travel finish'd, to the crouded Court
Th'instructed Mischief makes his bold Resort:
Led by some Fate malignant, into Place
He creeps, and slides into the Prince's Grace.
From that curs'd Hour, Ambition rais'd her Head,
All Things were sold, and Right, supplanted, fled.
Intrusted Secrets basely he betrays,
Deceives his Clients, and his Skill displays;
Begs Honours of the Prince, and, void of Shame,
Sets them to Sale, and drives a sordid Game.
He doubles ev'ry Crime, and feeds with Art
A small Displeasure, till he fires the Heart;
Starts Jealousies, and sheds his Venom round,
And a slight Hurt he frets into a Wound.

As the large Ocean in its spacious Bed
Feels not the Streams, by which 'tis daily fed;
And tho' it drinks the copious Ister there,
And swallows Nile's Sev'n Disemboguements here,
Still equal and alike, th'insatiate Main
In the same Limits do's itself restrain.

165

No more the Floods of Wealth, from ev'ry Part,
Quench the hot Fever of Rufinus' Heart.
Where precious Chains are seen, or Bracelets shine
With sparkling Gemms, and wrought with Skill Divine,
Or the fair Harvest shews a fruitful Soil,
The hungry Harpy fly's, and fastens on the Spoil.

The fertile Field, and cultivated Plain
Betray their Master, and destroy the Swain.
Houses he seizes, and paternal Lands
From their own Lords rapaciously demands:
All feel his Rage, thro' ev'ry Quarter spread,
He strips the Living, and he heirs the Dead.
In Heaps his Treasures swell; and, pil'd on high,
The Rapines of the World in One Man's Coffers lye!
Forc'd to submit, the plunder'd People groan,
And Public Towns the Private Robber own.

Whither, enormous Monster, wilt thou rage?
What can so vast an Appetite assuage?
Shou'dst thou the Wealth of either Ocean hold,
Shou'd Lydia's River give thee all its Gold;
Didst thou possess the wealthy Crœsus' Throne,
And make the Persian Diadem thy own,
Yet cou'dst thou not be rich; no Glut of Gain
Cou'd fill the Wolf thy Bosom do's contain.

Who covets, still is poor. Fabricius priz'd
His little Lot, and Gifts of Kings despis'd:
The good Serranus exercis'd with Toil
The lab'ring Plough, and turn'd the rugged Soil:

166

A narrow Cottage the brave Curii held,
Who from old Rome the Samnite Arms repell'd.
Such Poverty beyond thy Wealth shall be,
And their Cott nobler, than thy Domes, to Me.
Fastidious Luxury for Thee enquires
Superfluous Feasts, and fatal Food desires;
For Me, the ready Earth do's freely rear
Dainties unbought, and Nourishment sincere.
There, the fine Wool imbibes the Tyrian Dye,
And on the Vests, embroider'd Figures lye;
Here, smiling Flow'rs, and the delightful Field,
With various Scenes, a living Pleasure yield.
The tender Down there swells the lofty Bed;
And here the Grass, that clothes the fragrant Mead,
Do's a soft Couch of chearful Green prepare,
For Sleep unbroken by intruding Care.
Of Salutations the perpetual Noise
Sounds thro' the Palace, and Repose destroys;
While spritely Birds, in Groves, melodious sing;
And, in the Vale, murmurs a trickling Spring.
A small Possession ever is the best,
And fewer Mischiefs such a State infest;
For bounteous Nature ev'ry Man supplies
With Means of Happiness, if Men were wise;
And, were the Blessing rightly understood,
Our Manners wou'd be plain, and undisguis'd our Food
No echoing Trumpets wou'd provoke Alarms,
Nor harden'd Beach be turn'd to missive Arms;

167

By Winds and Waves, no shatter'd Ships wou'd fall,
Nor Engines thunder on the tott'ring Wall.

Rufinus' Thirst of Wealth encreases more
By growing Spoils, and his augmented Store.
No Shame his Craving or Oppression stays;
He Perjuries in soothing Words conveys,
Nor sooner joyns the Hand, than he betrays.

His lawless Claim, if any one denies,
Impetuous Passions in his Bosom rise;
What hunted Lyoness, that feels the Spear,
Robb'd of her sucking Whelps, what Mountain Bear,
What trodden Serpent such Distraction shows,
Or with an equal Indignation glows?
The Majesty ev'n of the Gods he spurns,
By whom he swore; with fell Revenge he burns,
And Rights of Hospitality o'erturns.
The Wife's, the Husband's, and the Children's Blood
Cannot suffice him with their mingled Flood;
'Tis not enough t've slain the next of Kin,
Exil'd the Friends, and sunk th'extinguish'd Line,
Implacably he labours, to the Ground
To raze the Town, the Nation to confound.
A quick Dispatch the cruel Wretch denies,
And a long Train of tedious Death enjoys;
Racks, Dungeons, Chains, ingeniously prepares,
And the wish'd Blow inhumanly defers.
More dreadful than the Sword, such Grace to gain!
Accurs'd Reprieve! to lengthen Life for Pain.

168

Is Death so light? With Crimes his Malice feigns,
Himself the Judge, the Guiltless he arraigns:
In other Things he sleeps, but all his Eyes
Awake to Blood; to distant Lands he flies;
Not ardent Sirius can retard his Haste,
The Thracian Winter, nor the Borean Blast.
Fear gnaws his Heart, lest from th'intended Fate
Some shou'd escape, and disappoint his Hate;
Or lest the Prince's Grace shou'd step between,
And the poor Wretches from his Malice screen.
Not venerable Years can awe his Soul,
Nor Bloom of Youth his Cruelty controul.
Doom'd to the Ax, the Son untimely dies,
Before the hoary Father's weeping Eyes.
His Children slain, the wretched Sire is sent,
(Condemn'd to live,) to distant Banishment.

Who can suffice such Fun'ral Piles to tell?
Or count the slaughter'd Multitudes that fell?
What Deeds have former Ruffians dar'd, like these?
What Robber Sinis, with his bended Trees?
What Phalaris, with his Bull's tormenting Pains?
Or Sylla, with his Dungeons and his Chains?
Compar'd with Thee, Busiris will appear
Gentle; Cinna, nor Spartacus severe.
Dread seizes all; to vent their Griefs deny'd,
Their Sighs they smother, and their Anger hide.

