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 | [Poems in] Poetical miscellanies |  |
TO Mr. CONGREVE.
97
THE COURT of VENUS FROM CLAUDIAN,
Being Part of the Epithalamium on Honorius and Maria.
By Mr. EUSDEN.
In the fam'd Cyprian Isle a Mountain stands,
That casts a Shadow into distant Lands.
In vain Access by Human Feet is try'd,
Its lofty Brow looks down with noble Pride
On bounteous Nile, thro' seven wide Channels spread,
And sees old Proteus in his Oozie Bed.
Along its Sides no hoary Frosts presume
To blast the Myrtle Shrubs, or nip the Bloom.
The Winds with caution sweep the rising Flow'rs,
While balmy Dews descend, and vernal Show'rs.
The ruling Orbs no Wintry Horrors bring,
Fix'd in th'Indulgence of Eternal Spring.
Unfading Sweets in Purple Scenes appear,
And genial Breezes soften all the Year.
The nice, luxurious Soul, uncloy'd, may rove,
From Pleasures still to circling Pleasures move,
For endless Beauty kindles endless Love.
That casts a Shadow into distant Lands.
In vain Access by Human Feet is try'd,
Its lofty Brow looks down with noble Pride
On bounteous Nile, thro' seven wide Channels spread,
And sees old Proteus in his Oozie Bed.
Along its Sides no hoary Frosts presume
To blast the Myrtle Shrubs, or nip the Bloom.
The Winds with caution sweep the rising Flow'rs,
While balmy Dews descend, and vernal Show'rs.
98
Fix'd in th'Indulgence of Eternal Spring.
Unfading Sweets in Purple Scenes appear,
And genial Breezes soften all the Year.
The nice, luxurious Soul, uncloy'd, may rove,
From Pleasures still to circling Pleasures move,
For endless Beauty kindles endless Love.
The Mountain, when the Summit once you gain,
Falls by degrees, and sinks into a Plain;
Where the pleas'd Eye may flow'ry Meads behold
Enclos'd with branching Oar, and hedg'd with Gold.
Or where large Crops the gen'rous Glebe supplies,
And yellow Harvests, unprovok'd, arise.
For by mild Zephyrs fann'd, the teeming Soil
Yields ev'ry Grain, nor asks the Peasant's Toil.
These were the Bribes, the Price of Heav'nly Charms,
These Cytherea won to Vulcan's Arms.
For such a Bliss he such a Gift bestow'd,
The rich, th'immortal Labours of a God.
Falls by degrees, and sinks into a Plain;
Where the pleas'd Eye may flow'ry Meads behold
Enclos'd with branching Oar, and hedg'd with Gold.
Or where large Crops the gen'rous Glebe supplies,
And yellow Harvests, unprovok'd, arise.
For by mild Zephyrs fann'd, the teeming Soil
Yields ev'ry Grain, nor asks the Peasant's Toil.
These were the Bribes, the Price of Heav'nly Charms,
These Cytherea won to Vulcan's Arms.
For such a Bliss he such a Gift bestow'd,
The rich, th'immortal Labours of a God.
99
A Sylvan Scene, in solemn State display'd,
Flatters each feather'd Warbler with a Shade;
But here no Bird its Painted Wings can move,
Unless elected by the Queen of Love.
Ere made a Member of this tuneful Throng,
She hears the Songster, and approves the Song.
The joyous Victors hop from Spray to Spray,
The vanquish'd fly with mournful Notes away.
Flatters each feather'd Warbler with a Shade;
But here no Bird its Painted Wings can move,
Unless elected by the Queen of Love.
Ere made a Member of this tuneful Throng,
She hears the Songster, and approves the Song.
The joyous Victors hop from Spray to Spray,
The vanquish'd fly with mournful Notes away.
Branches in Branches twin'd compose the Grove,
And shoot, and spread, and blossom into Love.
The trembling Palms their mutual Vows repeat,
And bending Poplars bending Poplars meet.
The distant Platanes seem to press more nigh,
And to the sighing Alder, Alders sigh.
Blue Heav'ns above them smile, and all below
Two murm'ring Streams in wild Meanders flow.
This, mix'd with Gall, and that, like Honey, sweet,
But ah! too soon th'unfriendly Waters meet!
Steep'd in these Springs (if Verse Belief can gain)
The Darts of Love their double Pow'r attain.
Hence all Mankind a bitter Sweet have found,
A painful Pleasure, and a grateful Wound.
And shoot, and spread, and blossom into Love.
The trembling Palms their mutual Vows repeat,
And bending Poplars bending Poplars meet.
The distant Platanes seem to press more nigh,
And to the sighing Alder, Alders sigh.
Blue Heav'ns above them smile, and all below
Two murm'ring Streams in wild Meanders flow.
This, mix'd with Gall, and that, like Honey, sweet,
But ah! too soon th'unfriendly Waters meet!
100
The Darts of Love their double Pow'r attain.
Hence all Mankind a bitter Sweet have found,
A painful Pleasure, and a grateful Wound.
Along the grassie Banks in bright Array
Ten thousand little Loves their Wings display.
Quivers and Bows their usual Sport proclaim,
Their Dress, their Stature, and their Looks the same:
Smiling in Innocence, and ever young,
And tender, as the Nymphs, from whom they sprung.
For Venus did but boast one only Son,
And rosie Cupid was that boasted One.
He, uncontroul'd, thro' Heav'n extends his Sway,
And Gods, and Goddesses by turns obey:
Or if he stoops on Earth, great Princes burn,
Sicken on Thrones, and wreath'd with Lawrels mourn.
Th'inferior Pow'rs o'er Hearts inferior reign,
And pierce the rural Fair, or homely Swain.
Ten thousand little Loves their Wings display.
Quivers and Bows their usual Sport proclaim,
Their Dress, their Stature, and their Looks the same:
Smiling in Innocence, and ever young,
And tender, as the Nymphs, from whom they sprung.
For Venus did but boast one only Son,
And rosie Cupid was that boasted One.
He, uncontroul'd, thro' Heav'n extends his Sway,
And Gods, and Goddesses by turns obey:
Or if he stoops on Earth, great Princes burn,
Sicken on Thrones, and wreath'd with Lawrels mourn.
Th'inferior Pow'rs o'er Hearts inferior reign,
And pierce the rural Fair, or homely Swain.
101
Here Love's imperial Pomp is spread around;
Voluptuous Liberty, that knows no Bound,
And sudden Storms of Wrath, which soon decline,
And midnight Watchings o'er the Fumes of Wine;
Unartful Tears, and hectick Looks, that show
With silent Eloquence, the Lover's Woe;
Boldness unfledg'd, and to stol'n Raptures new,
Half trembling stands, and scarcely dares pursue;
Fears, that delight, and anxious Doubts of Joy,
Which check our swelling Hopes, but not destroy:
And short-breath'd Vows, forgot, as soon as made,
On airy Pinions flutter thro' the Glade;
Youth, with a haughty Look, and gay Attire,
And rolling Eyes, that glow with soft Desire,
Shines forth exalted on a pompous Seat,
While sullen Cares, and wither'd Age retreat.
Voluptuous Liberty, that knows no Bound,
And sudden Storms of Wrath, which soon decline,
And midnight Watchings o'er the Fumes of Wine;
Unartful Tears, and hectick Looks, that show
With silent Eloquence, the Lover's Woe;
Boldness unfledg'd, and to stol'n Raptures new,
Half trembling stands, and scarcely dares pursue;
Fears, that delight, and anxious Doubts of Joy,
Which check our swelling Hopes, but not destroy:
And short-breath'd Vows, forgot, as soon as made,
On airy Pinions flutter thro' the Glade;
Youth, with a haughty Look, and gay Attire,
And rolling Eyes, that glow with soft Desire,
Shines forth exalted on a pompous Seat,
While sullen Cares, and wither'd Age retreat.
Now from afar the Palace seems to blaze,
And hither would extend its golden Rays;
But by Reflection of the Grove is seen
The Gold still vary'd by a waving Green.
For Mulciber with secret Pride beheld,
How far his Skill all Human Wit excell'd;
And, grown uxorious, did the Work design
To speak the Artist, and the Art divine.
Proud Columns, tow'ring high, support the Frame,
That hewn from Hyacinthian Quarries came.
The Beams are Em'ralds, and yet scarce adorn
The Rubie Walls, on which themselves are born.
The Pavement, rich with Veins of Agate, lies,
And Steps, with shining Jaspers slipp'ry, rise.
And hither would extend its golden Rays;
102
The Gold still vary'd by a waving Green.
For Mulciber with secret Pride beheld,
How far his Skill all Human Wit excell'd;
And, grown uxorious, did the Work design
To speak the Artist, and the Art divine.
Proud Columns, tow'ring high, support the Frame,
That hewn from Hyacinthian Quarries came.
The Beams are Em'ralds, and yet scarce adorn
The Rubie Walls, on which themselves are born.
The Pavement, rich with Veins of Agate, lies,
And Steps, with shining Jaspers slipp'ry, rise.
Here Spices in Parterres promiscuous blow,
Not from Arabia's Fields more Odours flow.
The wanton Winds thro' Groves of Cassia play,
And steal the ripen'd Fragrancies away.
Here, with its Load the mild Amomum bends,
There, Cinnamon in rival Sweets contends.
A rich Perfume the ravish'd Senses fills,
While from the weeping Tree the Balm distills.
Not from Arabia's Fields more Odours flow.
The wanton Winds thro' Groves of Cassia play,
And steal the ripen'd Fragrancies away.
Here, with its Load the mild Amomum bends,
There, Cinnamon in rival Sweets contends.
103
While from the weeping Tree the Balm distills.
At these delightful Bow'rs arrives at last
The God of Love, a tedious Journey past:
Then shapes his Way to reach the Fronting Gate,
Doubles his Majesty, and walks in State.
It chanc'd, upon a radiant Throne reclin'd,
Venus her golden Tresses did unbind:
Proud to be thus employ'd, on either Hand
Th'Idalian Sisters, rang'd in order, stand.
Ambrosial Essence one bestows in Show'rs,
And lavishly whole Streams of Nectar pours.
With Iv'ry Combs another's dext'rous Care
Or curls, or opens the dishevel'd Hair.
A third, industrious with a nicer Eye,
Instructs the Ringlets, in what Form to lie:
Yet leaves some few, that, not so closely prest,
Sport in the Wind, and wanton from the rest.
Sweet Negligence! by artful Study wrought,
A graceful Error, and a lovely Fault.
The Judgment of the Glass is here unknown,
Here Mirrors are supply'd by ev'ry Stone.
Where-e'er the Goddess turns, her Image falls,
And a new Venus dances on the Walls.
Now, while she did her spotless Form survey,
Pleas'd with Love's Empire, and almighty Sway,
She spy'd her Son, and fir'd with eager Joy
Sprung forwards, and embrac'd the Fav'rite Boy.
The God of Love, a tedious Journey past:
Then shapes his Way to reach the Fronting Gate,
Doubles his Majesty, and walks in State.
It chanc'd, upon a radiant Throne reclin'd,
Venus her golden Tresses did unbind:
Proud to be thus employ'd, on either Hand
Th'Idalian Sisters, rang'd in order, stand.
Ambrosial Essence one bestows in Show'rs,
And lavishly whole Streams of Nectar pours.
With Iv'ry Combs another's dext'rous Care
Or curls, or opens the dishevel'd Hair.
A third, industrious with a nicer Eye,
Instructs the Ringlets, in what Form to lie:
Yet leaves some few, that, not so closely prest,
Sport in the Wind, and wanton from the rest.
104
A graceful Error, and a lovely Fault.
The Judgment of the Glass is here unknown,
Here Mirrors are supply'd by ev'ry Stone.
Where-e'er the Goddess turns, her Image falls,
And a new Venus dances on the Walls.
Now, while she did her spotless Form survey,
Pleas'd with Love's Empire, and almighty Sway,
She spy'd her Son, and fir'd with eager Joy
Sprung forwards, and embrac'd the Fav'rite Boy.
138
THE SPEECH OF Pluto to Proserpine,
FROM The second Book of her Rape, by Claudian.
By Mr. EUSDEN.
Cease, cease, fair Nymph, to lavish precious Tears,
And discompose your Soul with airy Fears.
Look on Sicilia's glitt'ring Courts with Scorn;
A nobler Sceptre shall that Hand adorn.
Imperial Pomp shall sooth a gen'rous Pride;
The Bridegroom never will disgrace the Bride.
If you above Terrestrial Thrones aspire,
From Heav'n I spring, and Saturn was my Sire.
The Pow'r of Pluto stretches all around,
Uncircumscrib'd by Nature's utmost Bound:
Where Matter, mould'ring, dies, where Forms decay,
Thro' the vast trackless Void extends my Sway.
Mark not with mournful Eyes the fainting Light,
Nor tremble at this Interval of Night.
A fairer Scene shall open to your View,
An Earth more verdant, and a Heav'n more blue.
Another Phœbus gilds those happy Skies,
And other Stars, with purer Flames, arise.
There chaste Adorers shall their Praises join,
And with the choicest Gifts enrich your Shrine.
The blissful Climes no Change of Ages knew,
The Golden first began, and still is new.
That Golden Age your World awhile could boast,
But here it flourish'd, and was never lost.
Perpetual Zephyrs breath thro' fragrant Bow'rs,
And painted Meads smile with unbidden Flow'rs:
Flow'rs of immortal Bloom, and various Hue;
No Rival Sweets in your own Enna grew.
In the Recess of a cool, Sylvan Glade,
A Monarch Tree projects no vulgar Shade.
Encumber'd with their Wealth, the Branches bend,
And Golden Apples to your Reach descend.
Spare not the Fruit, but pluck the blooming Oar,
The yellow Harvest will encrease the more.
But I too long on trifling Themes explain,
Nor speak th'unbounded Glories of your Reign.
