Poems on several occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

When in a glorious terrible Array,
From Paran's tow'ring height th'Almighty took his way;
Born on a Cherub's Wings he rode,
Intolerable Day proclaim'd the God;

No earthly Cloud
Could his effulgent Brightness shroud:
Glory, and Majesty, and Pow'r,
March'd in a dreadful Pomp before;
Behind, a grim, and meagre Train,
Pining Sickness, frantic Pain,
Stalk'd wildly on! with all the dismal Band,
Which Heav'n in Anger sends to scourge a guilty Land.

II.

With Terror cloath'd, he downward flew,
And wither'd half the Nations with a View;
Thro' half the Nations of th'astonish'd Earth
He scatter'd War, and Plagues, and Dearth!
And when he spoke,
The everlasting Hills from their Foundations shook;
The trembling Mountains, by a lowly Nod,
With Rev'rence struck, confess'd the God:

On Sion's holy Hill he took his Stand,
Grasping Omnipotence in his right Hand;
Then mighty Earthquakes rock'd the Ground,
And the Sun darken'd as he frown'd:
He dealt Affliction from his Van,
And wild Confusion from his Rear;
They thro' the Tents of Cushan ran,
The Tents of Cushan quak'd with Fear,
And Midian trembled with Despair.
I see! his Sword wave naked in the Air;
It sheds around a baleful Ray,
The Rains pour down, the Lightnings play,
And on their Wings vindictive Thunders bear.

III.

When thro' the mighty Flood,
He led the murmuring Croud,
What ail'd the Rivers that they backward fled?
Why was the mighty Flood afraid?

March'd He against the Rivers? or was He,
Thou mighty Flood! displeas'd at thee?
The Flood beheld from far,
The Deity in all his Equipage of War;
And lo! at once it bursts! it diverse falls
On either hand! it swells in Crystal Walls!
Th'eternal Rocks disclose! the tossing Waves
Rush in loud Thunder from a thousand Caves!
Why tremble ye, O! faithless, to behold
The op'ning Deeps their Gulphs unfold?
Enter the dreadful Chasms! 'tis God, who guides
Your wondrous Way! the God, who rules the Tides!
And lo! they march amid the deaf'ning Roar
Of tumbling Seas! they mount the adverse Shore!
Advance, ye chosen Tribes!—Arabia's Sands
Lonely, uncomfortable Lands!
Void of Fountain, void of Rain,
Oppose their burning Coasts in vain!

See! the great Prophet stand,
Waving his Wonder-working Wand!
He strikes the stubborn Rock, and lo!
The stubborn Rock feels the Almighty Blow;
His stony Entrails burst, and rushing Torrents flow.

IV.

Then did the Sun his fiery Coursers stay,
And backward held the falling Day;
The nimble-footed Minutes ceas'd to run,
And urge the lazy Hours on.
Time hung his unexpanded Wings,
And all the secret Springs
That carry on the Year,
Stopp'd in their full Career:
Then the astonish'd Moon,
Forgot her going down;
And paler grew,
The dismal Scene to view,

How thro' the trembling Pagan Nation,
Th'Almighty Ruin dealt, and ghastly Desolation.

V.

But why, ah! why, O Sion, reigns
Wide-wasting Havoc o'er thy Plains?
Ah! me, Destruction is abroad!
Vengeance is loose, and Wrath from God!
See! Hosts of Spoilers seize their Prey!
See! Slaughter marks in Blood his Way!
See! how embattled Babylon
Like an unruly Deluge rushes on!
Lo! the Field with Millions swarms!
I hear their Shouts! their clashing Arms!
Now the conflicting Hosts engage,
With more than mortal Rage!—
Oh! Heav'n! I faint—I die!—
The yielding Pow'rs of Israel fly!—

Now banner'd Hosts surround the Walls
Of Sion! now she sinks, she falls!—
Ah! Sion, how for thee I mourn!
What Pangs for thee I feel!
Ah! how art thou become the Pagans Scorn,
Lovely, unhappy Israel?
A shivering Damp invades my Heart,
A trembling Horror shoots thro' every Part;
My nodding Frame can scarce sustain
Th'oppressive Load I undergo:
Speechless I sigh! the envious Woe
Forbids the very Pleasure to complain:
Forbids my fault'ring Tongue to tell
What Pangs for thee I feel,
Lovely, unhappy Israel!

VI.

Yet tho' the Fig-Tree should no Burthen bear,
Tho' Vines delude the Promise of the Year;

Yet tho' the Olive should not yield her Oil,
Nor the parch'd Glebe reward the Peasant's Toil,
Tho' the tir'd Ox beneath his Labours fall,
And Herds in Millions perish from the Stall;
Yet shall my grateful Strings
For ever praise thy Name,
For ever thee proclaim,
Thee everlasting God, the mighty King of Kings.

Written in 1710, as an Exercise at St. John's College in Cambridge.

To Belinda,

On her Sickness, and Recovery.

Sure never Pain such Beauty wore,
Or look'd so amiable before!
You Graces give to a Disease,
Adorn the Pain, and make it please;
Thus burning Incense sheds Perfumes,
Still fragrant as it still consumes.

Nor can ev'n Sickness, which disarms
All other Nymphs, destroy your Charms;

A thousand Beauties you can spare,
And still be fairest of the Fair.

But see! the Pain begins to fly,
Tho' Venus bled, she could not die;
See! the new Phœnix point her Eyes,
And lovelier from her Ashes rise:
Thus Roses when the Storm is o'er,
Draw Beauties from th'inclement Show'r.

Welcome ye Hours! which thus repay
What envious Sickness stole away!
Welcome as those which kindly bring,
And usher in the joyous Spring;
That to the smiling Earth restore
The beauteous Herb, and blooming Flow'r,
And give her all the Charms she lost
By wint'ry Storms, and hoary Frost!

And yet how well did she sustain,
And greatly triumph o'er her Pain?
So Flow'rs, when blasting Winds invade,
Breathe sweet, and beautifully fade.

Now in her Cheeks, and radiant Eyes,
New Blushes glow, new Lightnings rise;
Behold a thousand Charms succeed,
For which a thousand Hearts must bleed!
Brighter from her Disease she shines,
As Fire the precious Gold refines.

Thus when the silent Grave becomes
Pregnant with Life, as fruitful Wombs,
When the wide Seas, and spacious Earth,
Resign us to our second Birth;

Our moulder'd Frame rebuilt assumes
New Beauty, and for ever blooms;
And crown'd with Youth's immortal Pride,
We Angels rise, who Mortals dy'd.

To Belinda,

On her Apron embroider'd with Arms and Flowers.

1

The list'ning Trees Amphion drew
To dance from Hills, where once they grew;
But you express a Pow'r more great,
The Flow'rs you draw not, but create.

2

Behold your own Creation rise,
And smile beneath your radiant Eyes!
'Tis beauteous all! and yet receives
From you more Graces than it gives.

3

But say, amid the softer Charms
Of blooming Flow'rs, what mean these Arms?
So round the Fragrance of the Rose,
The pointed Thorn, to guard it, grows.

4

But cruel you, who thus employ
Both Arms and Beauty to destroy!
So Venus marches to the Fray
In Armour, formidably gay.

5

It is a dreadful pleasing Sight!
The Flow'rs attract, the Arms affright;
The Flow'rs with lively Beauty bloom,
The Arms denounce an instant Doom.

6

Thus when the Britons in array
Their Ensigns to the Sun display,
In the same Flag are Lillies shown,
And angry Lions sternly frown;
On high the glitt'ring Standard flies,
And conquers all Things—like your Eyes.

Part of the 38th and 39th Chapters of Job.

A PARAPHRASE.

Now from the Splendors of his bright Abode
On Wings of all the Winds th'Almighty rode,
And the loud Voice of Thunder spoke the God.
Cherubs, and Seraphs from cœlestial Bow'rs,
Ten thousand thousand! bright, ethereal Pow'rs!
Ministrant round, their radiant Files unfold,
Arm'd in eternal Adamant, and Gold!
Whirlwinds, and thundrous Storms his Chariot drew
'Tween Worlds and Worlds, triumphant as it flew:

He stretch'd his dark Pavilion o'er the Floods,
Bade Hills subside, and rein'd th'obedient Clouds,
Then from his awful Gloom the Godhead spoke,
And at his Voice affrighted Nature shook.

Vain Man! who boldly with dim Reason's Ray
Vies with his God, and rivals his full Day!
But tell me now, say how this beauteous Frame
Of all Things, from the Womb of Nothing came;
When Nature's Lord with one Almighty Call
From no where rais'd the World's capacious Ball?
Say if thy Hand directs the various Rounds
Of the vast Earth, and circumscribes the Bounds?
How Orbs oppos'd to Orbs amid the Sky,
In Consort move, and dance in Harmony?
What wondrous Pillars their Foundations bear
When hung self-ballanc'd in the fluid Air?

Why the vast Tydes sometimes with wanton Play
In shining Mazes gently glide away;
Anon, why swelling with impetuous Stores
Tumultuous tumbling, thunder to the Shores?
By thy Command does fair Aurora rise,
And gild with purple Beams the blushing Skies?
The warbling Lark salutes her chearful Ray,
And welcomes with his Song the rising Day;
The rising Day ambrosial Dew distils,
Th'ambrosial Dew with balmy Odour fills
The Flow'rs, the Flow'rs rejoice, and Nature smiles.
Why Night, in Sable rob'd, as Day-light fades,
O'er half the Nations draws her awful Shades?
Now peaceful Nature lies diffus'd in Ease;
A solemn Stillness reigns o'er Land and Seas.
Sleep sheds o'er all his Balm! to Sleep resign'd,
Birds, Beasts lie hush'd, and busy Human Kind.

No Air of Breath disturbs the drowzy Woods,
No Whispers murmur from the silent Floods!
The Moon sheds down a silver-streaming Light,
And glads the melancholic Face of Night:
Now Clouds swift-skimming veil her sullied Ray,
Now bright she blazes with a fuller Day:
The Stars in Order twinkle in the Skies,
And fall in Silence, and in Silence rise:
Till as a Giant strong, a Bridegroom gay,
The Sun springs dancing thro' the Gates of Day:
He shakes his dewy Locks, and hurls his Beams
O'er the proud Hills, and down the glowing Streams:
His fiery Coursers bound above the Main,
And whirl the Car along th'ethereal Plain:
The fiery Coursers and the Car display
A Stream of Glory, and a Flood of Day.
Did e'er thy Eye descend into the Deep,
Or hast thou seen where Infant Tempests sleep?

Was e'er the Grave or Regions of the Night,
Yet trod by thee, or open'd to thy Sight?
Has Death disclos'd to thee her gloomy State,
The Ghastly Forms, the various Woes that wait
In terrible array before her awful Gate?
Know'st thou where Darkness bears eternal Sway,
Or where the Source of everlasting Day?
Say, why the driving Hail with rushing Sound
Pours from on high, and rattles on the ground?
Why hover Snows, down-wav'ring by degrees,
Shine from the Hills, or glitter from the Trees?
Say, why in lucid Drops, the balmy Rain
With sparkling Gems impearls the spangled Plain?
Or gath'ring in the Vale, a Current flows,
And on each Flow'r a sudden Spring bestows?
Say, why with gentle Sighs the Evening Breeze
Salutes the Flow'rs, or murmurs thro' the Trees!

Or why loud Winds in Storms of Vengeance fly,
Howl o'er the Main, and thunder in the Sky?
Say, to what wondrous Magazines repair
The viewless Beings, when serene the Air?
Till from their Dungeons loos'd, they roar aloud,
Upturn whole Oceans, and toss Cloud on Cloud,
While Waves encountring Waves in Mountains driv'n,
Swell to the starry Vault, and dash the Heav'n.
Knowst thou, why Comets threaten in the Air,
Heralds of Woe, Destruction, and Despair,
The Plague, the Sword, and all the Forms of War?
On ruddy Wings why forky Lightning flies,
And rouling Thunder grumbles in the Skies?
Say, Can thy Voice when sultry Sirius reigns,
And Suns intensely glowing cleave the Plains,
Th'exhausted Urns of thirsty Springs supply,
And mitigate the Fever of the Sky?

Or when the Heav'ns are charg'd with gloomy Clouds,
And half the Skies precipitate in Floods,
Chase the dark Horror of the Storm away,
Restrain the Deluge, and restore the Day?
By thee does Summer deck herself with Charms,
Or hoary Winter lock his frozen Arms;
Say, if thy Hand instruct the Rose to glow,
Or to the Lilly give unsullied Snow?
Teach Fruits to knit from Blossoms by degrees,
Swell into Orbs, and load the bending Trees,
Whose various Kinds, a various Hue unfold,
With crimson Blush, or burnish into Gold?
Say, why the Sun arrays with shining Dyes
The gaudy Bow that gilds the gloomy Skies?
He from his Urn pours forth his golden Streams,
And humid Clouds imbibe the glitt'ring Beams;
Sweetly the varying Colours fade or rise,
And the vast Arch embraces half the Skies.

Say, didst thou give the mighty Seas their Bars,
Fill Air with Fowl, or light up Heav'n with Stars,
Whose thousand times ten thousand Lamps display
A friendly Radiance, mingling Ray with Ray?
Say, canst thou rule the Coursers of the Sun,
Or lash the lazy Sign, Boötes on?
Dost thou instruct the Eagle how to fly,
To mount the viewless Winds, and tow'r the Sky?
On sounding Pinions born, he soars, and shrouds
His proud aspiring Head among the Clouds;
Strong-pounc'd, and fierce, he darts upon his Prey,
He sails in triumph thro' th'ethereal Way,
Bears on the Sun, and basks in open Day.
Does the dread King, and Terror of the Wood,
The Lion, from thy Hand expect his Food?
Stung with keen Hunger from his Den he comes,
Ranges the Plains, and o'er the Forest roams;

He snuffs the Track of Beasts, he fiercely roars,
Doubling the Horrors of the midnight Hours;
With sullen Majesty he stalks away,
And the Rocks tremble while he seeks his Prey:
Dreadful he grins, he rends the savage Brood
With unsheath'd Paws, and churns the spouting Blood.
Dost thou with Thunder arm the generous Horse,
Add nervous Limbs, or Swiftness for the Course?
Fleet as the Wind, he shoots along the Plain,
And knows no Check, nor hears the curbing Rein;
His fiery Eye-balls formidably bright,
Dart a fierce Glory, and a dreadful Light,
Pleas'd with the Clank of Arms, and Trumpets Sound,
He bounds, and prancing paws the trembling Ground;
He snuffs the promis'd Battle from afar,
Neighs at the Captains Shouts, and Thunder of the War:
Rous'd with the noble Din and martial Sight,
He pants with Tumults of severe Delight;

His sprightly Blood an even Course disdains,
Pours from his Heart, and charges in his Veins;
He braves the Spear, and mocks the twanging Bow,
Demands the Fight, and rushes on the Foe.

MELANCHOLY:

An ODE, Occasion'd by the Death of a beloved Daughter, 1723.

I

Adieu vain Mirth, and noisy Joys!
Ye gay Desires, deluding Toys!
Thou thoughtful Melancholy deign
To hide me in thy pensive Train!

II

If by the Fall of murmuring Floods,
Where awful Shades embrown the Woods,
Or if where Winds in Caverns groan,
Thou wand'rest silent and alone;

III

Come, blissful Mourner, wisely sad,
In Sorrow's Garb, in Sable clad,
Henceforth, thou Care, my Hours employ!
Sorrow, be thou henceforth my Joy!

IV

By Tombs where sullen Spirits stalk,
Familiar with the Dead I walk;
While to my Sighs and Groans by turns,
From Graves the midnight Echo mourns.

V

Open thy marble Jaws, O Tomb,
Thou Earth conceal me in thy Womb!
And you, ye Worms, this Frame confound,
Ye Brother Reptiles of the Ground.

VI

O Life, frail Offspring of a Day!
'Tis puff'd with one short Gasp away!
Swift as the short-liv'd Flow'r it flies,
It springs, it blooms, it fades, it dies.

VII

With Cries we usher in our Birth,
With Groans resign our transient Breath:
While round, stern Ministers of Fate,
Pain, and Disease, and Sorrow wait.

VIII

While Childhood reigns, the sportive Boy
Learns only prettily to toy;
And while he roves from Play to Play,
The Wanton trifles Life away.

IX

When to the Noon of Life we rise,
The Man grows elegant in Vice;
To glorious Guilt in Courts he climbs,
Vilely judicious in his Crimes.

X

When Youth and Strength in Age are lost,
Man seems already half a Ghost;
Wither'd, and wan, to Earth he bows,
A walking Hospital of Woes.

XI

O! Happiness, thou empty Name!
Say, art thou bought by Gold or Fame?
What art thou Gold, but shining Earth?
Thou common Fame, but common Breath?

XII

If Virtue contradict the Voice
Of publick Fame, Applause is Noise;
Ev'n Victors are by Conquest curst,
The bravest Warrior is the worst.

XIII

Look round on all that Man below
Idly calls Great, and all is Show!
All, to the Coffin from our Birth,
In this vast Toy-shop of the Earth.

XIV

Come then, O Friend of virtuous Woe,
With solemn Pace, demure, and slow:
Lo! sad and serious, I pursue
Thy Steps—adieu, vain World, adieu!

Daphnis and Lycidas. A PASTORAL.

They sing the different Success and Absence of their Loves.

To the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount Townshend, of Rainham in Norfolk.

------ Sylvæ sunt Consule dignæ
Virg.

Daphnis.
How calm the Evening! see the falling Day
Gilds every Mountain with a ruddy Ray!
In gentle Sighs the softly whisp'ring Breeze
Salutes the Flow'rs, and waves the trembling Trees;

Hark! the Night Warbler from yon vocal Boughs,
Glads every Valley with melodious Woes!
Swift thro' the Air her Rounds the Swallow takes,
Or sportive skims the Level of the Lakes.
The tim'rous Deer, swift-starting as they graze,
Bound off in Crouds, then turn again, and gaze.
See! how yon Swans, with snowy Pride elate,
Arch their high Necks, and sail along in State!
Thy frisking Flocks safe-wand'ring crop the Plain,
And the glad Season claims a gladsome Strain.
Begin—Ye Echoes listen to the Song,
And with its sweetness pleas'd, each Note prolong!

Lycidas.

Sing Muse—and O! may Townshend deign to view
What the Muse sings, to Townshend this is due!
Who carrying with him, all the World admires,
From all the World illustriously retires:

And calmly wand'ring in his Rainham roves
By Lake, or Spring, by Thicket, Lawn, or Groves:
Where verdant Hills, or Vales where Fountains stray,
Charm every Thought of idle Pomp away:
Unenvy'd views the splendid Toils of State,
In private Happy, as in public Great.

Thus godlike Scipio, on whose Cares reclin'd
The Burthen and Repose of half Mankind,
Left to the Vain their Pomp, and calmly stray'd,
The World forgot, beneath the laurel Shade;
Nor longer would be Great, but void of Strife,
Clos'd in soft Peace his Eve of glorious Life.

Feed round my Goats, ye Sheep in Safety graze,
Ye Winds breathe gently while I tune my Lays.

The joyous Spring draws nigh! ambrosial Show'rs
Unbind the Earth, the Earth unbinds the Flow'rs,

The Flow'rs blow sweet, the Daffadils unfold
The spreading Glories of their blooming Gold.

Daphnis.
As the gay Hours advance, the Blossoms shoot,
The knitting Blossoms harden into Fruit,
And as the Autumn by degrees ensues,
The mellowing Fruits display their streaky Hues.

Lycidas.
When the Winds whistle, and the Tempest roars,
When foaming Billows lash the sounding Shores,
The bloomy Beauties of the Pastures die,
And in gay heaps of fragrant Ruin lie.

Daphnis.
Severe the Storms! when shudd'ring Winter binds
The Earth! but Winter yields to vernal Winds:

O! Love, thy Rigour my whole Life deforms,
More cold than Winter, more severe than Storms!

Lycidas.
Sweet is the Spring, and gay the Summer Hours,
When balmy Odours breathe from painted Flow'rs;
But neither sweet the Spring, nor Summer gay,
When she I love, my Charmer is away.

Daphnis.
To savage Rocks, thro' bleak inclement Skies,
Deaf as those Rocks, from me my Fair-one flies:
O! Virgin cease to fly! th'inclement Air
May hurt thy Charms!—but thou hast Charms to spare!

Lycidas.
I love, and ever shall my Love remain,
The fairest, kindest Virgin of the Plain;

With equal Passion her soft Bosom glows,
Feels the sweet Pains, and shares the heav'nly Woes.

Daphnis.
With a feign'd Passion, she I love, beguiles,
And gayly false the dear Dissembler smiles;
But let her still those blest Deceits employ,
Still may she feign and cheat me into Joy!

Lycidas.
On yonder Bank the yielding Nymph reclin'd,
Gods! how transported I, and she how kind!
There rise ye Flow'rs, and there your Pride display,
There shed your Odours where the Fair-one lay!

Daphnis.
Once, as my Fair-one in the rosy Bow'r
In gentle Slumbers pass'd the Noon-tide Hour,

Soft I approach'd, and raptur'd with the Bliss
At Leisure gaz'd, then stole a silent Kiss,
She wak'd; when conscious Smiles but ill represt,
Spoke no Disdain!—Was ever Swain so blest?