169

But Stilicho's undaunted Heart disdains
The common Fear, and nobly fix'd remains.
Alone against the Monster's deadly Jaws
He lifts the Sword, and the barb'd Arrow draws.

A firm Protection, and a stedfast Tow'r,
A Shield to shelter from th'Invader's Pow'r,
A Refuge for the trembling Exile's Woe,
A Standard rais'd against the common Foe,
All here obtain; this was the only Mound,
To save the Guiltless, and th'Oppressor bound:
Thus far he rag'd, and threatned with Affright;
But here he paus'd, and cast about for Flight.

Not otherwise, when, swell'd with wintry Rains,
A copious Torrent gushes on the Plains,
Drives the huge Stones and tusted Woods away,
And bursts the Bridges with a furious Sway,
It strikes against a Rock; the roaring Tide
With sparkling Foam lies broken at its Side.

What Praise to Thee, brave Heroe, shall we give?
Who on thy Shoulders didst the World receive,
And bear the Burden of the shaken Ball,
When the frail Globe was sinking to the Fall.
The gracious Gods foreshew'd thee from afar,
To bless our Sight; as some propitious Star,
After long Tossing on the stormy Sea,
Guides the vex'd Vessel to the welcome Bay.

170

Perseus, they say, the Water-Dragon fought,
But his fleet Wings a sure Advantage brought;
No Pinions gave Thee Safety. In his Shield
Perseus the Head of grizly Gorgon held;
But Thou for thy Defence didst never bear
The hissing Terrors of Medusa's Hair.
Him a mean Passion for a Captive Maid
Led to the Fight, to lend a Virgin Aid;
Thou, for the Safety of Imperial Rome,
And the World's Welfare, didst thy Arms assume.
Thy worthy Deeds all antient Fame outshine;
Alcides' Labours must submit to Thine:
One Wood the Lyon of Cleonæ fed;
Th'Arcadian Boar one Forest fill'd with Dread;
Antæus, who from Earth new Vigour took,
With all his Murders only Libya shook;
Crete only echo'd with the bellowing Bull;
And Hydra haunted the Lernæan Pool:
At this affrightful Monster not alone
A narrow Pool, and single Island groan;
But all the Realms, that Rome's Dominion own,
From the first Borders of th'Iberian Shore,
To distant Ganges, trembled at his Roar.
Not fell Geryon, with his triple Head,
Nor the huge Porter of the passing Dead,
The Force of Hydra, and the dreaded Name
Of hungry Scylla, and Chimera's Flame,
Can equal Horror with this Fury claim.

171

Of Manners most oppos'd, the Combat long
On either side with dubious Issue hung;
That to the Throat the pointed Dagger bends;
This wards the Mischief, and the Blow suspends;
That spoils the Wealthy, This supplies the Poor;
That ruins, This the ruin'd do's restore;
That kindles Wars, and seeks the lawless Fight,
This wins the Conquest, and asserts the Right.

As from th'infected Air some dire Disease
Do's first on Herds of grazing Cattle seize;
Then takes the People, and the Towns invades,
Till thro' the Land the fierce Contagion spreads;
So the rapacious Robber, not content
With a mean Prey from single Persons rent,
Aspires to ravage Kingdoms, and divide
A Royal Booty, and, her Troops destroy'd,
To crush the Roman Name, with boundless Pride.

He sets the Stranger Nations all in Arms,
And the bleak Scythians to his Aid alarms;
Inhumanly betrays to Foreign Pow'r
The poor Remains of Rome, that 'scap'd his Rage before.
Sarmatians, Dacians, and the brutal Brood
Of Massagetes, who quaff their Horses Blood,
And cold Alani by Meotis' Flood,
Swarm to the Fields; but, by Rufinus' Wile,
Who frames Delays, the Moments to beguile,
Are sav'd from Conquest, and preserv'd from Spoil.

172

For when, t'avenge his Fellow Leader's Fate,
Intrepid Stilicho, with gen'rous Hate,
Ingag'd, and put the Getan Host to Flight,
And crush'd the bravest of their Troops in Fight,
While a small Part remain'd, an easy Prey,
This impious Traytor slipp'd the lucky Day,
And made the Prince, deceiv'd, the present Charge delay;
To give the Huns, who well he knew were near,
Time to come up, and joyn the fainting War.

A Race there is in Scythia's farthest Coast,
Than whom the North, none more abhorr'd can boast;
Foul is their Habit, and their Looks obscene,
Untir'd with Toil, and rugged as their Meen;
They live on Prey, nor Arts of Tillage know;
And take Delight, t'adorn with Scars their Brow.
With no less Skill they rule the stubborn Steed,
Than did the Centaurs of Ixion's Seed,
Whom Nature's Hand had fram'd of double Kind,
A Man and Horse, in one mixt Form combin'd.
When press'd, in Troops they scour away from Sight;
But turning swiftly, they renew the Fight.
Yet fearless Thou, against this horrid Foe,
Where noisy Heber's foamy Waters flow,
Didst bend thy March; and ere the Trumpets sound,
Invoke the glorious God, for Arms renown'd.

Dread Mars, whether thou dwell'st on Hæmus' Brow,
Or Rhodopé, for ever white with Snow;

173

Or sit'st conceal'd on Athos' lofty Height,
(Thro' which the rowing Medes pursu'd their Flight,)
Or on Pangæus, brown with leavy Shade;
Lead on with Me, and give thy Thracians Aid:
If smiling Glory crowns this happy Day,
An Oaken Trophy shall thy Fame display.

Mars heard, and from bleak Hæmus' snowy Crown,
Rouzing his Train, march'd instantaneous down;
Bellona, bring my Helmet; and thou, Fear,
Harness my Steeds; Terror, be Charioteer.
Ply all your Hands, for with a Rival Might
My Stilicho advances to the Fight;
Who frequent honours me with hostile Spoils,
And gratefully rewards my Social Toils;
One Clarion kindles Both to Martial Rage,
And with united Chariots we engage.

He said, and rush'd into the Field; now here
This drives the Squadrons, and That scatters there;
Their Shields and Form alike; their Helmets blaze
With flashing Flames, and shine with equal Rays;
Chaf'd in the Chace, the burnish'd Breast-plate glows;
Their thirsty Spears deal Death among the Foes.