Whole Nature owns your Pow'r: Whate'er have Birth,
And live, and move, o'er all the Face of Earth;
Or in old Ocean's mighty Caverns sleep,
Or sportive roll along the foamy Deep;
Or on stiff Pinnions Airy Journies take,
Or cut the floating Stream, or stagnant Lake:
In vain they labour to preserve their Breath,
And soon fall Victims to your Subject, Death.
Unnumber'd Triumphs swift to you he brings,
Hail! Goddess of all Sublunary Things!
Empires, that sink above, here rise again,
And Worlds unpeopled crowd th'Elysian Plain.
The Rich, the Poor, the Monarch, and the Slave,
Know no superior Honours in the Grave.
Proud Tyrants once, and lawrell'd Chiefs shall come,
And kneel, and trembling, wait from you their Doom.
The Impious, forc'd, shall then their Crimes disclose,
And see past Pleasures teem with future Woes;
Deplore in Darkness your impartial Sway,
While spotless Souls enjoy the Fields of Day.
When ripe for second Birth, the Dead shall stand
In shiv'ring Throngs on the Lethæan Strand,
That Shade, whom you approve, shall first be brought
To quaff Oblivion in the pleasing Draught.
Whose Thread of Life, just spun, you would renew,
But nod, and Clotho shall re-wind the Clue.
Let no distrust of Pow'r your Joys abate,
Speak what you wish, and what you speak, is Fate.
And discompose your Soul with airy Fears.
Look on Sicilia's glitt'ring Courts with Scorn;
A nobler Sceptre shall that Hand adorn.
Imperial Pomp shall sooth a gen'rous Pride;
The Bridegroom never will disgrace the Bride.
139
From Heav'n I spring, and Saturn was my Sire.
The Pow'r of Pluto stretches all around,
Uncircumscrib'd by Nature's utmost Bound:
Where Matter, mould'ring, dies, where Forms decay,
Thro' the vast trackless Void extends my Sway.
Mark not with mournful Eyes the fainting Light,
Nor tremble at this Interval of Night.
A fairer Scene shall open to your View,
An Earth more verdant, and a Heav'n more blue.
Another Phœbus gilds those happy Skies,
And other Stars, with purer Flames, arise.
There chaste Adorers shall their Praises join,
And with the choicest Gifts enrich your Shrine.
The blissful Climes no Change of Ages knew,
The Golden first began, and still is new.
That Golden Age your World awhile could boast,
But here it flourish'd, and was never lost.
140
And painted Meads smile with unbidden Flow'rs:
Flow'rs of immortal Bloom, and various Hue;
No Rival Sweets in your own Enna grew.
In the Recess of a cool, Sylvan Glade,
A Monarch Tree projects no vulgar Shade.
Encumber'd with their Wealth, the Branches bend,
And Golden Apples to your Reach descend.
Spare not the Fruit, but pluck the blooming Oar,
The yellow Harvest will encrease the more.
But I too long on trifling Themes explain,
Nor speak th'unbounded Glories of your Reign.
Whole Nature owns your Pow'r: Whate'er have Birth,
And live, and move, o'er all the Face of Earth;
Or in old Ocean's mighty Caverns sleep,
Or sportive roll along the foamy Deep;
Or on stiff Pinnions Airy Journies take,
Or cut the floating Stream, or stagnant Lake:
141
And soon fall Victims to your Subject, Death.
Unnumber'd Triumphs swift to you he brings,
Hail! Goddess of all Sublunary Things!
Empires, that sink above, here rise again,
And Worlds unpeopled crowd th'Elysian Plain.
The Rich, the Poor, the Monarch, and the Slave,
Know no superior Honours in the Grave.
Proud Tyrants once, and lawrell'd Chiefs shall come,
And kneel, and trembling, wait from you their Doom.
The Impious, forc'd, shall then their Crimes disclose,
And see past Pleasures teem with future Woes;
Deplore in Darkness your impartial Sway,
While spotless Souls enjoy the Fields of Day.
When ripe for second Birth, the Dead shall stand
In shiv'ring Throngs on the Lethæan Strand,
142
To quaff Oblivion in the pleasing Draught.
Whose Thread of Life, just spun, you would renew,
But nod, and Clotho shall re-wind the Clue.
Let no distrust of Pow'r your Joys abate,
Speak what you wish, and what you speak, is Fate.
The Ravisher thus sooth'd the weeping Fair,
And check'd the Fury of his Steeds with Care:
Possest of Beauty's Charms, he calmly rode,
And Love first soften'd the relentless God.
And check'd the Fury of his Steeds with Care:
Possest of Beauty's Charms, he calmly rode,
And Love first soften'd the relentless God.
190
To the Right Honourable Charles, Lord Hallifax,
OCCASION'D By translating into Latin his Lordship's Poem on the Boyn; and Mr. Stepney's on the late King's Voyage into Holland.
Writ in the Year 1709.
By Mr. EUSDEN.
My Lord,
To You, when
publick Grief implor'd your Aid,
The first faint Products of my Muse were pay'd:
To You again in Cannisters I bring
These early Gath'rings of a second Spring.
The noblest Fruits, that ever Blest our Isle,
See here transplanted to the Roman Soil;
But so transplanted, that too soon they show,
They did not first in Roman Climates grow.
Sure rowling Spheres in other Orbits run,
And Italy has lost her warmer Sun:
Or now the boasted Majesty of Rome,
Is more than rivall'd in the British Loom:
Or I forget my Faults, and should accuse
The rash Endeavours of a feeble Muse.
Fool, as she was, to imitate, so young,
The lov'd, the prais'd, th'inimitable Song,
And paint your Glories in the Latian Tongue.
The callow Eaglet wisely takes his Rest,
Safe in the covert of a downey Nest:
Till grown mature in Strength, he dares to flie,
Faces the glaring Sun, and tow'rs on High,
And bears the ratling Thunder thro' the Sky.
The first faint Products of my Muse were pay'd:
To You again in Cannisters I bring
These early Gath'rings of a second Spring.
191
See here transplanted to the Roman Soil;
But so transplanted, that too soon they show,
They did not first in Roman Climates grow.
Sure rowling Spheres in other Orbits run,
And Italy has lost her warmer Sun:
Or now the boasted Majesty of Rome,
Is more than rivall'd in the British Loom:
Or I forget my Faults, and should accuse
The rash Endeavours of a feeble Muse.
Fool, as she was, to imitate, so young,
The lov'd, the prais'd, th'inimitable Song,
And paint your Glories in the Latian Tongue.
The callow Eaglet wisely takes his Rest,
Safe in the covert of a downey Nest:
Till grown mature in Strength, he dares to flie,
Faces the glaring Sun, and tow'rs on High,
And bears the ratling Thunder thro' the Sky.
As in return to Heav'n for large Supplies,
From the same Gifts we cull a Sacrifice;
So you receive a Labour of your own,
If, thus disguis'd, the wond'rous Piece be known:
If thro' this rough-drawn Copy still you trace
Some lively Features of a beauteous Face.
But I beyond Promethean Frauds aspire,
Not only steal, but smother Heav'nly Fire.
Where are the Flights, (true Criticks may reclaim)
The Heat, the Force, and Fancy, wing'd with Flame?
Where is great William's glorious Image seen,
Like Jove, his Grandeur, and like Mars, his Mien?
No Gods descending here adorn the Scene.
Such was the Change, when bright Diana stood
Amidst her thousand Nymphs, besmear'd with Mud:
Alphæus, close pursuing, gaz'd unmov'd,
Nor knew the Goddess, he so fiercely lov'd.
From the same Gifts we cull a Sacrifice;
192
If, thus disguis'd, the wond'rous Piece be known:
If thro' this rough-drawn Copy still you trace
Some lively Features of a beauteous Face.
But I beyond Promethean Frauds aspire,
Not only steal, but smother Heav'nly Fire.
Where are the Flights, (true Criticks may reclaim)
The Heat, the Force, and Fancy, wing'd with Flame?
Where is great William's glorious Image seen,
Like Jove, his Grandeur, and like Mars, his Mien?
No Gods descending here adorn the Scene.
Such was the Change, when bright Diana stood
Amidst her thousand Nymphs, besmear'd with Mud:
Alphæus, close pursuing, gaz'd unmov'd,
Nor knew the Goddess, he so fiercely lov'd.
Yet blame your Muse, that gave too much Delight;
'Tis fatal to be eminently Bright.
You from Translations had escap'd unharm'd,
Were I less daring, or had you less charm'd.
Poems I view'd around of ev'ry Size;
But, Pirate-like, flew to the richest Prize.
So starting sudden from his dark Abode
To chuse a Consort, rush'd the Stygian God.
Scouring, he drove his Steeds o'er Enna's Plains
Thro' Crowds of swooning Nymphs, and frighted Swains:
On ev'ry Side his eager Eyes he cast,
But Proserpine the rest in Form surpast.
The Ravisher no longer could forbear,
Furious on Her he seiz'd, tho' many a Fair,
And all Sicilia's blooming Pride was there.
'Tis fatal to be eminently Bright.
You from Translations had escap'd unharm'd,
Were I less daring, or had you less charm'd.
193
But, Pirate-like, flew to the richest Prize.
So starting sudden from his dark Abode
To chuse a Consort, rush'd the Stygian God.
Scouring, he drove his Steeds o'er Enna's Plains
Thro' Crowds of swooning Nymphs, and frighted Swains:
On ev'ry Side his eager Eyes he cast,
But Proserpine the rest in Form surpast.
The Ravisher no longer could forbear,
Furious on Her he seiz'd, tho' many a Fair,
And all Sicilia's blooming Pride was there.
Some, by kind Fates, to Greatness force their Way,
And without Dawnings show a glorious Day:
Others, by Fortune, and industrious Strife,
Arrive at Honours, in the Noon of Life.
Many by painful, slow degrees ascend,
And anxious, till the verge of Death, attend.
Great Dryden did not early Great appear,
Faintly distinguish'd in his thirti'th Year:
But Nature, when she would a Poet doom
To show ripe Wonders in his op'ning Bloom,
Lavishly gives from all her choicest Mines,
And the rich Oar with nicer Care refines.
Britannia grieves, such Blessings are but few,
A Cowley, C---ve, and a M---gue.
And without Dawnings show a glorious Day:
Others, by Fortune, and industrious Strife,
Arrive at Honours, in the Noon of Life.
Many by painful, slow degrees ascend,
And anxious, till the verge of Death, attend.
Great Dryden did not early Great appear,
Faintly distinguish'd in his thirti'th Year:
194
To show ripe Wonders in his op'ning Bloom,
Lavishly gives from all her choicest Mines,
And the rich Oar with nicer Care refines.
Britannia grieves, such Blessings are but few,
A Cowley, C---ve, and a M---gue.
Could you, my Lord, the trembling Muse forgive,
And bid the Criminal, twice Guilty, live;
Yet how can she those Injuries defend,
Done to your Dear, (alas!) departed Friend?
Stepney! in Foreign Courts a Fav'rite Name,
For ever sacred to the Voice of Fame.
Abroad, at Home, his Actions Wonder mov'd;
Great was the Glory to be thus approv'd,
But greater that, to be by you belov'd.
And bid the Criminal, twice Guilty, live;
Yet how can she those Injuries defend,
Done to your Dear, (alas!) departed Friend?
Stepney! in Foreign Courts a Fav'rite Name,
For ever sacred to the Voice of Fame.
Abroad, at Home, his Actions Wonder mov'd;
Great was the Glory to be thus approv'd,
But greater that, to be by you belov'd.
O! were the Graces which adorn your Mind,
Not to themselves so gloriously unkind!
Could you, untroubled, your own Praise receive,
Who Praise to others are so pleas'd to give?
Fir'd with the Theme, I had not crept so long
In lowly Numbers, and a rural Song.
Ev'n now my Voice I would attempt to raise,
And to new Wonders consecrate new Lays.
Such, as might sooth the most harmonious Ear,
Nor G---th, nor Ad---n, should blush to hear.
But you already modestly refuse,
And check the Sallies of th'ambitious Muse.
Yet tho' your Glories are with Care conceal'd,
Virtues, when cover'd most, are most reveal'd.
We view with Pleasure ev'ry vulgar Stone,
While richest Jewels are with caution shown.
Not to themselves so gloriously unkind!
195
Who Praise to others are so pleas'd to give?
Fir'd with the Theme, I had not crept so long
In lowly Numbers, and a rural Song.
Ev'n now my Voice I would attempt to raise,
And to new Wonders consecrate new Lays.
Such, as might sooth the most harmonious Ear,
Nor G---th, nor Ad---n, should blush to hear.
But you already modestly refuse,
And check the Sallies of th'ambitious Muse.
Yet tho' your Glories are with Care conceal'd,
Virtues, when cover'd most, are most reveal'd.
We view with Pleasure ev'ry vulgar Stone,
While richest Jewels are with caution shown.
196
ON Reading the Critique on Milton, IN THE SPECTATOR.
By the same Hand.
Look here, ye Pedants, who deserve that Name,
And lewdly ravish the great Critick's Fame,
In cloudless Beams of Light true Judgment plays,
How mild the Censure, how refin'd the Praise!
Beauties ye pass, and Blemishes ye cull,
Profoundly read, and Eminently dull.
Tho' Lynnets sing, yet Owls feel no delight;
For they the best can Judge, who best can write.
O! had great Milton but surviv'd to hear
His Numbers try'd, by such a tuneful Ear,
How would he all thy just Remarks commend?
The more the Critick own the more the Friend.
197
Th'exalted Pleasure would encrease to Pain:
He would not blush for Faults he rarely knew,
But blush for Glories, thus excell'd by you.
214
ON A LADY, Who is the most Beautiful and Witty when she is Angry.
By Mr. EUSDEN.
Long had I known the soft, enchanting Wiles,
Which Cupid practis'd in Aurelia's Smiles.
Till by degrees, like the fam'd Asian, taught,
Safely I drank the sweet, tho' poys'nous Draught.
Love vex'd to see his Favours vainly shown,
The peevish Urchin murder'd with a Frown.
215
Can Beauty from Deformity arise?
