Translations and Poems Written on Several Subjects ::

“Thus JOB began, — “Curst be the Fatal Morn
“In which distinguish'd Wretchedness was born!
“From the fair Round of the revolving Year
“Perish that Day! nor let the Night appear;
“In which this Spec of Entity began
“To swell to Misery and promise Man!
“Let Darkness stain it o'er, no friendly Ray
“Pierce thro' the Gloom of that affrighted Day!
“But Shades of Terror o'er its Circuit spread,
“And sold it in the Mantle of the Dead!
“O'er that curst Night may double Horrors dwell,
“Such as enwrap the Punishments of Hell!

“No chearful Sounds its Solitude awake,
“But such as Fiends, and tortur'd Wretches make;
“Such as may wound the Soul, and shock the Ear,
“The Groans of Death, and Howlings of Despair!
“May all its Stars with Rays diminish'd show,
“And thro' the dusky Air obscurely glow!
“No Glimpse of Hope the dreadful Scene adorn,
“Nor let it see the Promise of a Morn!—
“Because it shut not up my Mother's Womb,
“And join'd at once my Cradle and my Tomb:
“Why dy'd I not? Why did preventive Care
“My destin'd Life for future Sorrows Spare?
“Then had I found that Ease I seek in vain,
“Nor known this Load of unexampled Pain!

“O Grave! thou Refuge of the Soul distrest!
“When shall I sink into thy downy Rest?
“There Kings and Mighty Ones neglected rot,
“In their own mould'ring Monuments forgot:

“(Tho' once of Grandeur and of Pow'r possest,
“And all the Treasures of the shining East)
“There Men no longer vain Distinctions boast,
“In common Dust the Prince and Slave are lost:
“Low lyes th' Oppressor bound in lasting Chains,
“There of his Rod the Wretch no more complains!
“There cease the Wailings of the Heart distrest,
“And there the Weary find eternal Rest!

“Why sparest thou, O Lord! a Life like mine?
“While with incessant Pray'rs for Death I pine:
“Why is that Blessing given to Wealth and Pride?
“But to the Wretch distress'd like me, deny'd.
“While o'er my Head Thy awful Terrors brood,
“Beset my Path, and mingle with my Food.
“In vain my Cries and Groans continual rise,
“In vain my Tears I pour, and waste my Sighs:
“While all my Fears upon my Soul are come,
“By Thee forsaken, hopeless and undone!

The VII. Chapter of the Book of JOB

PARAPHRASED.

“Has not kind Heaven, regarding human Woe,
“Set a fix'd Period to our Race below?
“Known by th' All-wise is our uncertain Stay,
“And we, like Hirelings, toil but by the Day:
“Then when the busy tedious Dream is o'er,
“We sink into the Grave, and are no more;
“And is then Death our Slumber? our Repose?
“Oh! when shall Death JOB's weary'd Eye-lids close!
“As with desiring Eyes the harass'd Swain,
“Expects the Evening-shade to quit the Plain;
“So with Impatience to the Grave I bend,
“And long to see my numerous Sorrows end:
“Not more sollicitous the lab'ring Hind
“Is, that his Cares their Recompence may find,
“Or waits more eager the prolific Rain,
“The promis'd Harvest, in the swelling Grain;

“Than I to see my grim Deliv'rer rise,
“And Death's cold Hand in Mercy seal those Eyes!
“For crush'd, O Lord, beneath Thy pow'rful Arm,
“What Balm can cure my Griefs? what Musick charm?
“While in a thousand Shapes Thy Wrath I know,
“And feel a strange Variety of Woe!

“When will my long protracted Troubles cease?
“And this tormented Sufferer be at Peace!
“Each lingring Night in Agonies I lye,
“And oft I wish, but wish in vain, to dye;
“In silent Woe I lengthen out the Night,
“Then curse the Gloom, and wait the dawning Light;
“The dawning Light returns — but not to me,
“And all but I its kindly Aspect see:
“To JOB no friendly Seasons e'er return,
“Nor gives the Evening Ease, or Joy the Morn;
“Grief fills his Soul, and Pain, and anxious Care,
“Amazement, — Anguish, — Horror — and Despair!

“Withhold at length Thy Wrath! and leave me free,
“For what is JOB, O God! to strive with Thee?
“Vile Matter is my Substance, Dust and Clay,
“All cover'd too with Sores more vile than they!
“Swifter than Thought my fleeting Moments pass;
“Consum'd, I wither as the fading Grass.
“Remember, Lord, my transient Life like Wind,
“Blows off unseen, nor leaves a Trace behind:
“Short as it is, why is it then opprest,
“Curst by the Hand that once had made it blest?
“Oh close the Scene — and let my Sorrows cease,
“Dissolve the Chain, and frown me into Peace!

“Each Evening yeilds the Sun to sable Night,
“But every Morn returns again as bright;
“Within Earth's Lap the yearly Seed is thrown,
“And Nature's bounteous Hand repays the Loan:
“But Man within the Grave for ever lies,
“Till Nature's Death permitted not to rise;

“Till then forbid the faintest Glimpse of Day,
“Or re-ascend the long forgotten Way;
“No more indulg'd to see the chearsul Light,
“The sweet returning Day and peaceful Night:
“His Memory too shall die, and in the Grave,
“In length of Time its thin Existence leave.
“Here look, vain Men, and human Greatness see,
“Dust once ye were, and Dust again must be!

“Oh! why should tortur'd JOB his Sighs refrain?
“Or suffering thus, why should he not complain?
“Allow him prostrate then to ask his God,
“Why thus Thou break'st this animated Clod?
“Why watchest Thou my Steps severely just?
“And while I bend me groaning to the Dust,
“Forbid'st me one short Interval of Rest,
“And emptiest all Thy Quiver in my Breast!
“In vain for Rest I to my Couch repair,
“And hope in Sleep to dissipate my Care;

“For there in awful Visions I behold
“My Terrors heighten'd, and my Hopes controul'd:
“How can I then this wretched Life sustain,
“When Life, Death's Image, but augments my Pain?

“Oft when alone, and in the Ev'ning Shade,
“I call for Death — but call in vain for Aid:
“For Thou unmov'd still lengthn'st out my Pains,
“And whom Thy Wrath torments, Thy Pow'r sustains.
“Oh finish, Lord! the vast unequal Strife,
“And I to buy my Peace will quit my Life.
“What did I say of Life? — That galling Chain!
“By Thee afflicted, what is Life but Pain?
“I would not live, nor bear the dreadful Load;
“For Man can ne'er support Thy chastning Rod.
“Oh cease to urge what Nature cannot bear!
“Nor fill me thus with Anguish and Despair;
“Withdraw Thy cruel all-supporting Pow'r,
“And lo! I perish in that gracious Hour!

“Then humbly in Thy Sight I lay me down,
“At once Thy Justice and my Crimes I own.
“To Thee for Mercy and Relief I come;
“Oh take this late-repenting Rebel home.
“Oh let Thy Pity ease and set me free,
“And give me in Destruction Rest to see:
“So shall the Voice of my Complaining cease,
“And JOB's last Breath shall bless Thee for his Peace.

Cl. Claudiani in Rufinum, Lib. I.

PARAPHRASED.

Oft has my Mind with anxious Doubts been tost,
And all my Thoughts in dark Confusion lost;
Whether this Frame of Nature were defign'd
By an omniscient and eternal Mind;
Or if wild Atoms in Confusion hurl'd,
By Chance arrang'd, compos'd this beauteous World:
For when the Laws of Nature I review'd,
Exactly just, and sovereignly good;
How the proud Ocean keeps its certain Bounds,
How the Sun runs his constant annual Rounds;

The fix'd Returns of Darkness and of Light,
The soft Vicissitudes of Day and Night.
When this harmonious Universe I view'd,
In Rapture lost — I could not but conclude
A Pow'r supreme did over all command,
And held the Ballance with a steady Hand.
In its own Orb He plac'd each shining Star,
(And tho' these glitt'ring Lights unnumber'd are)
He mark'd their Circles thro' th' unbounded Skies,
And fix'd their Periods when to set and rise;
The rowling Seasons at His Word appear,
And mark with Flowers and Fruits the various Year.
The Sun he plac'd, the glorious Source of Light;
The Moon with borrow'd Beams, the Queen of Night;
Its well pois'd Axis does the Earth sustain;
Loose Sands he made the Barrier of the Main,
Where tho' its angry Waves with Fury beat,
They stop, and at th' appointed Mark retreat.
And all Creation in her Works aloud,
Points out th' Existence of a Perfect GOD.

But when the Face of Mankind I survey'd,
The moral World with dark Disorder spread;
Again with Doubts my wav'ring Soul is prest,
And strong Objections rose within my Breast:
While here below Confusion seem'd to reign,
And prosp'rous Vice did Providence arraign;
Villains with Fortune and Applauses crown'd;
The Virtuous few, a thousand Woes surround;
Th' Oppressor's Wrongs no Justice to restrain,
And injur'd Innocence lament in vain.
A Scene like this distracted could I see,
And yet believe a ruling Deity?
Would He the impious Wretch with Favours load,
And leave to sink in Woe the Just and Good?

To other Schemes for Light I now apply'd,
And chose the bold LUCRETIUS for my Guide:
Matter and Motion luckily supply
The sev'ral lovely Scenes that strike the Eye;

Fortune and Charice direct this mighty Frame,
And Providence is but an empty Name;
There are no Pow'rs supreme — or if there be,
Our low Affairs they nor regard, nor see.

But when I saw on curst RUFINUS Head
The Vengeance of all-righteous Heaven display'd,
And mark him out, by punishing his Crimes,
A Monument of Guilt to future Times;
No more of prosp'rous Villains I complain,
Nor grieve to see them rais'd to Pow'r and Gain:
As pond'rous Bodies when they're mounted high,
Back to the Earth with double Swiftness fly;
So impious Men the higher they ascend,
With greater Speed to certain Ruin tend.

Cl. Claudianus, De Sene Veronensi.

TRANSLATED.