Pleas'd with the View of multiplying Ill,
Megæra smil'd at her accomplish'd Will;
And finding Justice mournful and alone,
Insults her thus, and haughtily begun;

See, to thy Wish, Peace now revive amain,
And the first Golden Age flourish again;

174

My Pow'r is crush'd; my Empire overthrown;
No Nation now the Furies Pow'r will own.
Turn here thy Eyes; the Sight thy Transport claims;
What Walls lye smoaking in Barbarian Flames?
What Carnage my Rufinus' Hand has spread?
What Streams of Blood, without Reluctance, shed,
To glut the hungry Serpents of my Head?
Abandon Men, and from my Lot retire,
And to the Stars, with speedy Flight, aspire;
Fly to th'Autumnal Quarters, where there lies
Void Space sufficient in the Southern Skys,
Near the hot Lyon's Sign, and Libra's Scale;
For here thy Presence will no more avail.
And, wou'd the Fates to Me Permission yield,
I'd hunt thee still thro' Heav'ns extended Field.

The Goddess answer'd; Here thy Triumphs end;
Thy frantic Rage no farther shall extend;
Thy boasted Slave his Pains shall quickly bear,
For now, ev'n now, the vow'd Avenger's near;
And he who dares both Heav'n and Earth to brave,
To hide his impious Corse, shall want a Grave.
Honorius, promis'd to this joyful Age,
Shall soon arrive, and calm the present Rage;
Not less in Valour and applauded Fame
Than his great Sire, and shining Brother's Name:
Who quells the Medes and Indians with his Spear:
Kings shall obey, and frozen Phasis bear
His Horses Hoofs, advancing to the War.

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Araxes with a Bridge shall be constrain'd,
And thou, in Bands of stubborn Fetters chain'd,
Shorne of thy Snakes, and from the Day expell'd,
Shalt be in Hell's profoundest Dungeon held.
Earth shall be common then; no Marks shall bound
The Field distinguish'd, and divide the Ground;
Nor shall the sharpen'd Share fatigue the Swain;
But sudden Harvests shall rejoyce the Plain,
And sweating Oaks the fragrant Honey rain.
Wine then and Oyl shall flow in ev'ry Part;
No Fleece shall wear its curious Dye by Art,
But the pleas'd Shepherd, wond'ring at the Sight,
Shall see his Flock in Native Colours bright;
And, glitt'ring in the branching Weeds below,
With Orient Gemms shall ev'ry Ocean glow.

Midas.

Stilicho.

176

BOOK II.

Argument.

Rufinus, alarm'd at Stilicho's Approach, procures the Barbarian Nations to invade the Roman Provinces, and besiege Constantinople itself. Stilicho hastens to its Relief, but just as he was going to give the Barbarians Battle, Rufinus prevails upon the Emperor to dispatch an Order to him not to engage, and to send back his Troops. Stilicho, tho' with Reluctance, obeys; but the Soldiers, knowing who had procur'd the Order, resolve to revenge it on Rufinus, and advance in a Body to the Imperial City. The Emperor with Rufinus coming out, according to the Roman Custom, to salute the Legions, they contrive to enclose them, and, while Rufinus suspected not their Design, fall on him at once, and cut him to pieces. The Insults offer'd to his Body, and Æacus's Sentence upon his Ghost at his Entrance into the Infernal Regions.

The Alps reduc'd, and all th'Hesperian Reign
Sav'd and defended from th' Usurper's Chain,
Heav'n to due Height the Victor did prefer,
More gaily shining with this added Star;
When, Stilicho, to Thee the Roman Pow'r
Commits her Fate in this important Hour;
And both th'Imperial Brothers to thy Hand
Intrust their Legions, with Supreme Command.
Rufinus then, whose Crimes can brook no Stay,
And whose polluted Jaws still thirst for Prey,

177

Projects new Wars, and Scenes of endless Woes,
With wonted Rage, to vex the World's Repose.
Thus with himself; O! how shall I suspend
Th'approaching Ruin, or my Life defend?
What Arts employ to stem the rising Tide,
Which rolls resistless on from ev'ry Side?
Here fierce Revenge, and cruel Hate abound;
There furious Hosts encompass me around.
What shall I now attempt? Nor Arms remain,
Nor any Hope the Prince's Grace to gain.
Th'impending Danger strikes my Soul with Dread,
And sharpen'd Swords are brandish'd at my Head.
What then is left? but Mischief to create,
And plunge the guiltless People in my Fate?
Pleas'd then I am, with the whole World to fall,
In common Ruin thus involving all:
Nor otherwise will I conclude the Strife,
Nor quit my Pow'r, before I quit my Life.

He said; and pours unnumber'd Martial Swarms,
As Æolus lets loose th'imprison'd Storms;
He gives the Reins to War; his barb'rous Art
Marks out the Path to Blood thro' ev'ry Part.
Some o'er the frozen Danube speed their Way;
And Chariots roll, where Oars were wont to play:
And from the Caspian Streights Some seek the Prey;
Thro' cold Armenia's trackless Snows they wade,
And all at once the wealthy East invade.

178

The Cappadocian Fields now smoke around,
And high Argæus, for swift Steeds renown'd.
The gushing Gore do's Halys' Waters stain;
Nor craggy Taurus can their March restrain.
The lovely Meadows of the Syrian Soil
Are ravag'd, and become th'Invader's Spoil;
And soft Orontes, (where, in spritely Dance,
To the loud Pipe the shouting Quires advance,
And the pleas'd People mix in merry Play,)
Now hears the Trumpets sound, and Coursers neigh.

Hence Asia sighs; and Europe, in Distress,
Far as Dalmatia the proud Getes oppress;
From all the Fields between the Pontic Main
And Adriatic, flies th'affrighted Swain,
And leaves disherited the wasted Plain;
Like Libya's panting Coast, a desart Land,
Parch'd with the Sun, nor till'd by human Hand.
The rolling Ruin o'er Thessalia spreads;
No rural Pipes chear Pelion's silent Meads;
Th'Emathian Harvest the fierce Flame devours,
The Mysian Pastures, and the Thracian Tow'rs.
The Mischief now above Lamenting grows,
'Tis a wide Course of Universal Woes;
The Desolation reaches ev'ry Coast,
And Sense of Ill in frequent Ill is lost.

Alas! how perishing is Human Joy!
What trifling Causes noblest Things destroy!