In cloudless Nights do Light'nings harmless fly,
And only blast from a tempestuous Sky?
Mild Venus haunts the Shades and peaceful Groves,
Her Thoughts, her Looks, are tender as her Doves.
Smooth'd were the Waves, and ev'ry Triton sung,
When from old Ocean first the Goddess sprung.
Aurelia shuns the Calm, and loves the Storm,
Ruffles her Passions to improve her Form.
She by some Art, to th'artful Sex unknown,
Has all the Graces, when the rest have none.
Th'unsated Victor seeks new Triumphs still,
And whom her Eyes but wound, her Tongue must kill.
No hope of Safety, if inflam'd her Breast;
At once the Charmer Looks, and Talks the best.
So Dryden sweetest sung, by Envy fir'd,
Thirst of Revenge, where Phœbus fail'd, inspir'd.
His Antony did Sydley's Muse o'ertake,
And Absalon was writ for Zimri's sake.
216
And a Mac Fleckno was the Child of Rage.
TO Mr. --- ---
By the same Hand.
You ask, my Friend, how I can Delia prize,
When Myra's Shape I view, or Cynthia's Eyes:
No tedious Answer shall create you Pain,
For Beauty, if but Beauty, I disdain.
'Tis not a Mien, that can my Will controul,
A speaking Body with a silent Soul.
The loveliest Face to me not lovely shows,
From the sweet Lips if melting Nonsense flows.
Nor must the tuneful Chloris be my Choice,
An Earthly Mind ill suits a Heav'nly Voice.
When Myra's Shape I view, or Cynthia's Eyes:
No tedious Answer shall create you Pain,
For Beauty, if but Beauty, I disdain.
'Tis not a Mien, that can my Will controul,
A speaking Body with a silent Soul.
The loveliest Face to me not lovely shows,
From the sweet Lips if melting Nonsense flows.
Nor must the tuneful Chloris be my Choice,
An Earthly Mind ill suits a Heav'nly Voice.
What! tho' my Delia not decay'd appears,
She wants (you cry) the gawdy Bloom of Years.
True; but good Sense perpetual Joys will bring,
Her Wit is ever youthful as the Spring.
Those flutt'ring Sparks, who fashionably burn,
And hourly for some fair Dorinda mourn:
Soon as the fancy'd Goddess is enjoy'd,
To find her Woman, sicken, and are cloy'd.
Not so my Delia shall consume her Charms,
But rise each Morn more Beauteous from my Arms.
With envious Swiftness rouling Years may move,
Impair her Glories, not impair my Love:
Time's wasteful Rage the Husband shall despise,
And view the Wife still with the Bridegroom's Eyes.
So kneels at some fam'd, antiquated Shrine,
The pious Pilgrim to the Pow'r Divine.
Around he sees wild, rugged Heaps of Stone,
Where Parian Marble once, and Jasper shone:
Yet conscious, what those Ruins were of Old,
Dares not, unmov'd, the mossie Walls behold;
But trembles at the Deity's Abode,
And owns the pow'rful Presence of the God.
She wants (you cry) the gawdy Bloom of Years.
217
Her Wit is ever youthful as the Spring.
Those flutt'ring Sparks, who fashionably burn,
And hourly for some fair Dorinda mourn:
Soon as the fancy'd Goddess is enjoy'd,
To find her Woman, sicken, and are cloy'd.
Not so my Delia shall consume her Charms,
But rise each Morn more Beauteous from my Arms.
With envious Swiftness rouling Years may move,
Impair her Glories, not impair my Love:
Time's wasteful Rage the Husband shall despise,
And view the Wife still with the Bridegroom's Eyes.
So kneels at some fam'd, antiquated Shrine,
The pious Pilgrim to the Pow'r Divine.
Around he sees wild, rugged Heaps of Stone,
Where Parian Marble once, and Jasper shone:
Yet conscious, what those Ruins were of Old,
Dares not, unmov'd, the mossie Walls behold;
But trembles at the Deity's Abode,
And owns the pow'rful Presence of the God.
218
On a Dispute with a Gentleman about the Excellence of some of Mr Dryden's Writings; when a Lady, being ask'd her Opinion, blam'd them.
By the same Hand.
To
Dryden's Muse I early Homage pay'd,
And Manhood fix'd the Choice my Youth had made:
The Numbers flow'd delightful from his Tongue,
And all was Harmony, when Dryden sung.
But since Cleora the sweet Bard disdains,
Harsh is his Verse, and rugged are his Strains:
Not kneeling Torrismond can Pity move,
And the World seems too meanly lost for Love.
And Manhood fix'd the Choice my Youth had made:
The Numbers flow'd delightful from his Tongue,
And all was Harmony, when Dryden sung.
But since Cleora the sweet Bard disdains,
Harsh is his Verse, and rugged are his Strains:
Not kneeling Torrismond can Pity move,
And the World seems too meanly lost for Love.
Nor let my Rival triumph, tho' I yield;
Her Charms, and not his Reas'nings, won the Field.
Pleas'd with Cleora's Censures, I submit:
So fair a Face is sure a Judge of Wit.
Rough are the Lines, that rough to her appear;
Her Eyes confess the Justness of her Ear.
The fam'd Corinthian thus redeem'd her Cause,
And with bright Glances baffl'd all the Laws.
Her Orators had labour'd long in vain
To prove her Injur'd, and her Right regain.
Imperial Reason still unwarp'd was found,
And just Decrees the joyful Victor crown'd:
'Till Lais, rising with a sweet Surprize,
Disclos'd her Bosom, and unveil'd her Eyes.
Amaz'd, each Judge, the silent Pleader view'd,
Repeal'd the Sentence, and her Suit renew'd.
The Faults they saw, they now can see no more,
And blame those Actions, which they prais'd before.
Triumphant Wrong o'er vanquish'd Right prevail'd,
And Beauty won, where Eloquence had fail'd.
Her Charms, and not his Reas'nings, won the Field.
Pleas'd with Cleora's Censures, I submit:
So fair a Face is sure a Judge of Wit.
219
Her Eyes confess the Justness of her Ear.
The fam'd Corinthian thus redeem'd her Cause,
And with bright Glances baffl'd all the Laws.
Her Orators had labour'd long in vain
To prove her Injur'd, and her Right regain.
Imperial Reason still unwarp'd was found,
And just Decrees the joyful Victor crown'd:
'Till Lais, rising with a sweet Surprize,
Disclos'd her Bosom, and unveil'd her Eyes.
Amaz'd, each Judge, the silent Pleader view'd,
Repeal'd the Sentence, and her Suit renew'd.
The Faults they saw, they now can see no more,
And blame those Actions, which they prais'd before.
Triumphant Wrong o'er vanquish'd Right prevail'd,
And Beauty won, where Eloquence had fail'd.
220
FROM The Fourth Book of Statius's Thebaid.
Beginning at Verse 246.
By the same Hand.
Greece
thus embroyl'd, and Arms around prepar'd,
With Joy the young Parthenopæus heard.
New to the Field, yet fir'd with Thirst of Fame,
The beauteous, blooming, beardless Heroe came.
Mean time beyond the bleak Lycæus stray'd
Swift Atalanta in a distant Glade:
Pursu'd the Sylvan Game with eager Joy,
Nor fear'd the Danger of her Fav'rite Boy.
Oh! had her Heart the least Foreboadings known!
The Mother's Fondness had preserv'd the Son.
Had bid the Warrior to the Groves retreat,
And cool'd a glorious, but destructive Heat.
Never of Beauty to a Male before,
Indulgent Nature lavish'd such a Store.
Yet the rich Work compleatly she design'd:
A Woman's Face conceal'd a Manly Mind.
A Proof of Courage in each Act appears;
But what is Courage in such tender Years?
For him, the Nymphs, that haunt the verdant Woods,
Or bath their snowy Limbs in crystal Floods;
Or on the Mountain sport, or on the Plain,
All sigh'd, all languish'd, and all burn'd in vain.
And sure his Form might Nymphs inflame with Love,
Which could Diana's settled Hate remove.
For when she saw, in the Mænalian Shade,
How the fair, smiling, little Wanton play'd;
How harmless o'er th'unbending Grass he flew,
Of the stol'n Raptures she unmindful grew:
Well seem'd the Virgin in the Mother lost,
That could this sweet, this heav'nly Burthen boast.
New Friendship soon the Goddess did commence,
Recall'd th'Offender, and forgave th'Offence.
The marks of Honour did again bestow,
The Darts, the Quiver, and the Cretan Bow.
With Joy the young Parthenopæus heard.
New to the Field, yet fir'd with Thirst of Fame,
The beauteous, blooming, beardless Heroe came.
Mean time beyond the bleak Lycæus stray'd
Swift Atalanta in a distant Glade:
Pursu'd the Sylvan Game with eager Joy,
Nor fear'd the Danger of her Fav'rite Boy.
Oh! had her Heart the least Foreboadings known!
The Mother's Fondness had preserv'd the Son.
221
And cool'd a glorious, but destructive Heat.
Never of Beauty to a Male before,
Indulgent Nature lavish'd such a Store.
Yet the rich Work compleatly she design'd:
A Woman's Face conceal'd a Manly Mind.
A Proof of Courage in each Act appears;
But what is Courage in such tender Years?
For him, the Nymphs, that haunt the verdant Woods,
Or bath their snowy Limbs in crystal Floods;
Or on the Mountain sport, or on the Plain,
All sigh'd, all languish'd, and all burn'd in vain.
And sure his Form might Nymphs inflame with Love,
Which could Diana's settled Hate remove.
For when she saw, in the Mænalian Shade,
How the fair, smiling, little Wanton play'd;
How harmless o'er th'unbending Grass he flew,
Of the stol'n Raptures she unmindful grew:
222
That could this sweet, this heav'nly Burthen boast.
New Friendship soon the Goddess did commence,
Recall'd th'Offender, and forgave th'Offence.
The marks of Honour did again bestow,
The Darts, the Quiver, and the Cretan Bow.
Th'un-fledg'd Commander, vainly rash of Thought,
Already burns with Battels yet unfought.
To his quick View the bloody Scene appears,
And comely Dust his yellow Locks besmears.
Transports unknown the num'rous Captives yield,
While the gay Victor prances o'er the Field.
Already burns with Battels yet unfought.
To his quick View the bloody Scene appears,
And comely Dust his yellow Locks besmears.
Transports unknown the num'rous Captives yield,
While the gay Victor prances o'er the Field.
His wonted Pleasures now delight no more;
No Musick in the Hounds that bay the Boar.
Inglorious seem the Conquests of the Wood;
He scorns the Dart, not dy'd with human Blood.
Unarm'd the Youth, how lovely to behold!
But glitters sweetly fierce in burnish'd Gold.
His Surcoat glows, rich with the Tyrian stain,
While Diamond Clasps the waving Folds restrain.
His Shield for Lightness of smooth Skins was made,
Where his fam'd Mother's Triumph shone display'd:
Deep in th'Ætolian Boar was fix'd the Reed,
And in the Paint the Savage seem'd to bleed.
In his Left-Hand a Bow with graceful Pride
He bore, his Right the Cydon Eugh supply'd.
No vulgar Art adorn'd his Coat of Mail,
With feather'd Gold, and many a shining Scale;
His radiant Helm the waving Crest surrounds,
And on his Back his Amber Quiver sounds;
But the pale Amber Jaspers green enchase,
And with a livelier Verdure die the Grass.
His fiery Courser snorts and neighs aloud,
With Wood-land Spoils of spotted Lynxes proud,
In Swiftness, us'd to leave the Mountain-Hind,
A Rival for the sweeping, Northern Wind;
With Joy his Master, sheath'd in Arms, he bore,
But wonder'd at a Weight unfelt before:
His Master pleas'd, and flush'd with youthful Grace,
Flew all around, and brighten'd ev'ry Place.
Arcadian Cohorts, firm, experienc'd Bands,
Enclose their Lord, and wait his dread Commands.
Arcadians, Times's first Sons, who scorn to trace,
From the known Origin a mortal Race;
Who your dark Pedigree convey too high,
Ere Moon, or Stars, were lighted in the Sky.
Ere Nature's Rudeness Art had taught to yield,
Unbuilt each City, and untill'd each Field.
From that lost Æra you derive your Birth,
And Steps first printed on the wond'ring Earth.
The hardy Race (if Fame the Truth has sung)
From rigid Sires, and wooden Parents sprung.
The lab'ring Oak a stubborn Off-spring bred,
And kindly with fresh Show'rs of Acorns fed.
From the tall Ash a new Creation rose,
And teeming Lawrels felt a Mother's Throws.
The Beech Prolifick prov'd in like Degree,
And a green Infant drop'd from ev'ry Tree.
These early, young Inhabitants begun
To watch the Motions of the rolling Sun.
New to the strange Vicissitude of Light,
They trembled at the swift Approach of Night:
While Phœbus hasten'd to the Western Streams,
In vain they follow'd to o'ertake his Beams:
Then weary'd, heav'd their Hands, and begg'd his Stay,
Hung with their Eyes on the last fainting Ray,
And mourn'd, and sicken'd in despair of Day.
No Musick in the Hounds that bay the Boar.
Inglorious seem the Conquests of the Wood;
He scorns the Dart, not dy'd with human Blood.
223
But glitters sweetly fierce in burnish'd Gold.
His Surcoat glows, rich with the Tyrian stain,
While Diamond Clasps the waving Folds restrain.
His Shield for Lightness of smooth Skins was made,
Where his fam'd Mother's Triumph shone display'd:
Deep in th'Ætolian Boar was fix'd the Reed,
And in the Paint the Savage seem'd to bleed.
In his Left-Hand a Bow with graceful Pride
He bore, his Right the Cydon Eugh supply'd.
No vulgar Art adorn'd his Coat of Mail,
With feather'd Gold, and many a shining Scale;
His radiant Helm the waving Crest surrounds,
And on his Back his Amber Quiver sounds;
But the pale Amber Jaspers green enchase,
And with a livelier Verdure die the Grass.