Happy the Man who free from Noise and Strife
In his own Grounds has past his peaceful Life;
And in his solitary Cottage blest,
Counts o'er the joyful Days he has possest;
Who ne'er for Fortune's Baits exchang'd Content,
Nor knew what Av'rice or Ambition meant;
Ne'er heard the Clamours of the crowded Town,
Or the Chicane of the litigious Gown;
But freed from War, and ignorant of Trade,
Defies all Storms that may his Rest invade:

And from the World retir'd, serene enjoys
The kindly Influence of his native Skies;
While by the Marks of Nature that appear,
He knows the Seasons of the changing Year;
Who walks and sleeps beneath the neighb'ring Wood,
That with himself coeval, long has stood
The waste of Time, and as the Stripling stray'd,
Receiv'd him oft beneath its friendly Shade:
To whom Verona seems the Indian Coast,
And the Red Sea in Benaeus is lost;
While firm in Health, and in his Reason sound,
He daily measures his paternal Ground,
And o'er his Body, like a pleasing Sleep,
Feels his old Age with soft Advances creep,
Till blest with all a mortal Wish can crave,
Unknown, unseen, he sinks into the Grave.

Let others boast of Triumphs and of Toils,
The Pride of Riches, and the Pomp of Spoils!

Compar'd with his, how trifling are their Joys?
They only taste that Life which he enjoys.

Horace, Book I. ODE XIX.

IMITATED.

Almighty Love's resistless Rage,
Nor Force can quell, nor Art asswage;
While Wit and Beauty both conspire,
To kindle in my Breast the Fire:
Nor yet could Wit and Beauty join'd,
Have touch'd my firm unalter'd Mind,
Or made my stubborn Heart obey,
Or shook unconquer'd Reason's Sway;
Did not the artful Pow'r employ
The satal Arms of Flavia's Eye;
Her Glances do my Soul alarm,
And keep my glowing Bosom warm;

Her matchless Shape, her charming Grace,
Her easy Air, and blooming Face,
Each Charm that does around her shine,
To keep my captive Heart combine.

I Feel, I feel the raging Fire!
And my Soul burns with fierce Desire!
Thy Freedom, Reason, I disown,
And Beauty's pleasing Chains put on;
No Art can set the Captive free,
Who scorns his offer'd Liberty,
Nor is Confinement any Pain
To him who hugs his pleasing Chain.

Bright Venus! Offspring of the Sea!
Thy sovereign Dictates I obey;
I own submiss thy mighty Reign,
And feel thy Power in ev'ry Vein:
I feel thy Influence all-confest,
I feel thee triumph in my Breast!

'Tis there is fix'd thy sacred Court,
'Tis there thy Cupids gayly sport!
Faintly now I touch the String,
Of Arms no more I aim to sing:
Beauty alone my Thoughts subdues,
Alone inspires th'enamour'd Muse.

Come, my Boy, the Altar place,
Add the blooming Garland's Grace;
Gently pour the sacred Wine,
Hear me, Venus! Power divine!
Grant the only Boon I crave,
Hear me, Venus! hear thy Slave!
Bless my fond Soul with Beauty's Charms,
And give me Flavia to my Arms.

Horace, Book I. ODE XXX. IMITATED.

Bright Venus! Goddess All-divine,
Round whom a thousand Graces shine,
A thousand Cupids gayly smile,
Leave thy fav'rite lovely Isle;
Descend, cœlestial radiant Guest,
And fix thy Seat in Flavia's Breast;
Kindle there thy pleasing Fire,
Love and Tenderness inspire,
Wishes warm and soft Desire;
Do thou her snowy Bosom warm,
And let her bless, as well as charm!

II.

To compleat the heav'nly Joy,
Bring with thee thy charming Boy;

Let the Wanton touch her Heart,
With his own resistless Dart,
Affected Coyness soon shall fly,
And Fondness sparkle in her Eye;
Forgiveness she shall soon implore,
For slighting thy Almighty Pow'r,
And feel the Wound she scorn'd before;
New Passions in her Breast shall move,
And Flavia be a Slave to Love!

Horace, Book I. ODE XXII. .

TRANSLATED

I

Impenetrable Innocence
Dear W---d! is the securest Fence:
Nor Lybian Spear nor Parthian Dart,
Of this possest, can touch the Heart.

II

Whether thro' Africk's Sands it goes,
Or hoary Iman's deepest Snows;
Or (where to grace the beauteous Scene)
Hydaspes winds his Silver Stream.

III

For late as in the Sabine Grove,
Careless I stray'd and sung my Love;
A horrid Wolf amidst the Shade,
The solitary Lover fled.

IV

A Beast whose Look inspir'd more Awe,
The Daunian Desart never saw;
Or yet Numidia's scorching Plain,
A Land of Monsters, not of Men!

V

Place me, ye Pow'rs, in that dread Place,
Where Phœbus hides his chearful Face,
And o'er the dark benighted Plains,
Bleak Tempests brood, and Coldness reigns.

VI

Or place me near the sultry Line
Where all his Beams collected shine;
And the wide sandy burning Glades,
No Streams refresh, no Verdure shades.

VII

Yet there amidst th' inclement Soil,
Love should my wearied Soul beguile;
Emilia's Virtue still should charm,
Emilia's Image keep me safe from Harm.

Horti Arlingtoniani

TRANSLATED.

[_]

E Miscellan. Poet. D. J.Dryden. Vol. II P.364

Near to those Domes th' indulgent Powers assign
The sacred Seat of Stuart's Majestick Line;
(Those rising Tow'rs, that known to ancient Fame,
Bear both the Monarch's and the Martyr's Name;)
Near those fair Lawns, and intermingled Groves,
Where gentle Zephyrs breathe and sporting Loves,
A Frame there stands, that rears its beauteous Height,
And strikes with pleasing Ravishment the Sight.
Full on the Front the Orient Sun displays
His chearful Beams; and as his Light decays,
Again adorns it with his Western Rays.
Here wondring Crowds admire the Owner's State,
And view the Glories of the Fair and Great;
Here falling Statesmen Fortune's Changes feel,
And prove the Turns of her revolving Wheel;

Then envy mighty Arlington, thy Life
That feels no Tempest, and that knows no Strife.
Whence ev'ry jarring Sound is banish'd far,
The restless Vulgar, and the noisy Bar;
But heavenly Peace, that shuns the Courtier-Train
And Innocence, and conscious Virtue reign.

Here when Aurora brings the Purple Day,
And op'ning Buds their tender Leaves display;
While the fair Vales afford a smiling View,
And the Fields glitter with the Morning Dew;
No rattling Wheel disturbs the peaceful Ground,
Or wounds the Ear with any jarring Sound;
Th' unwearied Eye with ceaseless Rapture strays,
And still Variety of Charms surveys.
Here watch the fearful Deer their tender Fawns,
Stray thro' the Wood, or browze the verdant Lawns:
Here from the marshy Glade the Wild-duck springs,
And slowly moves her wet incumber'd Wings:

Around soft Peace and Solitude appear,
And Golden Plenty crowns the smiling Year.

Thy beauteous Gardens charm the ravish'd Sight,
And surfeit ev'ry Sense with soft Delight;
Where'er we turn our still transported Eyes,
New Scenes of Art with Nature join'd arise;
We dwell indulgent on the Lovely Scene,
The lengthen'd Vista or the Carpet Green;
A thousand Graces bless th'inchanted Ground,
And throw promiscuous Beauties all around.

Within thy fair Parterres appear to view
A thousand Flowers of various Form and hue.
There spotless Lillies rear their sickly Heads,
And Purple Violets creep along the Beds;
Here shews the bright Jonquil its gilded Face,
Join'd with the pale Carnation's fairer Grace;
The painted Tulip, and the blushing Rose,
A blooming Wilderness of Sweets compose.

In such a Scene great Cupid wounded lay
To Love and Psyche's Charms a glorious Prey;
Here felt the pleasing Pain, and thrilling Smart,
And prov'd too well his own resistless Dart.

High in the midst appears a rising Ground,
With Greens and Balustrades inclos'd around:
Here a new Wonder stops the wandring Sight,
A Dome whose Walls and Roof transmit the Light;
Here foreign Plants and Trees exotic thrive,
And in the cold unfriendly Climate live;
For when bleak Winter chills the rolling Year,
The guarded Strangers find their Safety here;
And fenc'd from Storms, and the inclement Air,
They sweetly flourish ever green and fair;
Their lively Buds they shoot and Blossoms show
And gayly bloom amidst surrounding Snow.

But when the genial Spring all Nature chears,
And Earth renew'd, her verdant Honours wears;

The Golden Plants their wonted Station leave,
And in the milder Air with Freedom breathe:
Their tender Branches feel th' enlivening Ray,
Unfold their Leaves, and all their Pomp display;
Around their fragrant Flowers the Zephyrs play,
And waft the Aromatic Scents away.

Not far from hence a lofty Wood appears,
That spite of Age its verdant Honours wears,
Here widely spread does ample Shade display,
Expel the Sun, and form a doubtful Day.
Here thoughtful Solitude finds spacious Room,
And reigns thro' all the wide-extended Gloom;
Beneath the friendly Covert Lovers toy,
And spend the flying Hours in am'rous Joy;
Unmindful of approaching Night they sport,
While circling Pleasures new Attention court;
Or thro' the Maze forgetfully they stray,
Lost in the pleasing sweetly-winding Way:

Or stretch'd at Ease upon the flow'ry Grass,
In Tales of Love the starry Night they pass;
While the soft Nightingale thro' all the Groves,
His Song repeats and sooths his tender Loves;
Whose strains harmonious and the silent Night,
Increase the Joy and give compleat Delight.

A Curious Terrass stops the wandring Eye,
Where lovely Jasmines fragrant Shade supply;
Whose tender Branches in their Pride array'd,
Invite the Wanderer to the grateful Shade:
From hence afar, a various Prospect lyes,
Where artless Nature courts the ravish'd Eyes;
The Sight at once a thousand Charms surveys,
And pleas'd o'er Villages and Forests strays:
Here Harvests grow, and Lawns appear, and Woods,
And gently rising Hills, — and distant Floods.

Here Arlington, thy mighty Mind disdains
Inferior Earth, and breaks its servile Chains,

Aloft on Contemplations Wings you rise,
Scorn all below and mingle with the Skies;
Where rais'd by great Philosophy you soar,
And Worlds remote, in boundless Space explore;
There from your Height, divine with Pity view,
The various Cares that busy Men pursue:
Where each by diff'rent Ways aspires to gain
Uncertain Happiness with certain Pain:
While you, well pleas'd, th'exalted Raptures know,
That do from conscious Truth and Virtue flow;
And blessing all, by all around you blest,
You taste the Earnest of eternal Rest.