179

An Empire, by such Seas of Blood obtain'd,
So dearly kept, so honourably gain'd;
The Labour of a thousand Chiefs to raise,
And all the Roman Arms in happy Days;
One subtle Traytor levels with the Ground,
And in a Moment basely do's confound!

The City which o'erlooks the Thracian Shore,
And proudly rivals Rome's Imperial Pow'r,
No longer is alarm'd with Arms from far,
But sees at home the dire approaching War;
Astonish'd hears the rattling Trumpets sound,
While the strong Jav'lins on the Walls rebound.
These mount the Works, and those with watchful Care,
To guard the Port, a Line of Ships prepare.

The welcome Siege do's impiously impart
A brutal Pleasure to Rufinus' Heart;
From his high Tow'r insulting he beheld
The dreadful Carnage of the neighb'ring Field.
Here captive Matrons walk, in Shackles bound;
There one, half-dead, sinks in the Waters drown'd.
This ev'n in Flight is reach'd by swifter Death,
And, in the Gate, That gasps away his Breath.
His hoary Hairs avail the Sire no more;
Mothers are bath'd in their own Childrens Gore.
Rufinus smiles; one only Grief he knows,
That his own Hand can deal no deadly Blows,
He sees devouring Flames roll fiercely on,
And partial spare his favour'd Seats alone;

180

And, vaunting in his Crime, is proud to show
Which Side he favours, and avows the Foe;
He only is indulg'd, (he boasts,) the Grace
Their Camp to visit free, from Place to Place;
To meet, and to conclude the glorious Peace!

Oft to the hostile Congress as he bends,
A Band of Clients on his Steps attends;
And, mingling with Barbarians, not to want
Barbarian Marks entire in ev'ry Point,
Their hideous Habit he affects, and wears
The Hides of Lions, and the Spoils of Bears,
Thick Bridles, monstrous Quivers, rattling Bows;
And by his Dress his Inclination shows.
He who th'Ausonian Chair and Rights possest,
Blush'd not t'assume, with Insolence profest,
The Getes rude Customs, and their savage Vest:
While, by their shagged Master trampled down,
The vanquish'd Laws resign the Latian Gown.

What were the People's Looks? and what were then
The stolen Murmurs of unhappy Men?
For none in Public dar'd to vent his Grief,
Or by Complaining gain a short Relief.
This Yoke accurs'd how long shall we sustain?
Or when an End to such Oppressions gain?
From these wild Whirlwinds and perpetual Tears,
Who shall release us, and remove our Fears?
Rufinus there devours the ready Prey,
And here Barbarian Troops obstruct our Way,
Depriv'd of Succour both by Land and Sea.

181

Around the Fields the roaming Ruin flies,
But greater Horrour do's the Towns surprize.
Awake at length, and stretch thy pious Hand,
O Stilicho, to save thy sinking Land.
Here are thy Children, thy ennobled House,
Here first thy Arms receiv'd the plighted Spouse;
Here happy Signs presag'd thy Genial Bed,
And the pleas'd Court the nuptial Torch display'd.
Auspicious Leader, do not make Delay,
Wait not for Troops, but come thyself away:
Strait at thy Presence the fierce War shall cease,
And the fell Monster's Rage subside to Peace.

Such were the Sorrows of the suff'ring East;
When soon as Spring the Winter's Rage represt,
And from the Hills the Snows dissolving run,
His March the Heroe readily begun;
And leaving Italy in Peace behind,
Advanc'd intrepid to the Parts assign'd.
Rang'd each apart, distinctly he commands
The Gallic Troops and Oriental Bands.
Such various Tongues, an Host so widely spread,
Ne'er march'd before beneath one common Head.
Here loosely girt, th'Armenian Wings appear,
Clad in green Garments and with curling Hair;
There the fierce Gauls with yellow Locks proceed,
Whom the swift Rhone, or slower Arar breed,
Or whom, new-born, the Rhine's deep Current try'd,
Or whom Garumna washes with his Tide,

182

When swell'd with Torrents from the troubled Main,
The refluent River floats the cover'd Plain.
One Soul inspires them all; they lay aside
The vengeful Thoughts, that did their Hearts divide.
With Rage of Civil Wars tho' late they glow'd,
And Martial Heat fermented in their Blood,
The Victors and the Vanquish'd friendly join,
Nor proudly those insult, nor these repine;
But all beneath th'illustrious Chief unite,
In Council cool, as ardent in the Fight.
Such was the Host, that follow'd from afar,
From ev'ry Region, Xerxes to the War;
Which, as 'tis said, did drink whole Rivers dry,
And shaded with their Darts th'unclouded Sky;
When thro' pierc'd Rocks his Fleet he did convey,
And laid a Bridge a-cross th'insulted Sea.

Scarce had he pass'd the craggy Alps, before
The fierce Barbarians trembled at his Pow'r;
They roam no more; their Strength compacted held,
And drew a Line of Works along the Field.
A double Trench is form'd; a lofty Mound
With sharpen'd Piles secures th'included Ground,
And, like a sudden Wall, the heavy Train
Of Carriages are planted on the Plain.

Now Pangs of Fear Rufinus' Heart assail,
His Looks are anxious, and his Face is pale;
Alternate Doubts his tortur'd Thoughts distress,
Whether to fly, or supplicate for Peace,

183

Or with a bold Revolt, himself to throw
On the sure Friendship of the trusty Foe.

What now avail his Heaps of plunder'd Ore?
His ravish'd Riches, and unnumber'd Store!
His Palaces with polish'd Marble bright,
And Domes contending with the Heav'ns in Height?
He marks th'Avenger's March, and counts the Days,
His Life computing by the Length of Ways;
Grieves to behold an End approach of Woes,
And, by his Heart condemn'd, feels no Repose;
Starts from his Bed, and, with wild Horrors rent,
Is punish'd by the Dread of Punishment.
But soon his Rage returns, and he resumes
The Zeal of Mischief, that himself becomes;
Then to Arcadius' Presence boldly ran,
And with a mingled Terror thus began.

By thy Imperial Brother's Star, the Fame
Of thy great Father's consecrated Name;
By thy own Bloom of youthful Years, I pray,
Turn from my Head the lifted Sword away;
From Stilicho's injurious Threats defend;
See how the Gauls to my Destruction bend,
And those whose Regions lye, if such there be,
Beyond Britannia and the farthest Sea.
What listed Legions to the Field are led?
What Hosts are arm'd against a single Head?