His fiery Courser snorts and neighs aloud,
With Wood-land Spoils of spotted Lynxes proud,
224
A Rival for the sweeping, Northern Wind;
With Joy his Master, sheath'd in Arms, he bore,
But wonder'd at a Weight unfelt before:
His Master pleas'd, and flush'd with youthful Grace,
Flew all around, and brighten'd ev'ry Place.
Arcadian Cohorts, firm, experienc'd Bands,
Enclose their Lord, and wait his dread Commands.
Arcadians, Times's first Sons, who scorn to trace,
From the known Origin a mortal Race;
Who your dark Pedigree convey too high,
Ere Moon, or Stars, were lighted in the Sky.
Ere Nature's Rudeness Art had taught to yield,
Unbuilt each City, and untill'd each Field.
From that lost Æra you derive your Birth,
And Steps first printed on the wond'ring Earth.
The hardy Race (if Fame the Truth has sung)
From rigid Sires, and wooden Parents sprung.
The lab'ring Oak a stubborn Off-spring bred,
And kindly with fresh Show'rs of Acorns fed.
225
And teeming Lawrels felt a Mother's Throws.
The Beech Prolifick prov'd in like Degree,
And a green Infant drop'd from ev'ry Tree.
These early, young Inhabitants begun
To watch the Motions of the rolling Sun.
New to the strange Vicissitude of Light,
They trembled at the swift Approach of Night:
While Phœbus hasten'd to the Western Streams,
In vain they follow'd to o'ertake his Beams:
Then weary'd, heav'd their Hands, and begg'd his Stay,
Hung with their Eyes on the last fainting Ray,
And mourn'd, and sicken'd in despair of Day.
226
FROM The Fourth Book of Statius's Thebaid.
Beginning at Verse 309.
By the same Hand.
Fame now th'important Secret had betray'd,And to the Mother the sad Truth convey'd,
How her rash Son, inflam'd with War's Alarms,
Had march'd, and all Arcadia rous'd to Arms.
Struck with the fatal News, at first she found
No Strength, and drop'd her useless Arrows round.
Then swift, as Storms, that rend the lofty Woods,
O'er Rocks she flew, and stem'd the foaming Floods.
Her loosen'd Robes, neglected, flow'd behind,
Her Locks at Pleasure ruffled in the Wind.
227
Pursue the murd'ring Wretch, and scour along the Plain.
Close to her Son she stood; the Red forsook
His Cheeks, and show'd a pale dejected Look:
Then cry'd, What Frenzy has possest my Boy?
Hence vain, deluding Honour, airy Toy!
Can thirst of Fame impertinently raise
In such a tender Breast so fierce a Blaze?
Leave Arms, my Child, to Men; nor tempt too far
The sweating Toils, and dreadful Shocks of War.
Too soon, alas! thy feeble Strength would yield,
In the rough Tempest of an Iron Field.
Nor do I seek to damp a glorious Fire;
But wish thy Vigour answer thy Desire.
Trembling, I saw thee late (nor vain my Fear)
Launch at the bristling Boar thy pointed Spear,
The Savage turn'd, nor could those Nerves repel
His Rage, and only not supine you fell:
228
Where would that restless Valour now be fled?
You no more Dangers had industrious run;
But now those Darts will not protect my Son:
Nor trust thy Erring Bow, nor Martial Force,
And the vain Swiftness of that dappled Horse.
Arms thou attemp'st, scarce able yet to prove
The sweet Fatigues, and softer Wars of Love.
Too true the fatal Omens, which I took,
When sudden all the vaulted Temple shook;
Diana's Image, bending, seem'd to fall,
And shaggy Spoils dropp'd from the sweating Wall.
No wonder, that my Bow with Pain I drew,
And Arrows, guiltless of Destruction, flew.
Ah! stay, my Heroe, stay, too Brave! too Young!
'Till riper Years have slacken'd Sinews strung:
'Till on thy Cheeks a Shade gives manly Grace,
And the soft Mother has forsook thy Face.
229
And I my self will reach, unask'd, thy Sword.
No idle Tears thy Eagerness shall blame,
In Paths of Glory, and Pursuit of Fame.
But homeward now, my only Hope, retire;
Can you, Arcadians, such a Chief desire?
Let gen'rous Pity spare the tender King,
Or not from Trees, but flinty Rocks you spring.
251
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE TATLERS.
By Mr. EUSDEN.
At last is granted, what we wish'd for long,
The Roman Arts have learn'd the British Tongue.
The sweet Venusian Bard could lash the Crimes,
And ridicule the Follies of his Times:
Yet the sly Satyr mov'd with so much Ease,
The Sting, while wounding, never fail'd to please.
Nature, we fear'd, had here her self out-done,
Too weak again to raise so great a Son:
But now in Fame we dare with Rome engage,
A second Horace has adorn'd our Age.
The Roman Arts have learn'd the British Tongue.
The sweet Venusian Bard could lash the Crimes,
And ridicule the Follies of his Times:
Yet the sly Satyr mov'd with so much Ease,
The Sting, while wounding, never fail'd to please.
Nature, we fear'd, had here her self out-done,
Too weak again to raise so great a Son:
But now in Fame we dare with Rome engage,
A second Horace has adorn'd our Age.
252
Hail You! whose ev'ry Thought, and every Line
Our Judgments ripen, and our Tastes refine.
Who reads your Works, knows what the World e'er knew;
All human Life lies open to his View.
Old Age with Tears sees artfully display'd
Those fruitless Pleasures which they once obey'd;
While by too dear Experience, Youth, untaught,
Fly from the Snares, in which their Sires were caught:
And by your Labours double their Delight,
Learn how to Live, as well as how to Write.
Our Judgments ripen, and our Tastes refine.
Who reads your Works, knows what the World e'er knew;
All human Life lies open to his View.
Old Age with Tears sees artfully display'd
Those fruitless Pleasures which they once obey'd;
While by too dear Experience, Youth, untaught,
Fly from the Snares, in which their Sires were caught:
And by your Labours double their Delight,
Learn how to Live, as well as how to Write.
O! in what beauteous Elegance of Dress
Th'immortal Bloom of Virtue you express!
How sweetly Mild she looks in all her Rules!
The Choice of Wise Men, tho' the Scorn of Fools.
How Vice can never with true Reason suit!
The Man degraded, sinks into the Brute.
Our Bliss is lost, when Ill we once begin,
There is no Eden in the Paths of Sin.
Th'immortal Bloom of Virtue you express!
How sweetly Mild she looks in all her Rules!
The Choice of Wise Men, tho' the Scorn of Fools.
How Vice can never with true Reason suit!
The Man degraded, sinks into the Brute.
Our Bliss is lost, when Ill we once begin,
There is no Eden in the Paths of Sin.
253
If sacred Thirst of Glory you inspire,
Each lab'ring Breast glows with a gen'rous Fire.
Had Fate reserv'd young Ammon for this Age,
We had not seen him with wild Frenzies rage:
His vain Descent from Heav'n he would disclaim,
To shine the foremost in your Court of Fame.
Each lab'ring Breast glows with a gen'rous Fire.
Had Fate reserv'd young Ammon for this Age,
We had not seen him with wild Frenzies rage:
His vain Descent from Heav'n he would disclaim,
To shine the foremost in your Court of Fame.
While the Coquet her airy Motions tries,
The Man has Humour, gay Emilia cries:
Laughing goes on, and hugs the faithful Glass,
Pleas'd with the true Reflection of her Face.
But grave Althæa reads the Prude with Spleen,
And wonders how her secret Faults were seen.
The Man has Humour, gay Emilia cries:
Laughing goes on, and hugs the faithful Glass,
Pleas'd with the true Reflection of her Face.
But grave Althæa reads the Prude with Spleen,
And wonders how her secret Faults were seen.
When Rules of Honour, in the married Life,
You strictly fix to Husband, and to Wife,
The Libertine from Chloe's Arms retires,
Forgets to Lust, and burns with nobler Fires.
You strictly fix to Husband, and to Wife,
The Libertine from Chloe's Arms retires,
Forgets to Lust, and burns with nobler Fires.
Or when the flutt'ring Coxcombs of the Town,
And all their nauseous Fopperies are shown,
Such is the Wit, as needs no Critick fear,
And the chast Vestal, unconcern'd, might hear.
Such as can never Innocence defile,
Yet from the most severe extorts a Smile.
And all their nauseous Fopperies are shown,
254
And the chast Vestal, unconcern'd, might hear.
Such as can never Innocence defile,
Yet from the most severe extorts a Smile.
The happy Delicacy of your Plays
I pass in Silence, nor attempt to praise.
O Charlotte! who thy Character can read,
But soon must languish, sigh, and secret bleed?
Is it your Fancy, that thus boundless roves,
Inflames our Passions, yet eludes our Loves?
Or to the World are living Charlots known,
Or she, th'unrival'd Phænix, reigns alone?
To Wealth, to Pow'r I ev'ry Wish resign,
If only that dear Charlotte might be mine.
I pass in Silence, nor attempt to praise.
O Charlotte! who thy Character can read,
But soon must languish, sigh, and secret bleed?
Is it your Fancy, that thus boundless roves,
Inflames our Passions, yet eludes our Loves?
Or to the World are living Charlots known,
Or she, th'unrival'd Phænix, reigns alone?
To Wealth, to Pow'r I ev'ry Wish resign,
If only that dear Charlotte might be mine.
Go on, great Man! if you need farther go,
Whose bright Meridian can no brighter show.
Still you their Fav'rite let the Muses call,
All Arts adorning, and adorn'd by all.
So variously you write, yet still so well,
We know not where to judge you most excel:
Nor can you, tho' you multiply the Store,
Add to your Glory, or our Wonder more.
Whose bright Meridian can no brighter show.
Still you their Fav'rite let the Muses call,
All Arts adorning, and adorn'd by all.
255
We know not where to judge you most excel:
Nor can you, tho' you multiply the Store,
Add to your Glory, or our Wonder more.
TO A LADY, That wept at the hearing CATO read.
By the same Hand.
If ever Grief could perfect Form improve,
Euphrenia, weeping, more commands our Love.
How shall we call, that we so much admire,
A melting Brightness, or a humid Fire?
Blush not at Sorrows seen, in vain supprest,
Sighs swell to Streams, and flowing shine confest.
The happy Poet must with Transport hear,
His Art confirm'd by such a precious Tear:
Precious as that which good Octavia shed,
When Virgil mourn'd o'er young Marcellus dead.
Alas! the gen'rous Roman differs still!
She wept she could not save, you weep to kill.
Ah! gentle Fair! too kind, too cruel Maid!
Can you in others Tyranny upbraid,
Yet be the Cause of Liberty betray'd?
Think on his Halcyon Hours you could destroy;
Each glided smooth, for each was wing'd with Joy.
Whate'er he freely wish'd, he freely chose,
Like Roman Senates, till a Cæsar rose.
These Lips, which us'd no fav'rite Sound to claim,
Now fondly quiver on Euphrenia's Name.
This Heart, which once no pointed Glance had stung,
Bleeds at your Sight, and trembles at your Tongue.
Yet do I court, not struggle with my Chain,
Easie the Thraldom, pleasant is the Pain,
And you for ever shall Dictator reign.
The stubborn Cato, whose unshaken Soul
No Flatt'ries could allure, no Force controul,
Had you then liv'd, had sweet Confusion felt,
His Sterness soften'd, and begun to melt:
Oft would have look'd, and oft with glad Surprise
Bondage it self own'd lovely thro' those Eyes.
Tell me, ye learn'd, how equal Objects strike
Euphrenia's Breast with Passions so dislike?
How tender, and relentless thus agree!
Why there all Discord, here all Harmony?
Can you lament the Miseries of Rome,
Patricians lost, or Slavery their Doom,
Yet ravage careless o'er your Native Isle,
Sport in Destruction, and in Murder smile?
Oh! when you weep, and vanquish'd Virtue grace,
Who would desire the mighty Victor's place?
Misfortune proudly triumphs o'er Success,
And Cæsar envies Cato's Happiness.
How willing for such Tears to yield up all,
Scarce an Equivalent; the conqu'red Ball!
How pleas'd superior Glory to allow,
The World by Cæsar, Cæsar rul'd by you.
Euphrenia, weeping, more commands our Love.
How shall we call, that we so much admire,
A melting Brightness, or a humid Fire?
Blush not at Sorrows seen, in vain supprest,
Sighs swell to Streams, and flowing shine confest.
The happy Poet must with Transport hear,
His Art confirm'd by such a precious Tear:
256
When Virgil mourn'd o'er young Marcellus dead.
Alas! the gen'rous Roman differs still!
She wept she could not save, you weep to kill.
Ah! gentle Fair! too kind, too cruel Maid!
Can you in others Tyranny upbraid,
Yet be the Cause of Liberty betray'd?
Think on his Halcyon Hours you could destroy;
Each glided smooth, for each was wing'd with Joy.
Whate'er he freely wish'd, he freely chose,
Like Roman Senates, till a Cæsar rose.
These Lips, which us'd no fav'rite Sound to claim,
Now fondly quiver on Euphrenia's Name.
This Heart, which once no pointed Glance had stung,
Bleeds at your Sight, and trembles at your Tongue.
Yet do I court, not struggle with my Chain,
Easie the Thraldom, pleasant is the Pain,
And you for ever shall Dictator reign.
The stubborn Cato, whose unshaken Soul
No Flatt'ries could allure, no Force controul,
257
His Sterness soften'd, and begun to melt:
Oft would have look'd, and oft with glad Surprise
Bondage it self own'd lovely thro' those Eyes.
Tell me, ye learn'd, how equal Objects strike
Euphrenia's Breast with Passions so dislike?
How tender, and relentless thus agree!
Why there all Discord, here all Harmony?
Can you lament the Miseries of Rome,
Patricians lost, or Slavery their Doom,
Yet ravage careless o'er your Native Isle,
Sport in Destruction, and in Murder smile?
Oh! when you weep, and vanquish'd Virtue grace,
Who would desire the mighty Victor's place?