Lycidas.
With fragrant Apples from the bending Bough
In sport my Charmer gave her Swain a Blow:
The fair Offender of my Wrath afraid,
Fled, till I seiz'd, and kiss'd the blooming Maid:
She smil'd, and vow'd if thus her Crimes I pay,
She would offend a thousand times a Day!

Daphnis.
O'er the steep Mountain, and the pathless Mead,
From my Embrace the lovely Scorner fled;
But stumbling in the Flight, by chance she fell,
I saw—but what—her Lover will not tell!

Lycidas.
From me, my Fair-one fled, dissembling play,
And in the dark conceal'd the Wanton lay;
But laugh'd, and shew'd by the directing Sound
She only hid, in secret to be found.

Daphnis.
Far hence to happier Climes Belinda strays,
But in my Breast her lovely Image stays;
O! to these Plains again, bright Nymph, repair,
Or from my Breast far hence thy Image bear!

Lycidas.
Come, Delia, come, till Delia bless these Seats,
Hide me, ye Groves, within your dark Retreats!
In hollow Groans, ye Winds, around me blow!
Ye bubbling Fountains, murmur to my Woe!

Daphnis.
Where'er Belinda roves, ye Zephyrs, play!
Where'er she treads, ye Flow'rs, adorn the Way!
From sultry Suns, ye Groves, my Charmer keep!
Ye bubbling Fountains, murmur to her Sleep!

Lycidas.
If Streams smooth-wand'ring, Delia, yield Delight,
If the gay Rose, or Lilly please thy Sight;
Smooth Streams here wander, here the Roses glow,
Here the proud Lillies rise to shade thy Brow!

Daphnis.
Aid me, ye Muses, while I loud proclaim
What Love inspires, and sing Belinda's Name:
Waft it, ye Breezes, to the Hills around,
And sport, ye Echoes, with the favourite Sound.

Lycidas.
Thy Name, my Delia, shall improve my Song,
The pleasing Labour of my ravish'd Tongue:
Her Name to Heav'n propitious Zephyrs bear,
And breathe it to her kindred Angels there!

Daphnis.
But see! the Night displays her starry Train,
Soft Silver Dews impearl the glitt'ring Plain;
An awful Horrour fills the gloomy Woods,
And bluish Mists rise from the smoaking Floods;
Haste, Daphnis, haste to fold thy woolly Care,
The deep'ning Shades imbrown th'unwholesome Air.

THE FIRST ODE OF HORACE TRANSLATED.

Mæcenas , whose high Lineage springs
From a long Race of antient Kings,
Patron, and Friend! thy honour'd Name
At once is my Defence, and Fame.

There are, who with fond Transport praise
The Chariot thund'ring in the Race;

Where Conquest won, and Palms bestow'd,
Lift the proud Mortal to a God.

The Man, who courts the People's Voice,
And doats on Offices and Noise;
Or they, who till the peaceful Fields,
And reap what bounteous Nature yields,
Unmov'd, the Merchants Wealth behold,
Nor hazard Happiness for Gold;
Untempted by whole Worlds of Gain
To stem the Billows of the Main.

The Merchant, when the Storm invades,
Envies the Quiet of the Shades;
But soon relaunches from the Shore,
Dreading the Crime of being Poor!

Some careless waste the mirthful Day
With generous Wines, and wanton Play,
Indulgent of the genial Hour
By Spring, or Rill, in Shade, or Bow'r.

Some hear with Joy the clanging Jar
Of Trumpets, that alarm to War,
While Matrons tremble at the Breath
That calls their Sons to Arms and Death.

The Sportsman, train'd in Storms, defies
The chilling Blast, and freezing Skies:
Unmindful of his Bride, in vain
Soft Beauty pleads! along the Plain
The Stag he chases, or beguiles
The furious Boar into his Toyles.

For you the blooming Ivy grows,
Proud to adorn your learned Brows;
Patron of Letters you arise,
Grow to a God, and mount the Skies.

Humbly in breezy Shades I stray
Where Silvans dance, and Satyrs play;
Contented to advance my Claim,
Only o'er Men without a Name;
Transcribing what the Muses sing
Harmonious to the Pipe or String.

But if indulgently you deign
To rank me with the Lyric Train,
Aloft the tow'ring Muse shall rise
On bolder Wings, and gain the Skies.

Te Doctarum Hederæ, &c.

An Epistle to my Friend Mr. ELIJAH FENTON,

Author of Mariamne, a Tragedy, 1726.

Why art thou slow to strike th'harmonious Shell,
Averse to sing, who know'st to sing so well?
If thy proud Muse the tragic Buskin wears,
Great Sophocles revives and re-appears;
While regularly bold, she nobly sings
Strains, worthy to detain the Ears of Kings;

If by thy Hand th' Homeric Lyre be strung,
The Lyre returns such Sounds as Homer sung:
The kind Compulsion of a Friend obey,
And tho' reluctant, swell the lofty Lay;
Then list'ning Groves once more shall catch the Sound,
While Grecian Muses sing on British Ground.

Thus calm and silent thy own Proteus roves
Thro' pearly Mazes, and thro' coral Groves;
But when, emerging from the azure Main,
Coercive Bands th'unwilling God constrain,
Then heaves his Bosom with prophetic Fires,
And his Tongue speaks sublime, what Heav'n inspires.

Envy, 'tis true, with barbarous Rage invades
What e'en fierce Lightning spares, the Laurel Shades;

And Critics, byass'd by mistaken Rules,
Like Turkish Zealots, reverence none but Fools.
But Praise from such injurious Tongues is Shame,
They rail the happy Author into Fame;
Thus Phœbus thro' the Zodiac takes his way,
And rises amid Monsters into Day:
Oh Vileness of Mankind! when writing well
Becomes a Crime, and Danger to excel!
With noble Scorn, my Friend, such Insults sees,
And flies from Towns to Wilds, from Men to Trees.

Free from the Lust of Wealth, and glittering Snares,
That make th'unhappy Great in love with Cares,
Me humble Joys in calm Retirement please,
A silent Happiness, and learned Ease,

Deny me Grandeur, Heav'n, but Goodness grant!
A King is less illustrious than a Saint:
Hail, holy Virtue! come thou heav'nly Guest,
Come, fix thy pleasing Empire in my Breast!
Thou know'st her Influence, Friend! thy chearful Mien
Proclaims the Innocence and Peace within;
Such Joys as none but Sons of Virtue know,
Shine in thy Face, and in thy Bosom glow.

So when the holy Mount the Prophet trod,
And talk'd familiar as a Friend with God;
Cælestial Radiance every Feature shed,
And ambient Glories dawn'd around his Head.

Sure what th'unthinking Great mistaken call
Their Happiness, is Folly, Folly all!

Like lofty Mountains in the Clouds they hide
Their haughty heads, but swell with barren Pride;
And while low Vales in useful Beauty lie,
Heave their proud naked Summits to the Sky:
In Honour, as in Place, ye Great, transcend!
An Angel fal'n, degenerates to a Fiend:
Th'all-chearing Sun is honour'd with his Shrines,
Not, that he moves aloft, but that he shines:
Why flames the Star on Walpole's generous Breast?
Not that he's highest, but because he's best,
Fond to oblige, in blessing others, blest.

How wondrous few, by Avarice uncontroul'd,
Have Virtue to subdue the Thirst of Gold?
The shining Dirt the sordid Wretch ensnares
To buy with mighty Treasures, mighty Cares:

Blindly he courts, misguided by the Will,
A specious Good, and meets a real Ill;
So when Ulysses plough'd the surgy Main;
When now in view appear'd his native Reign,
His wayward Mates th' Æolian Bag unbind,
Expecting Treasures, but out rush'd a Wind;
The sudden Hurricane in Thunder roars,
Buffets the Bark, and whirls it from the Shores.

O Heav'n! by what vain Passions Man is sway'd,
Proud of his Reason, by his Will betray'd?
Blindly he wanders in pursuit of Vice,
And hates Confinement, tho' in Paradise;
Doom'd, when enlarg'd, instead of Eden's Bow'rs,
To rove in Wilds, and gather Thorns for Flow'rs;
Between th'Extremes, direct he sees the Way,
Yet wilful swerves, perversely fond to stray!

Whilst niggard Souls indulge their craving Thirst,
Rich without Bounty, with Abundance curst;
The Prodigal pursues expensive Vice,
And buys Dishonour at a mighty Price;
On Beds of State the splendid Glutton sleeps,
While starving Merit unregarded weeps;
His ill-plac'd Bounty, while scorn'd Virtue grieves,
A Dog, or fawning Sycophant receives;
And cringing Knaves, or haughty Strumpets share
What would make Sorrow smile, and chear Despair.

Then would'st thou steer where Fortune spreads the Sails?
Go, flatter Vice! for seldom Flatt'ry fails:
Soft thro' the Ear the pleasing Bane distils:
Delicious Poison! in Perfumes it kills!
Be all, but virtuous: O! unwise to live
Unfashionably good, and hope to thrive!

Trees that aloft with proudest Honours rise,
Root hell-ward, and thence flourish to the Skies.

O happier thou, my Friend, with Ease content,
Blest with the Conscience of a Life well spent!
Nor wou'dst be great; but guide thy gather'd Sails,
Safe by the Shore, nor tempt the rougher Gales;
For sure of all that feel the Wounds of Fate,
None are compleatly wretched but the Great;
Superiour Woes, superiour Stations bring,
A Peasant sleeps, while Cares awake a King:
Who reigns, must suffer! Crowns with Gems inlaid
At once adorn, and load the Royal Head:
Change but the Scene, and Kings in Dust decay,
Swept from the Earth, the Pageants of a Day;
There no Distinctions on the Dead await,
But pompous Graves, and Rottenness in State;

Such now are all that shone on Earth before,
Cæsar and mighty Marlbro' are no more!
Unhallow'd Feet o'er awful Tully tread,
And Hyde and Plato join the vulgar Dead;
And all the glorious Aims that can employ
The Soul of Mortals, must with Hanmer die:
O Compton, when this Breath we once resign,
My Dust shall be as Eloquent as Thine.

Till that last Hour which calls me hence away
To pay that great Arrear which all must pay;
O! may I tread the Paths which Saints have trod,
Who knew they walk'd before th'all-seeing God!
Studious from Ways of wicked Men to keep,
Who mock at Vice, while grieving Angels weep.

Come, taste my Friend! the Joys Retirement brings,
Look down on Royal Slaves, and pity Kings.
More happy! laid where Trees with Trees entwin'd,
In bow'ry Arches tremble to the Wind,
With Innocence and Shade like Adam blest,
While a new Eden opens in the Breast!
Such were the Scenes descending Angels trod
In guiltless Days, when Man convers'd with God.
Then shall my Lyre to loftier Sounds be strung,
Inspir'd by Homer, or what thou hast sung:
My Muse from thine shall catch a warmer Ray;
As Clouds are brighten'd by the God of Day.

So Trees unapt to bear, by Art refin'd,
With Shoots ennobled of a generous kind,
High o'er the Ground with Fruits adopted rise,
And lift their spreading Honours to the Skies.

Mr. Fenton translated four Books of the Odyssey.

See the Story of Proteus, Odyssey, lib. 4. translated by Mr. Fenton.

------ bissenis una figuris
Monstra vehit. ------

St. p. 429.

Mr. Addison speaking of the Signs of the Zodiac, calls them starry Monsters. Mr. Cowley, radiant Monsters, &c.

The Right Honourable Sir Robert Walpole, created Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter, 1726.

See 10 Odyssey, V. 40.

The Honourable Sir Thomas Hanmer, Speaker of the House of Commons.

The Right Honourable Sir Spencer Compton, Speaker of the House of Commons, now Lord Wilmington.

The Author translated eight Books of the Odyssey.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A Lady and her Looking-Glass, while she had the Green-Sickness.

The gay Ophelia view'd her Face
In the clear Crystal of her Glass;
The Lightning from her Eye was fled,
Her Cheek was pale, the Roses dead.

Then thus Ophelia, with a Frown:—
Art thou, false Thing, perfidious grown?

I never could have thought, I swear,
To find so great a Sland'rer there!

False Thing! thy Malice I defy!
Beaux vow I'm fair—who never lye;
More brittle far than brittle thou,
Would every Grace of Woman grow,
If Charms so great so soon decay,
The bright Possession of a Day!
But this I know, and this declare,
That thou art false, and I am fair.

The Glass was vex'd to be bely'd,
And thus with angry Tone reply'd:

No more to me of Falshood talk,
But leave your Oatmeal and your Chalk!

'Tis true, you're meagre, pale, and wan,
The Reason is, you're sick for Man.—

While yet it spoke, Ophelia frown'd,
And dash'd th'Offender to the ground;
With fury from her Arm it fled,
And round a glitt'ring Ruin spread;
When lo! the Parts pale Looks disclose,
Pale Looks in every Fragment rose;
Around the Room instead of one,
An hundred pale Ophelia's shone;
Away the frighted Virgin flew,
And humbled, from herself withdrew.

The MORAL.

Ye Beaux, who tempt the fair and young,
With Snuff, and Nonsense, Dance and Song;
Ye Men of Compliment and Lace!
Behold this Image in the Glass:

The wond'rous Force of Flattery prove,
To cheat fond Virgins into Love:
Tho' Pale the Cheek, yet swear it glows
With the Vermilion of the Rose:
Praise them—for Praise is always true,
Tho' with both Eyes the Cheat they view;
From hateful Truths the Virgin flies;
But the false Sex, is caught with Lyes.

A POEM On the Seat of War in FLANDERS,

CHIEFLY With relation to the Sieges: With the Praise of PEACE and RETIREMENT. Written 1710.

Secessus mei non desidiæ nomen, sed tranquillitatis accipiant. Plin.

Happy, thou Flandria, on whose fertile Plains,
In wanton Pride luxurious Plenty reigns;
Happy! had Heav'n bestow'd one Blessing more,
And plac'd thee distant from the Gallic Pow'r!
But now in vain thy Lawns attract the View,
They but invite the Victor to subdue:

War, horrid War, the Sylvan Scene invades,
And angry Trumpets pierce the Woodland Shades;
Here shatter'd Tow'rs, proud Works of many an Age,
Lie dreadful Monuments of human Rage;
There Palaces, and hallow'd Domes display
Majestic Ruins, awful in Decay!
Thy very dust, tho' undistinguish'd trod,
Compos'd, perhaps, some Hero, great and good,
Who nobly for his Country lost his Blood!
Ev'n with the Grave, the haughty Spoilers war,
And Death's dark Mansions wide disclose to Air:
O'er Kings and Saints insulting stalk, nor dread
To spurn the Ashes of the glorious dead.

See! the Britannic Lyons wave in Air!
See! mighty Marlbro' breathing Death and War!
From Albion's Shores, at Anna's high Commands,
The dauntless Hero pours his martial Bands:

As when in wrath stern Mars the Thund'rer sends
To scourge his Foes; in Pomp the God descends,
He mounts his Iron Car: with Fury burns:
The Car fierce-rattling thunders as it turns.
Gloomy he grasps his Adamantine Shield,
And scatters Armies o'er th'ensanguin'd Field:
With delegated Wrath thus Marlbro' glows,
In Vengeance rushing on his Country's Foes.
See! round the hostile Tow'rs embattled stands
His banner'd Host, embodied Bands by Bands!
Hark! the shrill Trumpet sends a mortal Sound,
And prancing Horses shake the solid Ground;
The surly Drums beat terrible afar,
With all the dreadful Music of the War;
From the drawn Swords effulgent Flames arise,
Flash o'er the Plains, and lighten to the Skies;
The Heav'ns above, the Fields and Floods beneath,
Glare formidably bright, and shine with Death;

In fiery Storms descends a murd'rous Show'r,
Thick flash the Lightnings, fierce the Thunders roar:
As when in wrathful mood Almighty Jove,
Aims his dire Bolts red-hissing from above;
Thro' the sing'd Air, with unresisted sway,
The forky Vengeance rends its flaming way;
And while the Firmament with Thunder roars,
From their Foundations hurls imperial Tow'rs;
So rush the Globes with many a fiery Round,
Tear up the Rock, or rend the stedfast Mound:
Death shakes aloft her Dart, and o'er her Prey
Stalks with dire Joy, and marks in Blood her Way;
Mountains of Heroes slain deform the Ground,
The Shape of Man half bury'd in the Wound;
And lo! while in the Shock of War they close,
While Swords meet Swords, and Foes encounter Foes,
The treacherous Earth beneath their Footsteps cleaves,
Her Entrails tremble, and her Bosom heaves;

Sudden in Bursts of Fire Eruptions rise,
And whirl the torn Battalions to the Skies.

Thus Earthquakes rumbling with a thund'ring Sound,
Shake the firm World, and rend the cleaving Ground;
Rocks, Hills, and Groves are tost into the Sky,
And in one mighty Ruin Nations die.

See! thro' th'encumber'd Air the pond'rous Bomb
Bears Magazines of Death within its Womb,
The glowing Orb displays a blazing Train,
And darts bright Horrour thro' th'Ethereal Plain;
It mounts tempestuous, and with hideous Sound
Wheels down the Heav'ns, and thunders o'er the Ground:
Th'imprison'd Deaths rush dreadful in a blaze,
And mow a thousand Lives, a thousand Ways;

Earth floats with Blood, while spreading Flames arise
From Palaces, and Domes, and kindle half the Skies.

Thus terribly in Air the Comets roul,
And shoot malignant Gleams from Pole to Pole;
'Tween Worlds and Worlds they move, and from their Hair
Shake the blue Plague, the Pestilence, and War.

But who is he, who stern bestrides the Plain,
Who drives triumphant o'er huge Hills of Slain?
Serene, while Engines from the hostile Tow'r
Rain from their brazen Mouths an iron Show'r?
While turbid fiery Smoke obscures the Day,
Hews thro' the deathful Breach his desp'rate way?
Sure Jove descending joins the Martial Toil,
Or is it Marlbro', or the Great Argyle?

Thus when the Grecians, furious to destroy,
Levell'd the Structures of Imperial Troy;
Here angry Neptune hurl'd his vengeful Mace,
There Jove o'erturn'd it from its inmost Base;
Tho' brave, yet vanquish'd, she confess'd the odds,
Her Sons were Heroes, but they fought with Gods.

Ah! what new Horrours rise? in deep Array
The Squadrons form! aloft the Standards play!
The Captains draw the Sword! on every Brow
Determin'd Valour low'rs! the Trumpets blow!
See! the brave Briton delves the cavern'd Ground
Thro' the hard Entrails of the stubborn Mound!
And undismay'd by Death, the Foe invades
Thro' dreadful Horrours of infernal Shades!

In vain the Wall's broad Base deep-rooted lies,
In vain an hundred Turrets threat the Skies!
Lo! while at ease the Bands immur'd repose,
Nor careless dream of subterranean Foes,
Like the Cadmæan Host, embattled Swarms
Start from the Earth, and clash their sounding Arms,
And pouring War and Slaughter from beneath,
Wrap Tow'rs, Walls, Men, in Fire, in Blood, in Death.

So some fam'd Torrent dives within the Caves
Of op'ning Earth, ingulph'd with all his Waves;
High o'er the latent Stream the Shepherd feeds
His wand'ring Flock, and tunes the sprightly Reeds,
Till from some rifted Chasm the Billows rise,
And foaming burst tumultuous to the Skies;
Then roaring dreadful o'er the delug'd Plain,
Sweep Herds, and Hinds in thunder to the Main.

Bear me, ye friendly Pow'rs, to gentler Scenes,
To shady Bow'rs, and never-fading Greens!
Where the shrill Trumpet never sounds Alarms,
Nor martial Din is heard, nor Clash of Arms;
Hail ye soft Seats! ye limpid Springs and Floods!
Ye flow'ry Meads, ye Vales, and mazy Woods!
Ye limpid Floods, that ever murmuring flow!
Ye verdant Meads, where Flow'rs eternal blow!
Ye shady Vales, where Zephyrs ever play!
Ye Woods, where little Warblers tune their Lay!

Here grant me, Heav'n, to end my peaceful days,
And steal myself from Life by slow Decays;
Draw Health from Food the temp'rate Garden yields,
From Fruit, or Herb, the Bounty of the Fields;
Nor let the loaded Table groan beneath
Slain Animals, the horrid Feast of Death:

With Age unknown to Pain, or Sorrow blest,
To the dark Grave retiring as to Rest;
While gently with one Sigh this mortal Frame
Dissolving turns to Ashes whence it came,
While my freed Soul departs without a Groan,
And joyful, wings her flight to Worlds unknown.

Ye gloomy Grots! ye awful solemn Cells,
Where holy thoughtful Contemplation dwells,
Guard me from splendid Cares and tiresome State,
That pompous Misery of being Great!
Happy! if by the wise and learn'd belov'd;
But happiest above all if self-approv'd!
Content with Ease, ambitious to despise
Illustrious Vanity, and glorious Vice!
Come thou chaste Maid, here ever let me stray,
While the calm Hours steal unperceiv'd away;

Here court the Muses, while the Sun on high
Flames in the Vault of Heav'n, and fires the Sky;
Or while the Night's dark Wings this Globe surround,
And the pale Moon begins her solemn Round;
Bid my free Soul to starry Orbs repair,
Those radiant Worlds that float in ambient Air,
And with a regular Confusion stray
Oblique, direct, along th'aëreal Way:
Or when Aurora, from her golden Bow'rs,
Exhales the Fragrance of the balmy Flow'rs,
Reclin'd in Silence on a mossy Bed,
Consult the learned Volumes of the Dead:
Fal'n Realms, and Empires in description view,
Live o'er past Times, and build whole Worlds anew,
Or from the bursting Tombs in Fancy raise
The Sons of Fame, who liv'd in antient Days:
And lo! with haughty Stalk the Warriour treads!
Stern Legislators frowning lift their Heads!