You, who have left the publick Cares of State,
Another Scipio in Retirement great,
Have chang'd your Royal Master's gentle Smiles,
For Solitude divine, and rural Toils;
In vain the Call of Glory sounds to Arms;
In vain Ambition shews her painted Charms;

While in the happy Walk, or sacred Shade,
No anxious Cares thy Soul serene invade;
Where all the Heavenly Train thy Steps attend,
Sooth ev'ry Thought, from ev'ry Ill defend:
Such was the Lot th' immortal Roman chose;
Great in his Triumphs, greater in Repose!

Thus blest with smiling Heav'ns indulgent Store,
Can'st thou in Wishes lavish ask for more?
Yet more they give — thy good old Age to bless,
And fill the Sum of mortal Happiness:
Thy only Daughter, Britain's boasted Grace,
Join'd with a Hero of the Royal Race ;
And that fair Fabrick which our wondring Eyes,
So lately saw from humble Ruins rise,
And mock the Rage of the devouring Flame!
A nobler Structure, and a fairer Frame!

Whose Beauties long shall charm succeeding Days,
And tell Posterity the Founder's Praise.

“When from divine Olympus' tow'ring Height,
“All beauteous Venus saw the pleasing Sight,
“In dimpled Smiles, and Looks inchanting drest,
“Thus pow'rful Jove the charming Queen addrest.
“Behold the lovely Seat, and let thy Care,
“Indulgent bless th'united happy Pair;
“Here long their Place, their happy Race assign,
“By Virtue still distinguish'd may they shine,
“In the Request immortal Pallas joins,
“(Long has the Patriot offer'd at her Shrines)
“With Love of Arts his God-like Bosom glows,
“And treads those Paths by which the Goddess rose.”

The awful Father gave the gracious Sign,
And fix'd the Fortunes of the glorious Line.

The Green-house.

His Grace the late Duke of Grafton married the only surviving Daughter and Heir of the Earl of Arlington.

ODE de Monsieur Fenelon (depuis Archeveque de Cambraï) ecrit dans sa Feunesse.

TRANSLATED

Rura mihi placent, riguique in vallibus amnes,
Flumina amem, sylvasque inglorius.------
Virg.

I

Ye lofty Mountains , whose eternal Snows
Like Atlas, seem to prop the distant Skies;
While shelter'd by your high and ample Brows,
All Nature's Beauties feast my ravish'd Eyes:
And far beneath me o'er the distant Plain,
The Thunders break, and rattling Tempests reign.

II

As THRACIAN Hills, by impious Giants plac'd,
To Heav'n rear'd up their bold aspiring Heads;
So these (at length the painful Summit trac'd)
Present the Eye their fair-extended Meads:
Which in their Bosom other Mountains bear,
Whose pointed Tops are lost amidst the Air.

III

Here, when Aurora with her chearful Beam
And rosy Blushes mark'd approaching Day;
Oft have I walk'd along the purling Stream
And saw the bleating Flocks around me stray:
The Woods, the Rocks, each Charm that struck my Sight,
Fill'd my young Breast with innocent Delight.

IV

This wild uncultivated dear Retreat
In which my tender early Youth was blest,—
Scarce can I call to Mind without Regret,
Tho' here of my supremest Wish possest;
Where Spring and Autumn in Succession reign,
The Earth still blooming, and the Air serene.

V

Sweet Solitude , where with delightful Sound
The fair Dordonna rolls its Silver Flood;
Two lovely Isles its Waves encompass round,
Whose gently rising Banks are crown'd with Wood:

How shall th' inchanted Muse, in equal Verse
The artless Beauties of the Place rehearse?

VI

Here crown'd with Plenty, to the temper'd Breeze
The golden Vales their smiling Bosom spread;
While twining round the lofty spreading Trees
The lovely Vine reclines its purple Head:
And Ceres thus, and chearful Bacchus join
To pour out Stores of Corn and Floods of Wine.

VII

Afar I see the Chrystal Riv'lets shine
As down the shaggy Mountains Sides they play;
Then Woods and azure Landskips rise behind,
And the whole Prospect looks serenely gay;
While as I walk along the glassy Plain,
I see renew'd the sweetly painted Scene.

VIII

With ruddy Autumn's rich empurpled Stores,
The Odors of the rosy Spring I feel:
The River here, between its verdant Shores
Along the flow'ry Meadows seems to steal;

There breaking o'er the Banks with rapid Force,
Drives down the Steep its wild impetuous Course.

IX

Here gaily dancing on the flow'ry Ground
The chearful Shepherds join their Flute and Voice;
While thro' the Groves the Woodland Songs resound,
And fill th' untroubled Mind with peaceful Joys:
Music and Love inspire the vocal Plain,
Alone the Turtle tunes her plaintive Strain!

X

Here the green Turf invites my wearied Head
On Nature's Lap, to undisturb'd Repose;
Here gently laid to Rest — each Care is fled;
Peace and Content my happy Eye-lids close.
Ye golden flattering Dreams of State, adieu!
As bright my Slumbers are, more soft than you.

XI

Here free from all the Tempests of the Great,
Love and Ambition can deceive no more!
Beneath these Shades I find a blest Retreat,
From Envy's Rage secure, and Fortune's Pow'r:

Here call the Actions of past Ages o'er,
Or Truth's immortal Source alone explore.

XII

When wise Ulysses driv'n by Fortune's Sport
I see, an Exile from his Native Greece,
In Shipwreck calm, tho' tost from Port to Port,
Yet still preserving Constancy and Peace:
How dear the Calm I taste beneath the Shade!
Where no intruding Passion dares invade.

XIII

Here far from all the busy World's Alarms,
I prove in Peace the Muse's sacred Leisure:
No Cares within, no distant Sound of Arms,
Break my Repose, or interrupt my Pleasure.
Fortune and Fame! deceitful Forms! adieu!
The World's a Trifle far beneath my View.

XIV

Wherever Fate shall lead my wandring Way,
Still will I think, Sweet Solitude! on thee;
Still sigh beneath thy gloomy Walks to stray,
And end my Days from Guilt and Sorrow free:

There to my kindred Earth in Peace return,
While Thyrsis baths with friendly Tears my Urn.

The Mountains of Auvergne, esteemed the highest in France, where the Author was in his Infancy.

Carenac, a small Monastery on the Dordogne, which the Author then possessed.

Monsieur l' Abbe de Langeron, the Author's intimate Friend.

POEMS.

On a Divine PARAPHRASE,

Written by a GENTLEMAN.

Whoe'er Thou art, of all th' inspired Train,
That sings of Heav'n in such a Heav'nly Strain;
Such soft Perswasion dwells upon thy Tongue,
Such moving Eloquence attends the Song,
That well thy Numbers, and their Theme agree
And what You Paint, You seem Your self to be.

To the Right Honourable, SUSANNA Countess of EGLINGTON,

An EPISTLE.

Non nostrum est, inquit, tantas attingere laudes.
Virg.

To Thee, fair Eglington, a humble Swain
This Tribute sends across the distant Main;
In Hopes Thy wondrous Goodness will excuse,
These grateful Off'rings from no Venal Muse:
Tho' mean the Verse, tho' lowly be the Strain,
From Thee her Merit shall the Muse obtain;
Thy kind Acceptance shall new Charms display,
And hide the Errors of her artless Lay.

Not lawless Vice, tho' varnish'd o'er with State,
Not all the licens'd Follies of the Great,
Her Voice could move; — she scorn'd to flatter wrong
Or sooth Injustice with ambitious Song:
But fondly straying thro' the pleasing Groves,
She tun'd her artless Reed to rural Loves;
Beauty alone her Harmony inspir'd,
Subdued her Soul, and all her Numbers fir'd.

If now more arduous Paths she seeks to try,
And turns to nobler Themes her daring Eye;
To Thee fair Patroness, the Verse is due,
So Gratitude directs and points to You,
Whose matchless Virtues fain she would display,
And suppliant thus her willing Homage pay.

But too advent'rous, how shall she set forth
The endless Circle of Thy shining Worth!
Where still succeeding Virtues croud so fast,
That 'tis impossible to name the last;

So is the Fancy in the Prospect lost,
That scarce we know which to distinguish most:
With bright'ning Lustre is Thy Virtue seen,
Assisted by that all-attractive Mien;
While to Thy faultless Form new Charms impart
Th' exalted Graces of Thy blameless Heart:
In every Character of Life You shine,
With lovely Excellence and Worth divine.

So the pleas'd Eye with secret Rapture sees,
Some finish'd Work of Italy or Greece;
O'er the fair Tablature the Fancy strays,
In Wonder lost — and lavishes its Praise;
A thousand Beauties yet remain behind,
That ask a Taste, like Angelo's to find.

With all the Charms that Nature cou'd afford,
With Wit enough to make those Charms ador'd,
From Courts retir'd, more soft Delights You boast
And to the undeserving World are lost;

While all serene (oh may it ever last!)
Life incorrupt and Joys unmix'd You taste,
And with unutterable Transport find
The sacred Calmness of a virtuous Mind;
Behold Your self, by all around You lov'd,
By Earth applauded, and by Heav'n approv'd.

Oh may propitious Heav'n indulge the Care,
Your Love bestows upon your noble Heir,
In manly Grace and Merit may he rise,
And charm each Patriot's Heart, each Virgin's Eyes:
Whate'er of his great Ancestors we read,
May all their Fame the lovely Youth exceed,
Till You behold Your own illustrious Boy,
His Sov'reign's Fav'rite, and his Country's Joy.

And when the Power of Beauty he shall prove,
May happy Fortune crown his well plac'd Love!
Oh may the Nymph like Kennedy be fair:
Her heav'nly Mind, and blooming Graces share;

Thence may a Race of future Heroes spring
To bless their Native Land, and guard their King.

Gently accept what thus the Muse design'd
A weak faint Copy of her Master's Mind
By no false Hopes inspir'd of empty Fame,
More just her Views, more generous was her Aim:
Where high Desert had taught her much to say
She sought this small Acknowledgment to pay,
She hopes for Pardon from her beauteous Theme,
And screens her Numbers with thy sacred Name.

To the Right Honourable, THE Countess of EGLINGTON,

At the BATH,

An EPISTLE.

Nec minus consider aho quid aures tuæ pati possunt, quam quod virtutibus debeatur. Plin. Panegyr.

Once more, bright Eglington indulge the Muse,
That fir'd with Fame, Thy radiant Track pursues
Thro' Southern Climes, where while they fondly gaze
Admiring Crowds grow lavish in Thy Praise;
And on Thy Form attentive while they stand,
Forget the Beauties of their Native Land.