Misfortune proudly triumphs o'er Success,
And Cæsar envies Cato's Happiness.
How willing for such Tears to yield up all,
Scarce an Equivalent; the conqu'red Ball!
How pleas'd superior Glory to allow,
The World by Cæsar, Cæsar rul'd by you.
258
Sure Bards of old deceiv'd us in their Strains,
Syrens were all Euphrenia's of the Plains;
Who, gently touch'd by some soft, mournful Sound,
Melted in Tears, and lavish'd Deaths around.
The noblest Poet drew the noblest Throng,
And the bright Hearers made the dang'rous Song.
Was not this Piece so elegantly fine,
You had not listen'd to a dull design.
Gay, pompous Nonsense had less fatal been,
You could not weep, where Nature was not seen.
Ah! let the Muse Aid to the Lover bring,
Not from her Excellence his Ruin spring.
The Charms of Verse should still the Charmer move,
And whom they melt to Pity, sooth to Love.
Syrens were all Euphrenia's of the Plains;
Who, gently touch'd by some soft, mournful Sound,
Melted in Tears, and lavish'd Deaths around.
The noblest Poet drew the noblest Throng,
And the bright Hearers made the dang'rous Song.
Was not this Piece so elegantly fine,
You had not listen'd to a dull design.
Gay, pompous Nonsense had less fatal been,
You could not weep, where Nature was not seen.
Ah! let the Muse Aid to the Lover bring,
Not from her Excellence his Ruin spring.
The Charms of Verse should still the Charmer move,
And whom they melt to Pity, sooth to Love.
259
FROM The NINTH THEBAIS. VERSE 570.
The Argument.
Polynices, aided by Tydeus, and Andrastus, and other
Princes of Greece, had rais'd an Army against
his Brother Eteocles for Usurping the Crown of
Thebes, contrary to their Agreement of reigning
Yearly by turns. Atalanta, Daughter to the King
of Arcadia, had devoted herself to Diana, but had
afterwards a Son called Parthenopæus by Meleager;
for which breach of her vow'd Virginity the
Goddess forgave her. Parthenopæus, tho' not above
Fifteen Years of Age, in the Absence of his Mother,
gathers together his Arcadians, who thought they at
first sprung from Trees, and marcheth to the Theban
War. His Mother o'ertakes him, and endeavours
in vain by Tears to bring him back. Then frighted
with Dreams and Visions, she prays to Diana to preserve
her Son. Thereupon the Goddess hastens to
Thebes, but meets her Brother Apollo in the way,
who foretells the Death of Parthenopæus, and laments
the Fate of his Augur Amphiaraus, who by
an Earthquake had been lately swallow'd up alive.
The Goddess comes to Thebes, rangeth her self in the
Battle; but is chid by Mars, and forced to retire.
Parthenopæus, supply'd by her with Darts, makes
cruel Slaughter among the Thebans, till at last Dryas
kills him, and dies immediately himself; as Diana had
threatned, that whoever mortally wounded Parthenopæus,
should not survive him.
260
260
While the young Hero thus with Glory burns,
At home the tender Atalanta mourns.
In broken Slumbers baleful Dreams arise,
And airy Spectres skim before her Eyes.
Up from the Bed she rose with Artless Care,
(Loose her Attire, dishevell'd was her Hair)
To Ladon's Streams she flew, e'er dawning Light,
To purge th'unwholsom Visions of the Night.
For to her Mind, opprest with pensive Thought,
Ten thousand frightful Images were brought.
Sometimes she saw the rural Trophies fall,
Which her own Hands fix'd on the Sacred Wall.
Sometimes, deserted by the Nymphs she stray'd,
A lonely Exile from the Sylvan Glade,
Or seem'd o'er op'ning Sepulchres to tread,
Lost in the dreary Mansions of the Dead.
Oft in the midnight Gloom, her Eyes begun
To view the fancy'd Triumphs of her Son;
His Arms, his Friends, his Courser known again,
For him she sought around, but sought in vain.
Oft she beheld her Quiver glow with Fire,
And her own Figure in the Flames expire.
One Vision ill presag'd above the rest,
And waken'd all the Mother in her Breast.
Far on th'Arcadian Hills an Oak there stood,
The lofty Monarch of the Subject Wood,
Which from Plebeian Trees she chose to raise,
And hallow to the great Diana's Praise.
Blest by the Deity, it proudly grew,
And spreading, Crowds of chaste Adorers drew.
Here from the Sun, when tir'd with Woodland Game,
For cool Repose, the daily Huntress came.
The Tusks of Boars aloft in rows she strung,
And Beams of Stags, and Hides of Lyons hung.
The Branches, thus enrich'd by Rural Toils,
Bend with their Load, and scarce sustain the Spoils.
Arrows, and Spears, and polish'd Arms display'd,
Chase the brown Horror of th'enlighten'd Shade.
Hither, it chanc'd, in Sleep her Fancy rov'd;
She dreamt of Pleasures, which awake she lov'd.
The Bear already seiz'd, she, faint with heat,
Sought the green Covert, and the known Retreat.
There saw, where late her fav'rite Tree had stood,
A naked Trunk remain, and stream with Blood.
The leafy Honours scatter'd all around,
And sapless Boughs lay with'ring on the Ground.
Speechless at first with Grief she stood, then cry'd,
Whence springs the Ruin? And a Nymph reply'd,
The Mænades in their mad Orgies show'd
This fury; Bacchus is th'avenging God.
Here from her inward Soul she sigh'd her Pain,
And beat her Breast with empty Blows in vain:
Confus'dly wak'd, she left her mournful Bed,
And look'd for Tears her Eyes had falsly shed.
Her Body thrice she plung'd in living Streams,
To cleanse the vile Pollution of her Dreams;
And added Mystick Words to ease her Grief,
But from Diana's Temple hop'd Relief.
Early she hasten'd, while the Morn was new,
No Eastern Ray had drunk the Pearly Dew.
Joyous she saw her Oak the Grove adorn,
Unlop'd its Branches, and its Leaves unshorn:
With fruitless Pray'rs, then, prostrate at the Shrine,
Implor'd th'Assistance of the Pow'r Divine.
At home the tender Atalanta mourns.
In broken Slumbers baleful Dreams arise,
And airy Spectres skim before her Eyes.
Up from the Bed she rose with Artless Care,
(Loose her Attire, dishevell'd was her Hair)
To Ladon's Streams she flew, e'er dawning Light,
To purge th'unwholsom Visions of the Night.
For to her Mind, opprest with pensive Thought,
Ten thousand frightful Images were brought.
Sometimes she saw the rural Trophies fall,
Which her own Hands fix'd on the Sacred Wall.
Sometimes, deserted by the Nymphs she stray'd,
A lonely Exile from the Sylvan Glade,
261
Lost in the dreary Mansions of the Dead.
Oft in the midnight Gloom, her Eyes begun
To view the fancy'd Triumphs of her Son;
His Arms, his Friends, his Courser known again,
For him she sought around, but sought in vain.
Oft she beheld her Quiver glow with Fire,
And her own Figure in the Flames expire.
One Vision ill presag'd above the rest,
And waken'd all the Mother in her Breast.
Far on th'Arcadian Hills an Oak there stood,
The lofty Monarch of the Subject Wood,
Which from Plebeian Trees she chose to raise,
And hallow to the great Diana's Praise.
Blest by the Deity, it proudly grew,
And spreading, Crowds of chaste Adorers drew.
Here from the Sun, when tir'd with Woodland Game,
For cool Repose, the daily Huntress came.
The Tusks of Boars aloft in rows she strung,
And Beams of Stags, and Hides of Lyons hung.
262
Bend with their Load, and scarce sustain the Spoils.
Arrows, and Spears, and polish'd Arms display'd,
Chase the brown Horror of th'enlighten'd Shade.
Hither, it chanc'd, in Sleep her Fancy rov'd;
She dreamt of Pleasures, which awake she lov'd.
The Bear already seiz'd, she, faint with heat,
Sought the green Covert, and the known Retreat.
There saw, where late her fav'rite Tree had stood,
A naked Trunk remain, and stream with Blood.
The leafy Honours scatter'd all around,
And sapless Boughs lay with'ring on the Ground.
Speechless at first with Grief she stood, then cry'd,
Whence springs the Ruin? And a Nymph reply'd,
The Mænades in their mad Orgies show'd
This fury; Bacchus is th'avenging God.
Here from her inward Soul she sigh'd her Pain,
And beat her Breast with empty Blows in vain:
Confus'dly wak'd, she left her mournful Bed,
And look'd for Tears her Eyes had falsly shed.
263
To cleanse the vile Pollution of her Dreams;
And added Mystick Words to ease her Grief,
But from Diana's Temple hop'd Relief.
Early she hasten'd, while the Morn was new,
No Eastern Ray had drunk the Pearly Dew.
Joyous she saw her Oak the Grove adorn,
Unlop'd its Branches, and its Leaves unshorn:
With fruitless Pray'rs, then, prostrate at the Shrine,
Implor'd th'Assistance of the Pow'r Divine.
O Virgin Goddess, whom the Woods obey,
Beneath whose stubborn Rule and hardy Sway
I live; my Soul her own soft Sex disdains,
And pamper'd Indolence of Grecian Trains.
Not Scythian Tribes, and Amazonian Bands
Yield with more Pleasure to thy rough Commands.
If not th'allurements of the Female Choir
Could love of Dance, and wanton Songs inspire;
If Men by Virtue strove in vain to melt,
(Tho' once surpris'd, ungrateful Joys I felt)
Yet did those Hands no feeble Distaff rear,
Nor with fond Ivy wreath th'unwarlike Spear.
Ev'n when no Place amid thy Pomp allow'd,
I beat the Thicket distant from the Crowd,
And ever seem'd, unwillingly betray'd,
A Huntress still, and still in Mind a Maid.
But if my Crime such Innocence deny'd,
I did not labour the sweet Crime to hide.
No dusky Cave the Searchers Care beguil'd,
But at your Feet I laid the trembling Child.
To you, and to the World I did proclaim
At once my Glory, and at once my Shame.
The lively Infant soon his Race did show,
And stretch'd unequal Hands to grasp the Bow;
Then wept, constrain'd from that loved hold to part,
And his first broken Accents lisp'd a Dart.
O! Goddess! to my Boy confirm this Pray'r,
(What would those Dreams, and nightly Forms declare?)
In you confiding to the War he run,
Approve his Confidence, and save my Son.
To my Embrace restore him; let him come,
If not a Victor, safe, tho' vanquish'd, home.
Here let him bear your Arms, securely sweat,
And pant with no less honourable Heat.
Far from our Woods dire Omens! but why seem
The Theban Deities to rule in Dream?
Avert, Imperial Queen, the fatal Stroke,
And let me fondly dread the wounded Oak.
But if these Visionary Scenes relate
Too true my hapless Son's untimely Fate;
If he must fall, e'er yet his Nerves be strung,
Think on thy Brother, ever fair and young:
O! by the tender Love a Sister knows
O! by the pity to a Parent's Throws,
Grant me, kind Goddess, an unenvy'd Doom,
Pierce with thy keenest Darts this guilty Womb.
The fruitful Source of Miseries destroy,
And let my Death first reach the weeping Boy.
Beneath whose stubborn Rule and hardy Sway
I live; my Soul her own soft Sex disdains,
And pamper'd Indolence of Grecian Trains.
Not Scythian Tribes, and Amazonian Bands
Yield with more Pleasure to thy rough Commands.
If not th'allurements of the Female Choir
Could love of Dance, and wanton Songs inspire;
264
(Tho' once surpris'd, ungrateful Joys I felt)
Yet did those Hands no feeble Distaff rear,
Nor with fond Ivy wreath th'unwarlike Spear.
Ev'n when no Place amid thy Pomp allow'd,
I beat the Thicket distant from the Crowd,
And ever seem'd, unwillingly betray'd,
A Huntress still, and still in Mind a Maid.
But if my Crime such Innocence deny'd,
I did not labour the sweet Crime to hide.
No dusky Cave the Searchers Care beguil'd,
But at your Feet I laid the trembling Child.
To you, and to the World I did proclaim
At once my Glory, and at once my Shame.
The lively Infant soon his Race did show,
And stretch'd unequal Hands to grasp the Bow;
Then wept, constrain'd from that loved hold to part,
And his first broken Accents lisp'd a Dart.
O! Goddess! to my Boy confirm this Pray'r,
(What would those Dreams, and nightly Forms declare?)
265
Approve his Confidence, and save my Son.
To my Embrace restore him; let him come,
If not a Victor, safe, tho' vanquish'd, home.
Here let him bear your Arms, securely sweat,
And pant with no less honourable Heat.
Far from our Woods dire Omens! but why seem
The Theban Deities to rule in Dream?
Avert, Imperial Queen, the fatal Stroke,
And let me fondly dread the wounded Oak.
But if these Visionary Scenes relate
Too true my hapless Son's untimely Fate;
If he must fall, e'er yet his Nerves be strung,
Think on thy Brother, ever fair and young:
O! by the tender Love a Sister knows
O! by the pity to a Parent's Throws,
Grant me, kind Goddess, an unenvy'd Doom,
Pierce with thy keenest Darts this guilty Womb.
The fruitful Source of Miseries destroy,
And let my Death first reach the weeping Boy.
266
She paus'd, and saw, what soon confirm'd her Fears,
The soft'ning Statue melted into Tears.
On the cold Earth lies the desponding Fair,
And sweeps the dusty Altar with her Hair.
To Thebes the vex'd Diana wings her flight,
And tow'rs above the steep Mænalian Height,
Tho' its bold Head th'aspiring Mountain shrouds,
And shoots whole shady Groves amid the Clouds.
Now on Parnassus she with Pride looks down,
From the last verging Circle of the Moon:
Thence glancing upwards, scarce her Brother knew,
For wrapt in Shades th'afflicted Phœbus flew.
But by her Presence cheer'd, unveil'd he shone,
The Gloom was scatter'd, and the God was known.