184

Whence all this Thirst of Blood? the Cause is clear,
'Tis Stilicho's Ambition kindles War:
He scorns an Equal, and, with lawless Soul,
Himself wou'd rule alone from Pole to Pole.
Libya and Italy his proud Command
Confess, with Spain and all the Gallic Land.
Not the Sun's Round, nor Nature's largest Line
So vast a Lust of Empire can confine.
Whatever Wealth thy happy Sire obtain'd
In Peace, or in successful Battles gain'd,
His is the Whole; nor will his craving Breast
Resign the Riches he has once possest.
But let him live in Peace, and govern all,
And let Rufinus, for his Honour, fall;
Yet why shou'd He, with lawless Arms, prepare
From Thee to ravish thy Imperial Share?
Let him resign Illyria, and the Band
Of Eastern Troops, dividing the Command
Of either Army with an equal Hand.
Crush his big Pride, and vindicate thy Due,
And heir thy Father's Throne and Legions too.
But if thou meanly dar'st to hesitate,
And dost not instantly sorbid my Fate,
By Hell and Heav'n I swear, this Head alone
Shall not be lost; the Danger is thy own;
More Blood shall mix with mine, nor will I go
An unattended Ghost to Shades below,
Nor shall the Victor safely strike the Blow.

185

He said; th'inglorious Prince a Mandate sign'd,
With mean Submission, to Rufinus' Mind,
And sent a Herald suddenly to bear
Th'extorted Order, and forbid the War.

Mean time the Prospect of the neighb'ring Foe
Provokes a Hero's Joy in Stilicho;
Their Lines and Ramparts only now between,
With a loud Voice he fires his eager Men.
In the left Wing th'Armenians march, the right
The Gauls compose, and wish th'expected Fight.
There might you see the foamy Coursers bound,
And Clouds of Dust ascend, and roll around,
And purple Snakes in streaming Ensigns fly,
With angry Hissings thro' the glowing Sky.

The Fields of Thessaly, the Centaur's Cave,
The River which did young Achilles lave,
And OEta's gloomy Grove, the horrid Blaze
Of Arms enlighten with their flashing Rays;
Cold Ossa thunders with the Martial Sound,
And high Olympus shakes with Shouts around.
Th'impatient Legions, prodigal of Light,
Glow with fresh Ardour of th'approaching Fight.
The Rocks and Rivers scarcely can restrain
Th'impetuous Troops from rushing on amain.
And had the Foe adventur'd then t'engage
In open Field, and dar'd to meet their Rage,
Greece had not such repeated Slaughters view'd,
Nor Pelops' Cities been in Blood embru'd,
But still th'Arcadian Tow'rs, and Sparta still had stood.

186

Nor had the Seas blaz'd with Corinthian Flames,
Nor hostile Shackles drag'd Athenian Dames;
For one auspicious Day had put a Close
To Waste and War, and giv'n the World Repose.
But see how great an Enterprize was crost
By Fortune's Spite, and what a Triumph lost!
Just as th'embattled Horse had form'd their Line,
And the shrill Trumpets Clangor gave the Sign,
The Royal Order came, to countermand
The Fight, and reach'd th'advancing Leader's Hand.
Amaz'd he stood, with Rage and Grief possest,
Alternate swelling in his generous Breast;
Astonish'd to behold with what a Sway,
Rufinus bore down all Things in his Way.
He weighs on either Hand the Chances run,
Whether to press with Resolution on,
Or drop the great Design so well begun.
He burns with Zeal to curb the growing Ill,
Yet fears to disobey his Prince's Will:
His Duty awes his Valour; Public Good
On this Side urges and inflames his Blood,
And Dread of Envy now on that withstood.
Then to the Stars his lifted Hands he spread,
And from his Soul thus, ardently, he said;

Ye Gods! not yet with Roman Woes-appeas'd,
If to subvert our Empire you are pleas'd,
If by One Blow whole Ages are design'd
To sink, and you abandon Human-Kind,

187

Let o'er the Globe the rushing Main be hurl'd,
Or wand'ring Phaeton confound the World:
Why is Rufinus made your Instrument?
So base an Author will disgrace th'Event.
Just in the Start of Battle we're compell'd
To sheath the shining Sword, and leave the Field.
Ye Walls and Cities to the Flames consign'd,
You I attest, with what reluctant Mind,
I now submit, and to the destin'd Fate,
O Grief! O Shame! permit the Roman State.
Recall your Ensigns, Soldiers, from the War,
Turn back, and to your sev'ral Climes repair;
We must obey; let not the Trumpet blow;
Dismount the ready Arrow from the Bow;
And, so Rufinus bids, release the Foe.

He said; a Clamour instantly began
With surly Sound, and thro' the Squadrons ran;
Louder than Billows on the Rocky Shore,
Or Thunders bursting with resistless Roar.
The Troops of East and West, with gen'rous Pride,
Demand the Fight, refusing to divide;
Their Leader's Truth unblemish'd they defend;
Each claim'd him theirs, and zealously contend;
A warm, but glorious Mutiny arose,
And in these Words their common Passion flows.

Who strikes the Sword, just lifted, from our Hands?
And who to slack the bended Bow commands?

188

Who basely dares the brandish'd Spear controul?
Valour, once heated, knows not how to cool.
The Weapons urge th'avenging Arm amain,
Nor can the Scabbard the dry Blade retain.
Still shall the Getes by our Dissensions thrive?
See a new Face of Civil War revive.
Why, gen'rous Chieftain, why dost thou divide
United Eagles, Troops in Blood ally'd?
One Body firm are We, and Thou our Head,
Prepar'd to march where-ever thou shalt lead.
Thee will we follow ev'n to Thule's Coast,
Condemn'd to Night and Hyperborean Frost:
Thee we'll attend to Libya's sultry Sands,
To India's Ocean, and the farthest Lands.
With Thee we'll drink Hydaspes' golden Stream,
Bear ev'ry Toil, and suffer each Extream.
If thou command'st, the Southern Climes to try;
The glowing Southern Climates we'll defy;
Or Infant Nilus' secret Source to find,
We'll traverse Nile, and leave the World behind.
Where-ever Stilicho his Tent shall rear,
That is our Country, and our Home is there.