Now fix'd at Bath, where circling Pleasures reign
And every gay Diversion crowds the Scene;
Let others paint Thee glitt'ring in the Throng
And every Grace, that marks Thy Way along;
Describe the Glories that around Thee shine,
Thy Mien majestic, and Thy Air divine!
Be mine the humbler Task — by that inspir'd
To view Thee from the busy World retir'd;
In some serene Retreat compos'd to rest,
(All but the Guardian-Angel in Thy Breast)
Whence, far below compassionate, you view,
The giddy Joys the restless Crowd pursue;
Who lost to Nature — seek Relief from Art,
Nor know the Raptures of Thy guiltless Heart.

The Muse descries You in the silent Shade,
Converse with Plato, and the sacred Dead;
Calmly revolve the Philosophic Page,
Victorious o'er the Waste of War and Age:

Like lovely Grey amidst the happy Grove
Ere yet her Heart was touch'd with Guilford's Love;
Ere lost by Duty, fatally insnar'd,
The Royal Partnership of Grief she shar'd;
Ere yet the Bitterness of Woe was known,
The shortliv'd Sceptre, and the thorny Crown,
Her hapless Lord's Misfortunes and her own:
Like Thee, she learn'd her Passions to subdue,
Encrease her Knowledge and enlarge her View;
From Wisdom's Stores to draw the sacred Balm,
That kept her fair untroubled Bosom calm
When the black Storm arose — and o'er her Head
Affliction all its noisy Billows spread;
Like some tall Rock that lifts its peaceful Brow,
While Seas and Tempests vainly rage below,

So all-unmov'd appear'd the suffering Queen
Her Soul unconquer'd, and her Breast serene:
With matchless Fortitude, resign'd her Breath,
Triumphant o'er the Pow'rs of Hell and Death.

In Young's immortal Lays consign'd to Fame,
Secure shall shine the lovely Heroine's Name:
Alike Your Virtues — different be Your Fate,
May You be ever Happy as you're Great!

Kind Heav'n, propitious, hear the Muse's Prayer,
And make thy Helen its all-guardian Care!
Renew her languid Charms with fresh Supplies,
Bloom on her Cheek, and sparkle in her Eyes;
Her Youth restor'd: — But chief among the rest
From every Stain, preserve her spotless Breast!
From gilded Flatt'ry and from poison'd Art,
And all the Mischiefs that beset the Heart.
Give her like Thee, to form her heav'nly Life,
The duteous Daughter, and the tender Wife;

In every Character to charm and please,
And act at once with Dignity and Ease.

Oh had the Muse but Waller's heav'nly Fire!
Or could she strike inchanting Granville's Lyre!
No more should England of her Charmers boast,
In thine should Sacharissa's Name be lost;
In Thee her every Grace should heighten'd shine,
And Myra's boasted Beauties yield to Thine.

But faintly now the Vocal String I try,
While on my Tongue the feeble Numbers die;
Weakly my Judgment dictates to my Hand,
I sing no more, — except at Her Command
Whose Smiles once more the drooping Muse can raise,
Renew her Vigour, and revive her Lays.

Roger Ascham, Tutor to the Princess Elisabeth, coming to wait on Lady Jane Grey at her Father's House in Leicester shire, found her reading Plato's Work in Greek, while the rest of the Family were hunting in the Park, and asking her How she could be absent from such pleasant Diversions? She answered, The Pleasures of the Park were but Shadows to what she had been reading in Plato's Phedon. Eachard's hist. p. 375. Edit. 1707.

To the SAME,

On her allowing the Author, to inscribe his Poems to her Ladyship.

Et vera incessu patuit Dea!
Virg.

While by Thy Favour, rising from its Woes
To Heav'n and Thee my grateful Soul o'erflows;
Forgive th'officious Duty, nor disdain
Bright Eglington the tributary Strain;
The Strain that seeks no borrow'd Help from Art,
To speak the Language of a thankful Heart.

If 'tis like Heav'n to sooth the Mind distrest,
And pour out Gladness on the troubled Breast;
With Heav'n You share of Goodness the Excess,
Like that You charm us, while like that You Bless:
Rejoice to see the Smiles Your self create,
And, 'tis Your least Distinction to be Great!

So while on wild Phæacia's rocky Coast,
Telemachus deplores a Father lost;
While all-abandon'd, hopeless of Relief,
The solitary Shores resound his Grief;
To his sad Eyes in all her Charms array'd,
Appear'd Minerva Heavn's majestic Maid;
(Who long beneath a borrow'd Form unknown
The kind Protectress of his Youth had gone.)
With Smiles divine, she chear'd his anxious Breast
With the glad Hopes of long expected Rest:
That done — the Goddess cut the yielding Air
While the fond Youth pursued with grateful Prayer
The Guardian Pow'r that sav'd him from Despair.

To the SAME,

Occasioned by seeing her Ladyship's Picture.

------So absolute she seems,
And in her self compleat.------
Milton.

When happy Paris in th' Idalian Shade
Heav'n's three contending Goddesses survey'd;
And gazing on her Charms with partial Eyes,
To Venus gave immortal Beauty's Prize:
That Moment, had the Attic Maid put on
The Air and Features of her Eglington,
Th' Angelic Mildness of her heav'nly Face,
Her faultless Shape, her ev'ry nameless Grace:
The Queen of Love her baffled Charms had mourn'd,
Greece ne'er had arm'd, nor Troy had ever burn'd;
Nor had the Youth so fatally been blind,
To chuse a Form, regardless of the Mind.

Verses sacred to the Memory of The Reverend Mr. John Anderson, Minister at GLASGOW.

Ob. Anno 1721.

------Cui pudor & justitia soror
Incorrupta fides, nudaque veritas:
Quando ullum invenient parem?
Hor.

Shall streaming Tears a Nation's Eyes o'erflow,
And not a Muse partake the general Woe?
Shall we be dumb because he speaks no more,
Who charm'd attentive Multitudes before.
Clos'd are those Eyes, and silent is that Tongue
Where sparkled Zeal and mild Instruction hung.
By Nature form'd to shine in ev'ry Scene,
To charm th'ambitious, or allure the vain:
Early he learn'd the Prospect to despise
And make his nobler Choice his kindred Skies:

For this himself and rising Hopes resign'd,
To live to Heav'n, and live for human Kind;
Hard Trial to the Mind, could ought controul
A Roman Virtue in a Christian Soul?

Oh could the Muse his generous Labours say!
To justify the Debt of Tears we pay;
No Streams of Grief should be immod'rate thought,
Excess of Sorrow is an honest Fault.

His widow'd Flock best know his pious Care,
Taught by his Words and guarded by his Prayer;
No more shall in his Eyes his Ardour shine,
No longer from his Lips flow Truths divine.
How wont the willing Crowd to gather round,
Hang on his Lips, and catch th' inchanting Sound;
While in such Ternis his Thoughts he still exprest
The Love of Virtue rose in every Breast
And ev'ry Heart its secret Faults confest.

Then with what Ease the Tumult would he calm,
And to the Wounds he search'd apply the Balm!
So first their Danger to Mankind he taught,
Then like some Guardian Angel, comfort brought.

Nor had his Speech alone such wond'rous Pow'r,
Tho' wondrous that — but still his Life was more;
Where all the Charms of Virtue were display'd;
And taught the World even more than all he said;
Where all was open, unreserv'd and fair,
A generous Bosom, and a Heart sincere,
So firm to Truth, to Reason so resign'd,
At once impartial, and at once so kind,
That scarce we knew which most we should commend,
The free Reprover, or the tender Friend:
Such were the Pastors that in ancient Days,
Reclaim'd Mankind, and led in Vertue's Ways,
Such Asia boasted, and such Rome of old,
E'er Souls were barter'd for unrighteous Gold;

Such great Erasmus, gentle Cranmer shone,
And such the Man, O Glasgow! late thy own:
Whose Life like theirs, in generous Labours past,
Was still the same and lovely to the last.

So in calm Ev'nings and unclouded Skies
Not less resplendent in his Fall than Rise;
The Westering Sun into the Main declines,
Bright, and more bright, and as he sets he shines!

VERSES occasioned by the Death of His Grace The Duke of Marlborough.

Decus addite Divis.
Virg.

At length the Fate's severe Decree is made,
And Nature's noblest Debt at length is paid:
Illustrious Shade! could the fond Muse express,
The mournful Nation's or her own Distress;
Thy weeping Britons, while thy Worth they view,
Should yield the Tribute to thy Virtues due.

In vain we paint thee with imperfect Lays,
Thy glorious Deeds disdain the Arts of Praise;
None durst the arduous Task attempt but one,
For Churchill's Fame requir'd an Addison:

His Numbers set thee in the justest Light,
As you were born to conquer, he to write;
In Valour and in Wit alike you shar'd,
The greatest Hero, the sublimest Bard.
So when Augustus rul'd the Roman State,
In peaceful Arts, and mild Dominion great;
Heav'n rais'd a Virgil to record his Praise,
And send his Glory down to future Days.

Thy Name, O Marlborough, shall foreverlive,
And dear to Albion Ages hence survive;
To latest Times thy Glory shall be known,
Britons unborn recount thy Triumphs won,
And in her grateful Annals shalt thou stand
The foremost Hero of thy Freeborn Land!

Thee too Germania her Deliv'rer owns
Who sav'd from Ruin her devoted Towns;
By Foes opprest, and by her Friends betray'd,
She pensive look'd around for timely Aid;

Her awful Father saw his sinking States,
A Prey to Rapine, and to hostile Fates;
With Grief beheld the Victor-Flames arise,
And heard his poor despairing People's Cries;
When from afar — lo he beheld thee come,
The great Supporter of his falling Throne:
With Joy he mark'd thy Arm victorious go,
And pour Destruction on a faithless Foe;
On Blenheim's Plain with ample Vengeance pay,
The barbarous Rage of many a fatal Day;
On lawless Gallia large Reprisals make,
For Liberty's and injur'd Europe's Sake;
While thou by grateful Cæsar was decreed,
Prince of that Empire which thy Arms had freed.

Those Arms his Scourge did haughty Louis see,
And found the English Prowess rise in thee,
What Wonders his great Ancestors of old,
Of Nevill had or gallant Talbot told,

Of Captive Kings that wore the Britisb Chain,
Or Agencourt's or Cressy's fatal Plain,
In thee their noblest Acts out match'd he view'd,
His Armies conquer'd, and his Pride subdu'd;
While like another greater Henry thou,
New Trophies ravish'd from his fading Brow,
And by successive Triumphs bravely won,
Eclips'd the Lustre of his boasted Sun
And shew'd th' immortal Man could be o'ercome,
Till sunk with Grief, and loaded with Disgrace
He sought a Refuge in the Arts of Peace.

