Miscellaneous poems and translations :: :: University of Virginia Library

While martial Strains resound the Warrior's Name,
And speak the Triumphs of destructive Fame,
'Tis mine to crown the Patriot with Applause,
And sing the Hero of his Country's Cause;

Whose Guardian Pow'r a sinking People saves,
And plants a Nation in the vanquish'd Waves;
Nor You, my Lord, the humble Muse disdain,
Who sings Your Praise shall please in ev'ry Strain.

Let others boast the Triumphs of the Sword,
Be this Your Province a lost Land restor'd;
How fam'd above pernicious Scenes of Blood
Shine the brave Trophies of a conquer'd Flood!
A delug'd Isle retriev'd by RUSSEL's Hand,
And Britain's Bounds enlarg'd in Britain's Land,
Where Chaos rul'd, now beauteous Order reigns,
Springs the fair Plant, and smile the verdant Plains;
Such are the Palms which Fame on You bestows,
Such from Your Birth the genuine Merit flows.
If England's Mars display the warlike Shield,
And spread her Conquests o'er the fatal Field,

'Tis Yours with Neptune on the watry Plain
To guard these Shores, and curb the Vassal Main.

See at Your Call th'obedient Waves subside,
See Thorney blooms above th'encroaching Tide,
Again the Swains her peopled Fields surround,
And teeming Grain re-cloaths the pregnant Ground,
Our brightest Days are due to RUSSEL's Name
Be those bright Days as lasting as Your Fame,
Happy as when Your Noble SIRE's Command,
Aw'd the wild Flood, and fix'd th'unstable Land;
In vain the Floods against Your RIGHT conspire,
The SON regains the Conquest of the SIRE,
Your Native Right the conscious Waters know,
And Seas subside where'er Your Bounties flow,

Like Phœbus You a fruitful Warmth display,
And Python dies beneath the genial Ray.

So when Alcides' vig'rous Arm withstood
His watry Foe, and broke the horned Flood,
The lessen'd Stream disclos'd a fertile Pow'r,
Round the rich Moisture bloom'd the vernal Flow'r;
Prolific Dews uprear'd the waving Corn,
And Autumn ripen'd in the copious Horn.

Achelous.

AN EPISTLE FROM THE FENS,

To Mr. --- --- at ROME.

While you the rich Remains of Rome explore,
And pleas'd Survey the once melodious Shore,
Where now thy Muse sublimer Raptures yields,
And British Sounds adorn th'Ausonian Fields;

My rural Muse a barren Clime displays,
A Wild unconscious of immortal Lays,
Where Ely's Fens in watry Prospect lie,
And the low Landskip floats before my Eye.

No sporting Dryads haunt these lonely Plains,
Nor mystic Oaks instruct adoring Swains,
No vocal Shades imbrown the dreary Land,
Or Nymph transform'd runs gurgling o'er the Sand
Nor is the Eye with curious Scenes amus'd,
Of Art and Nature gratefully confus'd;
Extended Plains fatigue the Prospect round,
And one unvaried Waste deforms the Ground.

Gain'd by industrious Art the naked Land
Bears not the Marks of Nature's forming Hand,

She from her sylvan Verge thro' ev'ry part
Shews with Disdain the mimic hand of Art,
That strives with costly Pain t'improve the Isle,
And make the rude Expanse with Plenty smile;
Here some to rising Banks uprear the Mold
From distant Lands by driving Waters roll'd,
Some with capacious Dikes the Banks surround,
Fix the strong Sluice, and heap the guardian Mound;
Yet shall the Waves exert their stormy Pow'r,
And spread their liquid Arms beyond the Shore,
Uncertain Bounds the dubious Land ensure,
And all appears deceitfully secure.

The Fen, if true Bede's venerable Tale,
Was once a barren unfrequented Vale,

A Wild of Waters, whose incumbent Train
Slept on the putrid Surface of the Plain,
What time an Abbey o'er the hallow'd Land
Rose by the Zeal of Etheldreda's Hand,
Safe from a Foe th'impervious Cloister stood,
Securely guarded by the ambient Flood;
No hostile Din of stunning Arms arose,
Nor vex'd the sacred Mansions of repose,
Till Hubba led his fierce Battalions forth
From the wild Regions of the crowded North,
With runic Arms tremendous to behold,
And Ensigns blazon'd in Barbaric Gold:
Far thro' the Fen advanc'd the impious Bands,
Blind Rage impell'd their sacrilegious Hands;
By Pagan Flames the sacred Structure fell,
And exil'd Virgins fled the burning Cell.

But see by Edgar's care the Dome appears
Rais'd from the Ruins of an hundred Years,
Again the Floods their languid Station kept,
“And undisturb'd by Wars in Silence slept;
When lo! From far a gilded Streamer bore
The Norman Lion waving on the Shore,
In vain the Fury of the Trump's Alarms
Spoke the dire Sound of William's conqu'ring Arms,
Against his Pow'r the barrier Waters lay,
And adverse Dikes oppos'd the dang'rous Way;
With Shame the Warrior left th'unvanquish'd Waves,
Nor Ely's Lords were yet a Tyrant's Slaves.

'Twas thus that angry Fen disdain'd to yield,
When England's Discord shook her watry Field,
When purchas'd Zeal despotic John ador'd,
And Lynn was honour'd with her Patron's Sword.
Now Britain's Sons confus'd with impious Jars
Sound thro' the Fen the hostile Clank of Wars,
Sword against Sword each raging Faction draws,
This Claims his Throne, and that demands the Laws;
But Mars in vain displays the warlike Shield,
Bold Neptune here decides the dubious Field,
Foe to the King the Parent of the Main
Rose thro' the Fen, and delug'd all the Plain,
Wave above Wave against the Tyrant stood,
And o'er his Banners rode th'avenging Flood.

But now no longer with impetuous Speed
Flows the proud Stream Memorial of the Deed,
See Pan exults where azure Neptune roll'd,
And Ceres now waves fruitful on the Mold.

Thus spread the Water's unresisted Rage
Swell'd with the Sorrows of a lengthned Age,
Till Charles vouchsaf'd his Royal Aid to bring,
And peopled Wilds confess'd the Patriot King.
Then Bedford's Earl the brave Exploit begun,
And taught the confluent Waters where to run,
Thro' ductile Drains explor'd a liquid Way,
And led th'obsequious Naiads to the Sea.
But Fate to him the wish'd Success deny'd,
By rebel Rage th'abortive Labour dy'd;

Fierce o'er the Fen intestine Discord stood,
And wav'd the Sword of Variance o'er the Flood,
No more the wandring Streams were seen to glide,
Back thro' the Fen recoil'd the lazy Tide,
Thence softly lingring o'er the silent Plain
Creeps indolent along, and feebly seeks the Main.

Who now, O Bedford, shall resume thy Toil,
Reach thy Example, and restore our Soil?
What other Moor shall bid the Waters run?
Moor join'd to Thee like Cynthia to the Sun.
See in his Map the imag'd Labour glow,
See unknown Rivers learn from him to flow;
Here wondring Cam receives the spacious Drain,
There the full Stream runs copious to the Main;

Here the freed Glebe a tufted Prospect yields,
And a faint Verdure stains the recent Fields;
There Ceres' Gifts the pregnant Waste adorn,
And Streams of Plenty feed the rising Corn;
Such were the happy Days of Ely then,
And that the golden Æra of the Fen.