I see proud Victors in triumphal Cars,
Chiefs, Kings, and Heroes, seam'd with glorious Scars!
Or listen till the raptur'd Soul takes Wings,
While Plato reasons, or while Homer sings.

Charm me, ye sacred Leaves, with loftier Themes,
With opening Heav'ns, and Angels robe'd in Flames:
Ye restless Passions, while I read, be aw'd!
Hail ye mysterious Oracles of God!
Here I behold how Infant Time began,
How the Dust mov'd and quicken'd into Man;
Here thro' the flow'ry Walks of Eden rove,
Court the soft Breeze, or range the spicy Grove;
There tread on hallow'd Ground where Angels trod,
And Rev'rend Patriarchs talk'd as Friends with God;
Or hear the Voice to slumbring Prophets giv'n,
Or gaze on Visions from the Throne of Heav'n.

But nobler yet, far nobler Scenes advance!
Why leap the Mountains? why the Forests dance?
Why flashes Glory from the golden Spheres?
Rejoice, O Earth, a God, a God appears!
A God, a God, descending Angels sing,
And mighty Seraphs shout, behold your King!
Hail Virgin-born! lift, lift ye Blind your Eyes!
Sing O! ye Dumb! and O! ye Dead arise!
Tremble ye Gates of Hell! in noblest Strains
Tell it aloud, ye Heav'ns! the Saviour reigns!

Thus lonely, thoughtful may I run the race
Of transient Life, in no unuseful Ease!
Enjoy each Hour, nor as it fleets away
Think Life too short, and yet too long the Day;
Of Right observant, while the Soul attends
Each Duty, and makes Heav'n and Angels friends.

And thou, fair Peace, from the wild Floods of War
Come Dove-like, and thy blooming Olive bear;
Tell me, ye Victors, what strange Charms ye find
In Conquest, that Destruction of Mankind!
Unenvy'd may your Laurels ever grow,
That never flourish but in human Woe,
If never Earth the Wreath triumphal bears,
Till drench'd in Heroes Blood, or Orphans Tears.

Let Ganges from afar to Slaughter train
His sable Warriors on th'embattled Plain;
Let Volga's Sons in iron Squadrons rise,
And pour in Millions from her frozen Skies;
Thou gentle Thames, flow thou in peaceful Streams,
Bid thy bold Sons restrain their martial Flames;
In thy own Laurel's Shade Great Marlbro' stay,
There charm the Thoughts of conquer'd Worlds away;

Guardian of England! born to scourge her Foes,
Speak, and thy Word gives half the World Repose;
Sink down, ye Hills, eternal Rocks subside,
Vanish ye Forts, thou Ocean drain thy Tide,
We Safety boast, defended by thy Fame,
And Armies—in the Terrour of thy Name!
Now fix o'er Anna's Throne thy Victor Blade,
War be thou chain'd! ye Streams of Blood be stay'd!
Tho' wild Ambition her just Vengeance feels,
She wars to save, and where she strikes, she heals.

Neptunus muros, magnoque emota tridenti
Fundamenta quatit, &c.

Virg. Æn.

The Holy Scriptures.

So Pallas with her Javelin smote the Ground,
And peaceful Olives flourish'd from the Wound.

To the Right Honourable Charles Lord Cornwallis,

Baron of Eye, Warden, Chief Justice, and Justice in Eyre of all His Majesty's Forests, Chases, Parks and Warrens on the South Side of Trent.

------ δωρον τοι τουτο διδωμι
Μνημα. ------
Lib. 15. Odyssey.

O thou whose Virtues sanctify thy State,
O Great, without the Vices of the Great!
Form'd by a Dignity of Mind to please,
To think, to act with Elegance and Ease!
Say, wilt thou listen while I tune the String,
And sing to thee, who gav'st me ease to sing?

Unskill'd in Verse I haunt the silent Grove,
Yet lowly Shepherds sing to mighty Jove;
And mighty Jove attends the Shepherds Vows,
And gracious what his Suppliants ask bestows:
So by thy Favour may the Muse be crown'd,
And plant her Laurels in more fruitful Ground;
The grateful Muse shall in return bestow
Her spreading Laurels to adorn thy Brow.

Thus guarded by the Tree of Jove, a Flow'r
Shoots from the Earth, nor fears th'inclement Show'r;
And when the Fury of the Storm is laid,
Repays with Sweets the Hospitable Shade.

Severe their Lot, who when they long endure
The Wounds of Fortune, late receive a Cure!
Like Ships in Storms o'er liquid Mountains tost,
E'er they are sav'd must almost first be lost;

But you with speed forbid Distress to grieve:
He gives by halves , who hesitates to give.

Thus when an Angel views Mankind distrest,
He feels Compassion pleading in his Breast;
Instant the heavenly Guardian cleaves the Skies,
And pleas'd to save, on Wings of Lightning flies.

Some the vain Promises of Courts betray,
And gayly straying, they are pleas'd to stray;
The flatt'ring Nothing still deludes their Eyes,
Seems ever near, yet ever distant flies:
As Perspectives present the Object nigh,
Tho' far remov'd from the mistaking Eye;
Against our Reason fondly we believe,
Assist the Fraud, and teach it to deceive;

As the faint Traveller, when Night invades,
Sees a false Light relieve the ambient Shades,
Pleas'd he beholds the bright Delusion play,
But the false Guide shines only to betray:
Swift he pursues, yet still the Path mistakes,
O'er dangerous Marshes, or thro' thorny Brakes;
Yet obstinate in Wrong he toils to stray,
With many a weary Stride, o'er many a painful Way.
So Man pursues the Phantom of his Brain,
And buys his Disappointment with his Pain:
At length when Years invidiously destroy
The pow'r to taste the long-expected Joy,
Then Fortune envious sheds her Golden Show'rs,
Malignly smiles, and curses him with Stores.

Thus o'er the Urns of Friends departed weep
The mournful Kindred, and fond Vigils keep;

Ambrosial Ointments o'er their Ashes shed,
And scatter useless Roses on the Dead;
And when no more avail the World's Delights,
The spicy Odours, and the solemn Rites;
With fruitless Pomp they deck the senseless Tombs,
And waste profusely Floods of vain Perfumes.

The Lord Cornwallis, in a most obliging manner, recommended the Author to the Rectory of Pulham.

The ROSE-BUD:

To the Right Honourable The Lady JANE WHARTON.

Queen of Fragrance, lovely Rose,
The Beauties of thy Leaves disclose!
The Winter's past, the Tempests fly,
Soft Gales breathe gently thro' the Sky;
The Lark sweet warbling on the Wing
Salutes the gay Return of Spring:
The silver Dews, the vernal Show'rs,
Call forth a bloomy Waste of Flow'rs;

The joyous Fields, the shady Woods,
Are cloath'd with Green, or swell with Buds;
Then haste thy Beauties to disclose,
Queen of Fragrance, lovely Rose!

Thou, beauteous Flow'r, a welcome Guest,
Shalt flourish on the Fair-one's Breast,
Shalt grace her Hand, or deck her Hair,
The Flow'r most sweet, the Nymph most fair;
Breathe soft, ye Winds! be calm, ye Skies!
Arise ye flow'ry Race, arise!
And haste thy Beauties to disclose,
Queen of Fragrance, lovely Rose!

But thou, fair Nymph, thy self survey
In this sweet Offspring of a Day;
That Miracle of Face must fail,
Thy Charms are sweet, but Charms are frail:

Swift as the short-liv'd Flow'r they fly,
At Morn they bloom, at Evening die:
Tho' Sickness yet a while forbears,
Yet Time destroys, what Sickness spares;
Now Helen lives alone in Fame,
And Cleopatra's but a Name;
Time must indent that heav'nly Brow,
And thou must be, what they are now.

This Moral to the Fair disclose,
Queen of Fragrance, lovely Rose.

BELINDA at the Bath.

While in these Fountains bright Belinda laves,
She adds new Virtues to the healing Waves;
Thus in Bethesda's Pool an Angel stood,
Bad the soft Waters heal, and blest the Flood;
But from her Eye such bright Destruction flies,
In vain they flow! for her, the Lover dies.

No more let Tagus boast, whose Beds unfold
A shining Treasure of all-conquering Gold!

No more the Po! whose wandring Waters stray
In mazy Errours, thro' the starry Way;
Henceforth these Springs superiour Honours share,
There Venus laves, but my Belinda here.

------ Eridanum cernes in parte locatum Cœli.

Tull. in Arateis.

Gurgite sidereo subterluit Oriona.

Claud.

The COY.

An ODE.

I

Love is a noble rich Repast,
But seldom should the Lover taste;
When the kind Fair no more restrains,
The Glutton surfeits, and disdains.

II

To move the Nymph he Tears bestows,
He vainly sighs, he falsely vows;
The Tears deceive, the Vows betray,
He conquers, and contemns the Prey.

III

Thus Ammon's Son with fierce Delight
Smil'd at the Terrours of the Fight;
The Thoughts of Conquest charm'd his Eyes,
He conquer'd, and he wept the Prize.

IV

Love, like a Prospect, with delight
Sweetly deceives the distant Sight,
Where the tir'd Travellers survey,
O'er hanging Rocks, a dang'rous Way.

V

Ye Fair that would victorious prove,
Seem but half Kind, when most you love;
Damon pursues if Cælia flies,
But when her Love is born, his dies.

VI

Had Danäe the young, the fair,
Been free, and unconfin'd as Air;
Free from the Guards, and brazen Tow'r,
She'd ne'er been worth a Golden Show'r.

To the Honourable Mrs. Elizabeth Townshend, Now Lady CORNWALLIS, On her Picture, at Rainham .

------ περι εσσι γυναικων
Ειδος τ' ιδε φρενας.
Lib. 18. Odyssey.

Ah! cruel Hand, that could such Pow'r employ
To teach the pictur'd Beauty to destroy!
Singly she charm'd before, but by his Skill
The living Beauty and her Likeness kill;

Thus when in parts the broken Mirrours fall,
A Face in all is seen, and Charms in all!

Think then, O fairest, of the fairer Race,
What fatal Beauties arm thy heav'nly Face,
Whose very Shadow can such Flames inspire;
We see 'tis Paint, and yet we feel 'tis Fire.

See! with false Life the lovely Image glows,
And every wond'rous Grace transplanted shows;
Fatally fair the new Creation reigns,
Charms in her Shape, and multiplies our Pains;
Hence the fond Youth, that ease by absence found,
Views the dear Form, and bleeds at every Wound;
Thus the bright Venus, tho' to Heav'n she soar'd,
Reign'd in her Image, by the World ador'd.

O! wond'rous Pow'r of mingled Light and Shades!
Where Beauty with dumb Eloquence persuades,

Where Passions are beheld in Picture wrought,
And animated Colours look a Thought:
Rare Art! on whose Command all Nature waits!
It copies all Omnipotence creates;
Here crown'd with Mountains Earth expanded lies,
There the proud Seas with all their Billows rise;
If Life be drawn, responsive to the Thought
The breathing Figures live throughout the Draught;
The mimic Bird in Skies fictitious moves,
Or fancy'd Beasts in imitated Groves:
Ev'n Heav'n it climbs; and from the forming Hands
An Angel here, and there a Townshend stands.

Yet, Painter, yet, tho' Art with Nature strive,
Tho' ev'n the lovely Phantom seem alive,
Submit thy vanquish'd Art! and own the Draught
Tho' fair, defective, and a beauteous Fault;

Charms, such as hers, inimitably great,
He only can express, that can create.
Cou'dst thou extract the Whiteness of the Snow,
Or of its Colours rob the heav'nly Bow,
Yet would her Beauty triumph o'er thy Skill,
Lovely in thee, herself more lovely still!

Thus in the limpid Fountain we descry
The faint Resemblance of the glitt'ring Sky;
Another Sun displays his lessen'd Beams,
Another Heav'n adorns th'enlightned Streams;
But tho' the Scene be fair, yet high above
Th'exalted Skies in nobler Beauties move;
There the true Heav'n's eternal Lamps display
A Deluge of inimitable Day.

Now Lady Cornwallis.

To Mr. POPE,

On his Works, 1726.

Let Vulgar Souls triumphal Arches raise,
And speaking Marble to record their Praise;
Or carve with fruitless Toil, to Fame unknown,
The mimic Feature on the breathing Stone;
Mere Mortals, subject to Death's total Sway,
Reptiles of Earth, and Beings of a Day!
'Tis thine, on every Heart to grave thy Praise,
A Monument which Worth alone can raise;
Sure to survive, when Time shall whelm in Dust,
The Arch, the Marble, and the mimic Bust;

Nor till the Volumes of th'expanded Sky
Blaze in one Flame, shalt Thou and Homer die;
When sink together in the World's last Fires
What Heav'n created, and what Heav'n inspires.

If aught on Earth, when once this Breath is fled,
With human Transport touch the mighty Dead,
Shakespear rejoice! his Hand thy Page refines,
Now every Scene with native Brightness shines;
Just to thy Fame, he gives thy genuine Thought,
So Tully publish'd what Lucretius wrote;
Prun'd by his Care, thy Laurels loftier grow,
And bloom afresh on thy immortal Brow.

Thus when thy Draughts, O Raphael, Time invades,
And the bold Figure from the Canvas fades;
A rival Hand recalls from every part
Some latent Grace, and equals Art with Art;

Transported we survey the dubious Strife,
While the fair Image starts again to Life.

How long untun'd had Homer's sacred Lyre
Jarr'd grating Discord, all extinct his Fire?
This you beheld; and taught by Heav'n to sing,
Call'd the loud Music from the sounding String;
Now wak'd from Slumbers of three thousand Years,
Once more Achilles in dread Pomp appears,
Tow'rs o'er the Field of Death; as fierce he turns,
Keen flash his Arms, and all the Hero burns;
His Plume nods horrible, his Helm on high
With Cheeks of Iron glares against the Sky;
With martial Stalk, and more than mortal Might,
He strides along, he meets the Gods in fight;
Then the pale Titans, chain'd on burning Flores,
Start at the Din that rends th'infernal Shores;

Tremble the Tow'rs of Heav'n; Earth rocks her Coasts,
And gloomy Pluto shakes with all his Ghosts.
To every Theme responds thy various Lay,
Here pours a Torrent, there Mæanders play;
Sonorous as the Storm thy Numbers rise,
Toss the wild Waves, and thunder in the Skies;
Or softer than a yielding Virgin's Sigh,
The gentle Breezes breathe away, and die.
How twangs the Bow, when with a jarring Spring
The whizzing Arrows vanish from the String?
When Giants strain some Rock's vast Weight to shove,
The slow Verse heaves, and the clogg'd Words scarce move;
But when from high it rolls, with many a bound,
Jumping it thundring whirls, and rushes to the Ground:
Swift flows the Verse when winged Lightnings fly,
Dart from the dazled View, and flash along the Sky:

Thus like the radiant God who sheds the Day,
The Vale you paint, or gild the azure Way;
And while with every Theme the Verse complies,
Sink, without groveling, without rashness, rise.

Proceed, great Bard, awake th'harmonious String,
Be ours all Homer, still Ulysses sing!
Ev'n I the meanest of the Muses Train,
Inflam'd by thee, attempt a nobler Strain;
Advent'rous waken the Mæonian Lyre,
Tun'd by your Hand, and sing as you inspire;
So arm'd by Great Achilles for the Fight,
Patroclus conquer'd in Achilles' Might;
Like theirs our Friendship! and I boast my Name
To thine united, for thy Friendship's Fame.

How long Ulysses, by unskilful Hands
Stript of his Robes, a Beggar trod our Lands,

Such as he wander'd o'er his native Coast,
Shrunk by the Wand, and all the Hero lost;
O'er his smooth Skin a Bark of Wrinkles spread,
Old Age disgrac'd the Honours of his Head;
Nor longer in his heavy Eye-ball shin'd
The Glance divine forth-beaming from the Mind:
But you, like Pallas, every Limb infold
With royal Robes, and bid him shine in Gold;
Touch'd by your Hand his manly Frame improves
With Air divine, and like a God he moves.

This Labour past, of heav'nly Subjects sing,
While hovering Angels listen on the Wing;
To hear from Earth such heart-felt Raptures rise,
As when they sing, suspended hold the Skies:
Or nobly rising in fair Virtue's Cause,
From thy own Life transcribe th'unerring Laws;

100

Teach a bad World beneath her Sway to bend,
To Verse like thine fierce Savages attend,
And Men more fierce! When Orpheus tunes the Lay,
E'en Fiends relenting hear their Rage away.

The Author translated eight Books of the Odyssey.

See the 16th Odyssey, V. 186, and 476.

101

Part of the Tenth Book of the Iliads of Homer.

In the Stile of MILTON.

Now high advanc'd the Night, o'er all the Host
Sleep shed his softest Balm; restless alone
Atrides lay, and Cares revolv'd on Cares.

As when with rising Vengeance gloomy Jove
Pours down a watry Deluge, or in Storms
Of Hail or Snow commands the goary Jaws
Of War to roar; thro' all the kindling Skies,
With flaming Wings on Lightnings Lightnings play:

102

So while Atrides meditates the War,
Sighs after Sighs burst from his manly Breast,
And shake his inmost Soul: round o'er the Fields
To Troy he turns his Eyes, and round beholds
A thousand Fires blaze dreadful; thro' his Ears
Passes the direful Symphony of War,
Of Fife, or Pipe, and the loud Hum of Hosts
Strikes him dismay'd: Now o'er the Grecian Tents
His Eyes he rolls; now from his royal Head
Rends the fair Curl in Sacrifice to Jove,
And his brave Heart heaves with imperial Woes.

Thus groans the thoughtful King, at length resolves
To seek the Pylian Sage, in wise Debate
To ripen high Designs, and from the Sword
Preserve his banded Legions: Pale and sad
Uprose the Monarch: instant o'er his Breast
A Robe he threw, and on his royal Feet

103

Glitter'd th'embroider'd Sandals; o'er his Back
A dreadful Ornament, a Lion's Spoils,
With hideous grace down to his Ankles hung,
Fierce in his hand he grasp'd a glitt'ring Spear.

With equal care was Menelaus toss'd,
Sleep from his Temples fled, his generous Heart
Felt all his People's Woes, who in his Cause
Stem'd the proud Main, and nobly stood in Arms
Confronting Death: A Leopard's spotted Spoils
Terrific clad his Limbs, a brazen Helm
Beam'd on his Head, and in his Hand a Spear.
Forth from his Tent the royal Spartan strode
To wake the King of Men; him wak'd he found
Clasping his polish'd Arms, with rising Joy
The Heroes meet, the Spartan thus began.

104

Why thus in Arms, my Prince? send'st thou some Spy
To view the Trojan Host? alas! I fear
Lest the most dauntless Sons of glorious War
Shrink at the bold Design! this Task demands
A Soul resolv'd, to pass the Gloom of Night,
And 'midst her Legions search the Pow'rs of Troy.

O Prince, he cries, in this disastrous Hour
Greece all our Counsel claims, now, now demands
Our deepest Cares! the Pow'r omnipotent
Frowns on our Arms, but smiles with Aspect mild
On Hector's Incense: Heav'ns! what Son of Fame
Renown'd in Story, e'er such Deeds atchiev'd
In a whole Life, as in one glorious Day
This Fav'rite of the Skies? and yet a Man!
A Mortal! born to die! but such his Deeds

105

As future Grecians shall repeat with Tears
To Children yet unborn.—But haste, repair
To Ajax and Idomeneus; we wake
Ourself the Pylian Sage; to keep the Guards
On Duty be his Care; for o'er the Guards
His Son presides nocturnal, and in Arms
His great Compeer, Meriones the bold.

But say, rejoins the Prince, these Orders borne
There shall I stay, or measuring back the Shores,
To thee return?—No more return, replies
The King of Hosts, lest treading different ways
We meet no more: for thro' the Camp the ways
Lie intricate and various, but aloud
Wake every Greek to martial Fame and Arms,
Teach them to emulate their Godlike Sires;
And thou a while forget thy royal Birth
And share a Soldier's Cares: the proudest King

106

Is but exalted Dust; and when great Jove
Call'd us to Life, and gave us royal Pow'r,
He gave a sad Preheminence of Woes.

He spoke, and to the Tent of Nestor turns
His Step majestic: on his Couch he found
The hoary Warrior; all around him lay
His Arms, the Shield, the Spears, the radiant Helm,
And Scarf of various Dye; with these array'd,
The reverend Father to the Field of Fame
Led his bold Files; for with a brave Disdain,
Old as he was, he scorn'd the Ease of Age.

Sudden the Monarch starts, and half uprais'd,
Thus to the King aloud; What art thou, say?
Why in the Camp alone? while others sleep,
Why wand'rest thou obscure the midnight Hours?