But the wise Chief restrain'd their eager Zeal;
Desist, he said; your Martial Ardour quell;
Let this dark Storm of threatning Envy fall
Without Effect, and not o'erwhelm us all.

189

Not Conquest's self will for the Shame atone,
To seem to conquer for myself alone.
Retire, ye trusty Bands, your Rage forbear;
Farewell, my Friends, Companions of the War!

Nor more he said, but quick, without Delay,
Turn'd back, and march'd reluctantly away.
Thus the stern Lyon, with an empty Maw,
(Of Prey defeated,) and a bloodless Paw,
Retreats impatient, when with Darts and Fire
The Shepherds make the Royal Beast retire:
He hangs his Main, and o'er his Eye-balls hid,
Turn'd to the Ground, draws down the low'ring Lid;
And, inward roaring with a sullen Sound,
To find a Pass explores the Forest round.

The Legions then that saw themselves dismist,
Gave a loud Groan, with manly Grief opprest;
Their shining Helmets are bedew'd with Tears,
And ev'ry Token of Distress appears:
With the deep Sobs, that from their Bosoms break,
Their Voice is choak'd, and their strong Corslets shake.

Then we're betray'd, they cry, and must no more
Serve the lov'd Leader, whom we serv'd before.
And dost thou thus thy faithful Bands despise,
So often try'd, and crown'd with Victories?
Are we so vile? and has th'Hesperian Land
More happily deserv'd thy wish'd Command?
What Pleasure now to view our old Abodes,
Our dearer Children, and our Household Gods?

190

Without Thee, Nothing profits or delights;
For now Rufinus' Tyranny affrights.
Studious in Mischief, insolent and hard,
Some curs'd Design perhaps he has prepar'd,
To give us up, abandon'd and undone,
Slaves to th'Alani, or the hideous Hunn.
But our warm Spirits are not sunk so low,
Nor such a Penury of Arms we know;
Tho' to the West remanded, thou shalt be
Our Chief; we'll own no other Head but Thee;
Our Faith, tho' absent, still shall be the same,
Still, unrevok'd, pursue thy honour'd Name;
And soon the Victim, due to Thee, shall bleed,
And thou shalt hear, and shalt applaud the Deed.

Now from th'Hæmonian Coast, the grieving Bands
Proceeding, reach'd the Macedonian Lands
And Thessalonian Walls, without Delay;
Deep at their Heart, their smother'd Sorrow lay,
And silent to Revenge prepar'd the watchful Way.
A Place to favour their Design, they wait,
And Time adapted to perform their Hate;
Yet in an Host, of Youths compos'd, not One
By hasty Words made the bold Project known;
And all Posterity, thro' ev'ry Age,
Shall stand amaz'd, that in the Heat of Rage,
Such Multitudes the Purpose still conceal'd,
Nor once th'important Enterprize reveal'd;

191

That no free Talk, nor License of the Bowl
Threw out the fervent Purpose of their Soul;
But the same Constancy thro' all prevail'd,
And a whole People the big Thought conceal'd.
Heber and Rhodopé in haste they pass,
And take their March across the Plains of Thrace;
To the fam'd Town at length the Squadrons came,
Which boasts from Hercules its honour'd Name.

When Stilicho's Retreat Rufinus knew;
And that the Gothick Host now nearer drew,
In haughty Triumph he erects his Head,
Thinks all is safe, and deems the Danger fled;
Affects to grasp the Scepter in his Hand,
And proudly thus harangues his trusty Band.

We've conquer'd; and our Enemy is gone;
And now with Ease the Kingdom is our own;
We dread no Foe; for singly whom he fear'd,
Who shall attack thus compass'd with a Guard?
Or dare to face me, thus for War supply'd,
Who naked and unarm'd their Pow'r defy'd?
Go, Stilicho, and now at Distance due,
Contrive my Exile, and my Hate pursue;
While Length of Lands and rolling Seas divide
Rufinus safely from thy baffled Pride;
For while I live, 'twill scarcely be thy Chance
O'er the rough Alps presumptuously t'advance.
Securely there at Distance wage the War,
And strain the Bow, and cast the Dart from far;

192

Fierce draw thy Sword, and try from Italy
To reach thy Thrusts, against these Walls and Me.
Can no Examples, plac'd before thy Eyes,
Curb thy rash Rage, and teach thee to be wise?
Did any ever urge me, but their Hate
Caus'd their own Ruin, and procur'd their Fate?
From half the World by Me thou art expell'd,
Stripp'd of thy Troops, and forc'd to quit the Field.
Now, my brave Friends, the jovial Hour ordains
To form the Feast, and pay the Soldiers Pains;
And the large Donative, with gen'rous Pride,
To the new Legions liberally divide:
To-morrow's Light shall smile upon my Vows,
While my Demands, the Prince, tho' lothe, allows,
Constrain'd t'admit me Partner in his Throne;
By which at once successfully I shun
The Guilt of Usurpation, and the Shame
Of a mean Station and a private Name.

His wicked Crew (their Hands with Rapine stain'd,
Whose Wealth was all by publick Plunder gain'd,)
Congratulate this Speech with loud Acclaim,
And promise to support the glorious Scheme.
Their Band of Friendship is their common Guilt;
Sear'd were their Hearts, and no Compunction felt.
With brutal Mirth, the jovial Plan they form,
What Dames to ravish, and what Towns to storm;
Devoted Cities greedily survey,
And vainly portion out the promis'd Prey.

193

Now Night began upon her sable Breast
To lull the Labours of the World to Rest;
When fierce Rufinus, whose uneasy Mind
Was toss'd with Cares, at length to Sleep resign'd;
Scarcely he slumbers, when, with dire Affright,
The Ghosts of those he murder'd, haunt his Sight;
And one, distinct to View above the rest,
Thus seem'd to speak, and hastily addrest.

Come, quit thy Bed, nor vex thy anxious Heart
All Means to weigh, and new Designs to start;
The Day, now breaking, shall thy Labours close,
And give to Thee thy long-desir'd Repose:
Rais'd high above the Croud thou shalt return,
And on their Hands triumphantly be borne.
This, in fallacious Terms, the Spectre said;
Nor did he find, by the false Omen led,
The dubious Speech presag'd his sever'd Head.