The Heav'n, all-conscious, blush'd from both Extremes
At kindred Glories, and united Beams.
Th'immortal Pair did mutual Grace bestow,
Quiver to Quiver answer'd, Bow to Bow.
The soft'ning Statue melted into Tears.
On the cold Earth lies the desponding Fair,
And sweeps the dusty Altar with her Hair.
To Thebes the vex'd Diana wings her flight,
And tow'rs above the steep Mænalian Height,
Tho' its bold Head th'aspiring Mountain shrouds,
And shoots whole shady Groves amid the Clouds.
Now on Parnassus she with Pride looks down,
From the last verging Circle of the Moon:
Thence glancing upwards, scarce her Brother knew,
For wrapt in Shades th'afflicted Phœbus flew.
But by her Presence cheer'd, unveil'd he shone,
The Gloom was scatter'd, and the God was known.
The Heav'n, all-conscious, blush'd from both Extremes
At kindred Glories, and united Beams.
Th'immortal Pair did mutual Grace bestow,
Quiver to Quiver answer'd, Bow to Bow.
He first: Too well, my Sister, I foresee,
How unsuccessful your Attempt must be.
You seek the Thebans, mad with War's Alarms,
And the brave Youth, too early sheath'd in Arms.
His Mother begs his Life; if Fate could give
A Life back, once condemn'd, the Boy should live.
E'en I but late (I speak it to my Shame)
With baffl'd Pow'r from those curs'd Tumults came.
I heard my Prophet, who my Garlands wore,
And sacred Boughs, in vain my Aid implore.
Prone thro' the Void, these Eyes saw disappear
At once the Chariot, and the Charioteer.
Down to the Stygian Shades alive he fell,
Nor could I hinder what I did foretell.
Sinking, he heav'd his Hands, and Phœbus own'd,
But Phœbus could not close the gaping Ground.
These the Rewards I to my Vot'ries pay!
Temptations sure to love my friendly Sway.
My best Endeavours ill his Merits suit:
Silence, my Oracles! with Grief be mute.
Learn, learn from me thy Labours to forbear;
Fruitless Essays, and fond Assistance spare.
Th'Arcadian Prince must wither in the Bloom,
The Fates have fix'd th'inexorable Doom.
No dubious Sentences his Death contain,
The melancholy Truth is here too plain.
How unsuccessful your Attempt must be.
267
And the brave Youth, too early sheath'd in Arms.
His Mother begs his Life; if Fate could give
A Life back, once condemn'd, the Boy should live.
E'en I but late (I speak it to my Shame)
With baffl'd Pow'r from those curs'd Tumults came.
I heard my Prophet, who my Garlands wore,
And sacred Boughs, in vain my Aid implore.
Prone thro' the Void, these Eyes saw disappear
At once the Chariot, and the Charioteer.
Down to the Stygian Shades alive he fell,
Nor could I hinder what I did foretell.
Sinking, he heav'd his Hands, and Phœbus own'd,
But Phœbus could not close the gaping Ground.
These the Rewards I to my Vot'ries pay!
Temptations sure to love my friendly Sway.
My best Endeavours ill his Merits suit:
Silence, my Oracles! with Grief be mute.
Learn, learn from me thy Labours to forbear;
Fruitless Essays, and fond Assistance spare.
268
The Fates have fix'd th'inexorable Doom.
No dubious Sentences his Death contain,
The melancholy Truth is here too plain.
Nor shall some Honour be at last deny'd
To grace his Fall, the Goddess stern reply'd.
The wretched Mother may this Comfort find,
Who kills her Son, shall not survive behind.
Th'audacious Hand that strikes the guiltless Boy,
Shall know no farther Pleasure to destroy:
So small a Punishment I sure may boast,
If not, the virtues of my Darts be lost.
Fiercely she spoke, and hast'ning to dismiss
Her Brother, parted with but half a Kiss.
Her secret Breast glow'd with revengeful Thought,
And anxious, the Cadmëan Tow'rs she sought.
To grace his Fall, the Goddess stern reply'd.
The wretched Mother may this Comfort find,
Who kills her Son, shall not survive behind.
Th'audacious Hand that strikes the guiltless Boy,
Shall know no farther Pleasure to destroy:
So small a Punishment I sure may boast,
If not, the virtues of my Darts be lost.
Fiercely she spoke, and hast'ning to dismiss
Her Brother, parted with but half a Kiss.
Her secret Breast glow'd with revengeful Thought,
And anxious, the Cadmëan Tow'rs she sought.
The Battle there grew warm; from slaughter'd Kings
Redoubled Rage, and wilder Frenzy springs.
These Troops, for Hipseus slain, come rushing on,
But swifter those, for lost Hippomedon.
Alternate Vengeance traverses the Field;
To pointed Swords their naked Breasts they yield.
The same mad Fury in each Heart was sown,
To seize another's Life, or lose his own.
Fearless the close, confronting Squadrons stood,
Eager of Death, and prodigal of Blood.
With adverse Wounds eternal Fame they buy,
And smile in Ruin, and with Pleasure die.
Redoubled Rage, and wilder Frenzy springs.
269
But swifter those, for lost Hippomedon.
Alternate Vengeance traverses the Field;
To pointed Swords their naked Breasts they yield.
The same mad Fury in each Heart was sown,
To seize another's Life, or lose his own.
Fearless the close, confronting Squadrons stood,
Eager of Death, and prodigal of Blood.
With adverse Wounds eternal Fame they buy,
And smile in Ruin, and with Pleasure die.
Diana now, an airy Journey past,
On the Dircëan Summit stoop'd at last.
The bending Forrest the fierce Goddess own'd,
And all the hoary Mountain shook around.
For here, when fruitful Niobe defy'd
The Virgin Queen, she sat, and check'd her Pride.
Destruction on her boasted Brood she sent,
Half-weary'd with th'unnumber'd Shafts, she spent.
On the Dircëan Summit stoop'd at last.
The bending Forrest the fierce Goddess own'd,
And all the hoary Mountain shook around.
For here, when fruitful Niobe defy'd
The Virgin Queen, she sat, and check'd her Pride.
Destruction on her boasted Brood she sent,
Half-weary'd with th'unnumber'd Shafts, she spent.
270
Th'Arcadian Leader she beheld from far,
Brightly distinguish'd in the Cloud of War.
Triumphant thro' the thickest Ranks he flew,
And rein'd a Courser to the Rein yet new.
A Tyger's party-colour'd Skin was spread
O'er the broad Back of the proud fiery Steed;
The golden Paws across his Shoulders hung,
With dreadful Grace, and sudden bounds he sprung.
His comely Mane, in artful Knots confin'd,
Eludes the wanton freedoms of the Wind.
Below his Breast, to mark the Hunter young,
With Iv'ry Teeth a bending Poitral hung.
His Surcoat twice had drunk the Tyrian Die,
His silken Tunick, dazzling to the Eye,
(The sole rich Work, which his fair Mother wrought,
And for a while the Woods and Lawns forgot)
Behind, collected in a Ribbon, flow'd:
His Sword it self prov'd a too pond'rous Load.
Brightly distinguish'd in the Cloud of War.
Triumphant thro' the thickest Ranks he flew,
And rein'd a Courser to the Rein yet new.
A Tyger's party-colour'd Skin was spread
O'er the broad Back of the proud fiery Steed;
The golden Paws across his Shoulders hung,
With dreadful Grace, and sudden bounds he sprung.
His comely Mane, in artful Knots confin'd,
Eludes the wanton freedoms of the Wind.
Below his Breast, to mark the Hunter young,
With Iv'ry Teeth a bending Poitral hung.
His Surcoat twice had drunk the Tyrian Die,
His silken Tunick, dazzling to the Eye,
(The sole rich Work, which his fair Mother wrought,
And for a while the Woods and Lawns forgot)
Behind, collected in a Ribbon, flow'd:
His Sword it self prov'd a too pond'rous Load.
The Field of Death he views with strange delight,
And Scenes of Horror thinks a pleasing Sight.
The Pomp of War his youthful Fancy fires,
And now th'embroider'd Trappings he admires.
Now grateful every harsher Sound appears,
And Musick in the clank of Arms he hears.
Sometimes his Morrion he with Pride surveys,
Enrich'd with Gemms, that mingle in a blaze.
But when the glowing Fight asks friendly Winds,
His cumbrous Casque for coolness he unbinds.
Confess'd to sight, and free to open show,
His golden Ringlets negligently flow.
His sparkling Eyes roll with a lively Grace,
And little Loves sport, flutt'ring round his Face.
Along his downy Cheeks, by Nature spread,
Is seen the purest white, and freshest red.
But he this Smoothness joyfully would spare
To look more manly, tho' he look'd less fair.
Yet while such Glories Admiration raise,
He shuns th'Admirers, and disdains their Praise.
His Beauty's just Encomiums he disowns,
And fain would cloud his Brow with borrow'd Frowns;
Nor can his native Sweetness discompose,
Anger in him has Charms, and lovely shows.
Where-e'er he moves, the Theban Fathers yield
An undisputed Passage o'er the Field.
Or if the Dart full-drawn its flight demands,
Their Children rise in Thought, and check their Hands.
But he, regardless of their Pity, pours
Destruction swift around in feather'd Show'rs.
Ev'n here the gazing Nymphs their Flames confess,
And from Theumesian Hills his Motions bless.
The Dust, and melting Heat new Grace bestow,
In the fair Youth is lost their Country's Foe.
For him they sigh, from Vow to Vow they run,
And wish Bæotia gloriously undone.
And Scenes of Horror thinks a pleasing Sight.
271
And now th'embroider'd Trappings he admires.
Now grateful every harsher Sound appears,
And Musick in the clank of Arms he hears.
Sometimes his Morrion he with Pride surveys,
Enrich'd with Gemms, that mingle in a blaze.
But when the glowing Fight asks friendly Winds,
His cumbrous Casque for coolness he unbinds.
Confess'd to sight, and free to open show,
His golden Ringlets negligently flow.
His sparkling Eyes roll with a lively Grace,
And little Loves sport, flutt'ring round his Face.
Along his downy Cheeks, by Nature spread,
Is seen the purest white, and freshest red.
But he this Smoothness joyfully would spare
To look more manly, tho' he look'd less fair.
Yet while such Glories Admiration raise,
He shuns th'Admirers, and disdains their Praise.
His Beauty's just Encomiums he disowns,
And fain would cloud his Brow with borrow'd Frowns;
272
Anger in him has Charms, and lovely shows.
Where-e'er he moves, the Theban Fathers yield
An undisputed Passage o'er the Field.
Or if the Dart full-drawn its flight demands,
Their Children rise in Thought, and check their Hands.
But he, regardless of their Pity, pours
Destruction swift around in feather'd Show'rs.
Ev'n here the gazing Nymphs their Flames confess,
And from Theumesian Hills his Motions bless.
The Dust, and melting Heat new Grace bestow,
In the fair Youth is lost their Country's Foe.
For him they sigh, from Vow to Vow they run,
And wish Bæotia gloriously undone.
With Contemplation of this mournful Scene,
Celestial Tears flow'd from the Delian Queen.
How thy fond Mother's Griefs shall I abate,
She said, or cancel the Decrees of Fate?
Why, cruel Boy, didst thou unbidden come
To lavish Life, and court a fatal Doom?
Too pregnant Vertue, mounted to a Flame,
Taught thee to stretch, and pant for early Fame.
Show'd, Cowards live not, by extent of Breath,
But Heroes are immortaliz'd in Death.
Yet the streight Bounds of the Mænalian Grove
Did lately a too spacious Circuit prove:
Not without Danger couldst thou range alone,
O'er Dens of Beasts, and Wilds of rugged Stone.
Thy Mother's Weapons still thy Weakness show,
Nor canst thou launch her Spear, or bend her Bow.
At my deaf Altars, bath'd in Tears, she lies,
And wearies Echo with repeated Cries.
While thee the sprightly Trumpet chears from far
With noble Noise, sweet Discord of the War.
Ah! heedless Youth, wilt thou unminded die,
And to thy Parent only Grief supply!
Celestial Tears flow'd from the Delian Queen.
How thy fond Mother's Griefs shall I abate,
She said, or cancel the Decrees of Fate?
273
To lavish Life, and court a fatal Doom?
Too pregnant Vertue, mounted to a Flame,
Taught thee to stretch, and pant for early Fame.
Show'd, Cowards live not, by extent of Breath,
But Heroes are immortaliz'd in Death.
Yet the streight Bounds of the Mænalian Grove
Did lately a too spacious Circuit prove:
Not without Danger couldst thou range alone,
O'er Dens of Beasts, and Wilds of rugged Stone.
Thy Mother's Weapons still thy Weakness show,
Nor canst thou launch her Spear, or bend her Bow.
At my deaf Altars, bath'd in Tears, she lies,
And wearies Echo with repeated Cries.
While thee the sprightly Trumpet chears from far
With noble Noise, sweet Discord of the War.
Ah! heedless Youth, wilt thou unminded die,
And to thy Parent only Grief supply!
But that all living Honours might be paid,
'Round her the Goddess cast a dusky Shade:
Shot from the Mount, and gliding chose to fall
In the mid Throng, unseen, yet seeing all.
From the Boy's Quiver, first, his Darts unknown
Gently she stole, and fill'd it with her own,
Which fram'd by Art divine, no Error knew,
And scatter'd certain Ruin where they flew.
Then to defend him from invading Force,
She sprinkled with Ambrosial Dews his Horse.
This, tho' unable to preserve his Breath,
Unharm'd secures him, till the Hour of Death.
She adds too Mystick Sounds, which never fail,
Sounds, which she teaches in th'Æmonian Vale,
When soft by Night the fell Magicians tread,
To drain the Poys'nous Herbs, or raise the Dead.
He with rich Stores of keener Arrows fraught,
Swells to a proud Extravagance of Thought:
Boldly the beaten Paths of Death forsakes,
And cross the Ranks uncommon Slaughter makes.