107

Seek'st thou some Centinel, or absent Friend?
Speak instant!—Silent to advance, is Death!

O Pride of Greece, the plaintive King returns,
Here in thy Tent thou Agamemnon view'st,
A Prince, the most unhappy of Mankind;
Woes I endure which none but Kings can feel,
Which ne'er will cease until forgot in Death:
Pensive I wander thro' the Damp of Night,
Thro' the cold Damp of Night; distress'd! alone!
And Sleep is grown a Stranger to my Eyes:
The weight of all the War, the load of Woes
That presses every Greek, united falls
On me—the Cares of all the Host are mine!
Grief discomposes, and distracts my Thoughts,
My restless panting Heart, as if it strove
To force its Prison, beats against my Sides!

108

My Strength is fail'd, and ev'n my Feet refuse
To bear so great a load of Wretchedness!

But if thy wakeful Cares (for o'er thy Head
Wakeful the Hours glide on) have aught matur'd
Useful, the Thought unfold; but rise, my Friend,
Visit with me the Watches of the Night,
Lest tir'd they sleep, while Troy with all her War
Hangs o'er our Tents, and now, perhaps e'en now
Arms her proud Bands. Arise, my Friend, arise!

To whom the Pylian: Think not, mighty King,
Jove ratifies vain Hector's haughty Views;
A sudden, sad Reverse of mighty Woes
Waits that audacious Victor, when in Arms
Dreadful Achilles shines. But now thy Steps
Nestor attends: Be it our Care to wake
Sage Ithacus, and Diomed the brave,

109

Meges the bold, and in the Race renown'd
Oïlean Ajax: To the Ships that guard
Outmost the Camp, some other speed his way
To raise stern Ajax and the Cretan King.
But love, nor reverence to the mighty Name
Of Menelaus, nor thy Wrath, O King,
Shall stop my free Rebuke: Sleep is a Crime
When Agamemnon wakes, on him it lies
To share thy martial Toils, to court the Peers
To act the Men: this Hour claims all our Cares.

Reserve, rejoins the King, for future Hours
Thy generous Anger: Seems the royal Youth
Remiss? 'tis not thro' Indolence of Soul,
But Deference to our Pow'r; for our Commands
He waits, and follows when we lead the way.
This Night, disdaining Rest, his Steps he bent
To our Pavilion; now th'illustrious Peers

110

Rais'd at his Call, a chosen Synod stand
Before the Gates; haste Nestor, haste away.

To whom the Sage well pleas'd, In such brave hands
No Greek will envy Pow'r; with loyal Joy
Subjects Obey, when Men of Worth Command.

He added not, but o'er his manly Breast
Flung a rich Robe; beneath his royal Feet
The glitt'ring Sandals shone: a soft, large Vest
Florid with purple Wool, his aged Limbs
Graceful adorn'd: tipt with a Star of Brass
A pond'rous Lance he grasp'd, and strode away
To wake sage Ithacus: aloud his Voice
He rais'd; his Voice was heard, and from his Tent
Instant Ulysses sprung; and why, he cry'd,
Why thus abroad in the chill Hours of Night?

111

What new Distress invades?—Forgive my Cares,
Reply'd the hoary Sage; for Greece I wake,
Greece and her Dangers bring me to thy Tent;
But haste, our wakeful Peers in Council meet,
This, this one Night determines Flight or War.

Swift at the Word he seiz'd his ample Shield,
And strode along; and now they bend their way
To wake the brave Tydides: him they found
Stretch'd on the Earth, array'd in shining Arms,
And round, his brave Companions of the War:
Their Shields sustain'd their Heads, erect their Spears
Shot thro' th'illumin'd Air a streaming Ray,
Keen as Jove's Lightnings wing'd athwart the Skies.
Thus slept the Chief: beneath him on the Ground
A savage Bull's black Hide was roll'd, his Head
A splendid Carpet bore: the slumbring King
The Pylian gently with these Words awakes.

112

Rise, Son of Tydeus! ill, a whole Night's Rest
Suits with the Brave! and sleep'st thou, while proud Troy
Hangs o'er our Tents, and from yon joining Hill
Prepares her War? Awake, my Friend, awake!

Sudden the Chief awoke, and mildly gave
This soft Reply: O! Cruel to thy Age,
Thou good old Man! ne'er wilt thou, wilt thou cease
To burthen Age with Cares? Has Greece no Youths
To wake the Peers? unweary'd Man to bear
At once the double Load of Toils, and Years!

'Tis true, he cry'd, my Subjects and my Sons
Might ease a Sire, and King; but Rest's a Crime
When on the Edge of Fate our Country stands:
E'er yet a few Hours more have run their Course,

113

Important Space! Greece triumphs, or Greece falls!
But since an old Man's Care thy Pity moves,
Haste generous Youth, with speed to Council call
Meges the brave, and in the Race renown'd
Oïlean Ajax:—Strait the Chief obey'd,
Strait o'er his Shoulders flung the shaggy Spoils
Of a huge tawny Lion, with dire Grace
Down to his Feet they hung: fierce in his Hand
He grasp'd a glitt'ring Spear, and join'd the Guards.
Wakeful in Arms they sate, a faithful Band,
As watchful Dogs protect the fleecy Train,
When the stern Lion, furious for his Prey,
Rushes thro' crashing Woods, and on the Fold
Springs from some Mountain's Brow, while mingled Cries
Of Men and Hounds alarm; to every Sound
Faithful they turn: so thro' the Gloom of Night
They cast their View, and caught each Noise of Troy.

114

Now met th'illustrious Synod, down they sate,
Down on a spot of Ground unstain'd with Blood,
Where vengeful Hector from the Slaughter stay'd
His murd'rous Arm, when the dark Veil of Night
Sabled the Pole: To whom thus Nestor spoke.

Lives there a Son of Fame so nobly brave,
That Troy-ward dares to trace the dang'rous way,
To seize some straggling Foe? or learn what Troy
Now meditates? to pour the Flood of War
Fierce on our Fleet, or back within her Walls
Lead her proud Legions? O! what Fame would crown
The Hero thus triumphant, prais'd o'er Earth
Above the Sons of Men? And what Rewards
Should he receive? From every grateful Peer
A sable Ewe, and Lamb, of highest worth

115

Memorial, to a brave, heroic Heart
The noblest Prize! and at the social Feast
Amongst the Great, be his the Seat of Fame.

Abash'd they sate, and ev'n the Brave knew Fear;
Not so Tydides: unappall'd he rose,
And nobly spoke! My Soul, O! Rev'rend Sage,
Fires at the bold Design; thro' yon black Host
Ventrous I bend my way; but if his Aid
Some Warrior lend, my Courage might arise
To nobler Heights: the Wise by mutual Aid
Instruct the Wise, and brave Men fire the Brave.

Fierce at the Word upstarted from the Ground
The stern Ajaces, fierce bold Merion rose,
And Thrasymedes, Sons of War: nor sate
The Royal Spartan, nor great Nestor's Heir,
Nor greater Ithacus; his manly Heart

116

Swell'd at the view of Fame.—Elate with joy
Atrides saw, and O! thou best of Friends,
Brave Diomed, he cries, of all the Peers
Chuse thou the valiantest; when Merit pleads,
Titles no Deference claim; high Birth and State
To Valour yield, and Worth is more than Pow'r.

Thus, fearing for his Brother, spoke the King,
Not long! for Diomed dispels his Fears.

Since free my Choice, can I forget my Friend,
The Man, for Wisdom's various Arts renown'd;
The Man, whose dauntless Soul no Toils dismay,
Ulysses, lov'd by Pallas? thro' his Aid
Tho' thousand Fires oppose, a thousand Fires
Oppose in vain; his Wisdom points the way.

117

Nor praise, nor blame, the Hero strait replies,
You speak to Greeks, and they Ulysses know;
But haste, swift roul the Hours of Night, the Morn
Already hastens to display her Beams,
And in the Vault of Heav'n the Stars decay.

Swift at the Word they sheath their manly Limbs
Horrid in Arms, a two-edg'd Sword and Shield
Nestor's bold Son to stern Tydides gave;
A tough Bull's Hide his ample Helmet form'd,
No Cone adorn'd it, and no plumy Crest
Wav'd in the Air; a Quiver and a Bow,
And a huge Faulchion great Ulysses bears,
The Gift of Merion: on his Head an Helm
Of Leather nodded, firm within, and bound
With many a Thong; without, in dreadful Rows
The snowy Tusks of a huge savage Boar

118

Grinn'd horrible; thus arm'd, away they stalk
Undaunted: o'er their Heads the Martial Maid
Sends on the Right an Her'n; the ambient Gloom
Conceals him from the View, but loud in Air
They hear the Clangor of his sounding Wings.
Joyful the prosp'rous Sign Ulysses hail'd,
And thus to Pallas; Offspring of dread Jove,
Who hurls the burning Bolts: O Guardian Pow'r
Present in all my Toils, who view'st my way
Where'er I move, now thy Cœlestial Aid,
Now Goddess lend, may Deeds this Night adorn,
Deeds that all Troy may weep; may we return
In safety by thy Guidance, heav'nly Maid.

Tydides caught the Word, and O! he cries,
Virgin armipotent, now grant thy Aid
As to my Sire! he by the gulphy Flood
Of deep Æsopus left th'embattled Bands

119

Of Greece in Arms, and to Imperial Thebes
Bore Terms of Peace; but as from haughty Thebes
Alone he journey'd, Deeds, heroic Deeds
His Arm atchiev'd, for Tydeus was thy Care:
Thus guard his Offspring, O! stern Queen of Arms,
So shall an Heifer on thy Altars bleed
Young and untam'd, to thee her Blood I pour,
And point her lunar Horns with burnish'd Gold.

Thus pray the Chiefs, and Pallas hears their Pray'r;
Then like two Lions thro' the Shades of Night,
Dauntless they stride along; and hold their way
Thro' Blood, and mangled Limbs, o'er Arms and Death.
Nor pass they far, e'er the sagacious Eye
Of Ithacus discerns a distant Foe
Coasting from Troy, and thus to Diomed.

120

See! o'er the Plain some Trojan bends this way
Perhaps to spoil the Slain! or to our Host
Comes he a Spy? Beyond us o'er the Field
'Tis best he pass, then sudden from behind
Rush we precipitant: but if in flight
His active Feet prevail, thy Spear employ
To force him on our Lines, lest hid in Shades,
Thro' the dusk Air he re-escape to Troy.

Then couching to the Ground, ambush'd they lay
Behind a Hill of Slain: onward the Spy
Incessant mov'd: He pass'd, and now arose
The fierce Pursuers. Dolon heard the sound
Of trampling Feet, and panting, listning stood;
Now reach'd the Chiefs within a Javelin's Throw,
Stern Foes of Dolon! swift along the Shores
He wing'd his flight, and swift along the Shores

121

They still pursu'd: as when two skilful Hounds
Chase o'er the Lawn the Hare or bounding Roe,
Still from the sheltring Brake the Game they turn,
Stretch every Nerve, and bear upon the Prey!
So ran the Chiefs, and from the Host of Troy
Turn'd the swift Foe: now nigh the Fleet they flew,
Now almost mingled with the Guards, when lo!
The martial Goddess breath'd Heroic Flames
Fierce on Tydides' Soul: the Hero fear'd
Lest some bold Greek should interpose a Wound
And ravish half the Glories of the Night.
Furious he shook his Lance, and Stand, he cry'd,
Stand, or thou dy'st: then sternly from his Arm
Launch'd the wild Spear, wilful the Javelin err'd,
But whizzing o'er his Shoulder, deep in Earth
Stood quivering, and he quaking stop'd aghast;
His Teeth all chatter'd, and his slack Knees knock'd;
He seem'd the bloodless Image of pale Fear.

122

Panting the Spy they seize: who thus with Tears
Abject intreats: Spare me, O! spare, he cries,
My hoary Sire your Mercy shall repay,
Soon as he hears I draw the vital Air,
With ample Wealth, with Steel, with Brass, with Gold.

To whom Ulysses artfully: Be bold,
Far hence the Thought of Death! but instant say
Why thus alone in the still Hours of Night
While every Eye is clos'd? to spoil the Slain
Com'st thou rapacious? or some nightly Spy
By Hector sent? or has thy ventrous Mind
Impell'd thee to explore our martial Bands?

By Hector sent, and by Rewards undone,
Returns the Spy, (still as he spoke he shook)
I come unwilling: the refulgent Car

123

He promis'd, and Immortal Steeds that bear
To Fight, the great Achilles: thus betray'd,
Thro' the dun Shades of Night I bend my way
Unprosp'rous, to explore the tented Host
Of adverse Greece, and learn if now they stand
Wakeful on Guard, or vanquish'd by our Arms
Precipitant desert the Shores of Troy.

To whom with Smiles of Scorn the Sage returns:
Bold were thy Aims, O! Youth: But those proud Steeds,
Restive, disdain the Rule of vulgar Hands;
Scarce ev'n the Goddess-born, when the loud Din
Of Battle roars, subdues them to the Rein
Reluctant: But this Night where Hector sleeps
Faithful disclose: Where stand the Warrior's Steeds?
Where lie his Arms and Implements of War?
What Guards are kept nocturnal? Say, what Troy

124

Now meditates? to pour the Tyde of Fight
Fierce on our Fleet, or back within her Walls
Transfer the War?—To these Demands, he cries,
Faithful my Tongue shall speak: The Peers of Troy
Hector in Council meets: round Ilus' Tomb
Apart from Noise they stand: no Guards surround
The spacious Host: where thro' the Gloom yon Fires
Blaze frequent, Trojans wake to guard their Troy;
Secure th'Auxiliars sleep, no tender Cares
Of Wife or Son disturb their calm Repose,
Safe sleep their Wives and Sons on foreign Shores.

But say, apart encamp th'Auxiliar Bands,
Replies the Sage, or join the Pow'rs of Troy?

Along the sea-beat Shores, returns the Spy,
The Leleges and Carians stretch their Files;
Near these the Caucons, and Pelasgian Train,

125

And Pæons, dreadful with the Battle-Bow,
Extended lie; on the Thymbræan Plain
The Lycians and the Mysians in array
Spread their deep Ranks: There the Mæonian Bands,
And Phrygians range the fiery Steeds of War.
But why this nice Enquiry? If your way
Vent'rous you bend to search the Host of Troy,
There in yon outmost Lines, a recent Aid,
The Thracians lie, by Rhesus led, whose Steeds
Outshine the Snow, outfly the winged Winds;
With glitt'ring Silver Plates, and radiant Gold
His Chariot flames, Gold forms his dazzling Arms,
Arms that may grace a God!—but to your Tents
Unhappy me convey; or bound with Chains,
Fast bound with cruel Chains, sad on the Shores
Here leave me Captive, till you safe return,
And witness to the Truth my Tongue unfolds.

126

To whom stern-frowning Diomed replies,
Tho' every Syllable be stamp'd with Truth,
Dolon, thou dy'st: would'st thou once more return
Darkling a Spy, or wage a nobler Foe
New War on Greece? Traytor thou dy'st, nor more
New War thou wagest, nor return'st a Spy.

He spoke terrific, and as Dolon rais'd
Suppliant his humble Hands, the trenchant Blade
Sheer thro' his Neck descends; the furious Blow
Cleaves the tough Nerves in twain, down drops the Head,
And mutters unintelligible Sounds.
Strait they despoil the Dead, the Wolf's grey Hide
They seize, the Helm, the Spear, and Battle-Bow:
These as they drop'd with Gore, on high in Air
Ulysses rais'd, and to the martial Maid

127

Thus lowly consecrates: Stern Pow'r of War,
Virgin Armipotent, receive these Arms,
Propitious to my Vows, thee, Goddess, thee
Chiefly I call: Direct our prosp'rous Way
To pierce the Thracian Tents, to seize the Steeds
Of Rhesus, and the Car, that flames with Gold.

Then fierce o'er broken Arms, thro' Streams of Blood
They move along: now reach the Thracian Bands
All hush'd in Sleep profound; their shining Arms
Rang'd in three Ranks along the Plain, around
Illumin'd the dun Air: Chariot and Horse
By every Thracian stood: Rhesus their King,
Slept in the Center of the circling Bands,
And his proud Steeds were Rein'd behind his Car,
With Joy Ulysses thro' the Gloom descry'd
The sleeping King, and lo! he cries, the Steeds,

128

Lo! Diomed, the Chief of Thrace, this Night
Describ'd by Dolon: Now, O! now, thy Strength
Dauntless exert! loose thou the furious Steeds,
Or while the Steeds I loose, with slaughtring Hands
Invade the Soldiery: He spoke, and now
The Queen of Arms inflam'd Tydides' Soul
With all her martial Fires: his reeking Blade
On every side dealt Fate; low, hollow Groans
Murmur'd around, Blood o'er the crimson Field
Well'd from the Slain: As in his nightly Haunts
The surly Lion rushes on the Fold
Of Sheep, or Goat, and rends th'unguarded Prey;
So he the Thracian Bands: Twelve by his Sword
Lay breathless on the Ground: behind him stood
Sage Ithacus, and as the Warrior slew,
Swift he remov'd the Slain, lest the fierce Steeds
Not yet inur'd to Blood, should trembling start,
Impatient of the Dead: Now o'er the King

129

He whirls his wrathful Blade, now furious gores
His heaving Chest: he wak'd not, but a Dream
By Pallas sent, rose in his anxious Thoughts;
A visionary Warrior frowning stood
Fast by his Head, and his aërial Sword
Plung'd thro' his labouring Breast: Mean while the Steeds
The Sage unbinds, and instant with his Bow
Drives thro' the sleeping Ranks: Then to his Friend
Gave Signals of Retreat; but nobler Deeds
He meditates, to drag the radiant Car,
Or lift it thro' the threefold Ranks, up-born
High on his Shoulders, or with Slaughter stain
Th'ensanguin'd Field; when lo! the Martial Maid
Down rushes from the Battlements of Heav'n,
And sudden cries, Return, brave Chief, return,
Lest from the Skies some Guardian Pow'r of Troy
Wrathful descend, and rouze the hostile Bands.

130

Thus speaks the Warrior Queen, the heav'nly Voice
Tydides owns, and mounts the fiery Steeds
Observant of the high Command; the Bow
Sage Ithacus apply'd, and tow'rd the Tents
Scourg'd the proud Steeds, the Steeds flew o'er the Plain.

V. 339.

131

A PASTORAL,

To a young Lady upon her leaving, and return to, the Country.

Damon.
Say, while each Scene so beautiful appears,
Why heaves thy Bosom, and why flow thy Tears?
See! from the Clouds the Spring descends in Show'rs,
The painted Vallies laugh with rising Flowers:
Smooth flow the Floods, soft breathe the vernal Airs,
The Spring, Flow'rs, Floods, conspire to charm our Cares.

132

Florus.
But vain the Pleasure which the Season yields,
The laughing Vallies, or the painted Fields.
No more, ye Floods, in silver Mazes flow,
Smile not, ye Flow'rs, no more soft Breezes blow;
Far, Damon, far from these unhappy Groves,
The cruel, lovely Rosalinda roves.

Damon.
Ah! now I know why late the opening Buds
Clos'd up their Gems, and sicken'd in the Woods;
Why droop'd the Lilly in her snowy Pride,
And why the Rose withdrew her Sweets, and dy'd;
For thee, fair Rosalind, the opening Buds
Clos'd up their Gems, and sicken'd in the Woods;
For thee the Lilly shed her snowy Pride,
For thee the Rose withdrew her Sweets, and dy'd.

133

Florus.
See! where yon' Vine in soft Embraces weaves
Her wanton Ringlets with the Myrtle's Leaves,
There tun'd sweet Philomel her sprightly Lay,
Both to the rising and the falling Day;
But since fair Rosalind forsook the Plains,
Sweet Philomel no more renews her Strains;
With Sorrow dumb, she disregards her Lay,
Nor greets the rising nor the falling Day.

Damon.
Say, O! ye Winds, that range the distant Skies,
Now swell'd to Tempests by my rising Sighs;
Say, while my Rosalind deserts these Shores,
How Damon dies for whom his Soul adores.

134

Florus.
Ye murm'ring Fountains, and ye wand'ring Floods,
That visit various Lands thro' various Roads;
Say, when ye find where Rosalind resides,
Say, how my Tears increase your swelling Tides.

Damon.
Tell me, I charge you, O! ye Sylvan Swains,
Who range the mazy Grove, or flow'ry Plains,
Beside what Fountain, in what breezy Bow'r,
Reclines my Charmer in the noon-tide Hour!

Florus.
Soft, I adjure you, by the skipping Fawns,
By the fleet Roes, that bound along the Lawns;
Soft tread, ye Virgin Daughters of the Grove,
Nor with your Dances wake my sleeping Love!

135

Damon.
Return, O! Virgin, and if proud Disdain
Arm thy fierce Soul, return, enjoy my Pain;
If pleas'd thou view'st a faithful Lover's Cares,
Thick rise, ye Sighs; in Floods descend, ye Tears!

Florus.
Return, O! Virgin! while in verdant Meads
By Springs we sport, or dream on flow'ry Beds;
She weary wanders thro' the desart Way,
The Food of Wolves, or hungry Lions Prey.