On Hæmus' Height now sparkling Phosphor shone,
And Titan rapid roll'd his Chariot on,
To view at last a Sight desir'd of All,
The World's Redemption, and Rufinus' Fall;
He sprung from Bed, and bade them strait with Care
The spacious Palace for the Feast prepare;
And on the Gold, he promis'd to divide,
Stamps his own Image with Imperial Pride;
Goes forth t'harangue the Troops, with Pride elate,
Tow'ring above his Prince, in regal State:

194

Sure of the Throne, a costly Garb he wears,
And wontonly assumes luxurious Airs;
As if the Diadem and Purple Vest
Had crown'd his Head, and his vile Shoulders drest.

To the South Quarter where the City bends,
A narrow Space of Land alone extends,
Sav'd from the Sea, while the repining Main
Surrounds the rest, and threats the neighb'ring Plain.
Here, bright in Arms, th'avenging Troops unfold
Their marshall'd Numbers regular and bold;
On the left Wing the Foot are plac'd; the Horse
Possess the right, a formidable Force:
The gen'rous Steeds resist the Rider's Hand,
Press on the Bridle, and the Race demand.
Some with their nodding Crests the Sight amaze,
And shifting Colours round their Shoulders blaze;
Sheath'd all in Steel, and wrought with Art so nice,
The supple Metal to the Body plies.
The dread Appearance seem'd a moving Train
Of breathing Images and Iron Men.
The Horse were clad the same; their Fronts severe,
And ample Shoulders, Iron Armour wear:
Each kept his Rank, well-disciplin'd and true,
A beauteous Horror, and a solemn View.
As the Wind falls, the Serpents cease to fly,
And peaceful on the flagging Banners lye.

Arcadius first the honour'd Ensigns greets,
Rufinus next with Salutations meets;

195

Smooth to deceive, around the Ranks he moves,
Admires their Ardour, and their Zeal approves;
Each by his Name he calls, and smiles to tell,
Their Sires, and Sons, and Families are well.
With Cunning while they meet his vain Design,
And busily in feign'd Petitions joyn,
Unheeded they prepare to bend their Train,
Cast in a sudden Circle on the Plain;
The Space begins to lessen; either Wing
Wheels gently round, to form a hollow Ring;
And leisurely approaching o'er the Field,
They joyn at once, and mingle Shield to Shield.
Thus the keen Huntsman, o'er the destin'd Ground,
His Toils the spacious Forest spreads around;
And thus th'industrious Fisher, in the Sea
Drives dext'rously to Shore the finny Prey;
Contracts his Net, and artfully provides
To close the Meshes, and the gaping Sides.

The rest shut out, the Troops alone surround
Him and Arcadius on the fatal Ground:
Yet did he not, on his own Schemes intent,
Suspect the Fraud, nor what the Legions meant.
But boldly fastning on the Prince's Vest,
Requir'd him now to finish his Request,
To mount the Throne, and in that very Hour
Proclaim him Partner of th'Imperial Pow'r.
When suddenly they draw their glitt'ring Swords,
And a big Voice roars out these thund'ring Words:

196

Traytor, cou'dst thou conceive a Hope so vain,
On Us, on Us, to fix the servile Chain!
Know'st thou not whence we come? Shall we endure
To bend so low, to recognize thy Pow'r,
To be thy menial Guard, and call Thee Lord,
Who have so often, with vindictive Sword,
Laws, and their Rights, to distant Realms restor'd?
Twice we the Rage of Civil War have quell'd,
Twice o'er the rugged Alps our March have held;
So many Fights have taught us, with Disdain,
To serve no Tyrant, and to wear no Chain!

He shook all o'er, no Hope of Flight appears,
And all around him shines an Host of Spears;
He stares astonish'd, while the furious Band
With Swords encompass him on either Hand.
Thus the fierce Bear, among the Mountains caught,
His native Haunt, and to the Circus brought,
Leaps out dismay'd, while, shouting on his Ear,
The Keeper goads him forward with his Spear:
Uprear'd, he casts around his glaring Eyes,
And views the Theatre with wild Surprize,
Scar'd with the Multitude's promiscuous Cries.

When one, more daring, of his own Accord,
Sprung thro' the Ranks, grasping his naked Sword;
“With this, with this Right Hand, do's Stilicho,
“Whom thou didst vaunt to vanquish, strike the Blow;

197

“Thus executes a just Avenger's Part,
“And, absent, pierces thus thy Traytor Heart!

He said, and plung'd the Weapon in his Side.
Auspicious Hand! first in this Crimson dy'd.
That thus began the welcome Vengeance, due
To the vex'd World, and such a Monster slew.
All then at once with their sharp Spears contend
The Trunk to mangle, and the Members rend;
With Groves of Piles they stab him o'er and o'er,
And blush to draw them back undrench'd in Gore:
These tear his greedy Jaws, and rolling Eyes,
And others make his sever'd Arms their Prize:
This lops the Feet, the Shoulders That, and One
Cuts from the broken Back the bending Bone;
This snatch'd the Liver; That the panting Heart;
And This the Lungs, dividing ev'ry Part.
No Room is left to glut their greedy Rage,
Nor can the Subject their fierce Spite assuage:
Ev'n finish'd thus, they scarcely give him o'er,
And the hew'd Corps is almost seen no more.
So reek'd th'Aonian Mount, when Pentheus slain
Was drag'd, and mangled by the madding Train;
Or when Actæon, at the fatal Cave,
To his own Hounds the vengeful Goddess gave.
Can this reverse the Mischiefs thou hast done,
Blind Fortune, and thy mighty Crimes atone?
Can one poor Death so many Thousands pay?
Now to the Nations portion out the Prey;

198

His hated Head to the rough Thracians give,
And let the harass'd Greeks the Trunk receive;
But what shall other ruin'd Realms require?
For ev'ry Land there's not a Limb entire.

The People leave the Town, and swarm amain,
Free from all Fear, to view him on the Plain;
Nor Shame the Maids, nor Years the Sires restrain.
Widows, whose Husbands he had murder'd, fly,
With childless Mothers, to the common Joy,
Insult him dead, and now with Fury burn,
His Limbs to trample, and the Monster spurn:
They dip their Feet with Pleasure in his Gore,
Nor less are eager, with a stony Show'r,
To crush his batter'd Head, which, mounted high
On a Spear's Point, now nodded in the Sky,
And, to the hissing Croud in Triumph shown,
Returns with fitting Honour to the Town:
His Right Hand too, in Mockery and Scorn,
To sue for Alms from Door to Door is borne,
And the just Punishment, by this Disgrace,
Of the vile Owner's Lust of Lucre pays:
For imitating Life, they make it strain
And clench the Fingers, at the Touch of Gain.