How varied now is our degen'rate Time?
Is Faction, Sloth, or Avarice the Crime?
That still amidst this delug'd Isle we find
No Creature but of an amphibious kind,
A double Nature runs thro' all the Fen,
Here swim the Dogs, the Cattle, and the Men,
There sails the Coot that flies the tuneful Wood,
All share with Fish their Element the Flood;
Here hungry Her'ns sit watchful in the Shade,
There sullen Bitterns haunt the lonely Glade,

Sadly prophetic Race! Whose baleful Cries
Sound inauspicious thro' the wintry Skies;
Of future Floods they tell the fatal Pow'r,
By Instinct conscious of th'impending Show'r,
That spreads th'unnavigable Wave around,
And sleeps incumbent o'er th'unstable Ground.

Soon as the Spring adorns the pregnant Earth,
And gives the vegetable Verdure birth,
Warm'd by the Influence of the quickning Rays
Wide o'er the Marsh a new Creation strays,
Prolific Slime a num'rous Offspring yields,
And fills with Noise the hoarse-resounding Fields;
Loquacious Bed of Frogs, whose croaking Race
Peoples the genial Moisture of the Place.

So when of old the Nile's corrupted Flood
Stood a portentous Lake of putrid Blood,
From ev'ry Pool the wonder-working Wand
Call'd forth a reptile Nation o'er the Land,
And pale with Fear all Egypt's guilty Clime
Heard the hoarse Brood croak thro' the teeming Slime.

A various Scene the Summer Landskip yields,
And thro' subsiding Waves emerge the Fields,
Still to the Fen another Woe's declar'd,
And Vulcan claims what milder Neptune spar'd;
Now smoak the Plains from scaly Legions freed,
And burn auspicious to the future Seed;
Form'd into Turf the swampy Clods aspire,
Bright thro' the Skies ascends the Blaze of Fire.

Thus both the jarring Elements around
Waste with alternate Anarchy the Ground,
A fatal Right the hostile Lords maintain,
The Flood o'erwhelms, and Flame consumes the Plain.

More deadly Heats th'autumnal Star supplies,
Red with Disease he fires the sultry Skies,
But who, O ---, shall arm his daring Pen
To paint the genuine Ague of the Fen?
The Woes that shake each tender Source of Pain,
Woes which I feel, but never can explain?
See the first Pangs with shiv'ring Fits arise,
Teeth chatter, quake the Joints, and roll the Eyes,
An icy Cold congeals the curdling Blood,
Thrills thro' the Veins, and checks the vital Flood,

Anon the shifting Plague with wily Art
Glows into Flame around the panting Heart.
Thus thro' the Limbs the fell Contagion roll'd
Varies the harsh Extremes of Heat and Cold.
So where the burning Rocks of Ætna rise,
Th'obdurate Ice its hoary Neighbour lies,
There the discordant Elements conspire,
Frost joins the Flame, and Snow preludes the Fire.

Nor does this Plague the labour'd Aid demand
Of Mead's sound Skill, or ---'s Emp'ric Hand,
No learned Arts their costly Pow'r bestow,
Charms of our own, and our own Cures we know.

Torn from some Coffin the sepulchral String
Enchants the Patient with its healing Ring;
No more his Veins the shiv'ring Pangs endure,
And Fancy makes the strong Deceit a Cure.

Thrice happy Natives of this lonely Isle!
Could they with equal Art the Gnats beguile,
Could the kind Influence of fantastic Charms
To foreign Climes expel the hostile Swarms,
See thro' the Air the insect Legions rise
Dark like a Cloud, and sweep along the Skies,
Rove thro' the Fen, the tortur'd Prey surround,
Aim the sharp Stroke, and feed upon the Wound
So when the Sun distends the embrio Form,
Flies the fell Hornet from its Parent Worm.
From human Veins they draw their purple Food,
The salvage Gnat “like Scythians, lives on Blood;

Two deadly Stings each baleful Insect wears,
Each deadly Sting a various Mischief bears,
With double Woe they pierce the tingling Vein,
And this imbibes the Blood, and that instills the Pain.
Most fierce their Ire when Sirius rules the Skies,
And genial Heats inflame the pamper'd Flies,
The noxious Ray their Source of Poison warms,
And keener Rage each dire Proboscis arms.
In vain the Night her silent Shade bestows,
Soft o'er my Eyes no balmy Slumber flows;
The treach'rous Gnats an envious Vigil keep,
Scare the reluctant Dreams, and murder Sleep.

But who can tell how wise is human Pain?
What artful Schemes employ the anxious Brain?

See with Delight the great Relief appears,
Known by the Fame of twice a thousand Years;
See the close Net of size immense and deep
Flows round the Bed, and guards the Dome of Sleep,
What tho' the Gnats incessant wave their Wings,
Vain their Efforts, and harmless are their Stings,
Soon as their Swarms the adverse Bound beset,
Check'd they retire, nor pass th'impervious Net.

But where their Shafts th'ignobler Couch molest,
Where no rich Net secures Plebeian Rest,
Round the low Cell from some half-kindled Fire
Steams the black Smoak, the smoth'ring Fogs aspire;
Hence while the Cloud its fatal Gloom expands,
Prone thro' the Darkness fall the insect Bands,
Each on his Wings with fruitless Hope relies,
And lost amidst the smouldring Vapour dies.

So when some Trav'ler with advent'rous Skill
Climbs the high Top of Ætna's fiery Hill,
E're yet the Flames with radiant Anger glow,
If Vulcan breathes the sulphurous Steam below,
The furious Blast confounds the Gazer's Sight,
And Death o'erwhelms him in a Storm of Night.

'Tis said this Isle ne'er knew the pungent Race
When Rome's monastic Sons usurp'd the Place,
When papal Domes the watry Region crown'd,
And wealthy Sloth slept o'er the cloister'd Ground.
See Chat'res Walls the verdant Space inclose
On which of old a pompous Abbey rose,
Rich to its Ruin the devoted Tower
Felt the keen Rage of Henry's royal Pow'r;
He stain'd the conscious Pile with Monkish Blood,
And his Success pronounc'd his Vengeance good.
Ev'n now 'tis said aërial Forms around
And twilight Shades possess the haunted Ground,
These watch their Stores within the wealthy Mold,
And brood nocturnal o'er the hoarded Gold,

While those to Vehicles of Flame repair,
Skim o'er the Plain, and shine in dusky Air,
Oft the fond Swain pursues the phantom Fires,
Till from his Eyes the faithless Blaze retires,
Sinks thro' a Bog, or in the Drains expires:
The lonely Wretch bewails the transient Ray,
And lost in Darkness dreads the devious Way.

Here could the warbling Muse instructive tell
How thro' the Fen these papal Mansions fell,
How Thorney's mitred Domes in Ruins lie,
And gilded Crowland, emulously nigh.
By Rage subdu'd each nodding Tow'r appears,
And Rapine antedates the Waste of Years;
Yet shall the Walls to future Times be known,
The Pencil's Art retrieves the mouldring Stone;

See Millecent the falling Fane sustains,
And curious Lines record th'august Remains;
But while the imag'd Ruins charm our Sight,
The drooping Domes chastise the false Delight,
A fading Greatness in the Piece exprest
Gives half the Form, and bids us wish the rest.

But see where Ely aw'd stern Henry's Rage,
The Lust of Rapine and the Shocks of Age,
Nor Time nor Fury durst the Frame deface,
While Saints and guardian Seraphs watch'd the Place.
See where her lofty Spire's unshaken Height
Tow'rs in the Clouds, and strains the ahcing Sight,
High o'er the Waves the hallow'd Structure stands
Like Ammon's Temple fix'd on Lybia's Sands:

The Dome of Gothic Form, whose rev'rend Pile
Spreads a majestic Greatness round the Isle;
Historic Glass the Rolls of Time recalls,
And sacred Sculpture breathes along the Walls,
There mitred Saints an awful Rev'rence claim
By figur'd Marble still preserv'd to Fame;
Behold the crosier'd Form of Hotham rise
By whom the lofty Lantern gain'd the Skies,
What tho' he sleeps enshrin'd beneath the Bust,
His bounteous Zeal now vanish'd with his Dust,
Yet his immortal Fame the Grave controuls,
For Saints have Fame immortal as their Souls;
Still is the Patriot by his Emblem known,
And lives for ever in recording Stone.