Here would the Muse o'er Mem'ry draw a Veil,
And tender all her Country's Faults conceal;
That could alas, too negligent of Worth,
Behold thee go a Victor-Exile forth;
Till safe returning with her awful Lord,
With thee she saw her Liberty restor'd;

The first great Favours of his Reign to share,
In Peace belov'd, and honour'd as in War.

Within the sacred Tomb repos'd in Peace,
The restless Malice of thy Foes shall cease;
And after-Days that read thy glorious Name,
Do ample Justice to the Hero's Fame;
To their admiring Sons thy Actions teach,
Actions their Language shall but faintly reach;
Till by the great Example fir'd, they breathe,
The Love of Liberty and Scorn of Death.

So the fam'd Hero of immortal Greece,
The Scourge of Tyrants and the Friend of Peace;
In Life by Men neglected saw his Name,
Till Death secur'd his everlasting Fame:
And by his Loss (his Virtues understood)
Th' exalted Mortal rose into a God!

The celebrated Device of Louis XIV. was the Sun, with this Motto Nec pluribus impar: And the Inscription beneath the Statue erected for him in the Place de Victories at Paris, by the Duke of Feuillade, began with Vire Immortali.

Hercules.

To the Right Honourable, The Lord CARTERET,

On his first Arrival in IRELAND, Anno 1725.

------Tibi cura magni
Cæsaris fatis data, tu secundo
Cæsare regnes.
Hor.

While listning Crowds with Envy catch thy Name,
And a glad Nation does thy Worth proclaim;
While every grateful Look to Carteret bends,
And all around thy just Applause extends;
Permit the Muse thy blest Approach to greet,
And lay her early Homage at thy Feet.

In foreign Courts thy Dawn of Merit shone,
By them admir'd, yet scarce by Britain known:
Till in the Arts of Government compleat,
She saw thee shine distinguishingly great;

At length, behold, the pleasing Task assign'd,
(A Task well suited to thy generous Mind:)
With thy consummate Care a Land to bless,
A sinking Land! and all her Woes redress;
A Work that may thy Virtue well employ,
And prove to save is greater than destroy.

In vain, My Lord! a bounteous Clime we boast,
A fertile Soil, and an inviting Coast;
In vain from Britain our Descent we claim,
A barren Honour! and an empty Name!
While jealous of her Sons, as of her Foes,
Our Mother-Country does our Bliss oppose;
And stops the Springs from whence our Plenty flows;
Relentless hears our humble duteous Cries,
And to her Sons her boasted Rights denies;

Nor thinks how oft for Britain's dearer Good,
Her loyal Sons have shed their choicest Blood:
In Fields of Death have lavish'd Lives in vain,
And fought for Blessings which they can't obtain.

Carteret forgive these Truths, since Truths like these,
Demand a Patriot's Skill like thine to ease;
On thee for Succour does Hibernia wait,
And hopes from thy Protection milder Fate;
Behold her golden Harp neglected stand,
Untun'd, fit Emblem of a wasted Land!
But soon as Carteret's glad Approach she heard,
A rising Smile the beauteous Mourner chear'd;
Whose God-like Vertue might she hop'd restore,
That Land immortal Nassau sav'd before.

Would Royal George a Nation's Vows accord,
That loyal own and bless their mighty Lord!

Would Britain wear a tender Mother's Face,
And with her Smiles her faithful Offspring grace!
How would her Sons, still zealous for her Gause.
Assert her Empire and maintain her Laws?
For her dear Safety every Danger try,
And live like Britons, or like Britons dye.
While you, my Lord, by whom these Blessings came,
Crown'd with Hibernia's great Restorer's Name;
To latest Ages should that Name descend,
Carteret! of Arts and Liberty the Friend!

And thou fair Worseley, whose attractive Form
No Eye can see without a secret Charm;
Whose Beauty such extensive Force exerts,
And by such pow'rful Magic binds our Hearts,
In native Goodness bright, oh, sweetly smile,
And with thy gentle Influence bless our Isle!
So shall our future Bards thy Virtues paint,
And thou be stil'd Hibernia's Female Saint.

Forgive, my Lord, the fondly daring String,
That seeks on Themes like these, to you to sing;
No Motives urg'd her too presumptuous Flight,
But Love of Liberty and sacred Right:
How deep they dwelt within his Patriot-Breast,
She knew, to whom her Numbers were addrest;
Numbers that faintly make her Duty known,
While in the publick Joy she sinks her own!

Upon this Head see the Resolutions of the House of Lords in Ireland on the Case of Lord Dudley and Ward in 1703, Mr. Molyneux's Case of the Independency of Ireland, and the Drapier's Letters by Dr. Swift.

Written in Mr. Watts's Horæ Lyricæ.

I

Here let th' attentive Reader learn
On heavenly Wings to rise;
And All-contemplative discern
The Wonders of the Skies!

II

Compassion kind and boundless Love,
Here seem divinely bright:
And Mercy like the Silver Dove
Allures the ravish'd Sight.

III

Thy Soul, great Watts! forsakes the Earth,
And scorns the glitt'ring Toy;
While conscious of her higher Birth
She seeks immortal Joy.

IV

Thy melting Numbers touch the Soul,
And kind Devotion warm;
Each jarring Thought with Ease controul,
And bless us, while they charm.

V

O Happy whose seraphic Mind,
Such Heights sublime can rise!
Can leave the lessening World behind,
And mingle with the Skies.

VI

But happier far shall be thy Fate,
When Death shall break the Chain;
And set thee loose to Bliss complete,
To Joys that know no Pain.

VII

There shalt thou thy immortal Lyre,
In Songs of Praise employ!
And feel the sacred Task inspire
Thy Breast with endless Joy.

Written in Mr. Waller's Poems,

given to Mr. T--- G--- Anno 1722.

What Thanks to Thyrsis' friendly Care I owe
My grateful Heart has long desir'd to show;
But when thy oft try'd Friendship I explore,
I find the mighty Sum exceed my Power;
In Wonder lost your Virtues I survey,
And own the Debt, unable to repay.

Eager to see the Friend I lov'd so well,
I bid with Joy my Native Shores farewell;
Thro' every Obstacle I urg'd my Way,
And dar'd the Dangers of the faithless Sea;

Who e'er had sought my Passage to restrain,
Since pow'rful Myra fail'd, had sought in vain:
In vain the lovely Maid implor'd my Stay,
While thy superior Friendship wing'd my Way:
Thro' all I broke impatient to thy Arms,
And Thyrsis triumph'd over Beauty's Charms.

At length my Wish obtain'd, my Friend possest,
I bid my Soul indulge her new-sound Rest:
A calm serene did all my Bosom fill,
Too sure a Presage of impending Ill!
For now my visionary Hopes are crost,
And where I hop'd to find thee, — thou art lost —
With thee each Scheme of future Comfort flies,
And all around me dreadful Visions rise!
At thy Departure all my Pleasures end,
And all I lose, whene'er I lose my Friend:
What Images of Grief appear in View!
And fancy'd Tortures thus precede the true:

Increase the Measure of my heighten'd Grief,
Excite new Sorrows, and exclude Relief.

Where'er I turn my melancholy Eyes,
Some sad Ideas of my Loss arise,
Your Voice I seem in every Sound to hear,
But find alas your Shade is only there:
Without his Partner is Octavio seen,
And pensive now he treads the flow'ry Green.

These Scenes of Sorrow shortly shall be true;
And these sad Prospects am I doom'd to view!
'Tis but a little Moment e'er you go,
The fatal Æra of my future Woe.

Receive, dear Thyrsis, e'er we sadly part,
This trifling Gift but from a grateful Heart;
Let your lov'd Bard your kind Acceptance claim,
With thee he mourns an ill requited Flame;

While cruel Sacharissa fires his Lays,
But ill thy Cælia all thy Vows repays;
With secret Joy, ill-natur'd sees thee pine,
And frowns ungrateful on a Love like thine,
O then be warn'd, the fair Deceiver fly
Nor tempt the pleasing Mischiefs of her Eye.
For thee remains in Store a milder Fate,
The haughty Maid shall signal Vengeance wait:
Too late shall she mistaken Conduct see,
And mourn too late her Cruelty to thee;
While thee a Train of smiling Years attend,
And Peace and Joy shall crown my happy Friend.

To the SAME,

On his leaving the Vniversity. Anno 1722.

Reddes incolumem, precor,
Et serves animæ dimidiurn meæ.
Hor.

For thee once more the Muse her Pinions tries,
And seeks again on daring Wings to rise:
Nor with a rigid Eye her Faults attend,
But lose the Poct, as you view the Friend;
To thee does the well-natur'd Task belong
To judge with Candor of Octavio's Song:
His trembling Muse by you was first inspir'd,
She long'd to copy what she so admir'd;
The fond Ambition from your Lays she drew,
And owns the Autbor of her Verse in you.

But oh, what pow'rful Numbers shall she find
To tell the Language of her grateful Mind!

Here failing Words the wild Expression break —
And what she feels the most — she least can speak.

Our kindred Souls at first Acquaintance join'd,
And with a secret Sympathy combin'd;
E'er since thy faithful Partnership I've prov'd,
And found by many an Instance how you lov'd,
In every Turn of Life an honest Guide,
The same unwearied Friend, tho' often try'd;
In each Affliction still you bore a Part,
Smil'd at my Joys, and gave me half your Heart:
Calm and impartial and advising well,
Tender the Faults of wand'ring Youth to heal;
Well skill'd alike to counsel, or improve,
Thy Converse Wisdom, and thy Bosom Love.

Short are the Joys, my Friend, that Man can boast,
And soon our fancy'd Dreams of Bliss are lost;
Does any Good exceed the Pain it brings?
Leaves not each fleeting Joy its secret Stings?

Our largest Hopes produce proportion'd Fears,
Blessings obtain'd but propagate new Cares;
The Wish possess'd ne'er satisfies the Heart,
But ev'ry Anguish leaves a double Smart.

What is Ambition but a gilded Cheat?
A desp'rate Hazard for uncertain Fate!
What mighty Honour but a well wrought Charm
To keep the Cowa'rds unwilling Courage warm?
A Real Mischief lurks beneath the Name,
To purchase which we venture Life and Fame!
Do Heaps of Treasure fill with Joy the Heart,
Or save their wretched Lord from Pain or Smart?
Even that great Bliss whose Pow'r all Mankind prove,
That dear, deceitful, transient Pleasure, Love!
No equal Satisfaction can bestow,
To ballance all its Train of secret Woe.