Learn to distrust Prosperity from hence,
And fear the just Awards of Providence.
That Hand, which scarcely had a Sceptre miss'd,
Which the aw'd Nobles had so often kiss'd,

199

Unbury'd long, and from the Body torne,
To beg an Alms ev'n after Death is borne.
Whoever, swell'd with lucky Fortune, rears
His Crest aloft, and insolently bears,
Here let him see, with Popular Disdain
Drag'd thro' the Roads and Streets, that haughty Man,
Who Monuments, that ev'n with Temples vy'd,
Rais'd for himself with boundless Cost and Pride:
Ev'n He, to whom the Crown was almost giv'n,
Now naked lies, to feed the Fowls of Heav'n;
Who made before the trembling World comply,
Now cannot one poor Spot of Earth enjoy,
But roll'd in Dust by ev'ry common Slave,
Is piece-meal cover'd, and yet wants a Grave.

Heav'n own'd the Death, and Earth the Load obscene
Of his vile Corps, refuses as unclean:
The Stars respire, and to the Lakes below,
A Guest abhorr'd, do's his grim Shadow go.
At his Approach stood Æacus aghast,
And Cerb'rus hoarsly bay'd him as he past:
The Ghosts of those he slew, around him meet,
And drag him to the awful Judgment-Seat;
In Crouds they gather; as the vengeful Bees
In buzzing Swarms the daring Shepherd seize,
That robs their Honey; with their busy Wings
They seek his Face, and shoot their little Stings;
And, shelter'd by the Rock, their Forces bend,
Their Seats to cover, and their Combs defend.

200

A Place there lies, where, deeply hid from Light,
Cocytus' Stream and Phlegethon's unite,
Unpleasing Rivers; that is fill'd with Tears,
And this a Flood of rolling Fire appears.
Betwixt them both, a Tower its frightful Frame
Erects sublime, and seems a Pile of Flame;
On its left Side, of Adamant compos'd,
Hoarse Phlegethon its burning Waves disclos'd;
The right Side sadly sounds with sobbing Cries
Of deep Cocytus, and incessant Sighs.
Hither at Death all mortal Minds descend,
And, undistinguish'd, their last Lot attend.
Stripp'd of their Honours and their Titles vain,
Kings here are mingled with the Vulgar Train.
Minos, the dire Inquisitor, sublime
Plac'd on his Throne, examines ev'ry Crime,
Divides the Guilty from the Just; and those
Who, with Defiance, to confess refuse,
To his fierce Brother's Rod he hurrys thence,
To bear the Pains of hard Impenitence:
For near him, Radamanthus sits, who weighs
The Life at large, and rigidly surveys;
To Crimes the proper Punishments assigns,
And Criminals in Shapes of Beasts confines.
The Cruel, Bears, the Robbers, Wolves become,
The Traytors Foxes, by impartial Doom;
Those who in Sloth, and wanton Lust and Wine,
Indulging Riot, sunk their Hours supine,
Are sent into the Limbs of sordid Swine.

201

The pratling Babler, who with leaky Tongue
Bewray'd all Secrets, to his Neighbour's Wrong,
Swims a mute Fish, and, in the watry Maze,
For Tatling with Eternal Silence pays.
When these for full three thousand Years have past
Thro' various Figures, the strict Judge at last
In Lethé purges them, so Fates ordain,
And to their Human Form recalls again.
Then, as he sate in Judgment to decide
The dubious Causes, and in Order try'd,
Lo! from afar Rufinus' Ghost he spy'd;
He view'd him rigidly with frowning Eyes,
And the Throne trembled while aloud he cries;

Hither, thou Scandal of the Worlds above,
Thou Sink of Gold unglutted, hither move;
Who didst thro' unexampled Crimes aspire,
And nothing wou'dst not dare for proffer'd Hire;
Venal Interpreter of Sacred Laws,
The vilest Vice, which most my Vengeance draws;
Who for thy Country's Ruin tempted forth
The dire Barbarians of the frozen North;
By whose unnumber'd Carnages, the Shore
Of crowded Hell has oft been cover'd o'er.
Such open Deeds, 'twere Madness to deny,
Sear'd on thy Breast the Spots obscenely lie,
And Blots of branded Sin thy blemish'd Image dye.

202

Thy Crimes refuse Disguise. Whatever Pain
My Stores of Vengeance awfully contain,
Thou shalt endure; the Rock that threats to fall,
The rolling Wheel; thou shalt sustain them all:
Thy Thirst unquench'd still flatt'ring to relieve,
The brimming Waters shall thy Lips deceive;
The Vultur shall from other Food withdraw,
And on thy Entrails glut his greedy Maw.
All Others, who these dreadful Tortures bear,
But Parts of Thee, enormous Villain, were.
What, to be nam'd with Thee, did he, who flung
The mimic Thunders, as he drove along?
Or Tantalus, with his presumptuous Tongue?
Or Tityus, when with unpermitted Love,
Latona's Honour to pollute he strove?
If all their Facts shou'd be in one combin'd,
Thou hast surpass'd them, Monster unconfin'd.
Who can inflict, with a vindictive Hand,
The Pains that these unequall'd Crimes demand?
How shall I justly punish all thy Deeds,
When one alone all Punishment exceeds?
Hence, bear him hence, and clear him from our Coasts,
The Shame of Shades, and chase him from the Ghosts;
T've seen him is enough; now spare our Sight,
And cleanse again the Sacred Realms of Night:
With Scourges drive him down below the Ground,
Beneath the Styx and Erebus profound;

203

Below the Titans Den, below the Womb
Of Tartarus, and Chaos' horrid Gloom:
Plunge, plunge him deep, where Night's Foundations lie;
Chain'd to a Rock, there let him vainly cry,
While Heav'n rolls round the Stars, and while the Shore
The Billows beat, and blustring Tempests roar.

Eugenius.

Theodosius.

Honorius.

Theodosius.

Heraclea, or Constantinople.

The End of the Poems.