 | [Poems in] Poetical miscellanies |  |
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.
| [Poems in] Poetical miscellanies | |