So in some desert unfrequented Wild,
The 'nighted Traveller lies in Sleep beguil'd;

And while his wearied Limbs are sunk in Rest,
Imaginary Visions sooth his Breast;
Wondring he sees the beauteous Prospects rise,
And op'ning Vistas court his ravish'd Eyes;
Short is the Bliss — at Morn when he awakes,
In fleeting Air the fair Illusion breaks; —
And the deluded Eye surveys around,
Th' extended Forest and the naked Ground.

These Truths, my Friend, let sad Experience tell,
A Mistress ever sure to dictate well:
By whom convinc'd, Life's erring Steps we find,
And seel her Sov'reign Influence o'er the Mind.
Well has she taught, my Thyrsis, you and I,
And bid us lay our former Follies by;
Her happy Dictates may we both obey,
And yield submissive to her gentle Sway!

Then when our Woes hereafter shall be o'er
And Beauty have the Pow'r to charm no more!

Then shalt thou recollect thy ancient Friend,
And to Octavio kindly greeting send;
The tender Commerce once again renew,
And prove in Absence, Friendship ever true;
While on some low, sequestred, chearful Stage,
We gently pass our slow declining Age;
Pleas'd and contented with our humble State,
Compos'd within, behold approaching Fate;
With patient Thought its near Advances view,
And learn with Peace to bid the World adieu!

Great Scipio found in such a blest Retreat,
That to be Happy, was not to be Great;
In that divine Retirement found more Charms,
Than e'er he prov'd amidst his conquering Arms.
Such was the Lot immortal Cowley chose,
Here met with Fortitude the last of Foes;
Here like the Swan his dying Notes he sung,
And the last Numbers falter'd on his Tongue.

Thy fav'rite Waller too here found his Ease,
And sought in Peace to spend his Ev'ning-Days;
Here for the Follies of his Youth he mourn'd
And griev'd the hopeless Flames in which he burn'd,
No more the Groves with Sacharissa rung,
Immortal Happiness inspir'd his Song.

Grant, gentle Heav'n, like theirs may be my Lot!
Lost to the World, unenvied, and forgot.
With Virtue blest, and Health and inward Peace,
Divine Companions! would I spend my Days.
And thou bright Goddess, Liberty divine!
Oft would I grateful offer at thy Shrine,
Whose smiling Presence would my Wish complete,
And crown the Blessings of my humble State.
Blessings, Death might suspend, but not destroy,
Death could not taint the Source of such a Joy.

To Mr. M--- V---

An EPISTLE.

Omnia vincit Amcr, & nos cedamus Amori.
Virg.

With Love and all its Train of Woes opprest,
To thee, Cæsario! I apply for Rest,
To thee reveal the Sorrows of my Breast.
Friendship was form'd to soften ev'ry Smart,
To cure the Pangs of a tormented Heart;
To break the force of Woe and wasting Care,
To ease Affliction, and to heal Despair.

Oh, then, my Friend its sacred Influence prove!
Against that Foe to human Quiet, Love;
For Love some sov'reign Counter-Poison find,
And gain the general Blessing of Mankind;
Then try the Force of that harmonious Art,
That best can mitigate the raging Smart:

For soon as e'er the Magic Notes arise,
I feel new Passions in my Bosom rise,
Thy moving Voice can calm the stormy Breast,
And charm the wild tumultuous Soul to Rest!
But soon as e'er th'inchanting Sonnds are gone,
With Pow'r increas'd again the Foe comes on;
To all his Darts the soften'd Heart gives Way,
And Music helps to make the easier Prey.

So when fair Circe, with infernal Charms,
Allur'd Ulysses to her magic Arms,
His hardy Friends to mystic Pow'rs gave Way,
And fell to tuneful Rites an easy Prey;
Even the great Hero felt his Bosom warm,
And prov'd the Force of the mysterious Charm;
Till warn'd by Fate, in Deafness Help he found,
And clos'd his Ears from the destructive Sound.

In vain, my Friend, our Sister-Arts we try,
Lost are my Lays, and lost thy Harmony.

In vain with Love unequal Pow'rs we join,
Against our selves our Sister-Arts combine!
While fair Emilia pains my captive Heart,
In vain thy Music would allay the Smart:
Nor from Belinda's pleasing Tyranny,
Can my weak Numbers set Cæsario free:
Alike our Arts united fruitless prove,
And yield to the Almighty Force of Love!

So the great Master of the sacred Throng,
The God of Verse, and Medicine, and Song,
When Daphne's beauteous Form his Eyes survey'd,
And saw the Graces of the Matchless Maid;
His Heart then first resistless Love confest,
New Fires, till then unfelt, inflam'd his Breast;
Tormented with the un-remitting Pain,
To each mysterious Art he turn'd in vain,
Nor Plants, nor Music, nor his sacred Art,
Could drive the lurking Mischief from his Heart;

In vain the cruel Virgin he implor'd
In vain pursu'd, and mortal Charms ador'd:
No Pray'rs th'inexorable Fair could move,
Or melt her stubborn Heart to mutual Love.

If Phoebus self the fatal Passion found,
Nor could his sacred Bays avert the Wound,
Then wonder not if we his Arrows prove,
“Love conquers all, and we must yeild to Love!”

To Mrs. H* J**

An EPISTLE.

Ille terrarum mihi præter omnes
Angulus ridet.------
Hor.

From Northern Climes, where Winds impetuous blow,
And Silver Streams in rugged Channels flow,
Where hoary Hills a chilling Prospect yeild,
And Frosts despoil the Verdure of the Field;
To you the Infant-Muse commends her Lays,
Whose sole Ambition centres in your Praise.

Oft as on Clyde's sweet Bank I gently stray,
And wand'ring take my solitary Way,
Your dear Idea fills my vacant Mind
And gives me all the Joys I left behind.
To the known Form (for oft your Form appears,
And oft your well known Voice alarms my Ears)
I turn with sond Delight my ravish'd Eyes,
And gaze till into Air the Vision flyes.
Still would I think the dear Illusion true,
And to the River's Brink the Shade pursue:
But there I lose you where the Occan flows,
And Winds and Waves betwixt us interpose.

On Glotta's Shore a beauteous Vale there lied
Where all the Charms of Nature blended rise;
Here genial Spring the breathing Foliage warms,
And ev'n bleak Winter has its Chrystal Charms:
Here Nature first her flow'ry Honours wears,
And the first Beauty of the Year appears,

While here the venerable Pines arise,
And murm'ring wave amidst th' inclement Skies,
(As scatter'd Greens on Zembla's Mountains show
And chear the Eye amidst eternal Snow.)
While gently winding round the flow'ry Plain
Clyde rolls his Silver Tide, and guards the beauteous Scene.

Hither the Mind unbent from Study goes,
And quits the busy World's delusive Shows;
Here in her self contemplative she reigns,
And views around the fair-extended Plains;
Pleas'd hears below the murmuring River's Sound,
And seems to tread on some inchanted Ground.

Yet are not all these Pleasures wholly true,
Since even in Solitude I wish for you:
To you again would wing my hasty Way,
Encounter Storms, and cross the spacious Sea:

100

All Obstacles would stop my Course in vain,
Not rising Mountains, nor th' unbounded Main
Could her impetuous eager Flight restrain:
But Nature's Pow'r controuls her weaker Force,
And her eternal Laws restrain my Course.

Oh! may the happy Time at length appear,
That Day the fairest in the circling Year;
When all Restraints at Distance shall remove,
And Gales auspicious wast me to my Love;
(Love, did I say —? yes sure a Sister's Name
May the fond Title without Censure claim)
Then will I leave lov'd Learning's happy Seat,
These shady Haunts, the Muses soft Retreat:
For thee I'll trust the faithless Seas once more,
For thee again the dreaded Deeps explore;
The Peace, by softly-soothing Hope besow'd,
Shall bear me thro' the wild uncertain Road,
Th' Approach of Joy shall gently smooth the Way,
Disperse the Storms, and calm the swelling Sea.

101

And when my Native Shore shall greet my Sight,
And all my Breast indulge the soft Delight:
Till I see you Delight is incompleat,
And my Soul wants its long desir'd Retreat.
That Moment come — to which my Wishes haste,
That happy Moment pays for all the past!

The Green of Glasgow.

The CONTENTION:

A Poem.

Such killing Wounds, so thick the Arrows fly!
It is unsafe to be a Stander by:
Poets approaching to describe the Fight,
Are by their Wounds instructed bow to write.
Waller.

As once to Paris in the sylvan Shade,
Bright Venus, Juno, and th' Athenian Maid,
For Beauty's Prize in fair Contention came;
One offer'd Pow'r, and one immortal Fame,
But Venus set to his enamour'd Eyes
Fair Helen's Charms, and gain'd the glorious Prize:

102

Too weak for those Ambition's Glories prove
For what are Wealth and Fame compar'd with Love?

So while all-conquering Beauties Triumphs last,
If modern Tales may emulate the past;
Thus once the blest Alexis, happy Swain,
Three brighter Sisters partial sought to gain:
Each would the Merit of her Beauty learn,
Tho' hard the Task, the Fairest to discern.
Scarce could the Youth the lovely Strife agree,
Or point the Fairest of the charming Three.
Confus'd a while and motionless he stood:
Fear aw'd his Soul, and Rapture fir'd his Blood;
No longer Reason could her Empire boast,
But in the soft Astonishment was lost.
At length, with down cast Eyes, and trembling Heart,
Thus did the Youth his Sentiments impart.

“Your fatal Bounty, Lovely Nymphs, I own:
“But why to me is the Distinction shown?

103

“To me — unequal to a Task so great,
“Who while I judge, stand anxious for my Fate;
“Who can presume superior Charms to tell,
“Where all in Beauty, and in Sense excell?
“But if by partial Fondness led astray,
“I fix the Honours of the doubtful Day;
“Impute the Error to my captive Mind,
“A Lover's Judgment must be always blind.

“Oh Araminta! who shall rashly say,
“The matchless Charms thy Face, and Shape display?
“Compleatly form'd to please, with Magic Art
“At once you strike the ill-defended Heart;
“Surpriz'd we gaze, so lovely is the Form,
“Unapprehensive of th' approaching Storm;
“With bold Ambition, Charms like thine survey,
“Sport with the Darts, to which we fall a Prey;
“And look our Sense and Liberty away.
“Take Heed, ye Shepherds, how ye tempt your Fate,
“Who seeks her Favour, surely meets her Hate:

104

“Who fondly dares to hope, is doom'd to bear
“The Curse of wretched Love, and cold Despair.
“Why was th' Extravagance of Beauty giv'n
“Thus to abuse the bounteous Gift of Heav'n?
“Alas! one Nymph such wide Extremes should share,
“A Heart so cruel, in a Breast so fair!