Why should I tell what sculptur'd Forms around
Image each Chief that fills the hallow'd Ground;
What Heroes there with Prelates are deplor'd,
How blended lie the Crosier and the Sword?
Succeeding Ages shall their Fame adore
Till Virtue dies, and Courage glows no more.
Here green with Bays their sacred Urns we see,
And what they are must greater Mordaunt be,
The honour'd Wreath shall flourish o'er his Brow,
While Fame can plant, or Cam extend the Bough.

Here Thee, O ---, thy mournful Cam demands,
Reluctant wandring thro' these lonely Lands,
Slow o'er the Mud he drags his lazy Tides,
Inglorious Osiers here usurp his Sides,

Feebly he creeps with conscious Silence dull,
Calm without Clearness, and ignobly full.

Do Thou, my Friend, forsake th'Italian Plains,
Taught by the Muse to speak their ancient Strains,
Breathe on thy Cam th'enlivening Verse, and clear
The silent stillness that now slumbers there,
Then shall his Stream made vocal by thy Lyre
Above the tuneful Streams of Rome aspire;
The Po, ennobled by the Mantuan Swain,
No longer then the King of Floods shall reign,
Shall roll inferior to th'immortal Tides,
As Cæsar's Rhone to Marlbro's Ister glides,
Cam's lofty Flood shall scorn th'ignobler Streams,
And own no Sovereign, but imperial Thames.

May 1, 1727.

Ipsa regio Elge undique est aquis & paludibus circundata, neque majores habet, &c. Bede's Hist. Anglorum Lib. IV.

The Abbey and Church of Ely built by St. Etheldred in the Year of our Lord DCLXXIII. were burnt down by the Danes, and rebuilt just an hundred Years after their Destruction by Ethelwold Bishop of Winchester by a Grant from King Edgar. Dugdale's Monasticon, Page 87, and 92.

The whole Account of this Transaction may be seen in Sir William Dugdale's History of Inbanking and Draining.

King John gave his Sword to the Town of Lynn Regis in Norfolk, as a Testimony of their Loyalty to him in the Baron's Wars.

King John lost his Army in a Place call'd Well-stream (below Wisbech in the Isle of Ely) as he was passing the Washes into Lincolnshire to fight the Barons. The whole Account of which may be seen, as I have been inform'd, in the Records of the Tower of London.

Francis Russel Earl of Bedford was the first Undertaker for a general draining of the Fens, now call'd Bedford Level, by a Grant from King Charles the first.

Sir Jonas Moor Engineer to the Earl of Bedford.

A receiv'd Notion among the Vulgar.

The Method of cultivating Fen-Lands is by burning them.

Summo cana jugo cohibet, mirabile dictu,
Vicinam flammis glaciem, æternoque rigore
Ardentes horrent scopuli, stat vertice celsi
Collis hyems, calidâque nivem tegit atra favilla.

Silius Italicus, Lib. XIV.

The Custom of using Nets to defend themselves from the Gnats was in vogue above two thousand Years ago among the Egyptians, as appears from Herodotus.

Προς δε τους κωνωπας αφθονους εοντας ταδε σφι εστι μεμηχανημενα. Τους μεν τα ανω των ελεων εικεοντας οι πυργοι ωφελεουσι, ες ους αναβαινοντες κοιροενται. οι γαρ κωνωπες υπο των ανεμων ουκ οιοι τε εισι υψου πετεαι. Τοισι οε πε τα ελεα οικεουσι ταδε αντι των πυργων αλλα μεμηχανηται. πας ανηρ κντεων αμφιβληστρον εκτηται, τω της ημερης μεν ιχθυς αγρευει, την δε νυκτα αυτκραται εν τη αναπαυεται κοιτη περι ταυτην ιστησι το αμφιβληστρον, κι επειτα ενδυς δ' αυτω καθευδει. οι δε κωνωπες ην μεν εν ιματιω ελιξαμενος ευδη η σινδοη δια τουτων δακνουσι, δια δε του δικτυου ουδε πειρωνται αρχην. Herodotus, Lib. II. Page 123. Edit. Lord.

These Parts are much infested with Gnats, and therefore the Inhabitants have contriv'd to defend themselves from that Insect by the following Means. Those who live above the Marshes go up to take their rest in Towers built for that End; because the Gnats are prevented by the Winds from mounting so high, and those who inhabit the lower Parts, use this Artifice instead of such Towers: Every Man has a Net, which serves him by Day to take Fish, and at Night to defend the Place where he sleeps; for if he should wrap himself up either in his Clothes, or any kind of Linen, the Gnats would not fail to bite; but never attempt to pass the Net.

Henry VIII. the Destroyer of the Monasteries.

The Ruins of Crowland Church and some others delineated by Mr. Millecent.

The Lantern of Ely Cathedral built by Bishop Hotham.

Earl of Peterborough.

TO SILVIA

Reading Ovid's Art of Love.

While Ovid's Muse instructs the am'rous Dame,
Warms her gay Thoughts, and disciplines the Flame;
Can Female Souls the courtly Verse refuse?
Or mortal Nymphs be chaster than a Muse?
Reject the Lines, nor let his tuneful Art
Taint the clear Passion of thy virgin Heart.

His Verse like him can Woman's Will controul,
Dart thro' her Eyes, and steal into the Soul,
While all the pleasing Follies of Mankind
Croud the vain Toyshop of a Female Mind.

Should once thy Eyes the dang'rous Lines approve,
That teach the Science of inglorious Love,
How Mars comprest fair Ilia's vestal Charms,
Could thy weak Heart resist the God of Arms?
When Florio courts thee with a pert Grimace,
And Tinsels o'er his Impotence with Lace,
Or when his Hands the copious Purse unfold,
Like Jove to clasp thee in a Storm of Gold;
Will no fair Lady, but in great Distress
Fall the frail Victim of a modish Dress?
Or how can Danäe with resistless Pow'r
Ward the Male Vigour of a golden Show'r?

When rosy Evion toasts thy charming Name
And on the votive Glass inscribes his Flame,
Foams o'er the Bowl his high Deserts to raise,
Or breaks the Windows to resound thy Praise
Wilt thou pronounce that jovial Lover rude?
And is no Woman a deceitful Prude?

When Strephon fetter'd in thy am'rous Chains
Sighs into Verse, and tunes his pensive Strains,
Rhimes out the Pangs his throbbing Veins endure
And from salubrious Nonsense seeks his Cure
When he affirms, no Science e're could trace
What forms the beauteous Magic of the Face,
From whence proceed those subtle Flames that
Arm'd in the Sparkle of the radiant Eye,

When Silvia throws her sable Glances round,
And gives each Heart an everlasting Wound;
Wilt thou with Scorn reject the flatt'ring Strain,
And innocently let the Fool be vain?
Wilt thou to Sonnets turn th'obdurate Ear
Tun'd to thy Praise, which Females love to heat?
For Women's Hearts the pleasing Dream pursue,
When once they wish the fond Delusion true,
And while the Nymph entranc'd in Passion lies,
Her Ears believe the Conquests of her Eyes.