Of all forgetful, wantonly he strays,
And Heav'nly Mischief spreads ten thousand ways.
Thus, the Getulian Mother's Care succeeds,
The Lion young with hunted Blood she feeds.
But when by Age his Nerves their Vigour gain,
He sees his lengthen'd Paws, and rising Mane;
At home for Food he nobly scorns to stay,
And scours the Plain, and tears himself his Prey.
'Round her the Goddess cast a dusky Shade:
274
In the mid Throng, unseen, yet seeing all.
From the Boy's Quiver, first, his Darts unknown
Gently she stole, and fill'd it with her own,
Which fram'd by Art divine, no Error knew,
And scatter'd certain Ruin where they flew.
Then to defend him from invading Force,
She sprinkled with Ambrosial Dews his Horse.
This, tho' unable to preserve his Breath,
Unharm'd secures him, till the Hour of Death.
She adds too Mystick Sounds, which never fail,
Sounds, which she teaches in th'Æmonian Vale,
When soft by Night the fell Magicians tread,
To drain the Poys'nous Herbs, or raise the Dead.
He with rich Stores of keener Arrows fraught,
Swells to a proud Extravagance of Thought:
Boldly the beaten Paths of Death forsakes,
And cross the Ranks uncommon Slaughter makes.
Of all forgetful, wantonly he strays,
And Heav'nly Mischief spreads ten thousand ways.
275
The Lion young with hunted Blood she feeds.
But when by Age his Nerves their Vigour gain,
He sees his lengthen'd Paws, and rising Mane;
At home for Food he nobly scorns to stay,
And scours the Plain, and tears himself his Prey.
Muse, trace the Track of Death, in order tell,
What Numbers by the youthful Hero fell.
Choræbus the first Honour had to bleed,
Between his Shield and Bever pass'd the Reed.
Fix'd in his Throat th'evenom'd Arrow stood,
And Sacred Fire ran circling thro' his Blood.
But poor Eurytion felt more cruel Smart,
In his Left Eye deep sunk the deadly Dart.
The hooked Point out with the Ball he drew,
And with mad Fury on the Giver flew.
But who against Celestial Arms can fight?
Another Shaft soon drunk his other Light.
Involv'd in Darkness, still he hunts about,
And blindly gropes to find th'Arcadian out:
'Till, stumbling o'er dead Ida on the Ground,
With heaps of Slain he lay encompass'd round.
Stung with his bitter Anguish, loud he roar'd,
And Death for Ease from Friend or Foe implor'd.
The Sons of Abas next, a lovely Pair,
Brisk Argus, famous for his length of Hair,
And Cydon, fall, whose too sweet Looks could move
A Sister with a more than Sister's Love.
This, in his Side receiv'd the fatal Wound,
That, with a Dart transfix'd his Temples found,
Here shone the Point, the Feather there was spy'd,
But streaming Gore distill'd from either side.
Th'Inclement Victor's Rage no Charms appease;
Not Eamus 'scapes, by Nature form'd to please.
Lygdus, as vain, on holy Wreaths presum'd,
As Æolus with Flow'r of Beauty bloom'd.
Various the Shots, yet in one Ruin join,
Lamus his Mouth, and Lygdus mourns his Groin;
While springing Æolus, with silent Dread,
His snowy Front discolour'd sees with red.
Eubæa gave to the first Warrior Birth,
Eubæa, founded on a sloping Earth.
The second from well-peopled Thisbe came,
Where Milk-white Doves bestow an endless Fame.
The third, again on the green Spartan Mead
Shall ne'er the Chorus of the Dancers lead.
What Numbers by the youthful Hero fell.
Choræbus the first Honour had to bleed,
Between his Shield and Bever pass'd the Reed.
Fix'd in his Throat th'evenom'd Arrow stood,
And Sacred Fire ran circling thro' his Blood.
But poor Eurytion felt more cruel Smart,
In his Left Eye deep sunk the deadly Dart.
The hooked Point out with the Ball he drew,
And with mad Fury on the Giver flew.
But who against Celestial Arms can fight?
Another Shaft soon drunk his other Light.
276
And blindly gropes to find th'Arcadian out:
'Till, stumbling o'er dead Ida on the Ground,
With heaps of Slain he lay encompass'd round.
Stung with his bitter Anguish, loud he roar'd,
And Death for Ease from Friend or Foe implor'd.
The Sons of Abas next, a lovely Pair,
Brisk Argus, famous for his length of Hair,
And Cydon, fall, whose too sweet Looks could move
A Sister with a more than Sister's Love.
This, in his Side receiv'd the fatal Wound,
That, with a Dart transfix'd his Temples found,
Here shone the Point, the Feather there was spy'd,
But streaming Gore distill'd from either side.
Th'Inclement Victor's Rage no Charms appease;
Not Eamus 'scapes, by Nature form'd to please.
Lygdus, as vain, on holy Wreaths presum'd,
As Æolus with Flow'r of Beauty bloom'd.
Various the Shots, yet in one Ruin join,
Lamus his Mouth, and Lygdus mourns his Groin;
277
His snowy Front discolour'd sees with red.
Eubæa gave to the first Warrior Birth,
Eubæa, founded on a sloping Earth.
The second from well-peopled Thisbe came,
Where Milk-white Doves bestow an endless Fame.
The third, again on the green Spartan Mead
Shall ne'er the Chorus of the Dancers lead.
Thus he for Sport his Bow not idly bends,
But sure Destruction on each Dart attends.
Whizzing it cuts the Air, and scarcely gone,
Is by another urg'd more swiftly on.
To spread such Desolation might demand
A Legion's Labour, not a single Hand.
Now forwards he the winged Death directs,
Then glancing sideways, oblique Aim affects.
Sometimes, dissembling Fear, he seems to flie,
But shooting backwards, the Pursuers die.
But sure Destruction on each Dart attends.
Whizzing it cuts the Air, and scarcely gone,
Is by another urg'd more swiftly on.
To spread such Desolation might demand
A Legion's Labour, not a single Hand.
Now forwards he the winged Death directs,
Then glancing sideways, oblique Aim affects.
Sometimes, dissembling Fear, he seems to flie,
But shooting backwards, the Pursuers die.
278
The Thebans now with wrathful Wonder glow'd,
And Vengeance on the young Destroyer vow'd.
Amphion first to smother'd Rage gave vent,
Deriv'd from Jove, and vainly Insolent:
Nor saw, what future Causes he should yield
With Blood to fatten the Dircëan Field.
And Vengeance on the young Destroyer vow'd.
Amphion first to smother'd Rage gave vent,
Deriv'd from Jove, and vainly Insolent:
Nor saw, what future Causes he should yield
With Blood to fatten the Dircëan Field.
How long shall we thy Fate suspended keep,
Nor give thy Parents Privilege to weep?
From our Neglect, fond Boy, proud Fancies rise,
Swell in thy Breast, and sparkle in thy Eyes,
While each disdains to meet th'unequal Foe,
By Meanness safe, and despicably low.
Home to Arcadia's shady Groves retreat,
And in mock-fight thy raw Companions beat.
Here let grim Mars enjoy the Toils of War,
In dusty Triumph roul his Iron Car.
Go, with Rush-lances bloodless Conquest gain,
And drive th'unbearded Squadron o'er the Plain.
But if vain Greatness be thy mad Desire,
Amidst a Throng of Heroes to expire,
Thou of thy haughty Wish shalt be possest,
A manly Arm shall lull the Child to rest.
Nor give thy Parents Privilege to weep?
From our Neglect, fond Boy, proud Fancies rise,
Swell in thy Breast, and sparkle in thy Eyes,
While each disdains to meet th'unequal Foe,
By Meanness safe, and despicably low.
Home to Arcadia's shady Groves retreat,
And in mock-fight thy raw Companions beat.
Here let grim Mars enjoy the Toils of War,
In dusty Triumph roul his Iron Car.
Go, with Rush-lances bloodless Conquest gain,
And drive th'unbearded Squadron o'er the Plain.
279
Amidst a Throng of Heroes to expire,
Thou of thy haughty Wish shalt be possest,
A manly Arm shall lull the Child to rest.
Swift Atalanta's Son no more could hear,
But stop'd Amphion in his proud Career,
And cry'd, These Arms, long-practis'd, I employ;
'Tis not the giddy Onset of a Boy:
And yet what Boy, but seems a Match design'd
For your weak Race, the Dregs of Human-kind?
The vast Distinction is not understood
Between the Theban, and th'Arcadian Blood.
My Mother, never, with a drunken Throng,
To Jolly Bacchus squawl'd the Nightly Song.
Crown'd with uncomely Wreaths, ne'er led the Dance,
Nor, curl'd with Ivy, shook th'inglorious Lance.
My Infant Age with Exercise began,
Toil strung my Nerves, and early show'd the Man.
Naked I us'd to stem the foamy Tyde,
Or on the polish'd Mirror smoothly glide:
Rejoyc'd the tawny Tiger to out-brave,
And walk, untrembling, thro' the dreary Cave.
But why need I my hardy Deeds proclaim,
Acts, worthy Heroes, raise my Mother's Fame.
She whirls the Spear, or shoots the flying Prey,
While your enervate Sires on Timbrels play.
But stop'd Amphion in his proud Career,
And cry'd, These Arms, long-practis'd, I employ;
'Tis not the giddy Onset of a Boy:
And yet what Boy, but seems a Match design'd
For your weak Race, the Dregs of Human-kind?
The vast Distinction is not understood
Between the Theban, and th'Arcadian Blood.
My Mother, never, with a drunken Throng,
To Jolly Bacchus squawl'd the Nightly Song.
Crown'd with uncomely Wreaths, ne'er led the Dance,
Nor, curl'd with Ivy, shook th'inglorious Lance.
My Infant Age with Exercise began,
Toil strung my Nerves, and early show'd the Man.
280
Or on the polish'd Mirror smoothly glide:
Rejoyc'd the tawny Tiger to out-brave,
And walk, untrembling, thro' the dreary Cave.
But why need I my hardy Deeds proclaim,
Acts, worthy Heroes, raise my Mother's Fame.
She whirls the Spear, or shoots the flying Prey,
While your enervate Sires on Timbrels play.
These Taunts Amphion did too far provoke,
Impetuous he prepar'd a deadly Stroke:
But, starting sudden from the blazing Sword,
The Courser with himself preserv'd his Lord.
The Weapon slaunting fell; the harmless Blow
Balk'd the malicious Pleasure of the Foe.
Yet not discourag'd from his cruel Thought,
With double Fury he th'Arcadian sought;
When fierce Diana, now no more conceal'd,
Shone to his Eyes, at her full length reveal'd.
Mænalian Dorceus, by strict Friendship ty'd,
Was wont to close the tender Warrior's side:
Him Atalanta charg'd with all her Fears,
Impower'd to check the Youth's impetuous Years:
An anxious Government: the Goddess took
His Air and Figure, and her own forsook.
Impetuous he prepar'd a deadly Stroke:
But, starting sudden from the blazing Sword,
The Courser with himself preserv'd his Lord.
The Weapon slaunting fell; the harmless Blow
Balk'd the malicious Pleasure of the Foe.
Yet not discourag'd from his cruel Thought,
With double Fury he th'Arcadian sought;
When fierce Diana, now no more conceal'd,
Shone to his Eyes, at her full length reveal'd.
281
Was wont to close the tender Warrior's side:
Him Atalanta charg'd with all her Fears,
Impower'd to check the Youth's impetuous Years:
An anxious Government: the Goddess took
His Air and Figure, and her own forsook.
Enough, she cry'd, thy Prowess Thebes has felt,
Let the soft Mother the stern Hero melt:
For her vouchsafe to live; new Toils forbear,
And rest thy Guardian Gods awhile from Care.
Let the soft Mother the stern Hero melt:
For her vouchsafe to live; new Toils forbear,
And rest thy Guardian Gods awhile from Care.
Then he: Ah! let me but, my Friend, acquire
One other Lawrel; I no more desire.
The Fall of this Usurper is decreed,
Who proudly apes with his, my Motley'd Steed:
Who seems in Purple Furniture to vie,
And dares to brandish Rival Arms on high.
A Present to my Mother I'll bestow,
His gilded Quiver, and his sounding Bow.
His Courser shall for my own Use remain,
His Robes be offer'd in Diana's Fane.
One other Lawrel; I no more desire.
The Fall of this Usurper is decreed,
Who proudly apes with his, my Motley'd Steed:
Who seems in Purple Furniture to vie,
And dares to brandish Rival Arms on high.
A Present to my Mother I'll bestow,
His gilded Quiver, and his sounding Bow.
282
His Robes be offer'd in Diana's Fane.
She list'ning, heard; tho' griev'd, yet faintly smil'd
At the fond, pleasing Prattle of the Child.
At the fond, pleasing Prattle of the Child.
It chanc'd, that Mars observ'd the doubtful Fray,
While, secret, in a rosie Bow'r he lay,
Where Beauty's Queen, profuse of heav'nly Charms,
The conqu'ring God held Captive in her Arms.
Amid the Pleasures of a sweet Embrace,
She talk'd of Cadmus, and Harmonia's Race.
In those soft Minutes chose her Grief to sigh,
When he could nothing, she could ask, deny.
While, secret, in a rosie Bow'r he lay,
Where Beauty's Queen, profuse of heav'nly Charms,
The conqu'ring God held Captive in her Arms.
Amid the Pleasures of a sweet Embrace,
She talk'd of Cadmus, and Harmonia's Race.
In those soft Minutes chose her Grief to sigh,
When he could nothing, she could ask, deny.
Then thus begun: See, mighty Warrior, see!
The bold Atchievements of Virginity!
Not with the shock of charging Hosts dismay'd,
In the mid Battel glows the Martial Maid.
She sports in Mischief, bounteously enclin'd,
Our Race fall Victims to her Ways and Mind.
Are then your Virtues interchang'd of late?
Must she from bloody Fields return in State,
While you inglorious o'er the dewy Lawn
Chase the swift Stag, or pierce the trembling Fawn?