Damon.
Ah! shield her, Heav'n! your Rage, ye Beasts, forbear!
Those are not Limbs for Savages to tear!
Adieu, ye Meads! with her thro' Wilds I go
O'er burning Sands, or everlasting Snow;

136

With her I wander thro' the desart Way,
The Food of Wolves, or hungry Lions Prey.

Florus.
Come, Rosalind, before the wint'ry Clouds
Frown o'er th'aërial Vault, and rush in Floods;
E'er raging Storms howl o'er the frozen Plains;
Thy Charms may suffer by the Storms or Rains.

Damon.
Come, Rosalind, O come! then infant Flow'rs
Shall bloom and smile, and form their Charms by yours;
By you, the Lilly shall her White compose,
Your Blush shall add new Blushes to the Rose;
Each flow'ry Mead, and ev'ry Tree shall bud,
And fuller Honours cloath the youthful Wood.

137

Florus.
Yet, ah! forbear to urge thy homeward Way,
While sultry Suns infest the glowing Day:
The sultry Suns thy Beauties may impair—
Yet haste away! for thou art now too fair.

Damon.
Hark! from yon' Bow'r what Airs soft warbled play!
My Soul takes wing to meet th'enchanting Lay:
Silence, ye Nightingales! attend the Voice!
While thus it warbles, all your Songs are Noise.

Florus.
See! from the Bow'r a Form majestic moves,
And smoothly gliding shines along the Groves;
Say, comes a Goddess from the golden Spheres?
A Goddess comes, or Rosalind appears!

138

Damon.
Shine forth, thou Sun, bright Ruler of the Day,
And where she treads, ye Flow'rs, adorn the Way!
Rejoice, ye Groves, my Heart dismiss thy Cares!
My Goddess comes, my Rosalind appears.

139

Poverty and Poetry.

'Twas sung of old how one Amphion,
Could by his Verses tame a Lion;
And by his strange enchanting Tunes,
Make Bears or Wolves dance Rigadoons:
His Songs could call the Timber down,
And form it into House or Town;
But it is plain that in these times
No House is rais'd by Poets Rhimes;
They for themselves can only rear
A few wild Castles in the Air;
Poor are the Brethren of the Bays,
Down from high Strains, to Ekes and Ayes.

140

The Muses too are Virgins yet,
And may be—till they Portions get.

Yet still the doating Rhimer dreams,
And sings of Helicon's bright Streams,
But Helicon, for all his clatter,
Yields only uninspiring Water;
Yet ev'n athirst he sweetly sings
Of Nectar, and Elysian Springs.

What dire malignant Planet sheds,
Ye Bards, his Influence on your Heads?
Lawyers, by endless Controversies,
Consume unthinking Clients Purses,
As Pharaoh's Kine, which strange and odd is,
Devour'd the plump and well-fed Bodies.

141

The grave Physician, who by Physic,
Like Death, dispatches him that is sick,
Pursues a sure and thriving Trade,
Tho' Patients die, the Doctor's paid;
Licens'd to kill, he gains a Palace,
For what another mounts the Gallows.

In shady Groves the Muses stray,
And love in flow'ry Meads to play;
An idle Crew! whose only Trade is
To shine in Trifles, like our Ladies;
In dressing, dancing, toying, singing,
While wiser Pallas thrives by spinning;
Thus they gain nothing to bequeath
Their Vot'ries, but a Laurel Wreath.

142

But Love rewards the Bard! the Fair
Attend his Song, and ease his Care:
Alas! fond Youth, your Plea you urge ill
Without a Jointure, tho' a Virgil;
Could you like Phœbus sing, in vain
You nobly swell the lofty Strain,
Coy Daphne flies, and you will find as
Hard Hearts as hers in your Belindas.

But then some say you purchase Fame,
And gain that envy'd Prize, a Name;
Great Recompense! like his who sells
A Diamond, for Beads and Bells;
Will Fame be thought sufficient Bail
To keep the Poet from the Jayl?

143

Thus the brave Soldier, in the Wars,
Gets empty Praise, and aking Scars:
Is paid with Fame and wooden Legs,
And starv'd, the glorious Vagrant begs.

144

To a LADY, Playing with a SNAKE.

I

It is a pleasing, direful Sight!
At once you charm us, and affright!
So Heav'n destroying Angels arms
With Terror, dreadful in their Charms!

II

Such, such was Cleopatra's Air,
Lovely, but formidably fair,
When the griev'd World impoverish'd lost
By the dire Asp, its noblest Boast.

145

III

Aw'd by your Guardian's dang'rous Pow'r,
At distance trembling we adore;
At distance, once again behold
A Serpent guard the blooming Gold.

IV

Well pleas'd, and harmless, lo! he lies,
Basks in the Sunshine of your Eyes;
Now twists his Spires, and now unfurls
The gay Confusion of his Curls.

V

Oh! happy on your Breast to lie,
As that bright Star which gilds the Sky,
Who ceasing in the Spheres to shine,
Would, for your Breast, his Heav'n resign.

146

VI

Yet oh! fair Virgin, caution take,
Lest some bold Cheat assume the Snake;
When Jove comprest the Grecian Dame,
Aloof he threw the Lightning's Flame;
On radiant Spires the Lover rode,
And in the Snake conceal'd the God.

The Scorpion.

Olympias, Mother of Alexander the Great.

147

TO A Lady of Thirty.

I

No more let Youth its Beauty boast,
S---n at Thirty reigns a Toast:
And like the Sun as he declines,
More mildly, but more sweetly shines.

II

The Hand of Time alone disarms
Her Face, of its superfluous Charms:
But adds, for every Grace resign'd,
A thousand to adorn her Mind.

148

III

Youth was her too inflaming Time;
This, her more habitable Clime;
How must she then each Heart engage,
Who blooms like Youth, is wise like Age?

IV

Thus the rich Orange-trees produce
At once both Ornament, and Use:
Here op'ning Blossoms we behold,
There fragrant Orbs of ripen'd Gold.

149

On the Birth-Day of a Gentleman when three Years old.

Awake, sweet Babe! the Sun's emerging Ray
That gave you Birth, renews the Happy Day!
Calmly serene, and Glorious to the View
He marches forth, and strives to look like you.

Fair Beauty's Bud! when Time shall stretch thy Span,
Confirm thy Charms, and ripen thee to Man,
What plenteous Fruits thy Blossoms shall produce,
And yield not barren Ornament, but Use?
Ev'n now thy Spring a rich Increase prepares
To crown thy riper Growth, and manly Years.

150

Thus in the Kernel's intricate disguise,
In Miniature a little Orchard lies,
The fibrous Labyrinths by just degrees
Stretch their swoln Cells, replete with future Trees,
By Time evolv'd, the spreading Branches rise,
Yield their rich Fruits, and shoot into the Skies.

O! lovely Babe, what Lustre shall adorn
Thy Noon of Beauty, when so bright thy Morn?
Shine forth advancing with a brighter Ray,
And may no Vice o'ercloud thy future Day!
With nobler Aims instruct thy Soul to glow,
Than those gay Trifles, Titles, Wealth, and Show:
May Valour, Wisdom, Learning crown thy Days!
Those Fools admire,—these Heav'n and Angels praise!

151

With Riches blest, to Heav'n those Riches lend,
The poor Man's Guardian, and the good Man's Friend:
Bid virtuous Sorrow smile, scorn'd Merit chear,
And o'er Affliction pour the generous Tear.
Some, wildly lib'ral, squander, not bestow,
And give unprais'd, because they give for Show:
To sanctify thy Wealth, on Worth employ
Thy Gold, and to a Blessing turn the Toy:
Thus Off'rings from th'Unjust pollute the Skies,
The good, turn Smoke into a Sacrifice.

As when an Artist plans a favourite Draught,
The Structures rise responsive to the Thought;
A Palace grows beneath his forming Hands,
Or worthy of a God a Temple stands:
Such is thy rising Frame! by Heav'n design'd
A Temple, worthy of a Godlike Mind;

152

Nobly adorn'd, and finish'd to display
A fuller Beam of Heav'n's Æthereal Ray.

May all thy Charms encrease, O lovely Boy!
Spare them, ye Pains, and Age alone destroy!
So fair thou art, that if great Cupid be
A Child, the God might boast to look like thee!
When young Iülus' Form he deign'd to wear,
Such were his Smiles, and such his winning Air:
Ev'n Venus might mistake thee for her own,
Did not thy Eyes proclaim thee not her Son;
Thence all the Lightning of thy Mother's flies,
A Cupid, grac'd with Cytheræa's Eyes!

Yet ah! how short a Date the Pow'rs decree
To that bright Frame of Beauties and to thee?
Pass a few Days, and all those Beauties fly!
Pass a few Years, and thou alas! shalt die!

153

Then all thy Kindred, all thy Friends shall see
With Tears, what now thou art, and they must be;
A pale, cold, lifeless Lump of Earth deplore!
Such shalt thou be, and Kings shall be no more!

But oh! when ripe for Death, Fate calls thee hence,
Sure Lot of every mortal Excellence!
When, pregnant as the Womb, the teeming Earth
Resigns thee quicken'd to thy second Birth,
Rise, cloath'd with Beauties that shall never die!
A Saint on Earth! an Angel in the Sky!

154

The Forty-third Chapter of Ecclesiasticus.

A PARAPHRASE.

The Sun that rouls his beamy Orb on high,
Pride of the World and Glory of the Sky,
Illustrious in his Course, in bright array
Marches along the Heav'ns, and scatters Day
O'er Earth, and o'er the Main, and thro' th'ethereal Way.
He in the Morn renews his radiant Round,
And warms the fragrant Bosom of the Ground;

155

But e'er the Noon of Day, in fiery Gleams
He darts the Glory of his blazing Beams;
Beneath the Burnings of his sultry Ray,
Earth to her Center pierc'd admits the Day;
Huge Vales expand, where Rivers roul'd before,
And lessen'd Seas contract within their Shore.

O! Pow'r Supreme! O! high above all height!
Thou gav'st the Sun to shine, and thou art Light!
Whether he falls or rises in the Skies,
He by thy Voice is taught to fall or rise;
Swiftly he moves, refulgent in his Sphere,
And measures out the Day, the Month, and Year;
He drives the Hours along with slower pace,
The Minutes rush away impetuous in their Race:
He wakes the Flow'rs that sleep within the Earth,
And calls the fragrant Infants out to Birth;

156

The fragrant Infants paint th'enamel'd Vales,
And native Incense loads the balmy Gales;
The balmy Gales the Fragrancy convey
To Heav'n, and to their God an Off'ring pay.

By thy Command the Moon, as Day-light fades,
Lifts her broad Circle in the deep'ning Shades;
Array'd in Glory, and enthron'd in Light,
She breaks the solemn Terrors of the Night;
Sweetly inconstant in her varying Flame,
She changes still, another, yet the same!
Now in decrease by slow degrees she shrouds
Her fading Lustre in a Veil of Clouds;
Now at increase, her gathering Beams display
A Blaze of Light, and give a paler Day;
Ten thousand Stars adorn her glitt'ring Train,
Fall when she falls, and rise with her again;

157

And o'er the Desarts of the Sky unfold
Their burning Spangles of sidereal Gold:
Thro' the wide Heav'ns she moves serenely bright,
Queen of the gay Attendants of the Night;
Orb above Orb in sweet Confusion lies,
And with a bright Disorder paints the Skies.

The Lord of Nature fram'd the show'ry Bow,
Turn'd its gay Arch, and bade its Colours glow;
Its radiant Circle compasses the Skies,
And sweetly the rich Tinctures faint, and rise;
It bids the Horrours of the Storm to cease,
Adorns the Clouds, and makes the Tempest please.

He, when deep-rolling Clouds blot out the Day,
And thund'rous Storms a solemn Gloom display;
Pours down a watry Deluge from on high,
And opens all the Sluices of the Sky;

158

High o'er the Shores the rushing Surge prevails,
Bursts o'er the Plain, and roars along the Vales:
Dashing abruptly, dreadful down it comes,
Tumbling thro' Rocks, and tosses, whirls and foams:
Mean time from every Region of the Sky,
Red burning Bolts in forky Vengeance fly;
Dreadfully bright o'er Seas and Earth they glare,
And Bursts of Thunder rend th'encumber'd Air;
At once the Thunders of th'Almighty sound,
Heav'n low'rs, descend the Floods, and rocks the Ground.

He gives the furious Whirlwind Wings to fly,
To rend the Earth, and wheel along the Sky;
In circling Eddies whirl'd, it roars aloud,
Drives Wave on Wave, and dashes Cloud on Cloud;
Where'er it moves, it lays whole Forests low,
And at the Blast, eternal Mountains bow;

159

While tearing up the Sands, in drifts they rise,
And half the Desarts mount the burthen'd Skies.

He from aërial Treasures downward pours
Sheets of unsully'd Snow in lucid Show'rs,
Flake after Flake, thro' Air thick-wavering flies,
Till one vast shining Waste all Nature lies;
Then the proud Hills a Virgin Whiteness shed,
A dazling Brightness glitters from the Mead:
The hoary Trees reflect a silver Show,
And Groves beneath the lovely Burden bow.

He from loose Vapours with an Icy Chain
Binds the round Hail, and moulds the harden'd Rain;
The stony Tempest, with a rushing Sound,
Beats the firm Glebe, resulting from the Ground;
Swiftly it falls, and as it falls invades
The rising Herb, or breaks the spreading Blades;

160

While infant Flow'rs that rais'd their bloomy Heads,
Crush'd by its Fury sink into their Beds.

When stormy Winter from the frozen North
Borne on his Icy Chariot issues forth;
The blasted Groves their verdant Pride resign,
And Billows harden'd into Crystal shine:
Sharp blows the Rigour of the piercing Winds,
And the broad Floods as with a Breast-plate binds;
Ev'n the proud Seas forget in Tides to roul
Beneath the freezings of the Northern Pole;
There Waves on Waves in solid Mountains rise,
And Alpes of Ice invade the wondring Skies;
While Gulphs below, and slippery Vallies lie,
And with a dreadful Brightness pain the Eye;
But if warm Winds, a warmer Air restore,
And softer Breezes bring a genial Show'r,

161

The genial Show'r revives the chearful Plain,
And the huge Hills flow down into the Main.

When the Seas rage, and loud the Ocean roars,
When foaming Billows lash the sounding Shores;
If he in Thunder bid the Waves subside,
The Waves obedient sink upon the Tide,
A sudden Peace controuls the limpid Deep,
And the still Waters in soft Silence sleep.
Then Heav'n lets down a Golden-streaming Ray,
And all the broad Expansion flames with Day:
In the clear Glass the Mariners descry
A Sun inverted, and a downward Sky.

They who advent'rous plow the watry Way,
The dreadful Wonders of the Deep survey;
Familiar with the Storms their Sails unbind,
Tempt the rough Blast, and bound before the Wind:

162

Now high they mount, now shoot into a Vale,
Now smooth their Course, and scud before the Gale;
There rouling Monsters, arm'd in scaly Pride,
Flounce in the Billows, and dash round the Tide;
There huge Leviathan unwieldy moves,
And thro' the Waves, a living Island, roves;
In dreadful Pastime terribly he sports,
And the vast Ocean scarce his Weight supports;
Where'er he turns the hoary Deeps divide,
He breathes a Tempest, and he spouts a Tide.

Thus, Lord, the Wonders of Earth, Sea, and Air,
Thy boundless Wisdom, and thy Pow'r declare;
Thou high in Glory, and in Might serene,
See'st and mov'st all, thy self unmov'd, unseen:
Should Men and Angels join in Songs to raise
A grateful Tribute equal to thy Praise,

163

Yet far thy Glory would their Praise outshine,
Tho' Men and Angels in the Song should join;
For tho' this Earth with Skill divine is wrought,
Above the Guess of Man, or Angel's Thought,
Yet in the spacious Regions of the Skies
New Scenes unfold, and Worlds on Worlds arise,
There other Orbs, round other Suns advance,
Float on the Air, and run their mystic Dance;
And yet the Pow'r of thy Almighty Hand,
Can build another World from every Sand:
And tho' vain Man arraign thy high Decree,
All, all is just! what is, that ought to be.

164

THE Conclusion of an Epilogue TO Mr. SOUTHERN's Last Play, Call'd, Money the Mistress.

There was a time, when in his younger Years,
Our Author's Scenes commanded Smiles or Tears;
And tho' beneath the Weight of Days he bends,
Yet, like the Sun, he shines as he descends:
Then with Applause, in honour to his Age,
Dismiss your veteran Soldier off the Stage;
Crown his last Exit with distinguish'd Praise,
And kindly hide his Baldness with the Bays.

Alluding to a Vote of the Roman Senate, by which they decreed Cæsar a Crown of Laurel to cover his Baldness.

165

THE PARTING, A SONG,

Set by Dr. Tudway, Professor of Music in Cambridge.

I

When from the Plains Belinda fled,
The sad Amyntor sigh'd,
And thus while Streams of Tears he shed,
The mournful Shepherd cry'd.

166

II

“Move slow, ye Hours! thou Time delay!
“Prolong the bright Belinda's stay:
“But you, like her, my Pray'r deny,
“And cruelly away ye fly.

III

“Yet tho' she flies, she leaves behind
“Her lovely Image in my Mind;
“O! fair Belinda, with me stay,
“Or take thy Image too away!

IV

“See! how the Fields are gay around,
“How painted Flow'rs adorn the Ground!
“As if the Fields, as well as I,
“Were proud to please my Fair-one's Eye.

167

V

“But now, ye Fields, no more be gay,
“No more, ye Flow'rs, your Charms display!
“'Tis Desart all, now you are fled,
“And Paradise is where you tread.

VI

Unmov'd the Virgin flies his Cares,
To shine at Court and Play,
To lonely Shades the Youth repairs,
To weep his Life away.

168

On a Flower which Belinda gave me from her Bosom.

O! lovely Offspring of the May,
Whence flow thy balmy Odours, say!
Such Odours—not the Orient boasts,
Tho' Paradise adorn'd the Coasts!
O! sweeter than each Flow'r that blooms,
This Fragrance from thy Bosom comes!
Thence, thence such Sweets are spread abroad,
As might be Incense for a God!

When Venus stood conceal'd from View,
Her Son, the latent Goddess knew,

169

Such Sweets breath'd round! and thus we know
Our other Venus here below.

But I see! my Fairest, see this Flow'r,
This short-liv'd Beauty of an Hour!—
Such are thy Charms!—yet Zephyrs bring
The Flow'r to bloom again in Spring:
But Beauty, when it once declines,
No more to warm the Lover shines:
Alas! incessant speeds the Day,
When thou shalt be but common Clay!
When I, who now adore, may see,
And ev'n with horrour, start from Thee!

But e'er, sweet Gift, thy Grace consumes,
Show thou my Fair-one how she blooms!
Put forth thy Charms:—and then declare
Thy self less sweet, thy self less fair!

170

Then sudden, by a swift Decay,
Let all thy Beauties fade away:
And let her in thy Glass descry,
How Youth, and how frail Beauty die.

Ah! turn, my Charmer, turn thy Eyes!
See! how at once it fades, it dies!
While thine,—it gaily pleas'd the View
Unfaded, as before it grew!
Now, from thy Bosom doom'd to stray,
'Tis only beauteous in Decay:
So the sweet-smelling Indian Flow'rs
Griev'd when they leave those happier Shores,
Sicken, and die away in ours.
So Flow'rs, in Eden fond to blow,
In Paradise would only grow.

Nor wonder, Fairest, to survey
The Flow'r so suddenly decay!

171

Too cold thy Breast! nor can it grow
Between such little Hills of Snow?

I now, vain Infidel, no more
Deride th'Ægyptians, who adore
The rising Herb, and blooming Flow'r;
Now, now their Convert I will be,
O lovely Flow'r, to worship thee.

But if thou'rt one of their sad Train
Who dy'd for Love, and cold Disdain,
Who chang'd by some kind pitying Pow'r;
A Lover once, art now a Flow'r;
O pity me, O weep my Care,
A thousand, thousand Pains I bear,
I love, I die thro' deep Despair!

Ambrosiæque comæ divinum vertice odorem
Spiravère.

Virg.

See Ovid's Metamorph.

172

THE STORY of Talus,

From the Fourth Book of Apollonius Rhodius. V. 1629.

Ημος δ' ηελιος μεν εδυ, ανα δ' ηλυθεν αστηρ
Αυλιος, &c.

The Evening Star now lifts, as Day-light fades,
His golden Circlet in the deepning Shades,
Stretch'd at his Ease, the weary Lab'rer shares
A sweet Forgetfulness of Human Cares;

173

At once in Silence sink the sleeping Gales,
The Mast they drop, and furl the flagging Sails,
All night, all day, they ply the bending Oars,
Tow'rd Carpathus, and reach the rocky Shores;
Thence Crete they view, emerging from the Main,
The Queen of Isles, but Crete they view in vain,
There Talus, whirling with resistless Sway,
Rocks sheer uprent, repels them from the Bay:
A Giant, sprung from Giant-race, who took
Their Births from Entrails of the stubborn Oak;
Fierce Guard of Crete! by Jove Assistant giv'n
To Legislators, stil'd the Sons of Heav'n:
To Mercy deaf, he thrice each Year explores
The trembling Isle, and strides from Shores to Shores:
A Form of living Brass! one part beneath
Alone he bears, a Path to let in Death,

174

Where o'er the Ankle swells the turgid Vein,
Soft to the Stroke, and sensible of Pain.