No more let Ovid claim thy studious Care,
But guard thy Heart, and shun the am'rous Snare,
May Silvia's Heart these chaster Numbers chuse,
And while her Eyes the guiltless Lines peruse,
Smile on the Poet, and reward his Muse.

IRREGULAR ODE

They are exalted for a little while, but they are gone and brought low, they are taken out the Way as all other, and cut off as the Tops of the Ears of Corn. JOB Chap. xxiv. Ver. 29.

I.

How transient is the Sinner's Breath!
How soon the Victim of th'Avenger Death!
The Wicked struggle from the Womb,
And only live to ripen for the Tomb.
Death the short Period of their Race surveys,
And sends her grim Associate pale Disease;

'Tis done—They feel the fatal Blow,
Or sink with Pain, or drag the lingring Woe:
They view the sickly Lamp with dread Surprize,
Too late the sickly Lamp demands Supplies.
Vain Arts, alas! The fleeting Life to save!
For lo! The momentary Flame
Expires, and soon the mouldring Frame
Inherits creeping things, Corruption, and the Grave.

II.

Short, few, and evil are the Days of Man,
But oh! What mad delusive Joys,
What vain Amusements, trifling Toys
Fleet thro' the Scenes of Life, and crowd the scanty Span!
The dismal Prospect, Muse, begin!
Trace thro' the World the various Forms of Sin;

Explore the Slaves of impious Mirth,
And all the splendid Crimes on Earth;
The Haunts of pompous Wickedness survey,
But envy not when you behold
In shining Heaps the Miser roll'd
And brooding o'er his pilfer'd Gold,
While cloathed with sordid Shame defrauded Orphans stray.
Place the lewd lawless Tyrant on the Throne,
Prov'd by the longest Sword his own,
Let his imperial Nod whole Nations awe,
And his despotic Will be Law,
Let his dire Steel thro' honest Hearts be thrust,
While Pride and arbitrary Lust
Give Sanction to the Blow, and doom the Murder just.

III.

Turn thine Eye, behold, and see
Love and pamper'd Luxury,
See the wanton Nymphs advance,
While the tuneful Strings around
In smoothest Measure sweetly sound,
Or brisker Strains provoke the sprightly Dance.
Safe from Care, from Sorrow free,
Th'unwary Epicure supine
Tastes the full Pleasures of the flowing Bowl,
And drowns in liquid Joys his thoughtless Soul,
Around the Silver Verge the blushing Rose
Adds a new Splendor to the impurpled Wine
Which with redoubled Lustre glows.
The treach'rous Juice excites the am'rous Fire,
And wakes th'unhallow'd Flames of vain Desire,

The Slave of Sin a vitious ardour Warms,
The Nymph unguarded yields her conquer'd Charms
And sinks into the Drunkard's Arms;
The Banquet swells with wanton Pride,
And ev'ry pamper'd Passion's variously supply'd.

IV.

Are these, vain Man, the happy Souls
Whose firm Delight no adverse Star controuls,
Whose Joys mistaken Envy views,
And with fallacious Hope pursues?
No more, deluded Wretch, believe
That Sin, tho' fair, can ne'er deceive,
Thou know'st not what the angry Fates ordain,
Forbidden Joys the Seeds of Woe retain,
And ev'ry pleasing Crime teems with vindictive Pain.

A while the meteor Pleasure strays,
And darts around its dazling Rays,
A while its gaudy Influence streams,
A while the short Effulgence gleams,
But soon shall thy unclouded Sight
View the black Sun-set of the treach'rous Light,
Soon shall the transient Blaze retire,
Sink in the Gloom of Death, and dreadfully expire.

V.

When Heav'n withdraws its guardian Aid
Unnumber'd Woes the Sinner's Breast invade,
Th'Almighty waves his wrathful Wand,
And hurls the various Vengeance from his Hand,
Then all the previous Ills of Fate,
Meager Want, corroding Care,
Anxious Grief, and pale Despair,

And all the dire attendant Band
Which at Death's ghastly Portal stand
In terrible Array, and take her dread Command,
All these in gloomy Pomp appear,
Round the declining Sinner grimly wait,
And with preluding Torments speak his Exit near.
The Miser dwindles to decay,
The Tyrant totters on his Throne,
No longer now his own,
And feels of rebel Slaves th'alternate Sway;
The Libertine o'erwhelm'd by early Death
No more enjoys the Hautboy's tuneful Breath,
Conscious he burns, he feels the Worm within,
And all the penal Stings of Sin,
For Musick's Charms the tortur'd Ghosts he hears,
Wail horrible around, and rack his tingling Ears.

VI.

As by the fatal Sickle shorn
Droop the full Beauties of the waving Corn,
Or as the Flowers of the Field
To gloomy Night their transient Glories yield,
So soon the gayest Sinners fly,
So soon they languish, fade, and die;
Heav'n does soon its Wrath begin,
When its reluctant Eye surveys their ripen'd Sin.
On Earth no more their Place is found,
But black Oblivion and eternal Night
Brood on the dark Vacuity around,
And cloud the once refulgent Light.
No Spark does then appear
To tell that once they were,

No flatt'ring Marble can preserve their Name,
Nor fix it in the Rolls of Fame,
A Place shall to their Relicks be deny'd,
And Death with wasteful Triumph ride,
O'er the poor scorn'd Remains of Envy, Lust and Pride.

A PARAPHRASE UPON The Ninth Chapter of the Revelations.

I.

What strange Emotion fires my lab'ring Soul?
What heav'nly Impulse fills my swelling Veins?
Thro' all my Limbs the rising Horrors roll,
And o'er my Breast the big Infusion reigns.

Mortals, attend; to you th'Event I show,
To you the memorable Woes belong,
Let future Times th'important Vision know,
And Age to Age record the wondrous Song.
What I reveal with due Observance hear,
Start at your fatal Doom, and own the conscious Fear.

II.

I saw from Heav'n a gliding Star descend
Commission'd to unfold the Deep below,
I saw the Deep with quick Convulsions rend,
And open all the flaming Gulphs of Woe.
Darkning around a smouldring Vapour broke,
Wide thro' the Gloom the spiral Sulphur rose
Like curling Volumes of ascending Smoke,
When some capacious Furnace darkly glows:

Enwrapp'd in dusky Wreaths th'expanded Night,
Gloom'd shadowing o'er the Skies, and veil'd the fainting Light.

III.

Sudden I saw from out th'infernal Lake
In fierce Array embattled Locusts rise,
I saw them thence their dreadful Journey take
Like a black Cloud slow-moving to the Skies,
Strong as the War-horse their big Forms appear'd
Pawing impatient for the martial Race,
High on their Heads their golden Helmets rear'd
Crown'd the stern Image of an human Face;
Down from their golden Helms their waving Hair.
Stream'd terrible behind, and swam in ambient Air.

IV.

Fierce as a Flame they gleam'd along the Field,
Their figur'd Arms were various to behold,
Mysterious Names were grav'd on ev'ry Shield,
And monstrous Forms emboss'd the frowning Gold
Forth as they march'd a sanguine Splendor came,
Forth from their Mouths contagious Volumes flow'd,
From their wide Nostrils roll'd the livid Flame,
And their sharp Tongues with fiery Hissings glow'd:
In their sharp Tongues two pointed Spears they wore,
And in their Scorpion Tails vindictive Poisons bore.

V.

Where will th'important Desolation end?
To what sad Clime confine it, wasteful Way?