The bold Atchievements of Virginity!
Not with the shock of charging Hosts dismay'd,
In the mid Battel glows the Martial Maid.
283
Our Race fall Victims to her Ways and Mind.
Are then your Virtues interchang'd of late?
Must she from bloody Fields return in State,
While you inglorious o'er the dewy Lawn
Chase the swift Stag, or pierce the trembling Fawn?
To her Complaints a list'ning Ear he lent;
Then streight from Heav'n down rush'd th'Armipotent.
Anger alone attended on his Car,
Her Sister Furies labour'd in the War.
Thro' thickest Troops he to Diana broke,
And in a surly Tone, imperious, spoke.
Then streight from Heav'n down rush'd th'Armipotent.
Anger alone attended on his Car,
Her Sister Furies labour'd in the War.
Thro' thickest Troops he to Diana broke,
And in a surly Tone, imperious, spoke.
My Father gives not thee to sway the Fight,
Timely retire, and Safety seek by Flight:
Or else this Arm can ghastlier Terror spread,
Than Pallas, aided by her Gorgon Head.
Timely retire, and Safety seek by Flight:
Or else this Arm can ghastlier Terror spread,
Than Pallas, aided by her Gorgon Head.
What Course for Prudence shall the Delian steer?
The God of Battels, this way, shakes his Spear.
There Jove's Commands, if disobey'd, destroy,
And here, th'approaching Ruin of the Boy.
She blush'd for Sorrow, to be forc'd to yield,
And in disdainful Murmurs left the Field.
The God of Battels, this way, shakes his Spear.
284
And here, th'approaching Ruin of the Boy.
She blush'd for Sorrow, to be forc'd to yield,
And in disdainful Murmurs left the Field.
Gruff Mars survey'd the Theban Army 'round,
'Till from Orion sprung, he Dryas found:
Gigantick Dryas, prone to vengeful Ire,
E'er since the Scorpion bit his lustful Sire,
Who by Diana's Wrath receiv'd his Fate,
Thence he pursues her Friends with restless Hate.
None of Arcadian Growth he glad would spare,
And thins the Ranks, and leaves the Monarch bare.
They, who on cold Cyllene us'd to dwell,
Or on Tegëan Hills, promiscuous fell.
Th'Ægyptian Succours, part, ignobly flie,
And part maintain their Posts, and greatly die.
Still the young Leader thinks he can succeed,
With his weak Arm must the huge Dryas bleed:
Tho' much-fatigu'd, from Troop to Troop he roves,
And without Reason likes, or disapproves.
Fate would not seize him by a quick Surprise,
A thousand direful Presages arise,
And gloomy Vapours overspread his Mind,
Forerunning Omens, when Death stalks behind.
Now o'er his lessen'd Train his Eye he cast,
And the true Dorceus there beheld at last.
He longs for Rest, he finds his Strength decay,
And steal by sensible degrees away.
His Quiver, whose rich weight gave Pain before,
Gives greater now, exhausted of its Store.
No longer Dreams of Manhood feed his Joy,
But to himself he, sighing, owns the Boy.
A chilling Fear ran curdling thro' his Blood,
When Dryas rais'd his Shield, and threat'ning stood.
As the Strymonian Swan, while from above
Comes sousing down th'Imperial Bird of Jove,
Fain would in th'op'ning Bank its Body hide,
And claps its Pinions close on either side.
So he, confounded with the bulky sight
Of Dryas, trembled with no less a Fright.
Nor Rage ensu'd, but short he drew his Breath
With shiv'ring Horrors, such as wait on Death.
Howe'er to Trivia he begins to pray,
All-pale he shoots, and makes a faint Essay.
Then the tough Eugh he more intensely prest,
The distant Horns approach'd, and touch'd his Breast,
When a broad Spear, by his strong Foe apply'd,
Did his stretch'd Bow-string in the midst divide.
The Nerve thus broke, his Hands were useless grown,
And peaceful drop'd the feather'd Ruin down.
His Courser's Reins uncheck'd, his Arms aground,
He raves impatient of the yawning Wound,
Which his Right Shoulder show'd with griesly Grace,
And soon a second did his Left deface.
A third untoward Blow with deadly force,
Cut the hind Sinews of his bounding Horse.
Then Dryas dy'd, and what seems strange to tell,
Of Wounds unconscious wonder'd why he fell.
Long since the secret Author was too plain,
A Goddess rarely loves to threat in vain.
But the thin remnant of a num'rous Store,
Arcadians on their Shields their Master bore.
His simple Age his own Life fondly scorn'd,
But the maim'd Courser, as he fell, he mourn'd.
His loosen'd Helm his paler Cheeks display'd,
The Roses wither, and the Lillies fade.
Beauty by slow degrees, tho' forc'd, retires,
And ev'ry Grace unwillingly expires.
The fleeting Soul they labour'd to restrain,
Thrice pluck'd his Hair, thrice stretch'd his Neck in vain.
For the sweet Youth ev'n Thebans Tears bestow'd,
While purple Streams from his fair Bosom flow'd.
'Till from Orion sprung, he Dryas found:
Gigantick Dryas, prone to vengeful Ire,
E'er since the Scorpion bit his lustful Sire,
Who by Diana's Wrath receiv'd his Fate,
Thence he pursues her Friends with restless Hate.
None of Arcadian Growth he glad would spare,
And thins the Ranks, and leaves the Monarch bare.
They, who on cold Cyllene us'd to dwell,
Or on Tegëan Hills, promiscuous fell.
Th'Ægyptian Succours, part, ignobly flie,
And part maintain their Posts, and greatly die.
Still the young Leader thinks he can succeed,
With his weak Arm must the huge Dryas bleed:
285
And without Reason likes, or disapproves.
Fate would not seize him by a quick Surprise,
A thousand direful Presages arise,
And gloomy Vapours overspread his Mind,
Forerunning Omens, when Death stalks behind.
Now o'er his lessen'd Train his Eye he cast,
And the true Dorceus there beheld at last.
He longs for Rest, he finds his Strength decay,
And steal by sensible degrees away.
His Quiver, whose rich weight gave Pain before,
Gives greater now, exhausted of its Store.
No longer Dreams of Manhood feed his Joy,
But to himself he, sighing, owns the Boy.
A chilling Fear ran curdling thro' his Blood,
When Dryas rais'd his Shield, and threat'ning stood.
As the Strymonian Swan, while from above
Comes sousing down th'Imperial Bird of Jove,
Fain would in th'op'ning Bank its Body hide,
And claps its Pinions close on either side.
286
Of Dryas, trembled with no less a Fright.
Nor Rage ensu'd, but short he drew his Breath
With shiv'ring Horrors, such as wait on Death.
Howe'er to Trivia he begins to pray,
All-pale he shoots, and makes a faint Essay.
Then the tough Eugh he more intensely prest,
The distant Horns approach'd, and touch'd his Breast,
When a broad Spear, by his strong Foe apply'd,
Did his stretch'd Bow-string in the midst divide.
The Nerve thus broke, his Hands were useless grown,
And peaceful drop'd the feather'd Ruin down.
His Courser's Reins uncheck'd, his Arms aground,
He raves impatient of the yawning Wound,
Which his Right Shoulder show'd with griesly Grace,
And soon a second did his Left deface.
A third untoward Blow with deadly force,
Cut the hind Sinews of his bounding Horse.
Then Dryas dy'd, and what seems strange to tell,
Of Wounds unconscious wonder'd why he fell.
287
A Goddess rarely loves to threat in vain.
But the thin remnant of a num'rous Store,
Arcadians on their Shields their Master bore.
His simple Age his own Life fondly scorn'd,
But the maim'd Courser, as he fell, he mourn'd.
His loosen'd Helm his paler Cheeks display'd,
The Roses wither, and the Lillies fade.
Beauty by slow degrees, tho' forc'd, retires,
And ev'ry Grace unwillingly expires.
The fleeting Soul they labour'd to restrain,
Thrice pluck'd his Hair, thrice stretch'd his Neck in vain.
For the sweet Youth ev'n Thebans Tears bestow'd,
While purple Streams from his fair Bosom flow'd.
Into these Words at length he faintly broke,
With issuing Sobs long struggling e'er he spoke.
With issuing Sobs long struggling e'er he spoke.
Dorceus, my Dissolution now draws near,
Do thou my Mother's drooping Spirits cheer.
Already she (if I presage aright)
In Dreams, or Omens, has beheld this sight.
Be artful, piously suspend her Grief,
Nor tell her sudden, that you lost your Chief.
Mind, that her Hands no fatal Weapon bear,
When you, compell'd to speak, the Truth declare.
Then say, he, dying, bad me thus relate,
Alas! my Mother, I deserv'd my Fate.
Perverse I listen'd to the War's Alarms,
Nor could thy Tears prevent the Choice of Arms.
In the hot fight I sought not thy Repose,
But rush'd amidst the thickest of the Foes.
Live then, the Source of all thy Care is gone,
And in th'offending Boy forget the Son.
No more from steep Lycëus wilt thou spy
Vast Clouds of Dust rise curling to the Sky,
Nor hear the shouts of my pleas'd Sylvan Train;
Freezing I lie on the cold Theban Plain:
Thy Absence kind officious Aid denies
To catch my latest Breath, and close my Eyes.
Yet take, dear Parent, take this length of Hair,
For the whole Body this small Portion bear.
Then stretching out his Hand, he rais'd his Head,
These Locks thou daily lov'dst to Comb, he said,
My Frowardness despis'd, wouldst still adorn,
These thou in solemn Obsequies may'st mourn.
But oh! beware, that none by strict Command,
Blunt my keen Darts with an unpractis'd Hand,
Or with my Dogs again the Woods surround,
Or dare to injure the least fav'rite Hound.
To Flames this luckless Armour I resign,
Or hang it at th'ungrateful Trivia's Shrine.
Do thou my Mother's drooping Spirits cheer.
288
In Dreams, or Omens, has beheld this sight.
Be artful, piously suspend her Grief,
Nor tell her sudden, that you lost your Chief.
Mind, that her Hands no fatal Weapon bear,
When you, compell'd to speak, the Truth declare.
Then say, he, dying, bad me thus relate,
Alas! my Mother, I deserv'd my Fate.
Perverse I listen'd to the War's Alarms,
Nor could thy Tears prevent the Choice of Arms.
In the hot fight I sought not thy Repose,
But rush'd amidst the thickest of the Foes.
Live then, the Source of all thy Care is gone,
And in th'offending Boy forget the Son.
No more from steep Lycëus wilt thou spy
Vast Clouds of Dust rise curling to the Sky,
Nor hear the shouts of my pleas'd Sylvan Train;
Freezing I lie on the cold Theban Plain:
Thy Absence kind officious Aid denies
To catch my latest Breath, and close my Eyes.
289
For the whole Body this small Portion bear.
Then stretching out his Hand, he rais'd his Head,
These Locks thou daily lov'dst to Comb, he said,
My Frowardness despis'd, wouldst still adorn,
These thou in solemn Obsequies may'st mourn.
But oh! beware, that none by strict Command,
Blunt my keen Darts with an unpractis'd Hand,
Or with my Dogs again the Woods surround,
Or dare to injure the least fav'rite Hound.
To Flames this luckless Armour I resign,
Or hang it at th'ungrateful Trivia's Shrine.
291
In Amorem Tami & Isidis.
Imitated—Anno 1708.
While thro' the Flow'ry Meads glad Isis stray'd,
Enamour'd Tame pursu'd the lovely Maid:
With silent Haste to her Embraces flies,
And on her Bosom sinks in endless Bliss.
Now both so one, one fruitful Bed still bears,
Alike the happy Change is His and Hers.
Tame, what his charming Isis loves, enjoys;
What's Tame's delight, alike is Hers and His.
So One, so happy in their UNION grown!
Like Britain's self, in Thames they're now but One.
Enamour'd Tame pursu'd the lovely Maid:
With silent Haste to her Embraces flies,
And on her Bosom sinks in endless Bliss.
Now both so one, one fruitful Bed still bears,
Alike the happy Change is His and Hers.
Tame, what his charming Isis loves, enjoys;
What's Tame's delight, alike is Hers and His.
So One, so happy in their UNION grown!
Like Britain's self, in Thames they're now but One.
292
Martial. Lib. 10. Ep. 47.
IMITATED.
By the same Hand.
Vitam quæ faciant Beatiorem,
Jucundissime Martialis hæc sunt, &c.
Jucundissime Martialis hæc sunt, &c.
T'enjoy your Life in Happiness,
My Friend, the Ways and Means are these.
Descended Wealth, a fruitful Farm,
An House by Scite and Structure warm:
Still void of Strife. Your Dress still plain;
But unaffected, neat and clean.
Alike at Peace in Head and Heart,
And vig'rous Health in ev'ry Part.
Truth without Craft, a Friend, or two,
Just such, and only such, as you.
293
Where Health, and no Disease, is fed.
Still sober Nights, yet free from Cares,
A Bed, that Lust nor Sorrow shares;
Where pleasing daily Labours give
Unbroken Sleeps from Ten to Five.
From further Views entirely free;
But as you are content to be.
And thus while all your Hours are past;
Nor Fears, nor Wishes for your Last.
294
SONG
By the same Hand.
Phillis
the Young, the Fair, the Gay!
The Youth that fain would spoil ye;
Gives you at once the Bloom of May,
And riper Blush of July.
The Youth that fain would spoil ye;
Gives you at once the Bloom of May,
And riper Blush of July.
Whilst thus the soothing Rogue prepares
His Phillis for his Pleasures.
Learn, Fair one, hence t'escape his Snares,
And save your fairest Treasures.
His Phillis for his Pleasures.
Learn, Fair one, hence t'escape his Snares,
And save your fairest Treasures.
“The Blossoms by too hot a Taint
“Soon droop, and fall neglected;
“And Fruit that has a Maggot in't,
“However Fair's rejected.
“Soon droop, and fall neglected;
“And Fruit that has a Maggot in't,
“However Fair's rejected.
318
FINIS.
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