And now her Magic Spells Medea tries,
Bids the red Fiends, the Dogs of Orcus rise,
That starting dreadful from th'infernal Shade,
Ride Heav'n in Storms, and all that breathes, invade;
Thrice she applies the Pow'r of Magic Pray'r,
Thrice, hellward bending, mutters Charms in Air;
Then turning tow'rd the Foe, bids Mischief fly,
And looks Destruction, as she points her Eye;
Then Spectres, rising from Tartarean Bow'rs,
Howl round in Air, or grin along the Shores;
While tearing up whole Hills, the Giant throws
Outragious, Rocks on Rocks, to crush the Foes:
But frantic as he strides, a sudden Wound
Bursts the Life-Vein, and Blood o'erspreads the Ground,

175

As from the Furnace, in a burning Flood
Pours molten Lead, so pours in Streams his Blood;
And now he staggers, as the Spirit flies,
He faints, he sinks, he tumbles, and he dies.
As some huge Cedar on a Mountain's Brow,
Pierc'd by the Steel, expects the final Blow,
A while it totters with alternate sway,
Till freshning Breezes thro' the Branches play;
Then tumbling downward with a thundring Sound,
Falls headlong, and o'erspreads a breadth of Ground:
So as the Giant falls, the Ocean roars,
Out-stretch'd he lies, and covers half the Shores.

Argonauts.

Minos and Rhadamanthus.

V. 1665.

V. 1679.

176

From the Eleventh Book of the Iliads of Homer.

In the Stile of MILTON.

Now gay Aurora from Tithonus' Bed
Rose in the Orient, to proclaim the Day
To Gods and Men: down to the Grecian Tents
Saturnian Jove sends Discord, red with Blood,
War in her Hand she grasps, Ensigns of War;
On brave Ulysses' Ship she took her Stand,
The Center of the Host; that all might hear
Her dreadful Voice: her dreadful Voice she rais'd,
Jarring along the rattling Shores it ran

177

To the Fleet's wide Extremes; Achilles heard,
And Ajax heard the sound; with martial Fires
Now every Bosom burns, Arms, glorious Arms,
Fierce they demand; the noble Orthian Song
Swells every Heart, no coward Thoughts of flight
Rise in their Souls, but Blood they breathe and War.

Now by the Trench profound, the Charioteers
Range their proud Steeds, now Car by Car displays
A direful Front; now o'er the trembling Field
Rushes th'embattled Foot; Noise rends the Skies,
Noise unextinguish'd: e'er the beamy Day
Flam'd in th'aërial Vault, stretch'd in the Van
Stood the bold Infantry: The rushing Cars
Form'd the deep Rear in battailous Array.
Now from his Heav'ns Jove hurls his burning Bolts,
Hoarse muttering Thunders grumble in the Sky,

178

While from the Clouds, instead of Morning-Dews,
Huge Drops of Blood distain the crimson Ground;
Fatal Presage! that in that dreadful Day
The Great should bleed, imperial Heads lie low!

Mean time the Bands of Troy in proud array
Stand to their Arms: and from a rising Ground
Breathe furious War: Here gathering Hosts attend
The tow'ring Hector: there refulgent Bands
Surround Polydamas, Æneas there
Marshals his dauntless Files; nor unemploy'd
Stand Polybus, Agenor great in Arms,
And Acamas, whose Frame the Gods endow'd
With more than mortal Charms: fierce in the Van
Stern Hector shines, and shakes his blazing Shield,
As the fierce Dog-star with malignant Fires
Flames in the front of Heav'n, then lost in Clouds,
Veils his pernicious Beams; from Rank to Rank

179

So Hector strode; now dreadful in the Van
Advanc'd his Sun-broad Shield, now to the Rear
Swift-rushing disappear'd: His radiant Arms
Blaz'd on his Limbs, and bright as Jove's dire Bolts
Flash'd o'er the Field and lighten'd to the Skies.

As toiling Reapers in some spacious Field,
Rang'd in two Bands, move adverse, Rank on Rank
Where o'er the Tilth the Grain in Ears of Gold
Waves nodding to the Breeze; at once they bend,
At once the copious Harvest swells the Ground:
So rush to Battle o'er the dreadful Field
Host against Host; they meet, they close, and Ranks
Tumble on Ranks; no Thoughts appear of Flight,
None of Dismay: dubious in even Scales
The Battle hangs, not fiercer, ravenous Wolves
Dispute the Prey; the deathful Scene with Joy
Discord, dire Parent of tremendous Woes,

180

Surveys exultant: of th'immortal Train
Discord alone descends, assists alone
The Horrors of the Field; in peace the Gods
High in Olympian Bow'rs on radiant Thrones
Lament the Woes of Man; but loud Complaints
From every God arose; Jove favour'd Troy,
At partial Jove they murmur'd: he unmov'd
All Heav'n in murmurs heard, apart he sate
Enthron'd in Glory: down to Earth he turn'd
His stedfast Eye, and from his Throne survey'd
The rising Tow'rs of Troy, the tented Shores,
The Blaze of Arms, the Slayer and the Slain.

While with his morning Wheels, the God of Day
Climb'd up the Steep of Heaven, with equal Rage
In murd'rous Storms the Shafts from Host to Host
Flew adverse, and in equal Numbers fell
Promiscuous Greek and Trojan, till the Hour

181

When the tir'd Woodman in the shady Vale
Spreads his penurious Meal, when high the Sun
Flames in the Zenith, and his sinewy Arms
Scarce wield the pond'rous Ax, while Hunger keen
Admonishes, and Nature spent with Toil
Craves due Repast—Then Greece the Ranks of Troy
With horrid Inroad goar'd; fierce from the Van
Sprung the stern King of Men; and breathing Death
Where in firm Battle, Trojans Band by Band
Embody'd stood, pursu'd his dreadful way;
His Host his Step attends; now glows the War,
Horse treads on Horse, and Man encountring Man,
Swells the dire Field with Death, the plunging Steeds
Beat the firm Glebe; thick Dust in rising Clouds
Darkens the Sky: Indignant o'er the Plain

182

Atrides stalks; Death every step attends.
As when in some huge Forest, sudden Flames
Rage dreadful, when rough Winds assist the Blaze,
From Tree to Tree the fiery Torrent rouls,
And the vast Forest sinks with all its Groves
Beneath the burning Deluge; so whole Hosts
Yield to Atrides' Arm: Car against Car
Rush'd rattling o'er the Field, and thro' the Ranks
Unguided broke: while breathless on the Ground
Lay the pale Charioteers: In death deform'd;
To their chaste Brides sad Spectacles of Woe,
Now only grateful to the Fowls of Air.

Mean time the Care of Jove, great Hector stood
Secure in Scenes of Death, in Storms of Darts,
In Slaughter and Alarms, in Dust and Blood.

183

Still Agamemnon rushing o'er the Field
Leads his bold Bands: Whole Hosts before him fly,
Now Ilus' Tomb they pass, now urge their way
Close by the Fig-tree Shade: With Shouts the King
Pursues the Foe incessant, Dust and Blood,
Blood mixed with Dust, distains his murd'rous Hands.

As when a Lion in the Gloom of Night
Invades an Herd of Beaves, o'er all the Plains
Trembling they scatter: furious on the Prey
The generous Savage flies, and with fierce joy
Seizes the last: His hungry soaming Jaws
Churn the black Blood, and rend the panting Prey.
Thus fled the Foe, Atrides thus pursu'd,
And still the hindmost slew: they from their Cars
Fell headlong, for his Javelin, wild for Blood
Rag'd terribly; and now proud Troy had fal'n,

184

But the dread Sire of Men and Gods descends
Terrific from his Heav'ns, his vengeful Hand
Ten thousand Thunders grasps: on Ida's Heights
He takes his stand, it shakes with all its Groves
Beneath the God; the God suspends the War.

V. 48.

Agamemnon, v. 148.

185

To Mrs. Eliz. M---t,

On her Picture, 1716.

O! wondrous Art, that Grace to Shadows gives!
By whose Command the lovely Phantom lives!
Smiles with her Smiles! the mimic Eye instills
A real Flame! the fancy'd Lightning kills!
Thus Mirrors catch the Love-inspiring Face,
And the new Charmer Grace returns for Grace.

Hence shall thy Beauties, when no more appears
Their fair Possessor, shine a thousand Years:

186

By Age uninjur'd, future Times adorn,
And warm the Hearts of Millions yet unborn,
Who gazing on the Portrait with a Sigh,
Shall grieve such perfect Charms could ever die:
How would they grieve, if to such Beauties join'd
The Paint could shew the Wonders of thy Mind?

O! Virgin, born th'admiring World to grace!
Transmit thy Excellence to latest Days;
Yield to thy Lover's Vows! and then shall rise
A Race of Beauties conquering with thine Eyes:
Who reigning in thy Charms from Death shall save
That lovely Form, and triumph o'er the Grave.

Thus when thro' Age the Rose-tree's Charms decay,
When all her fading Beauties die away;
A blooming Offspring fills the Parent's place
With equal Fragrance, and with equal Grace.

187

But ah! how short a Date on Earth is giv'n
To the most lovely Workmanship of Heav'n?
Too soon that Cheek must every Charm resign,
And those love-darting Eyes forget to shine!
While Thousands weeping round, with Sighs survey
What once was You,—now only beauteous Clay!
Ev'n from the Canvas shall thy Image fade,
And thou re-perish in thy perish'd Shade:
Then may this Verse to future Ages show
One perfect Beauty—such as thou art now!
May it the Graces of thy Soul display,
Till this World sinks, and Suns themselves decay;
When with immortal Beauty thou shalt rise,
To shine the loveliest Angel in the Skies.

188

PROLOGUE To Mr. Fenton's excellent Tragedy MARIAMNE.

When breathing Statues mouldring waste away,
And Tombs, unfaithful to their trust, decay;
The Muse rewards the suff'ring Good with Fame,
Or wakes the prosp'rous Villain into Shame;
To the stern Tyrant gives fictitious Pow'r
To reign the restless Monarch of an Hour.

Obedient to her Call, this Night appears
Great Herod rising from a length of Years;

189

A Name! enlarg'd with Titles not his own,
Servile to mount, and savage on a Throne;
Yet oft a Throne is dire Misfortune's Seat,
A pompous Wretchedness, and Woe in State!
But such the Curse that from Ambition springs,
For this, he slaughter'd half a Race of Kings:
But now reviving in the British Scene,
He looks majestic with a milder Mien,
His Features soften'd with the deep Distress
Of Love, made greatly wretched by Excess:
From Lust of Pow'r to jealous Fury tost,
We see the Tyrant in the Lover lost.

O! Love, thou Source of mighty Joy or Woe!
Thou softest Friend, or Man's most dang'rous Foe!
Fantastic Pow'r! What Rage thy Darts inspire,
When too much Beauty kindles too much Fire?

190

Those Darts, to jealous Rage stern Herod drove,
It was a Crime, but Crime of too much Love!
Yet if condemn'd he falls—with pitying Eyes
Behold his injur'd Mariamne rise!
No fancy'd Tale! our op'ning Scenes disclose
Historic Truth, and swell with real Woes.
Awful in virtuous Grief the Queen appears,
And strong the Eloquence of Royal Tears;
By Woes ennobled, with majestic pace,
She meets Misfortune, glorious in Disgrace!

Small is the Praise of Beauty, when it flies
Fair Honour's Laws, at best but lovely Vice;
Charms it like Venus with celestial Air?
Ev'n Venus is but scandalously Fair;
But when strict Honour with fair Features joins,
Like Heat and Light, at once it warms and shines.

191

Then let her Fate your kind Attention raise,
Whose perfect Charms, were but her second Praise;
Beauty and Virtue your Protection claim,
Give Tears to Beauty, give to Virtue Fame.

192

To Mr. A. POPE, who corrected my Verses.

If e'er my humble Muse melodious sings,
'Tis when you animate and tune her Strings;
If e'er she mounts, 'tis when you prune her Wings.
You, like the Sun, your glorious Beams display,
Deal to the darkest Orb a friendly Ray,
And cloath it with the Lustre of the Day.

Mean was the Piece, unelegantly wrought,
The Colours faint, irregular the Draught;
But your commanding Touch, your nicer Art,
Rais'd every Stroke, and brighten'd every Part.

193

So when Luke drew the Rudiments of Man,
An Angel finish'd what the Saint began;
His wondrous Pencil, dipt in heav'nly Dyes,
Gave Beauty to the Face, and Lightning to the Eyes.

Confus'd it lay, a rough unpolish'd Mass,
You gave the royal Stamp, and made it pass;
Hence ev'n Deformity a Beauty grew,
She pleas'd, she charm'd, but pleas'd and charm'd by You;
Tho' like Prometheus I the Image frame,
You give the Life, and bring the heav'nly Flame.

Thus when the Nile diffus'd his watry Train
In Streams of Plenty o'er the fruitful Plain;
Unshapen Forms, the Refuse of the Flood,
Issu'd imperfect from the teeming Mud;

194

But the great Source and Parent of the Day,
Fashion'd the Creature, and inform'd the Clay.

Weak of herself, my Muse forbears her flight,
Views her own Lowness, and Parnassus' Height;
But when you aid her Song, and deign to nod,
She spreads a bolder Wing, and feels the present God.

So the Cumæan Prophetess was dumb,
Blind to the Knowledge of Events to come;
But when Apollo in her Breast abode,
She heav'd, she swell'd, she felt the rushing God;
Then Accents more than mortal from her broke,
And what the God inspir'd, the Priestess spoke.

195

Monsieur Maynard Imitated.

To the Right Honourable The Lord CORNWALLIS.

I

While past its Noon the Lamp of Life declines,
And Age my vital Flame invades;
Faint, and more faint, as it descends, it shines,
And hastes, alas! to set in Shades.

II

Then some kind Pow'r shall guide my Ghost to Glades,
Where seated by Elysian Springs,
Fam'd Addison attunes to Patriot Shades
His Lyre, and Albion's Glory sings.

196

III

There round, Majestic Shades, and Heroes Forms,
Will throng, to learn what Pilot guides
Watchful, Britannia's Helm thro' factious Storms,
And curbs the murmuring rebel Tides.

IV

I tell how Townshend treads the glorious Path
That leads the Great to deathless Fame,
And dwell at large on spotless English Faith,
While Walpole is the favourite Theme.

V

How nobly rising in their Country's Cause,
The stedfast Arbiters of Right
Exalt the Just and Good, to guard her Laws,
And call forth Merit into light.

197

VI

A loud Applause around the Echoing Coast
Of all the pleas'd Elysium flies.—
But, Friend, what Place had you, replies some Ghost,
When Merit was the way to rise?

VII

What Deanery, or Prebend, thine, declare?
Good Heav'ns! unable to reply,
How like a stupid Idiot I should stare?
An Answer, Good my Lord, supply.

198

ON A Mischievous Woman.

From Peace, and social Joy Medusa flies,
And loves to hear the Storm of Anger rise;
Thus Hags and Witches hate the Smiles of Day,
Sport in loud Thunder, and in Tempests play.

199

THE COQUETTE.

I

Sillia with uncontested Sway,
Like Rome's fam'd Tyrant reigns;
Beholds adoring Crouds obey,
And Heroes proud to wear her Chains:
Yet stoops, like him, to ev'ry Prize,
Busy to murder Beaux, and Flies.

200

II

She aims at ev'ry trifling Heart,
Attends each Flatterer's Vows;
And like a Picture drawn with Art,
A Look on all that gaze bestows:
O! may the Pow'r, who Lovers rules,
Grant rather Scorn, than Hope with Fools!

III

Mistaken Nymph! the Crouds that gaze
Adore thee into Shame;
Unguarded Beauty is Disgrace,
And Coxcombs when they praise, defame:
O! fly such Brutes in human Shapes,
Nor like th'Ægyptians worship Apes.

201

THE Widow and Virgin Sisters,

BEING A Letter to the Widow, in London .

While Delia shines at Hurlothrumbo,
And darts her sprightly Eyes at some Beau;
Then close behind her Fan retiring,
Sees thro' the Sticks whole Crouds admiring:
You sip your melancholy Co-ffy,
And at the Name of Man, cry O! phy!

202

Or when the noisy Rapper thunders,
Say coldly—Sure the Fellow blunders!
Unseen! tho' Peer on Peer approaches:
James, I'm abroad!—but learn the Coaches.

As some young Pleader, when his Purse is
Unfill'd, thro' want of Controversies,
Attends, until the Chinks are fill'd all,
Th'Assizes, Westminster, and Guild-hall;
While graver Lawyers keep their House, and
Collect the Guineas by the thousand.
Or as some Tradesmen, thro' Show-glasses,
Expose their Wares to each that passes,
Toys of no Use! high-priz'd Commodities
Bought to no end! Estates in Oddities!
Others, with like Advantage drive at
Their Gain, from Store-houses in private:

203

Thus Delia shines in Places general,
Is never missing where the Men are all;
Goes ev'n to Church with Godly Airs,
To meet good Company at Pray'rs:
Where she devoutly plays her Fan,
Looks up to Heav'n, but thinks on Man:
You sit at Home: enjoy your Cousin,
While Hearts are offer'd by the Dozen:
O! born above your Sex to rise,
With Youth, Wealth, Beauty, Titles—Wise!

O! Lady bright, did ne'er you mark yet,
In Country Fair, or Country Market,
A Beau, whose Eloquence might charm ye,
Enlisting Soldiers for the Army:
He flatters every well-built Youth,
And tells him every thing but—Truth.

204

He cries, Good Friend, I'm glad I hap'd in
Your Company, you'll make a Captain!
He lists—but finds these gaudy Shows
Soon chang'd, to surly Looks, and Blows:
'Tis now, March, Rascal! what, d'ye grumble?
Thwack goes the Cane! I'll make you humble.
Such Weddings are: and I resemble 'em,
Almost in all Points to this Emblem.
While Courtship lasts, 'tis Dear! 'tis Madam!
The sweetest Creature sure since Adam!
Had I the Years of a Methusalem,
How in my Charmer's Praise I'd use all 'em?
O! take me to thy Arms, my Beau-ty!
I doat, adore thy very Shoe-Tye!
They wed—but Fancy grown less warming
Next Morn, he thinks the Bride less charming:
He says, nay swears my Wife grows old in
One single Month; then falls to scolding,

205

What, Madam, gadding every Day!
Up to your Room! there stitch, or pray!

Mrs. S---th.

Such proves the Marriage-State! but for all
These Truths, you'll wed, and scorn the Moral.

206

ON THE Death of my Dear Friend, Mr. ELIJAH FENTON .

1730.

As when the King of Peace, and Lord of Love,
Sends down some brighter Angel from above,
Pleas'd with the Beauties of the heav'nly Guest,
Awhile we view him in full Glory drest,
But he, impatient from his Heav'n to stay,
Soon disappears, and wings his airy Way;

207

So did'st thou vanish, eager to appear,
And shine triumphant in thy native Sphere.

Yet had'st thou all that Virtue can bestow,
All, the Good practise, and the Learned know;
Such holy Rapture, as not warms, but fires,
While the Soul seems retiring, or retires:
Such Transports, as those Saints in Vision share,
Who know not whether they are rapt thro' Air,
Or bring down Heav'n to meet them in a Pray'r.

O! early lost! yet stedfast to survey
Envy, Disease, and Death, without Dismay;
Serene, the Sting of Pain thy Thoughts beguile,
And make Afflictions, Objects of a Smile.
So the fam'd Patriarch, on his Couch of Stone
Enjoy'd bright Visions from th'eternal Throne.

208

Thus wean'd from Earth, where Pleasure scarce can please,
Thy Woes but hasten'd thee to Heav'n and Peace:
As angry Winds, when loud the Tempest roars,
More swiftly speed the Vessel to the Shores.

O! may these Lays a lasting Lustre shed
O'er thy dark Urn, like Lamps that grace the Dead!
Strong were thy Thoughts, yet Reason bore the Sway,
Humble, yet learn'd; tho' innocent, yet gay:
So pure of Heart, that thou might'st safely show
Thy inmost Bosom to thy basest Foe:
Careless of Wealth, thy Bliss a calm Retreat,
Far from the Insults of the scornful Great;
Thence looking with Disdain on proudest Things,
Thou deemed'st mean the Pageantry of Kings;
Who build their Pride on Trappings of a Throne,
A painted Ribband, or a glittering Stone,

209

Uselessly bright! 'twas thine the Soul to raise
To nobler Objects, such as Angels praise!
To live, to Mortals' empty Fame, a Foe;
And pity human Joy, and human Woe!
To view ev'n splendid Vice with gen'rous Hate,
In Life unblemish'd, and in Death sedate!
Then Conscience shining with a lenient Ray,
Dawn'd o'er thy Soul, and promis'd endless Day.
So from the setting Orb of Phœbus fly
Beams of calm Light, and glitter to the Sky.

Where now, O! where shall I true Friendship find
Among the treach'rous Race of base Mankind?
Whom, whom consult in all th'uncertain Ways
Of various Life, sincere to Blame, or Praise?
O! Friend! O! falling in thy Strength of Years,
Warm from the melting Soul receive these Tears!