Will it against the Works of Nature tend
The Fields, the Woods, the Rivers, or the Sea?
Ah! no, ye blooming Offspring of the Ground,
Your native Innocence averts the Blow,
Breathe still, ye Flow'rs, nor feel the fatal Wound,
Glide on, ye Streams, nor dread impending Woe.
The Flow'rs shall breathe, the Streams shall freely glide,
Till Heav'n with human Blood distain the rising Tide.

VI.

To Men alone, you impious Sons of Earth,
Justly to you is lingring Vengeance come,
Too late Remorse succeeds the Sinner's Mirth,
When Heav'n's reluctant Wrath decrees his Doom.

You, on whose Brows with foul Inscription stain'd
Seals of Idolatry pernicious shine,
Whose Hands obscene with Pagan Rites prophan'd
Fed the strange Altar and polluted Shrine;
Whose Brands your merited Destruction tell,
Those Brands of Sin and Death, of Infamy and Hell.

VII.

Sudden I saw a radiant Streamer move
With Pagan Characters emblazon'd round,
Pleasure the Idol Goddess thron'd above
With various Pomp the golden Ensign crown'd.
There stood the painted Forms of Crimes refin'd,
And all the lewd Attendants of her Pride,
Mad Mirth before, and meager Lust behind,
The sensual Atheist, and adult'rous Bride;

A fair Disguise they wore, deform'd within
Sate falsely-smiling Vice, and Death-conceiving Sin.

VIII.

While thus I stood deep musing in my Mind
I heard a Voice break thro' an angry Cloud,
That borne impetuous on the sounding Wind
Thus to th'infernal Legions call'd aloud;
Hither, ye ghastly Instruments of Fate,
These my dire Foes, and this your destin'd Prey:
These the just Victims of my vengeful Hate,
Wing your swift Flight, and hither urge your Way.
Startling they rush'd, and from their poisonous Breath
Flash'd the sulphureous Flame, and scatter'd Seeds of Death.

IX.

See thro' the Land the black Battalions walk,
Wrath and Revenge beneath their Banners lie,
See the grim Pestilence before them stalk,
And point where'er the just Destroyers fly.
Now the full Vial of Almighty Ire
Streams on the World, and pours down all its Woes,
Earth, Heav'n and Hell with mutual Rage conspire
When God descends to scourge his rebel Foes.
See from his Hand the flaming Vengeance hurl'd
Sweeps the devoted Earth, and wide devours the World.

ON THE DEATH OF Mrs. ANNE N---L.

Heu! nimium, Virgo, nimium crudele luisti
Supplicium ------
Virg.

Shall Virtue unrecorded yield its Breath?
Shall blooming Beauty lie deform'd by Death?
Rise thou, my Muse, and o'er her virgin Herse
Pay the last Friendship of memorial Verse;

Let Merit triumph o'er the envious Grave,
And Truth commend what Science wish'd to save.

When pale Disease some vulgar Form invades,
And adds the vile Plebeian to the Shades,
Few are the Tears that grace th'unheeded Urn,
The obvious Stroke forbids us long to mourn;
But oh! when rising Virtue is the Prize,
When Beauty falls, or infant Glory dies,
Tears then have Tongues, and speaking Sorrows shew
That, not to own our Grief, is not to know.

How well, blest Shade, did thy auspicious Ray
Dawn into Life, and promise perfect Day!
Rapt into future Joys our distant Sight
View'd the full Splendor of maturer Light,

Our Hopes enlarg'd the Vision of our Eye,
And imag'd something too sublime to die;
But ah! How soon delusive Glory fades!
How soon the transient Phantom joins the Shades!
In vain we mourn our Impotence of Skill,
Condemn our Conduct, or arraign our Will,
And grieve reflective Anguish makes us see
That all, we fancy'd Chance, was doom'd to be.

Shall Verse to thee its tuneful Aid refuse?
Thee late the Muse's Friend, thy self a Muse.
Thy soaring Thought a manly Warmth confest,
Rome's ancient Style inform'd thy vig'rous Breast,
Thy blooming Bays diffus'd a lively Grace,
Fair as the Roses that adorn'd thy Face.
What tho' thy Charms a fatal Influence shed,
Tho' by thy Eyes a thousand Lovers bled,

Yet o'er thy Slaves a gen'rous Tear distill'd,
Thy Verse ennobled whom thy Beauty kill'd.

Had Fate relenting spar'd thy lovely Frame,
Nor Heav'n recall'd its ministerial Flame,
Had we beheld the nuptial Glory shine,
Thy Virtues imag'd in a Face like thine—
But while thy Soul an honest Flame confest,
E're Hymen's Torch was kindled in thy Breast,
Death grimly smiling on thy ripen'd Charms
Snatch'd thee to his inhospitable Arms,
With thee subdu'd our future Hopes we see,
Love, Beauty, Wit, and all that pleas'd in thee.

So when the Sun displays his trembling Beams
O'er the smooth Wave, and gilds the limpid Streams,

Reflected Prospects on the Water glide,
And Silvan Scenes float various with the Tide,
But if an angry Storm involve the Skies,
Swift from our Sight the gay Delusion flies,
And all confus'd the airy Vision dies.

PARAPHRASE UPON Esdras Book II. Chap. vi. Ver. 38.

Thou, Lord, didst frame the spacious Globe of Earth,
Thy genial Word inform'd the wondrous Birth;
Thy quickning Pow'r dissolv'd th'eternal Sleep,
Pierc'd the still Mass, and rouz'd th'unactive Deep,
As yet appear'd no dawning Streaks of Light,
But the dark Womb of unessential Night

Gloom'd o'er the Void, till thy enlivening Ray
Shone thro' thy Works, and spread primæval Day.

Again Thou badst the soaring Splendor rise,
Float the mid Space, and Stream thro' parted Skies;
High at thy Word the soaring Splendor flew,
Thro' the mid Skies a bright Division grew;
Thou badst the radiant Barrier firmly glow
Between the Seas above, and Skies below,
In which dispers'd along the cloudy Pole
The struggling Seeds of infant Thunders roll,
Form'd by thy Hand to rend the dusky Air,
And raise the Terror of the Lightning's Glare,
To wound the sinful Soul with grumbling Noise,
And roar the Emblem of thy angry Voice,

Thy Word beneath the Ocean's watry Caves
Drove the rude Concourse of collected Waves,
Aw'd by thy Pow'r th'obsequious Waters fled,
Sunk thro' the Globe, and sought their oozy Bed,
But soon return'd in circulating Rills,
Gush'd thro' the Vales, and climb'd the lofty Hills,
The lofty Hills beheld with wild Surprize
From Vales below aspiring Waters rise,
Nor less with Wonder fill'd the Vales below
View'd from the Hills the trickling Moisture flow,
Soft from the Mountains stream'd the watry Train,
And purl'd in gurgling Murmurs o'er the Plain.

By thee the teeming Fields with genial Pow'rs
Unlock'd the infant Fragrancies of Flow'rs,

A gay Creation ting'd th'enamel'd Earth,
And sweetly smil'd the party-colour'd Birth,
Thou didst the Splendor of their Beams bestow,
By thee with Scents they please, with Flame they glow.
Then rose the Trees with various Beauty crown'd,
And ripen'd instantaneous from the Ground,
Round the tall Cedar curl'd the circling Vine,
Blush'd into Fruit, and spoke th'inherent Wine,
On the rough Hills appear'd a shady Train,
And with a sylvan Pride imbrown'd the Plain.