“Behold engaging Delia next appear,
“A Maid all gentle, affable, and dear!
“Each fairer Virtue does her Soul adorn,
“And gilds the Graces of her outward Form;
“While she intent on the superior Part,
“Improves her Judgment, and amends her Heart;
“Fit to embellish every Scene of Life,
“The humble Daughter, or the faithful Wife.

“But see! Emilia rises to the Sight
“In every Virtue, every Beauty bright!
“See those Love-darting Eyes, that heav'nly Mien!
“Behold her shine like Love's resistless Queen!

105

“Thou Fairest Wonder of thy fairest Kind,
“By Heav'n some Image of it self design'd!
“As if in thee it took peculiar Care,
“And form'd thee like some Favourite Seraph there!

“But tho' thy Beauty strikes the ravish'd Sight,
“Thy Virtue shines distinguishingly bright!
“And all the Graces of thy Form combin'd,
“Yield to the Charms of thy unblemish'd Mind;
“Where all is spotless, gentle, and serene,
“One Calm of Life untouch'd by Guilt or Pain!

“Could I in equal Lays thy Worth design,
“Or paint exalted Merit, such as thine!
“To latest Ages should thy Name survive,
“And in my Verse Emilia ever live;
“Th' admiring World should listen to thy Praise
“And the fair Portrait charm succeeding Days.

106

To Mr. M A

Scribere jussit Amor.
Ovid.

If for thy Sake once more the drooping Muse
Replumes her Pinions, and her Strength renews;
Florio! with kind Regard the Strain attend,
And gently lose the Critic in the Friend.
If the low Measures flow devoid of Art,
Believe they come all naked from the Heart;
And let the Verse thy fond Attention claim
That wears thy matchless Leonora's Name.

CYNTHIA and ENDYMION:

A Tale.

Where Caria's fertile Plains extended lye,
And with their Golden Plenty charm the Eye,
A Hill there stood — Mount Latmos was the Name,
To Cynthia sacred and her Virgin Train:

107

A thousand Beauties mark th' inchanted Scene,
Its Fountains Chrystal, and its Forests green:
Here oft in Chase the wandring Goddess stray'd,
Bath'd in its Springs, or slept beneath its Shade:
Here with her Nymphs she spent the Summer Morn,
The Woods resounded with her Silver Horn:
Here oft she past the Ev'ning Hour away,
And eas'd the Labours of the sultry Day.

Not distant far, there dwelt a youthful Swain,
The Pride and Envy of the Neighb'ring Plain;
With all Minerva's manly Virtues blest,
His beauteous Form the God of Love confest;
His Mind superior scorn'd the vulgar Joys,
The aukward Frolic and the Rustic Noise;
But often when the busy Day was o'er,
His secret Steps the Woodland Shades explore,
Where lost in Contemplation's soft Delight,
He spent the silent Hour, — till gloomy Night

108

Had o'er the Heav'ns her Sable Curtain spread,
And call'd the Swain unwilling to his Bed:
There oft he tun'd his Reed to Sounds of Love,
And like another Orpheus charm'd the Grove.

But chief to range the Woods was his Delight,
When Silver Cynthia show'd her gentle Light;
For oft the Lovely Queen of Night he blest,
And to her Shrine his Midnight Vows addrest.

It hap'd one Eve beneath the Myrtle Shade,
In careless Ease was young Endymion laid,
Soft by the Murmur of a falling Stream,
He breath'd impatient, till the Moment came
To bless his Sight with Cynthia's gentle Beam:
Near him, his Spear lay useless on the Ground,
The gentle Zephyrs play'd in Breezes round;
No Vocal Sounds resounded thro' the Grove,
But Nightingales, that warbled plaintive Love.

109

“Oh come, (the Shepherd cry'd) auspicious Queen,
“And with thy Presence bless the happy Scene!
“Haste, sacred Cynthia! bid thy Car arise!
“Haste, Cynthia! and ascend yon Azure Skies!
“What tho' thy Brother's Glories strike the Sight,
“Than thine less charming, tho' more strongly bright;
“Thy milder Beauties far outshine the Day,
“And make the gloomy Face of Nature gay!
“Haste Cynthia! nor delay thy chearful Rise,
“And bless Endymion's sad benighted Eyes!

He said — and felt the gentle God of Sleep,
O'er his faint Eyes with soft Advances creep;
The little Cupids watch'd attendant round,
Some pluck'd the Flowers, and some the Garland bound;
Some plac'd the Wreath upon his polish'd Brow,
His Brow that made the darken'd Lilly glow;
Some o'er his Cheeks the falling Ringlets spread,
His Cheeks that taught the Rose a fairer Red;

110

Thus lay the Youth so ravishingly fair
Cupid himself seem'd to ly sleeping there.

And now fair Cynthia bid her Car arise
And hasten'd up the long benighted Skies:
From whence the Face of Nature wide-display'd,
Oceans, and Plains, and Forests she survey'd.
Soon to her favourite Hill the Goddess past,
And from her Robe the Pearly Dew she cast:
But as by Chance she threw her Veil aside,
The flow'ry Bank, and sleeping Swain she spy'd:
Struck with the Object, ftrait without Delay
Descending to the Place she bends her Way:
The little Cupids startled at the Sight,
Soon left their Charge, and took their hasty Flight:
And now bright Cynthia nearer views his Face,
Her eager Eyes his blooming Features trace;
In Rapture runs each native Beauty o'er,
Still gazes longer, and still wonders more:

111

Unwilling, now she offers to retire,
Retain'd by strong, till then unknown Desire:
And now she seats her by the sleeping Swain,
And fondly looks — and sighs, — and looks again:
Now o'er his Locks her busy Fingers rove,
His Hand she snatches, and imprints with Love:
At the dear Touch — his drooping Spirits rouze,
He shakes the Slumber from his heavy Brows:
He lifts his Head, and lost in wild Surprize,
On the Majestic Form he fix'd his Eyes. —
He rose, beneath her Feet himself to cast,
While with a soft Embrace she held him fast;
And blushing as she shun'd his tender Look,
The Goddess thus in soft Confusion spoke.

“My Presence, lovely Shepherd! cease to fear,
“'Tis Love alone conducts a Goddess here.
“No Venus I, that new Amours explore,
“My Virgin-Heart was never touch'd before;

112

“Thy artless humble Vows I long have heard,
“Receive a Mortal, the divine Reward;
“Deserve the Blessing, and prepare to join,
“In sacred Rites thy faithful Hand to mine.

To whom the Swain,-“Bright Goddess! Powerador'd!
“Lo, at thy Feet, I plight my sacred Word!
“Unequal to my Worth my Fate I own,
“Who place no Merit, but in Love alone;
“As Witness of the Nuptial-Vow I swear,
“This Robe, All-charming Cynthia, deign to wear,
“(The same that when eternal Faith he vow'd,
“To fair Calista my fond Sire bestow'd.”) —
So saying — from his Neck the Scarf he drew,
With Pearls and Silver sparkling to the View;
And round the smiling Queen, he fondly plac'd,
With mutual Transports, and Endearments chaste.

Thus oft, if Bards say true, in Latmos' Groves,
(The conscious Scene of their connubial Loves)

113

When all the wearied World was sunk in Rest,
With his chast Cynthia was Endymion blest:
In mutual Faith unceasing Joys they find,
The Shepherd faithful, and the Goddess kind.

In lovely Leonora's Friendship blest,
Justly the Tale to Florio is addrest:
While other Hearts on lifeless Beauty roll,
Fond of the Face, regardless of the Soul;
Thy virtuous Bosom nobler Motives warm,
And the fair Mind's superior Graces charm.
Like Cynthia's Charms, thy Leonora's please,
Steal on the Heart, and melt by just Degrees;
In native Modesty, with Air serene,
She looks the Goddess, and she moves the Queen.

Like fond Endymion's Passion thine is known,
Such as the Maid without a Blush may own:
And while her Heart with tender Pity flows,
With faithful Love thy generous Bosom glows;

114

Thro' thy fond Breast, in every vital Vein,
The dear excelling Virgin holds her Reign;
In ev'ry Thought, in every Wish she shares,
Eternal Object of thy pleasing Cares!

May Heav'n all-gracious of your Vows approve,
And crown with just Rewards your constant Love!
Safe may it guard you thro' the rolling Deep,
And for the Fair her faithful Lover keep!
Bring on the destin'd Hour when at the Shrine
The sacred Bond your Destinies shall join!
And give you in her heavenly Arms a Store,
Of Joys, to which the conquer'd World is poor!

So the soft Turtle, when the Storm is o'er,
Flies thro' the Grove his Partner to explore,
From Bough to Bough impatient wings his Way,
In mournful Sounds laments her tedious Stay:
Till tir'd at last, her well-known Note he hears,
The well-known Note his drooping Bosom chears,

115

He hastes to seek with her the thickest Grove,
Forgets his Absence, and enjoys his Love.

ODE.

[What need with Art my fond Excess]

I

What need with Art my fond Excess
Of Tenderness to blind?
While from my Looks, fair Nymph! you guess
The Secret of my Mind.

II

In vain I seek to hide the Fire
My artless Eyes reveal:
In vain the Flames such Charms inspire
I study to conceal.

116

III

Then, Cælia, when I fondly gaze,
And you the Cause explore;
Your Malice with my Torment plays:
The Cause you knew before.

IV

While all Things show I love — ah why
Such Coldness dost thou feign?
And in soft Anguish while I lye,
Regardless see my Pain.

V

By Love oppress'd, and by Despair,
I should your Pity move:
Why should I meet a Fate severe
When all my Crime is Love.

VI

For cold Neglect, or proud Disdain,
That Form was ne'er design'd:
Or cease to Charm, or ease my Pain,
And be less Fair, or Kind.

117

AN ODE.

To a young Lady on her Recovery

I

While, fair Selinda! to our Eyes
From Sickness beautiful you rise;
Your Charms put on superior Power,
And shine more strongly than before.

II

So have I seen the heav'nly Fire,
A while his radiant Beams retire;
Then breaking thro' the Veil of Night,
Restore the World to Warmth and Light,

118

To Colley Lyons Esq;

On the Death of his eldest Son at the Temple.