210

O! Woods! O! Wilds! O! every bow'ry Shade!
So often vocal by his Music made,
Now other Sounds,—far other Sounds return,
And o'er his Herse with all your Echoes mourn!—
Yet dare we grieve that soon the Paths he trod
To Heav'n, and left vain Man for Saints and God?

Thus in the Theater the Scenes unfold
A thousand Wonders glorious to behold;
And here, or there, as the Machine extends,
A Hero rises, or a God descends:
But soon the momentary Pleasure flies,
Swift vanishes the God, or Hero dies.

Where were ye, Muses, by what Fountain side,
What River sporting when your Fav'rite dy'd?
He knew by Verse to chain the headlong Floods,
Silence loud Winds, or charm attentive Woods.

211

Nor deign'd but to high Themes to tune the String,
To such as Heav'n might hear, and Angels sing:
Unlike those Bards, who uninform'd to play,
Grate on their jarring Pipes a flashy Lay:
Each Line display'd united Strength and Ease,
Form'd like his Manners to instruct and please.

So Herbs of balmy Excellence produce
A blooming Flow'r, and salutary Juice:
And while each Plant a smiling Grace reveals,
Usefully gay! at once it charms, and heals.

Transcend ev'n after Death, ye Great, in Show,
Lend Pomp to Ashes, and be vain in Woe;
Hire Substitutes to mourn with formal Cries,
And bribe unwilling Drops from venal Eyes,
While here, Sincerity of Grief appears,
Silence that speaks, and Eloquence in Tears!

212

While tir'd of Life, we but consent to live
To show the World how really we grieve!
As some fond Sire, whose only Son lies dead,
All lost to Comfort makes the Dust his Bed:
Hangs o'er his Urn, with frantic Grief deplores,
And bathes his Clay-cold Cheek with copious Show'rs,
Such Heart-felt Pangs on thy sad Bier attend;
Companion! Brother! all in one—my Friend!
Unless the Soul, a Wound eternal bears,
Sighs are but Air, but common Water, Tears;
The Proud, relentless weep in State, and show
Not Sorrow, but Magnificence of Woe.

Thus in the Fountain, from the Sculptor's Hands,
With imitated Life an Image stands;
From rocky Entrails, thro' his stony Eyes,
The mimic Tears in Streams incessant rise;

213

Unconscious! while aloft the Waters flow
The Gazers Wonder, and a public Show.

Ye hallow'd Domes, his frequent Visits tell,
Thou Court, where God himself delights to dwell;
Thou mystic Table, and thou holy Feast,
How often have ye seen the sacred Guest!
How oft his Soul with heavenly Mannah fed!
His Faith enliven'd, while his Sin lay dead!
While list'ning Angels heard such Raptures rise,
As when they hymn th'Almighty charm the Skies?
But where, now where, without the Body's Aid,
New to the Heav'ns, subsists thy gentle Shade?
Glides it beyond our gross imperfect Sky,
Pleas'd high o'er Stars, from World to World to fly!
And fearless marks the Comet's dreadful Blaze,
While Monarchs quake, and trembling Nations gaze?

214

Or holds deep Converse with the mighty Dead,
Champions of Virtue, who for Virtue bled?
Or joins in Consort with Angelic Choirs,
Where hymning Seraphs sound their golden Lyres,
Where raptur'd Saints unfading Crowns inwreath,
Triumphant o'er the World, o'er Sin, and Death?
O! may the Thought his Friend's Devotion raise!
O! may he imitate, as well as praise!
Awake, my heavy Soul! and upward fly,
Speak to the Saint, and meet him in the Sky,
And ask the certain Way to rise as high.

The Gout.

Mr. Fenton intended to write upon moral Subjects.

215

A Poem on DEATH.

TO THOMAS MARRIOT Esq;

Τις οιδεν ει το ()ην μεν εστι κατθανειν,
Το κατθανειν δε ()ην;
Eurip.

O! for Elijah's Car to wing my Way
O'er the dark Gulph of Death to endless Day
A thousand Ways alas! frail Mortals lead
To her dire Den, and dreadful all to tread!

216

See! in the Horrors of yon House of Woes,
Troops of all Maladies the Fiend enclose!
High on a Trophy rais'd of human Bones,
Swords, Spears, and Arrows, and sepulchral Stones,
In horrid State she reigns! attendant Ills
Besiege her Throne, and when she frowns, she kills:
Thro' the thick Gloom the Torch red-gleaming burns
O'er Shrouds, and sable Palls, and mould'ring Urns:
While flowing Stoles, black Plumes, and Scutcheons spread
An idle Pomp around the silent Dead:
Unaw'd by Pow'r, in common Heaps she flings
The Scrips of Beggars, and the Crowns of Kings:
Here Gales of Sighs, instead of Breezes blow,
And Streams of Tears for ever-murmuring flow:
The mournful Yeugh with solemn Horror waves
His baleful Branches, sad'ning ev'n the Graves:

217

Around all Birds obscene loud-screaming fly,
Clang their black Wings, and shriek along the Sky:
The Ground perverse, tho' bare and barren, breeds
All Poisons, Foes to Life, and noxious Weeds:
But blasted frequent by th'unwholsome Sky,
Dead fall the Birds, the very Poisons die.

Full in the Entrance of the dreadful Doors,
Old Age, half vanish'd to a Ghost, deplores:
Prop'd on his Crutch he drags with many a Groan
The Load of Life, yet dreads to lay it down.

There, downward driving an unnumber'd Band,
Intemp'rance and Disease, walk hand in hand:
These, Torment, whirling with remorseless Sway
A Scourge of Iron, lashes on the Way.

218

There frantic Anger, prone to wild Extremes,
Grasps an ensanguin'd Sword, and Heav'n blasphemes.
There heart-sick Agony distorted stands,
Writhes his convulsive Limbs, and wrings his Hands.
There Sorrow droops his ever-pensive Head,
And Care still tosses on his iron Bed:
Or musing, fastens on the Ground his Eye,
With folded Arms; with every Breath, a Sigh.
Hydrops unwieldy wallows in a Flood,
And Murther rages, red with human Blood:
With Fever, Famine, and afflictive Pain,
Plague, Pestilence, and War, a dismal Train!
These, and a thousand more, the Fiend surround,
Shrieks pierce the Air, and Groans to Groans resound.
O! Heav'ns! is this the Passage to the Skies
That Man must tread, when Man your Fav'rite dies?

219

Oh! for Elijah's Car to wing my Way
O'er the dark Gulph of Death to endless Day!

Confounded at the Sight, my Spirits fled,
My Eyes rain'd Tears, my very Heart was dead!
I wail'd the Lot of Man that all would shun,
And all must bear that breathe beneath the Sun.

When lo! an heav'nly Form divinely Fair,
Shoots from the starry Vault thro' Fields of Air;
And swifter than on Wings of Lightning driv'n,
At once seems here and there, in Earth and Heav'n!
A dazling Brightness in refulgent Streams
Flows from his Locks inwreath'd with sunny Beams;
His roseate Cheeks the Bloom of Heav'n display,
And from his Eyes dart Glories, more than Day:
A Robe, of Light condens'd, around him shone,
And his Loins glitter'd with a starry Zone:

220

And while the list'ning Winds lay hush'd to hear,
Thus spoke the Vision, amiably severe!

Vain Man! would'st thou escape the common Lot,
To live, to suffer, die, and be forgot?
Look back on antient Times, primæval Years,
All, all are past! a mighty Void appears!
Heroes, and Kings, those Gods of Earth, whose Fame
Aw'd half the Nations, now are but a Name!
The Great in Arts, or Arms; the Wise, the Just,
Mix with the Meanest in congenial Dust!
Ev'n Saints, and Prophets the same Paths have trod,
Ambassadors of Heav'n, and Friends of God!
And thou, would'st thou the general Sentence fly?
Moses is dead! thy Saviour deign'd to die!
Mortal, in all thy Acts regard thy End;
Live well, the Time thou liv'st, and Death's thy Friend:

221

Then curb each rebel Thought against the Sky,
And die resign'd, O! Man ordain'd to die!

He added not, but spread his Wings in Flight,
And vanish'd instant in a Blaze of Light.

Abash'd, asham'd, I cry, Eternal Pow'r,
I yield! I wait resign'd th'appointed Hour!
Man, foolish Man, no more thy Soul deceive!
To die, is but the surest Way to live:
When Age we ask, we ask it in our wrong,
And pray our Time of suff'ring may be long;
The nauseous Draught, and Dregs of Life to drain,
And feel Infirmity, and Length of Pain!
What art thou Life, that we should court thy Stay?
A Breath, one single Gasp must puff away!
A short-liv'd Flow'r, that with the Day must fade!
A fleeting Vapour, and an empty Shade!

222

A Stream, that silently but swiftly glides
To meet Eternity's immeasur'd Tydes!
A Being, lost alike by Pain or Joy!
A Fly can kill it, or a Worm destroy!
Impair'd by Labour, and by Ease undone,
Commenc'd in Tears, and ended in a Groan!
Ev'n while I write, the transient Now is past,
And Death more near this Sentence, than the last!
As some weak Isthmus Seas from Seas divides,
Beat by rude Waves, and sap'd by rushing Tydes,
Torn from its Base, no more their Fury bears,
At once they close, at once it disappears:
Such, such is Life! the Mark of Misery plac'd
Between two Worlds, the future and the past;
To Time, to Sickness, and to Death a Prey,
It sinks, the frail Possession of a Day!

223

As some fond Boy, in Sport along the Shore
Builds from the Sands a Fabric of an Hour;
Proud of his rising Walls, and stately Rooms,
He stiles the mimic Cells imperial Domes:
The little Monarch swells with fancy'd Sway,
Till some Wind rise, and puffs the Dome away;
So the poor Reptile, Man! an Heir of Woe,
The Lord of Earth and Ocean, swells in Show;
He plants, he builds, aloft the Walls arise!
The noble Plan he finishes, and—dies.
Swept from the Earth, he shares the common Fate,
His sole Distinction now, to rot in State!
Thus busy to no end till out of Breath,
Tir'd we lie down, and close up all in Death.

Then blest the Man whom gracious Heav'n has led
Thro' Life's blind Mazes to th'immortal Dead!

224

Who safely landed on the blissful Shore,
Nor human Folly feels nor Frailty more!
O! Death, thou Cure of all our idle Strife!
End of the gay, or serious Farce of Life!
Wish of the Just, and Refuge of th'Opprest!
Where Poverty, and where ev'n Kings find Rest!
Safe, from the Frowns of Pow'r! calm, thoughtful Hate!
And the rude Insults of the scornful Great!
The Grave is sacred! Wrath, and Malice dread
To violate its Peace, and wrong the Dead:
But, Life, thy Name is Woe! to Death we fly
To grow immortal!—into Life we die!
Then wisely Heav'n in Silence has confin'd
The happier Dead, lest none should stay behind.
What tho' the Path be dark that must be trod,
Tho' Man be blotted from the Works of God,

225

Tho' the four Winds his scatter'd Atoms bear
To Earth's Extremes thro' all th'Expanse of Air;
Yet bursting glorious from the silent Clay,
He mounts triumphant to eternal Day.

So when the Sun rouls down th'ethereal Plain,
Extinct his Splendors in the whelming Main:
A transient Night Earth, Air, and Heav'n invades,
Eclips'd in Horrors of surrounding Shades:
But soon, emerging with a fresher Ray,
He starts exultant, and renews the Day.

226

COURAGE in LOVE.

My Eyes with Floods of Tears o'erflow,
My Bosom heaves with constant Woe;
Those Eyes, which thy Unkindness swells,
That Bosom, where thy Image dwells!

How could I hope so weak a Flame
Could ever warm that matchless Dame,
When none Elysium must behold,
Without a radiant Bough of Gold?
'Tis hers, in Spheres to shine,
At distance to admire, is mine:

227

Doom'd, like th'enamour'd Youth, to groan
For a new Goddess form'd of Stone.

While thus I spoke, Love's gentle Pow'r
Descended from th'Æthereal Bow'r;
A Quiver at his Shoulder hung,
A Shaft he grasp'd, and Bow unstrung.
All Nature own'd the genial God,
And the Spring flourish'd where he trod:
My Heart, no Stranger to the Guest,
Flutter'd, and labour'd in my Breast;
When with a Smile that kindles Joy
Ev'n in the Gods, began the Boy:

How vain these Tears? is Man decreed,
By being abject, to succeed?

228

Hop'st thou by meagre Looks to move?
Are Women frighten'd into Love?
He most prevails who nobly dares;
In Love an Hero, as in Wars:
Ev'n Venus may be known to yield,
But 'tis when Mars disputes the Field:
Sent from a daring Hand my Dart
Strikes deep into the Fair-one's Heart:
To Winds and Waves thy Cares bequeath,
A Sigh, is but a waste of Breath:
What tho' gay Youth, and every Grace
That Beauty boasts, adorn her Face,
Yet Goddesses have deign'd to wed,
And take a Mortal to their Bed:
And Heav'n, when Gifts of Incense rise,
Accepts it, tho' it cloud their Skies.

229

Mark! how this Marygold conceals
Her Beauty, and her Bosom veils,
How from the dull Embrace she flies
Of Phœbus, when his Beams arise;
But when his Glory he displays,
And darts around his fiercer Rays,
Her Charms she opens, and receives
The vigorous God into her Leaves.

Polydorus, who pine'd to death for the Love of a beautiful Statue.

230

THE COMPLAINT.

CÆLIA to DAMON.

I who was once the Glory of the Plain,
The fairest Virgin of the Virgin Train,
Am now (by thee O! faithless Man betray'd!)
A fal'n, a lost, a miserable Maid.
Ye Winds, that witness to my deep Despair,
Receive my Sighs, and waft them thro' the Air,
And gently breathe them to my Damon's Ear!

231

Curst, ever curst be that unlucky Day,
When trembling, sighing, at my Feet he lay,
I trembled, sigh'd, and look'd my Heart away!
Why was he form'd, ye Pow'rs, his Sex's Pride,
Too False to love, too Fair to be deny'd?
Ye heedless Virgins, gaze not on his Eyes,
Lovely they are, but she that gazes dies!
O! fly his Voice, be deaf to all he says,
Charms has his Voice, but charming it betrays!
At every Word, each Motion of his Eye,
A thousand Loves are born, a thousand Lovers die.

Say, gentle Youths, ye blest Arcadian Swains,
Inhabitants of these delightful Plains,
Say, by what Fountain, in what rosy Bow'r,
Reclines my Charmer in the Noon-tide Hour!
To you, dear Fugitive, where'er you stray,
Wild with Despair, impatient of Delay,

232

Swift on the Wings of eager Love I fly,
Or send my Soul still swifter in a Sigh!
I'd then inform you, of your Cælia's Cares,
And try the Eloquence of female Tears;
Fearless I'd pass where Desolation reigns,
Tread the wild Waste, or burning Lybian Plains:
Or where the North his furious Pinions tries,
And howling Hurricanes embroil the Skies!
Should all the Monsters in Getulia bred,
Oppose the Passage of a tender Maid,
Dauntless, if Damon calls, his Cælia speeds
Thro' all the Monsters that Getulia breeds!
Bold was Bonduca, and her Arrows flew
Swift and unerring from the twanging Yew:
By Love inspir'd, I'll teach the Shaft to fly,
For thee I'd conquer, or at least would die!
If o'er the dreary Caucasus you go,
Or Mountains crown'd with everlasting Snow,

233

Where thro' the freezing Skies in Storms it pours,
And brightens the dull Air with shining Show'rs,
Ev'n there with you I could securely rest,
And dare all Cold, but in my Damon's Breast;
Or should you dwell beneath the sultry Ray,
Where rising Phœbus ushers in the Day,
There, there I dwell! Thou Sun, exert thy Fires,
Love, mighty Love, a fiercer Flame inspires:
Or if a Pilgrim you would pay your Vows,
Where Jordan's Streams in soft Mæanders flows;
I'll be a Pilgrim, and my Vows I'll pay
Where Jordan's Streams in soft Mæanders play:
Joy of my Soul! my ev'ry Wish in one!
Why must I love, when loving I'm undone?
Sweet are the Whispers of the waving Trees,
And murm'ring Waters, curling to the Breeze:
Sweet are soft Slumbers in the shady Bow'rs
When glowing Suns infest the sultry Hours;

234

But not the Whispers of the waving Trees,
Nor murm'ring Waters, curling to the Breeze,
Not sweet soft Slumbers in the shady Bow'rs,
When thou art absent whom my Soul adores!
Come, let us seek some flow'ry, fragrant Bed!
Come, on thy Bosom rest my love-sick Head!
Come, drive thy Flocks beneath the shady Hills,
Or softly slumber by the murmuring Rills!
Ah no! he flies! that dear enchanting He!
Whose Beauty steals my very Self from Me!

Yet wert thou wont the Garland to prepare,
To crown with fragrant Wreaths thy Cælia's Hair:
When to the Lyre she tun'd the vocal Lays,
Thy Tongue would flatter, and thine Eyes speak praise:
And when smooth-gliding in the Dance she mov'd,
Ask thy false Bosom if it never lov'd?

235

And still her Eye some little Lustre bears
If Swains speak Truth!—tho' dim'd for thee with Tears!
But fade each Grace! since he no longer sees
Those Charms, for whom alone I wish to please!

But whence these sudden, sad presaging Fears,
These rising Sighs, and whence these flowing Tears?
Ah! lest the Trumpet's terrible Alarms,
Have drawn the Lover from his Cælia's Charms,
To try the doubtful Field, and shine in azure Arms!
Ah! canst thou bear the Labours of the War,
Bend the tough Bow, or dart the pointed Spear?
Desist fond Youth! let others Glory gain,
Seek empty Honour o'er the surgy Main,
Or sheath'd in horrid Arms rush dreadful to the Plain!

236

Thee, Shepherd, thee the pleasurable Woods,
The painted Meadows, and the crystal Floods,
Claim and invite to bless their sweet Abodes.
There shady Bow'rs, and sylvan Scenes arise,
There Fountains murmur, and the Spring supplies
Flow'rs to delight the Smell, or charm the Eyes:
But mourn, ye sylvan Scenes, and shady Bow'rs,
Weep all ye Fountains, languish all ye Flow'rs!
If in a Desart Damon but appear,
To Cælia's Eyes a Desart is more fair
Than all your Charms, when Damon is not there!
Gods! what soft Words, what sweet delusive Wiles
He boasts! and oh! those dear undoing Smiles!
Pleas'd with our ruin, to his Arms we run,
To be undone by him, who would not be undone?
Alas! I rave! ye swelling Torrents roul
Your watry Tribute o'er my love-sick Soul!

237

To cool my Heart, your Waves, ye Oceans, bear!
Oh! vain are all your Waves, for Love is There!
But ah! what sudden Thought to Frenzy moves
My tortur'd Soul?—perhaps, my Damon loves!
Some fatal Beauty, yielding all her Charms,
Detains the lovely Traytor from my Arms!
Blast her, ye Skies! let instant Vengeance seize
Those guilty Charms, whose Crime it is to please!
Damon is mine!—fond Maid, thy Fears subdue!
Am I not Jealous? and my Charmer True?
O! Heav'n! from Jealousy my Bosom save!
Cruel as Death, insatiate as the Grave!
Ye Pow'rs! of all the Ills that ever curst
Our Sex, sure Man, dissembling Man, is worst!
Like froward Boys, awhile in wanton Play,
He sports with Hearts, then throws the Toys away:

238

With specious Wiles weak Woman he assails,
He swears, weeps, smiles, he flatters, and prevails:
Then in the Moment when the Maid believes,
The perjur'd Traytor triumphs, scorns, and leaves:
How oft my Damon swore th'all-seeing Sun
Should change his Course, and Rivers backward run,
E'er his fond Heart should range, or faithless prove
To the bright Object of his stedfast Love?
O! instant change thy Course, all-seeing Sun!
Damon is false! ye Rivers backward run!
But die, O! wretched Cælia, die! in vain
Thus to the Fields and Floods you breathe your Pain!
The Tear is fruitless, and the tender Sigh,
And Life a Load!—forsaken Cælia die!
Fly swifter Time! O! speed the joyful Hour!
Receive me, Grave!—then I shall love no more!

239

Ah! wretched Maid, so sad a Cure to prove!
Ah! wretched Maid, to fly to Death from Love!
Yet oh! when this poor Frame no more shall live,
Be happy, Damon! may not Damon grieve!
Ah me! I'm vain! my Death can not appear
Worth the vast Price of but a single Tear.
Forlorn, abandon'd to the Rocks I go!
But they have learn'd new Cruelties of you!
Alone, relenting Echo with me mourns,
And faint with Grief she scarce my Sighs returns!
Then Sighs adieu! ye nobler Passions rise!
Be wise, fond Maid!—but who in Love is wise?
I rage, I rail, th'Extremes of Anger prove,
Nay, almost hate!—then love thee beyond Love!
Pity, kind Heav'n, and right an injur'd Maid!
Yet, oh! yet, spare the dear Deceiver's Head!
If from the sultry Suns at Noontide Hours
He seeks the Covert of the breezy Bow'rs,

240

Awake, O South, and where my Charmer lies,
Bid Roses bloom, and Beds of Fragrance rise:
Gently, O! gently round in Whispers fly,
Sigh to his Sighs, and fan the glowing Sky!
If o'er the Waves he cuts the liquid Way,
Be still, ye Waves, or round his Vessel play!
And you, ye Winds, confine each ruder Breath,
Lie hush'd in Silence, and be calm as Death!
But if he stay detain'd by adverse Gales,
My Sighs shall drive the Ship, and fill the flagging Sails.