The gilded Orbs of Light did next arise,
Glow'd from thy Hand, and shone in dusky Skies;
Thou from the Force of each collected Ray
Didst frame the fiery Ruler of the Day,

Full in the midst the radiant Monarch shone,
Imperial Glories blaz'd around his Throne,
Unmov'd himself, he wonder'd to behold
Attendant Worlds in circling Splendor roll'd,
By thee ordain'd with fainter Streams of Light,
To cheer the dreary Gloom, and rule the Night,
By thee the Moon, pale Delegate of Day
Reflective shone, and spread the borrow'd Ray,
By thee those other Suns, each fiery Star
Rose high, and twinkled emulous from far,
Sun-like th'unshaken Orbs disdain'd to roll,
And with a fix'd Effulgence throng'd the Pole.

Παμπορφυρους ακτινας purple Beams, Pindar Ode VI.

EPIGRAM FROM THE GREEK.

I see ---'s extended Nose appear,
The Herald to proclaim himself is near,
He'll come; let's stay a while, for I suppose
He's not above a Mile behind his Nose.
To view his giant Nose is all we can,
Mount yonder Hill, you'll see the pigmy Man.

UPON CŒLIA Sick of the SMALL POX

See the malign envenom'd Pain
Shoot thro' ev'ry tainted Vein!
With hostile Force the Flames engage,
And feed the growing Fever's Rage:
Fierce to assail the vital Urn
Thro' ev'ry Artery they burn,

And to consume that Heart conspire
That glow'd with a more gen'rous Fire.

The blooming Cheek, whose virgin Rose
Did such a beauteous Blush disclose,
So sweetly did Affection move,
So warmly redden'd into Love,
No more exerts its pleasing Skill,
No more can boast a Pow'r to kill,
How soon its varying Colour flies!
How soon unstable Beauty dies!
Ah how the Breast, that ne'er before
One Blot of foul Contagion bore,
Whose panting Whiteness did declare
Pure was the Soul that harbour'd there,
Throbs with a fierce consuming Fire,
And heaves with Torture, not Desire;

Hence envious Flame, nor dare to prove
Foe to the softer Flames of Love.

Where Love and Innocence combine,
Their Pow'r shall triumph over Thine,
The Dart, that arms her potent Eye,
Does all thy weaker Darts defy,
Thy feebler Shaft can but controul
The Body; her's commands the Soul.
A while the languid Orbs decay,
The transient Splendors fade away;
Yet tho' the trickling Eyelid show
A Heart dissolv'd with inward Woe,
The Nymph that ever glow'd so fair,
Shall scorn the Paleness of Despair,
A more diffusive Influence shed,
And thousands die where one has bled.

'Tis thus the Rose and Lily fade
Beneath the Night's unwholsome Shade,
But, at the glad Approach of Day,
Their new enliven'd Charms display,
Again their lovely Beauties yield,
And smile with Fragrance round the Field.

BUCHANAN's EPIGRAM TO NEÆRA, PARAPHRAS'd.

As when some cruel Virgin's Pow'r,
Tears from its Stem the sprightly Flow'r,
Scorch'd by the Sun's attracting Fires
Sudden the transient Bloom retires,
And all its fragrant Soul expires;

Thus, Chloe, when thy beauteous Ray
Does o'er my dazled Eyeballs play,
Sudden my vital Springs depart,
And Calentures consume my Heart,
An Emblem of the Flow'r I lie,
I burn, I languish, faint and die.

But when thy rosy Lips bestow
The Charms which there can only glow,
I too a mutual Ardour boast,
Thy balmy Breath recalls my Ghost;
My Heart returns, my Eyes revive,
And tell thee, fair one, I'm alive.

Since then you thus command my Breath,
Sole Arbitress of Life and Death,

Bid all your Beauties dart Disease,
Vex, torture, kill me as you please,
But as you kill asswage my Pain,
And kiss me into Life again,
For since you thus your Lips employ,
To save the Man your Eyes destroy,
I'll freely like the Flow'r decay,
And die an hundred times a Day.

THE HOUSE OF THE GOD of WAR,

Translated from the seventh Book of Statius's Thebais.

High on Mount Hæmus stood the dreadful Pile,
Worthy the Site and Genius of the Soil,
Steel did the Structure of the Dome compose,
Steel were the Sides, of Steel the Portal rose;

Strong from the Walls the fierce Effulgence plays,
And checks the feebler Sun's recoiling Rays.
First daring Rapine in the Front appears,
Cloak'd Treason, Anger red, and pallid Tears,
The Traytor-Friend a lurking Dagger wore,
And Discord's Hand the Sword of Variance bore;
Unnumber'd Terrors menac'd loud within,
Rough the dire Noise, and clatt'ring was the Din.
Right in the midst distrest Misfortune stood,
And laughing Madness, and Death grim with Blood:
The Gore of Armies round his Altar flows,
Whose hallow'd Flame from burning Cities glows.
The Dome's high Top the Spoils of Nations grace,
And form the vaulted Sculpture of the Place,
The Wrecks of Ships, and Cars of shatter'd Steel,
And their dead Master crush'd beneath the Wheel.

Wounds ran with Blood, and Battel seem'd to stare,
Ev'n Sighs and Groans were almost imag'd there:
Amidst each Portrait in the dire Abode
The surly genuine Frown confess'd the God,
Such did the warrior Image gruffly low'r,
Such stood the stern Effect of Vulcan's Pow'r.

THE HOUSE OF THE GOD of SLEEP,

FROM The Tenth Book of Statius's Thebais.

Beyond the Confines of the Western Moors,
Where lingring Fogs obscure the fickly Shores,
Stands a dull Grove; no subtle Beams of Light
Pierce the thick Darkness of th'impervious Night;

A Den beneath, which rugged Rocks surround,
Yawns thro' a Hill within the cavern'd Ground;
Here lazy Nature Sleep's Asylum chose,
And fix'd th'eternal Mansions of Repose.
Sloth and Oblivion, idle Sisters, wait
Before the Entrance of the sacred Gate,
Silence far off repells th'intruding Breeze,
And stills the chatt'ring Birds and rustling Trees.
Not all the roarings of the boiling Deep
Or Thunder's Rage disturb the peaceful Sleep.
A Stream along the Cavern's rocky Sides
Without one gurgling Murmur smoothly glides;
Round lie the sable Herds, and all around
A blighting Vapour, steaming from the Ground,
Wide o'er the Cave its drowzy Influence pours,
Withers the infant Herb, and blasts the rising Flow'rs.

Within the dewy Grot a Couch was spread,
Where free from Care the God supine was laid,
And drooping Poppies faded round his Head;
Beneath his lazy Limbs the Carpets sweat,
Slow from his Mouth exhales a sultry Heat,
His Hair dishevell'd by this Hand is born,
While that droops down unmindful of the Horn;
A Train of Dreams, Night's black Attendants, wait,
Hang on the Walls, or flutter round the Gate,
These the gay Shape of flatt'ring Pleasures wear,
And those the sullen Visage of Despair,
Some true, some false in various Forms appear.
A Lamp, scarce breaking thro' the genuine Gloom,
Scatters a dubious Glimmering round the Room,
Trembling a while the feeble Taper glows,
Then sinks expiring, and invites Repose.

To Dr. ---.

Vita per Te longa, Ars brevis.

Hail sacred Artist! what enlivening Skill
Flows from thy Hand, and arms each quickning Pill!
Nature her self perceives the glad Surprize,
And views thee here her great Vicegerent rise.

In vain Destruction arms her ghastly Train,
Pale Sickness, pining Heats, or frantic Pain,
Thy stronger Arts the ghastly Train withstand,
And mock the Rage of Death's deluded Hand;

Vex'd at thy Skill a new Revenge she tries,
And sounds the Trump of Variance thro' the Skies;
Then like the Vultur haunts th'embattled Plain,
Feeds on the mangled Carnage of the Slain,
Or grasps the Prey by coward Treason gor'd,
Aims the Thief's Gun, and wields the Murderer's Sword.