Ostendunt terris hunc tantum fata, nec ultra
Esse sinunt.------
Virg.

While thy fond Soul enjoys its secret Pain,
And broods upon thy great Distress — in vain!
Forgive the Muse — that with ossicious Care,
Attempts to mitigate thy just Despair;
That seeks to sooth thee with the Mournful Sound,
And aims to soften the relentless Wound.

But oh! what Numbers shall she fruitless try?
When thy own Refuge, great Philosophy,
Too weak a Bar against thy Passion proves,
And Reason checks in vain, what Grief approves.
In sympathetic Measures let her join
Woes to thy Woes, and mingle Tears with thine,

119

Lament with thee the lovely rising Youth,
Adorn'd with manly Virtue, gentle Truth;
With every Grace the humane Soul could boast,
At once to thee, — and to his Country lost!

Cease, Lyons, nor the Laws of Heav'n upbraid,
But call thy oft-try'd Virtue to thy Aid;
Let that support thee in this Shock of Fate,
Shine like your self, ev'n in Misfortune Great.
Let every Wish for him, each Prayer unheard,
Be to your sinking Country's Cause transferr'd;
And what to her his hapless Loss deny'd,
By thy consummate Virtue be supply'd.

So o'er his Son immortal Cato mourn'd,
With secret Woe the Patriot-Bosom burn'd;
But when he turn'd his ever virtuous Eye,
On God-like Rome's expiring Liberty,
There ceas'd his Grief — suppress'd was every Groan,
And in the publick Fate he lost his own.

120

VERSES occasioned by the Death of. Mr. M** S*

at Glasgow, May 28. 1730,

Inscrib'd to Mr. A— S—.

------Who would not be that Youth?
How beautiful is Death when earn'd by Virtue!
Addison's Cato.

While thy torn Heart with varied Woe is prest,
And all the Friend lies bleeding in thy Breast:
Forgive the Muse who would our Loss deplore,
And mourn with thee — that Marcus is no more!

The cruel Tyrant, whose resistless Rage
Alike employs it self on Youth and Age;
Smiles at our Tears — and as our Grlef runs high,
Points Marcus out; and bids us learn to die!

121

Shows all the op'ning Virtues of the Youth,
His native Goodness, Modesty and Truth:
What early Worth just blasted in its Bloom!
How many Graces shrowded in the Tomb!
See Caledonia weeping o'er the Urn!
As if she seem'd her Fav'rite Son to mourn;
Oft for her Sake he read th' Historic Page,
And trac'd the Mazes of remotest Age;
Early Asserter of her glorious Cause,
Fond of her Freedom, zealous for her Laws:
Great Liberty inspir'd his honest Breast
And his dear Country all his Soul possest:
In Youth a Patriot — steady to the right,
In Manners humane, and in Arts polite.
His Heart all-generous, candid and serene,
Sweet as his Look, engaging as his Mien:
To Friendship faithful, to Misfortune kind,
His Life a lovely Copy of his Mind.

122

So near Perfection in his early Day,
Why should we weep to see him snatch'd away?
To see him reach at once th' immortal Prize,
And rise triumphant to his native Skies.
Behold th' exalted Youth with Smiles survey,
The fond mistaken Debt of Grief we pay!
Behold him seated on the blissful Shore,
Hear from afar, the noisy Tempest roar!
Safe from the Taint of a corrupted Age,
From vitious Manners, and from Party-Rage.
No Passions there his purer Bosom move;
But Harmony divine and Peace and Love;
Such as on Earth were wont to sooth his Breast,
The pleasing Fore-taste of his heav'nly Rest.

See him point out the Path he left in View,
And bid his Friends the noble Race pursue!
Display the fair Example to their Eyes,
And bid them live like him — like him to rise!

123

So the bright all-enlivening Orb of Light,
When he withdraws himself from Mortal Sight;
With fairer Glories shines in milder Skies,
And sets to us, for better Worlds to rise!

Thou dear departed Friend! if greatly blest,
One meaner Thought can touch thy peaceful Breast.
Look on a Heart, by Passions rent like mine,
That weeping waits to mingle Joys with thine!
Fir'd by thy Flight — that struggles to be free,
And join Society with Heav'n and thee.

124

To Mr. Thomson,

Upon his Tragedy of SOPHONISBA.

—Feliciter audet.
Hor.

Forgive the Muse, that with unpractis'd String,
And fond Ambition dares thy Praise to sing;
Pleas'd who beholds thy tow'ring Genius rise,
And sees thy Merit shine in Southorn Skies.

When Nature first inspir'd thy early Strain,
To paint the Beauties of the Flow'ry Plain ;
The charming Page I read with soft Delight,
And every lively Landskip charm'd my Sight:
Now led by thee, while I again explore,
New Patriots rising on a barbarous Shore;

125

A beauteous Breast that glows with Love of Fame,
A Female Cato, with a softer Name!
My ravish'd Heart exults in being free,
And burns with Love of sacred Liberty!

Let Rome the Blessing arrogate no more,
The Goddess reigns upon a distant Shore;
And there in all her native Charms confest,
She fires immortal Sophonisba's Breast:
Great Carthage rises from Oblivion's Womb,
By thee reviv'd, she quits her awful Tomb;
And emulates again her haughty Rival Rome.

So when great Titian rose, immortal Man!
With rural Scenes his Pencil first began;
Employ'd all-genial Nature's Laws to trace,
And copy from her ever-blooming Face;
Here paint the Precipice and falling Flood,
There strike the Vale, — or mark the distant Wood;

126

Till rising in his Skill by just Degrees,
He form'd th' Idea of th' Historic-Piece;
Where some great Hero boldly he design'd,
And touch'd th' exalted Passions of the Mind:
Of Art with Nature such the generous Strife,
That all the speaking Canvas swell'd with Life!
So strong the Figures strike the ravish'd Eye,
We quite forget the Hand that gives the Joy!
Till by Reflexion warm'd, we feel those Joys,
Still from one great Original arise;
Who follows Nature charms without Design,
Who follows her like you, — like you must shine.

Mr. Thomson's excellent Poems on the Seasons.

Titian was particulatly excellent in his Landskips.

127

To Mrs. O*****d,

On her acting Cleopatra.

Oft has my Soul with strong Compassion strove,
To think of Antony's ill-fated Love;
To see him shrink before th' ambitious Boy,
Fame, Life, and Honour given for transient Joy!
Thus once I thought — but now my Error see,
And the lost Hero stands absolv'd by Thee.

Had Cleopatra's Charms like O---D's shone!
Had she the tuneful Magic of thy Tongue!
Well might the Roman of his Softness boast,
And think that Love atton'd for Empire lost:
Well might he from the glorious War remove
And barter Crowns and Provinces for Love!
For oh! who would not make the Fate his own?
And wish to be so gloriously undone!

129

PYTHAGORAS Moriens.

PARAPHRASED.

Worn out with Cares, and tott'ring in her Seat,
The Soul resigns her Throne, and seeks Retreat;
At her approaching Liberty she glows,
And quits the giddy World's delusive Shows;
To her own native Realms she wings her Way,
Employ'd her Self-existence to survey,
Till by Degrees she feels herself refine,
And rise her great Original to join:
[Like a Sun Beam that springs with vibrant Force,
And darts to meet its ever-glorious Source.]
By whom new modell'd various Shapes she wears,
But still her Parent's bright Resemblance bears;

130

Thro' Forms alternate, now Delights to range,
Her self the same, unalter'd by her Change;
In distant Orbs, new Beauties she explores,
Or wanders thro' Creation's fertile Stores:
Or here on Earth in diff'rent Bodies plac'd,
Still Acts new Scenes, forgetful of the past:
Till from her dull material Chain set free,
(The mortal Curtian drawn) she smiles to see,
The various Prospects of Immensity.
While Space indefinite she wanders o'er,
And as she sees the farther, loves the more.

Thou Power Supreme! thy Dictates I obey,
And fearless quit this animated Clay;
In every State thy Guardianship I claim,
Tho' I may change, Thou ever art the same!
And as thy Goodness has pursued me still,
Gladly I follow thy directing Will,
For wheresoe'er my future Lot is plac'd,
Thou still art with me, — and I must be blest!

131

So by the rural Hearth the slumb'ring Hound,
Hears at the Door his kindly Master's Sound;
The well-known Voice, the faithful Servant wakes,
Impatient to his smiling View he breaks,—
Close by his generous Side he bounds along,
For He, he knows can never lead him wrong.

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

TRANSLATIONS.

The III. Chapter of the Book of JOB

TRANSLATED.

The VII. Chapter of the Book of JOB

PARAPHRASED.

Cl. Claudiani in Rufinum, Lib. I.

PARAPHRASED.

Cl. Claudianus, De Sene Veronensi.

TRANSLATED.

Horace, Book I. ODE XIX.

IMITATED.

Horace, Book I. ODE XXX. IMITATED.

II.

Horace, Book I. ODE XXII. .

TRANSLATED

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

Horti Arlingtoniani

TRANSLATED.

ODE de Monsieur Fenelon (depuis Archeveque de Cambraï) ecrit dans sa Feunesse.

TRANSLATED

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

POEMS.

On a Divine PARAPHRASE,

Written by a GENTLEMAN.

To the Right Honourable, SUSANNA Countess of EGLINGTON,

An EPISTLE.

To the Right Honourable, THE Countess of EGLINGTON,

At the BATH,

An EPISTLE.

To the SAME,

On her allowing the Author, to inscribe his Poems to her Ladyship.

To the SAME,

Occasioned by seeing her Ladyship's Picture.

Verses sacred to the Memory of The Reverend Mr. John Anderson, Minister at GLASGOW.

Ob. Anno 1721.

VERSES occasioned by the Death of His Grace The Duke of Marlborough.

To the Right Honourable, The Lord CARTERET,

On his first Arrival in IRELAND, Anno 1725.

Written in Mr. Watts's Horæ Lyricæ.

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

Written in Mr. Waller's Poems,

given to Mr. T--- G--- Anno 1722.

To the SAME,

On his leaving the Vniversity. Anno 1722.

To Mr. M--- V---

An EPISTLE.

To Mrs. H***** J******

An EPISTLE.

The CONTENTION:

A Poem.

To Mr. M****** A******

CYNTHIA and ENDYMION:

A Tale.

ODE.

To Mrs. H* J**

To Mr. M A

VERSES occasioned by the Death of. Mr. M** S*