241

TRANSLATIONS From the Greek Poets

Hesiod and Apollonius Rhodius.

------ Vos exemplaria Græca
Nocturnâ versate manu, versate diurnâ.
Hor.

243

THE BATTLE OF THE GODS and TITANS:

From the Theogony of Hesiod; with a Description of Tartarus, &c.

------ μαχην δ' αμεγαρταν εγειραν
Παντες, &c.
Θεογ. 666.

Now sounds the Vault of Heav'n with loud alarms,
And Gods by Gods embattling rush to Arms;
Here stalk the Titans of portentous size,
Burst from their Dungeons, and assault the Skies;

244

And there, unchain'd from Erebus and Night,
Auxiliar Giants aid the Gods in Fight:
An hundred Arms each tow'r-like Warrior rears,
And stares from fifty Heads amid the Stars;
The dreadful Brotherhood stern-frowning stands,
And hurls an hundred Rocks from hundred Hands:
The Titans rush'd with Fury uncontroul'd,
Gods sunk on Gods, o'er Giant Giant roul'd;
Then roar'd the Ocean with a dreadful Sound,
Heaven shook with all its Thrones, and groan'd the Ground,
Trembled th'eternal Poles at ev'ry stroke,
And frighted Hell from its Foundations shook;
Noise, horrid Noise th'aereal Region fills,
Rocks dash on Rocks, and Hills encounter Hills;
Thro' Earth, Air, Heav'n, tumultuous Clamours rise,
And Shouts of Battle thunder in the Skies:

245

Then Jove Omnipotent display'd the God,
And all Olympus trembled as he trod:
He grasps ten thousand Thunders in his Hand,
Bares his red Arm, and wields the forky Brand;
Then aims the Bolts, and bids his Lightnings play,
They flash, and rend thro' Heav'n their flaming way:
Redoubling Blow on Blow, in Wrath he moves,
The sing'd Earth groans, and burns with all her Groves;
The Floods, the Billows boiling hiss with Fires,
And bick'ring Flame, and smouldring Smoke aspires:
A Night of Clouds blots out the golden Day;
Full in their Eyes the writhen Lightnings play,
Ev'n Chaos burns: again Earth groans, Heav'n roars,
As tumbling downward with its shining Tow'rs;
Or burst this Earth, torn from her central Place,
With dire disruption from her deepest Base:
Nor slept the Wind: the Wind new Horrour forms,
Clouds dash on Clouds before th'outrageous Storms;

246

While tearing up the Sands, in drifts they rise,
And half the Desarts mount th'encumber'd Skies:
At once the Tempest bellows, Lightnings fly,
The Thunders roar, and Clouds involve the Sky;
Stupendous were the Deeds of heav'nly might;
What less, when Gods conflicting cope in Fight?
Now Heav'n its Foes with horrid inroad gores,
And slow and sow'r recede the Giant Pow'rs;
Here stalks Ægeon, here fierce Gyges moves,
There Cottus rends up Hills with all their Groves;
These hurl'd at once against the Titan Bands
Three hundred Mountains from three hundred Hands;
And overshadowing, overwhelming bound
With Chains infrangible beneath the Ground;
Below this Earth, far as Earth's Confines lie
Thro' Space unmeasur'd, from the starry Sky;
Nine Days an Anvil of enormous weight,
Down rushing headlong from th'aereal height,

247

Scarce reaches Earth: Thence tost in giddy rounds
Scarce reaches in nine Days th'infernal Bounds;
A Wall of Iron of stupendous height
Guards the dire Dungeons black with threefold night;
High o'er the Horrours of th'eternal Shade
The stedfast Base of Earth, and Seas is laid,
There in coercive durance Jove detains
The groaning Titans in afflictive Chains.
A Seat of Woe! remote from chearful Day,
Thro' Gulphs impassable, a boundless Way.

Above these Realms, a brazen Structure stands
With brazen Portals fram'd by Neptune's Hands;
Thro' Chaos to the Ocean's Base it swells,
There stern Ægeon with his Giants dwells;
Fierce Guards of Jove! from hence the Fountains rise
That wash the Earth, or wander through the Skies,

248

That groaning murmur thro' the Realm of Woes,
Or feed the Channels where the Ocean flows;
Collected Horrours throng the dire Abodes,
Horrid and fell! detested ev'n by Gods!
Enormous Gulph! immense the Bounds appear,
Wasteful and void, the Journey of a Year:
Where beating Storms, as in wild Whirls they fight,
Toss the pale Wand'rer, and retoss thro' Night:
The Pow'rs immortal with affright survey
The hideous Chasm, and seal it up from Day.

Hence thro' the Vault of Heaven huge Atlas rears
His giant Limbs, and props the golden Spheres:
Here sable Night, and here the beamy Day
Lodge and dislodge, alternate in their Sway.
A brazen Port the varying Pow'rs divides,
When Day forth issues, here the Night resides;

249

And when Night veils the Skies, obsequious Day,
Re-entring, plunges from the starry way.
She from her Lamp, with beaming Radiance bright,
Pours o'er th'expanded Earth a flood of Light:
But Night, by Sleep attended, rides in Shades,
Brother of Death, and all that breathes invades:
From her foul Womb they sprung, resistless Pow'rs,
Nurs'd in the Horrours of Tartarean Bow'rs,
Remote from Day, when with her flaming Wheels
She mounts the Skies, or paints the Western Hills:
With downy footsteps Sleep in silence glides
O'er the wide Earth, and o'er the spacious Tides;
The Friend of Life! Death unrelenting bears
An iron Heart, and laughs at human Cares;
She makes the mouldring Race of Man her Prey,
And ev'n th'immortal Pow'rs detest her sway.

250

Thus fell the Titans from the Realms above,
Beneath the Thunders of Almighty Jove;
Then Earth impregnate, felt maternal Woes,
And shook thro' all her frame with teeming Throes:
Hence rose Typhoeus, a gigantic Birth,
O Monster sprung from Tartarus and Earth,
A Match for Gods in might! on high he spreads
From his huge Trunk an hundred Dragons Heads,
And from an hundred Mouths in vengeance flings
Envenom'd Foam, and darts an hundred Stings;
Horrour, Terrific Frowns from every Brow,
And like a Furnace his red Eye-balls glow;
Fires dart from every Crest, and as he turns
Keen Splendours flash, and all the Giant burns:
Whene'er he speaks, in echoing Thunders rise
An hundred Voices, and affright the Skies,

251

Unutterably fierce! the bright Abodes
Frequent they shake, and terrify the Gods:
Now bellowing like a Savage Bull, they roar,
Or angry Lions in the midnight hour;
Now yell like furious Whelps, or hiss like Snakes,
The Rocks rebound, and every Mountain shakes;
He hurl'd defiance 'gainst th'immortal Pow'rs,
And Heav'n had seiz'd with all its shining Tow'rs,
But at the Voice of Jove, from Pole to Pole
Red Lightnings flash, and raging Thunders roul,
Rattling o'er all th'Expansion of the Skies,
Bolt after Bolt o'er Earth and Ocean flies.
Stern frowns the God amidst the Lightnings Blaze,
Olympus shakes from his eternal Base;
Trembles the Earth: fierce Flame involves the Poles,
Devours the Ground, and o'er the Billows rouls,
Fires from Typhoeus flash: with dreadful sound
Storms rattle, Thunder rouls, and groans the Ground;

252

Above, below, the Conflagration roars,
Ev'n the Seas kindled burn thro' all their Shores,
Deluge of Fire! Earth rocks her tottering Coasts,
And gloomy Pluto shakes with all his Ghosts;
Ev'n the pale Titans, chain'd on burning Flores,
Start at the Din that rends th'infernal Shores;
Then in full Wrath, Jove all the God applies,
And all his Thunders burst at once the Skies,
And rushing gloomy from th'Olympian Brow,
He blasts the Giant with th'Almighty Blow;
The Giant tumbling sinks beneath the Wound,
And with enormous ruin rocks the Ground:
Nor yet the Lightnings of th'Almighty stay,
Thro' the sing'd Earth they burst their burning way;
Earth kindling inward, melts in all her Caves,
And hissing floats with fierce Metallic Waves;
As Iron fusile from the Furnace flows,
Or molten Ore with keen effulgence glows,

253

When the dire Bolts of Jove stern Vulcan frames,
In burning Channels roul the liquid Flames;
Thus melted Earth, and Jove from Realms on high,
Plung'd the huge Gaint to the nether Sky.

Then from Typhoeus sprung the Winds that bear
Storms on their Wings, and Thunder in the Air;
But from the Gods descend of milder kind,
The East, the West, the South and Boreal Wind;
These in soft Whispers breathe a friendly Breeze,
Play thro' the Groves, or sport upon the Seas:
They fan the sultry Air with cooling Gales,
And waft from Realm to Realm the flying Sails;
The rest in Storms of sounding Whirlwinds fly,
Toss the wild Waves, and battle in the Sky;
Fatal to Man! at once all Ocean roars,
And scatter'd Navies bulge on distant Shores.

254

Then thundring o'er the Earth they rend their way,
Grass, Herb, and Flow'r, beneath their Rage decay;
While Tow'rs, and Domes, vain Boasts of human Trust!
Torn from their inmost Base, are whelm'd in Dust.

Ægeon, Cottus, Gyges.

Of Night.

820.

Thus Heav'n asserted its eternal Reign,
O'er the proud Giants, and Titanic Train;
And now in Peace the Gods their Jove obey,
And all the Thrones of Heav'n adore his Sway.

256

THE LOVE OF JASON and MEDEA.

From the Third Book, Verse 743, of Apollonius Rhodius.

[_]

Advertisement.

The Translator has taken the Liberty in the following Version from the Argonautics of Apollonius, as well as in the Story of Talus, to omit whatever has not an immediate relation to the Subject; yet hopes that a due Connection is not wanting; and that the Reader will not be displeas'd with these short Sketches from a Poet, who is affirm'd to be every where sublime, by no less a Critic than Longinus; and from whom many Verses are borrow'd by so great a Poet as Virgil.

Νυξ μεν επειτ' επι γαιαν αγεν κνεφας, &c.

Now rising Shades a solemn Gloom display,
O'er the wide Earth, and o'er th'ethereal Way;
All Night the Sailor marks the Northern Team,
And Golden Circlet of Orion's Beam:

257

A deep Repose the weary Wand'rer shares,
And the faint Watchman sleeps away his Cares;
Ev'n the fond Mother, while all breathless lies
Her Child of Love, in Slumber seals her Eyes;
No Sound of Village-Dog, no Noise invades
The death-like Silence of the midnight Shades;
Alone Medea wakes: To Love a Prey,
Restless she rouls, and groans the Night away:
Now the fire-breathing Bulls command her Cares,
She thinks on Jason, and for Jason fears:
In sad Review, on Horrours Horrours rise,
Quick beats her Heart, from Thought to Thought she flies:
As from replenish'd Urns with dubious Ray,
The Sun-beams dancing from the Surface play,
Now here, now there the trembling Radiance falls
Alternate flashing round th'illumin'd Walls;

258

Thus flutt'ring bounds the trembling Virgin's Blood,
And from her shining Eyes descends a Flood:
Now raving with resistless Flames she glows,
Now sick with Love the melts with softer Woes:
The Tyrant God, of every Thought possest,
Beats in each Pulse, and stings and racks her Breast:
Now she resolves the Magic to betray
To tame the Bulls, now yield him up a Prey:
Again the Drugs disdaining to supply,
She loaths the Light, and meditates to die:
Anon, repelling with a brave Disdain
The coward Thought, she nourishes the Pain:
Thus tost, retost with furious Storms of Cares,
On the cold Ground she rouls, and thus with Tears:

Ah me! where'er I turn, before my Eyes
A dreadful View, on Sorrows Sorrows rise!

259

Tost in a giddy Whirl of strong Desire,
I glow, I burn, yet bless the pleasing Fire;
O had this Spirit from its Prison fled,
By Dian sent to wander with the Dead,
E'er the proud Grecians view'd the Cholcian Skies,
E'er Jason, lovely Jason met these Eyes!
Hell gave the shining Mischief to our Coast,
Medea saw him, and Medea's lost—
But why these Sorrows? if the Pow'rs on high
His Death decree, die, wretched Jason die!
Shall I elude my Sire? my Art betray?
Ah! me, what Words shall purge the Guilt away!
But could I yield—O whither must I run
To find the Man—whom Virtue bids me shun?
Shall I, all lost to Shame, to Jason fly?
And yet I must—If Jason bleeds, I die!
Then Shame farewell! Adieu for ever Fame!
Hail black Disgrace! be fam'd for Guilt my Name!

260

Live! Jason, live! enjoy the vital Air!
Live thro' my aid! and fly where Winds can bear!—
But when he flies, ye Poisons lend your Pow'rs,
That Day, Medea treads th'infernal Shores!
Then, wretched Maid, thy Lot is endless Shame,
Then the proud Dames of Cholchos blast thy Name:
I hear them cry—‘The false Medea's dead,
‘Thro' guilty Passion for a Stranger's Bed;
‘Medea careless of her Virgin Fame,
‘Prefer'd a Stranger to a Father's Name!
O may I rather yield this vital Breath,
Than bear that base Dishonour, worse than Death!

Thus wail'd the Fair, and seiz'd with horrid joy
Drugs foes to Life, and potent to destroy,
A Magazine of Death! again she pours
From her swoln Eye-balls Tears in shining show'rs;

261

With Grief insatiate, and with trembling Hands,
All comfortless the Cask of Death expands:
A sudden Fear her labouring Soul invades,
Struck with the horrours of th'infernal Shades:
She stands deep-musing with a faded Brow,
Absorpt in Thought, a Monument of Woe!
While all the Comforts that on Life attend,
The chearful Converse, and the faithful Friend,
By Thought deep-imag'd in her Bosom play,
Endearing Life, and charm Despair away:
Th'all-chearing Suns with sweeter Light arise,
And every Object brightens to her Eyes:
Then from her Hand the baneful Drugs she throws,
Consents to live, recover'd from her Woes;
Resolv'd the magic Virtue to betray,
She waits the Dawn, and calls the lazy Day:
Time seems to stand, or backward drive his Wheels;
The Hours she chides, and eyes the Eastern Hills.

262

At length the Dawn with orient Beams appears,
The Shades disperse, and Man awakes to Cares.
Studious to please, her graceful length of Hair
With Art she binds, that wanton'd with the Air;
From her soft Cheek she wipes the Tear away,
And bids keen Lightnings from her Eyes to play;
From Limb to Limb refreshing Unguents pours,
Unguents, that breathe of Heav'n, in copious Show'rs;
Her Robe she next assumes; bright Clasps of Gold
Close to the less'ning Waist the Robe infold;
Down from her swelling Loins, the rest unbound
Floats in rich Waves redundant o'er the Ground:
Last, with a shining Veil her Cheeks she shades,
Then swimming smooth along magnificently treads.

Thus forward moves the fairest of her Kind,
Blind to the future, to the present blind;

263

Twelve Maids, Attendants on her Virgin Bow'r,
Alike unconscious of the bridal Hour,
Join to the Car the Mules; dire Rites to pay,
To Hecate's black Fane she bends her way;
A Juice she bears, whose magic Virtue tames
(Thro' fell Persephonè) the Rage of Flames;
It gives the Hero, strong in matchless Might,
To stand secure of Harms in mortal Fight;
It mocks the Sword; the Sword without a Wound,
Leaps as from Marble shiver'd to the Ground:
She mounts the Car , nor rode the Nymph alone,
On either side two lovely Damsels shone:
Her Hand with Skill th'embroider'd Rein controuls,
Back fly the Streets, as swift the Chariot rouls.
Along the Wheel-worn Road they hold their way,
The Domes retreat, the sinking Tow'rs decay:

264

Bare to the Knee succinct a Damsel Train
Behind attends, and glitters tow'rd the Plain.
As when her Limbs Divine, Diana laves
In fair Parthenius, or th'Amnesian Waves,
Sublime in Royal State the bounding Roes
Whirl her bright Car along the Mountain Brows;
Swift to her Fane in Pomp the Goddess moves,
The Nymphs attend that haunt the shady Groves,
Th'Amnesian Fount, or silver-streaming Rills;
Nymphs of the Vales, or Oreads of the Hills!
The fawning Beasts before the Goddess play,
Or trembling, savage Adoration pay.
Thus on her Car sublime the Nymph appears,
The Croud falls back, and as she moves, reveres:
Swift to the Fane aloft her Course she bends;
The Fane she reaches, and to Earth descends:
Then to her Train—Ah me! I fear we stray,
Misled by Folly to this lonely Way!

265

Alas! should Jason with his Greeks appear,
Where should we fly? I fear, alas, I fear!
No more the Cholchian Youths, and Virgin Train,
Haunt the cool Shade, or tread in Dance the Plain:
But since alone;—with Sports beguile the Hours,
Come chaunt the Song, or pluck the blooming Flow'rs,
Pluck every Sweet, to deck your Virgin Bow'rs!
Then warbling soft , she lifts her heav'nly Voice,
But sick with mighty Love, the Song is Noise;
She hears from every Note a Discord rise,
Till pausing, on her Tongue the Music dies;
She hates each Object, every Face offends,
In every Wish, her Soul to Jason sends;
With sharpen'd Eyes the distant Lawn explores,
To find the Object whom her Soul adores;

266

At every Whisper of the passing Air,
She starts, she turns, and hopes her Jason there;
Again she fondly looks, nor looks in vain,
He comes, her Jason shines along the Plain:
As when emerging from the watry Way,
Refulgent Sirius lifts his golden Ray,
He shines terrific! for his burning Breath
Taints the red Air with Fevers, Plagues, and Death;
Such to the Nymph approaching Jason shows,
Bright Author of unutterable Woes;
Before her Eyes a swimming Darkness spread,
Her flush'd Cheek glow'd, her very Heart was dead;
No more her Knees their wonted Office knew,
Fix'd, without Motion, as to Earth she grew;
Her Train recedes: the meeting Lovers gaze
In silent Wonder, and in still Amaze.
As two fair Cedars on the Mountain's Brow,
Pride of the Groves! with Roots adjoining grow;

267

Erect and motionless the stately Trees
Awhile remain, while sleeps each fanning Breeze,
Till from th'Æolian Caves a Blast unbound
Bends their proud Tops, and bids their Boughs resound;
Thus gazing they: till by the Breath of Love
Strongly at length inspir'd, they speak, they move:
With Smiles the Love-sick Virgin he survey'd,
And fondly thus addrest the blooming Maid.

Dismiss, my Fair, my Love, thy Virgin Fear;
'Tis Jason speaks, no Enemy is here!
Man, haughty Man, is of obdurate kind,
But Jason bears no proud, inhuman Mind,
By gentlest Manners, softest Arts refin'd.
Whom woud'st thou fly? Stay, lovely Virgin, stay!
Speak every Thought! far hence be Fears away!
Speak! and be Truth in every Accent found!
Dread to deceive! we tread on hallow'd Ground.

268

By the stern Pow'r who guards this sacred Place,
By the illustrious Authors of thy Race;
By Jove, to whom the Stranger's Cause belongs,
To whom the Suppliant, and who feels their Wrongs;
O guard me, save me, in the needful Hour!
Without thy Aid, thy Jason is no more;
To thee a Suppliant, in distress I bend,
To thee a Stranger, and who wants a Friend!
Then, when between us Seas and Mountains rise,
Medea's Name shall sound in distant Skies;
All Greece to thee shall owe her Heroes Fates,
And bless Medea thro' her hundred States.
The Mother and the Wife, who now in vain
Roul their sad Eyes fast-streaming o'er the Main,
Shall stay their Tears: The Mother, and the Wife,
Shall bless thee for a Son's or Husband's Life!
Fair Ariadne, sprung from Minos' Bed,
Sav'd the brave Theseus, and with Theseus fled,

269

Forsook her Father, and her native Plain,
And stem'd the Tumults of the surging Main;
Yet the stern Sire relented, and forgave
The Maid, whose only Crime it was to save:
Ev'n the just Gods forgave: and now on high
A star she shines, and beautifies the Sky:
What Blessings then shall righteous Heav'n decree
For all our Heroes sav'd, and sav'd by Thee?
Heav'n gave thee not to kill, so soft an Air,
And Cruelty sure never look'd so fair!

He ceas'd, but left so charming on her Ear
His Voice, that listn'ing still she seem'd to hear;
Her Eye to Earth she bends with modest Grace,
And Heav'n in Smiles is open'd in her Face.
A Glance she steals; but rosy Blushes spread
O'er her fair Cheek, and then she drops her Head;

270

A thousand Words at once to speak she tries;
In vain—but speaks a thousand with her Eyes;
Trembling the shining Casket she expands,
Then gives the Magic Virtue to his Hands;
And had the Pow'r been granted to convey
Her Heart—had giv'n her very Heart away.

869.

947.

Temple of Hecate.

276

FINIS.