Strange Pow'r, that thus each fleeting Form can save,
Vie with Creation, and elude the Grave!
See the fond Youth implores thy guardian Aid,
Death's envious Hand demands some sickly Maid:
Sadly thy Arts relieve the am'rous Boy,
And teach th'enliven'd Beauty to destroy,
Revive the Charms that youthful Hearts ensnare,
And bid the Nymph be fatal as she's fair.

What Muse shall now in plaintive Numbers tell
How sweet the Lady liv'd; how soon she fell?
What sighing Lover o'er Belinda's Herse
Speak the soft Sorrow and sepulchral Verse?
Thy Arts forbid us to inscribe the Urn,
And Elegy by thee forgets to mourn.

How pleas'd are we to trace thro' ev'ry Part
The secret Systems of thy various Art,
Each embrio Atom curiously to scan,
And view the dawning Miniature of Man,
How from the Mass, which genial Seeds compose,
That Spark of infant Entity arose,
That sweetly thence its gradual Beauty took,
Bloom'd into Charms, and form'd a Cælia's Look;

Or how thy Hand protects the Fair from Ill,
How each Distemper owns thy sov'reign Skill,
Tho' short's the Period of our mortal Breath,
You thin the Triumphs of Disease and Death.

Thy ruling Pow'r the Deluge Dropsy spy'd,
Ebb'd at thy Call, and shrunk its less'ning Tide,
Smoothly you bad the liquid Pains escape,
And the rude Mass emaciate into Shape,
Aw'd by thy Voice the trembling Ague flies,
At thy Command its various Poison dies,
No more our Veins the boiling Torrent know,
But with salubrious Calmness gently glow.

Green-sickness blush'd, her sanguine Looks proclaim
The active Blood rekindling into Flame;

The conscious Maid with native Beauty gay
Views her new Charms in bright Confusion play;
No mimic Arts reflect a borrow'd Grace,
Tinge the dead Paleness, and disguise her Face,
The purple Streams a genuine Blush disclose,
And the true Crimson speaks th'inherent Rose.

His marble Nymph thus griev'd Pygmalion view'd,
Cold, lifeless, pale the mute Creation stood,
Venus beheld the suppliant Boy's Distress,
And crown'd his Labours with the wish'd Success:
She bad the vital Pow'rs exert their Strife,
And warm each varied Atom into Life,
Th'enliven'd Stone confess'd the Cyprian Dame,
Felt the soft Passion, and imbib'd the Flame.

AN EPISTLE TO A PAINTER,

Occasioned by the MARRIAGE OF The Honourable Mrs. ---.

O thou, whose Hand recording Paint supplies,
Whose Colours bloom when feeble Nature dies,
Whether thy Art th'enliven'd Canvas grace,
And shine creative in some beauteous Face,

Or if thy Hand some Hero's Deeds recall,
Where the free Stroke imprints the Historic Wall,
Rise in thy Strength, exert a nobler Part,
Illustrious --- claims a Raphael's Art,
In breathing Paint her Nuptial Scene unfold,
And image Glories that can scarce be told,
Strong thro' the Piece a genuine Warmth diffuse,
And duteous thus attend th'instructive Muse.

First let thy Hand uprear a pompous Dome,
Scene of Delight and Wonders yet to come,
Let Iris tinge the various Arch above,
And the bright Ceiling glow with pictur'd Love,
Around the Walls emblaz'd with lasting Flames
Draw the rich Ensigns of victorious Dames,
Let Angel Cupids with protecting Pow'r
Watch o'er the Columns of the mystic Bow'r,

In silver Plumes their guardian Wings unfold,
Or round the Gate expand their waving Gold.

High in the Center of a proud Alcove
In heav'nly Dies enthrone the Queen of Love,
Fair as when first th'Imperial Beauty stood
Rear'd on the Waves, and grac'd the teeming Flood,
Let virgin Nymphs in Shades contrasted play,
Fade in her Blaze, and own th'immortal Ray,
Let courtly Youths with blooming Airs be seen,
And filial Loves glow round their parent Queen.

Then, if thou dar'st Salmoneus like aspire,
And strive to paint inimitable Fire,
Near to her Throne adorn'd with Beauty's Pride
Let Hymen's Hand conduct th'illustrious Bride,

Charms thro' her Face ineffable must glow,
And Love himself th'immortal Airs bestow,
But ah! what Frailties to our Arts belong!
How coy is Beauty that has Charms too strong!
Ah! let thy Hand the fading Tincture spare,
Nor vainly wish to form Perfection there,
She on her Race that Image must confer,
And teem with Beauties that can rival her.

Just may thy Hand to other Forms be found,
And group the tutelary Graces round,
Draw kindred Virtue in the noblest Part,
Known by her Emblem an untainted Heart,
Prudential Care that guards the just Affairs,
And decent Pride that scorns Plebeian Airs,
Truth with good Nature in the Piece display,
Sense without Noise, and Wit with Breeding gay.

Plac'd at her Side in sprightly Colours frame
A Hero worthy of so fair a Dame,
Brave and majestic let his Form arise,
Youth in his Face, and Vigour in his Eyes.
The manly Graces must surround their Lord,
Let Courage here discreetly wave the Sword,
Bid Learning next adorn the Hero's Side,
Each various Science, but without its Pride,
Let Honour too his just Distinction hold,
Fame lead the Muse, and Wealth attend in Gold.

Hark! from the Piece imagin'd Accents break,
Thy Venus lives, the Goddess seems to speak,
“All Hail, illustrious Pair, whose Hearts approve
“Connubial Rites, and join in Bands of Love,

“Thou blooming Virgin, whose celestial Charms
“Glow with Desire to crown that Hero's Arms,
“Shalt teem luxuriant with a num'rous Race
“Brave as his Vigour, beauteous as thy Face,
“Fate shall improve the Flames which Love begun,
“And the fair Series in long Order run;
“No more these Eyes shall fatal Beams display,
“No more like Comets glare a dang'rous Ray,
“From hence their friendly Orbs shall bless the Sight,
“And shine propitious as the Pow'r of Light,
“Thy Love shall now its genial Warmth employ,
“And fill that World thy Eyes did once destroy.

See, Painter, see what lasting Glories shine
Fix'd on the Race of ---'s princely Line,

Succeeding Years their genuine Charms shall know,
And each fair Image in thy Tinctures glow,
Thee like a God attendant Beauties raise,
Thy own Creation speaks its Author's Praise.

TO A GENTLEMAN UPON HIS POEMS.

While round the Masters of the Lyre
Admiring crowds their Tribute bring,
And with a grateful Voice inspire
The melting Lute, or sweep the String:

New to the Poet's heav'nly Skill,
With no melodious Rapture fir'd,

But what informs each vulgar Quill,
What Wine provok'd, or Love inspir'd;

I sought not Fame, nor Censure fear'd,
Content to see, unfit to Praise,
And with an awful Rev'rence heard
The Triumphs of superior Lays.

At length awaken'd by thy Fame
Th'embolden'd Reptile leaves the Ground,
Th'enliven'd Muse usurps a Name,
And tinkles in Poetic Sound.

But how shall Infant Strains proceed,
Unless thy manly Art conspire
To guide the Hand, and tune the Reed,
To swell the Sound, and add the Fire.

Thy Labours beg no foreign Praise,
No mercenary Trumpet claim,
What but thy own unrival'd Lays
Can speak the Author's wond'rous Fame?

With ardent Wings the Muse I see
High soaring with a vig'rous Flight,
High she must soar to sing of Thee,
Yet dreads she not th'Icarian Height.

Beyond the loftiest Clouds she springs,
Nor fears the fierce dissolving Flame,
While on thy Bays she rests her Wings,
And on thy Laurel chaunts thy Fame.

THE MAGIC LANTERN,

Translated from the Latin of Mr. Titley.

I sing the Forms which magic Pow'rs impart,
The thin Creation of delusive Art,
And thro' the ambient Gloom bright Shapes display
Hid from the Sun, nor conscious of the Day.

Expand the sportive Scene, the Lantern show,
No gleam of Day must thro' the Darkness glow;

The fleeting Forms abhor the envious Light,
Love the brown Shade, and only live by Night.
Darkling and silent in her lonely Cell,
The Sorceress thus exerts her mystic Spell,
Calls forth the Spectres, and unpeoples Hell;
But when the Morn unfolds her purple Ray,
Start the pale Ghosts, and fly approaching Day.

See thro' the Gloom the fiery Splendor fall;
Glares the red Lens around the dusky Wall;
'Tis thus the sanguine Ray of Cynthia streams,
When magic Spells obstruct her lab'ring Beams,
And shiv'ring Ghosts from Earth's reluctant Womb
Forc'd by Thessalian Charms glide round the gaping Tomb.

Of various Forms an incoherent Train
Fills the bright Orb, and crowds the pictur'd Plain;
Here with rude Pomp the Satire Shapes advance,
Frisk with their Tails, and lead the sylvan Dance;
A dread Grimace does ev'ry Look defile,
And each grins horribly a ghastly Smile;
No more my Eyes the uncouth Scene pursue,
A lovelier Prospect rises to my View;
Here sceptred Monarchs glare in bright Array,
There blooming Maids in beauteous Lustre play.

Next these the Knight who lends vindictive Aid;
What Shape more worthy to succeed the Maid?
In hostile Mood the warrior Wights appear,
Fierce at the Dragon flies the conqu'ring Spear;

In vain he stands uprear'd in waving Spires,
In vain his Tongue emits envenom'd Fires,
See where his flaming Crest is doom'd to feel
An Arm victorious and resistless Steel.
Blest Champion! but how soon the Conquest flies,
How soon the transient Pomp eludes our Eyes!
To the thin Air the fading Warriors yield,
And glide reluctant from the painted Field.

Far hence ye Forms of War—see Bacchus shine,
His rosy Cheeks proclaim the God of Wine,
And round his Head the purple Clusters twine.
How soon the airy Shade our Hopes destroys!
So fleets the golden Dream of human Joys.

Next Grins a Form of pallid Horror-full,
Emblem of dreary Death a lifeless Scull,

The naked Cheeks no graceful Beauties wear,
The barren Scalp's despoil'd of waving Hair;
A tott'ring Tooth the fractur'd Jaws between
Hangs dismally alone; no Eyes are seen,
But all's a dark Vacuity within.

Soon from our Sight Death's frightful image Flies,
Whose place a Shape more terrible Supplies;
Slow thro' the Darkness stalks a baleful Spright,
No drearier Phantom of illfated Night
Haunts the sad Slumbers of some lonely Dame,
That nods delirious o'er th'expiring Flame;
When dimly blew the conscious Lamps appear,
And clank of Chains proclaims the Spectre near
Down from its Head the mournful Shroud depends,
Beneath its Feet the plaited Garment ends,

The ghastly Face a dismal Paleness wears,
The trembling Hand a livid Taper bears.
Far off advis'd ye tim'rous Virgins fly,
Far from the dreadful Scene avert your Eye,
In soft Repose the horrid Ghost will seem
To haunt your Slumbers, and revive in Dream;
Suffus'd with trickling Sweat you'll strive in vain
With circling Arms some friendly Youth to gain,
Bewail your lonely Bed with wild Affright,
And dread the lengthen'd Horrors of the Night.

Such are the Forms the crowded Prospect shows,
But if too far the long Reflection glows,
Round the bright Orb a dim Confusion plays,
And a wild Mass of undistinguish'd Rays.
So tinctur'd Canvas rude in ev'ry Part,
Shows the first Traces of the Pencil's Art;

Scarce can our Eyes discern the dubious Plan,
And gain some faint Resemblance of a Man.

Now let the Splendor of returning Light
Strike thro' the artificial Shades of Night;
Lo the strong Flame the airy Phantoms shun,
Fade in the Blaze, and die before the Sun.
Thus when the Limbs recline in soft Repose,
With various Forms the wakeful Fancy glows,
Men, Beasts and Birds, an unconnected Train
Compose the motly Vision of the Brain;
Here in long order Fun'ral Torches gleam,
There royal Triumphs gild the pompous Dream.
When lo the purple Blush of Morning Light
From th'op'ning Eye dispels the Shades of Night,
The brighten'd Scenes their usual Aspect wear,
And the false Dream dissolves in shapeless Air.

TO A LADY

Upon seeing her Picture.

What Hand Creation's Pow'r invades,
And tries its rival Skill
To arm with Flames th'enliven'd Shades,
And teach ev'n Paint to kill?

Recorded by the Pencil's Art
Thy imag'd Beauty shines,
And mimic Life thro' ev'ry Part
Informs the semblant Lines.

But tho' the lovely Phantom glow,
And charm in Life's Disguise,
Tho' the Breast emulate the Snow,
And Lightning arm the Eyes;

Yet, fair one, thy superior Flames
No Art can fully trace,
In vain the Idol Picture aims
To reach thy Goddess Face.

Wouldst thou in lasting Charms excell
When these no more shall glow,
And bid transplanted Beauties tell
What Grace adorns thee now;

Submit to Cupid's genial Law,
With Hymen's Rites agree,
Love only can those Graces draw
That bloom so bright in thee.

Then mayst thou view in comely Prime
The Daughter Beauty shine,
And her fair Face to future Time
Record the Charms of Thine.

THE PLEASURES OF ANGLING.

Translated from the Musæ Anglicanæ.

The Man too great a Blessing gains,
Whose Hand the trembling Reed sustains,
Deluding with his artful Hook
The Fish recoiling to the Brook.

No Care his easy Hours annoys
Nor breaks the Series of his Joys;
He shuns the Courtier's slippery Fame,
Nor flies at Honour's empty Game.
He envies not the Miser's Gain,
That's got by Care, and kept with Pain.
He feels no anxious Client's Fate,
Nor duns the lingring Lawyer's Gate.
No Storms at Sea perplex his Mind,
He bargains with no flattering Wind.
Calm by a purling Stream from far
He flies the hoarse Alarm of War.
His angling Sports suspend his Care,
He finds a grateful Silence there,
When Jars distract th'uneasy Dome,
And all is Noise and Strife at home.

Soon as the Morn her Bed forsakes,
He with the Morning Vigil wakes,
With chearful Draughts his Soul he warms,
Then round him girds his various Arms;
And with a Mind whose Heav'n outvies
The Prospect of serenest Skies,
Calm o'er the Fields he bends his Way,
Insidious to the watry Prey,
Where Thames with tuneful Murmurs glides,
Or Trent descends in foaming Tides.
Around the matin Birds he hears,
And Sylvan Music glads his Ears.
The genial Sweets, which Morning show'rs.
Draw from the fragrant Bloom of Flow'rs,
Impearl'd in balmy Dews exhale,
And round him breathe th'odorous Gale,

While pleas'd he treads the furrow'd Plains,
And meditates Iambic Strains.

The Fields a grateful Scene display,
And sweetly cheat the tedious Way;
Here Vales subside, and Mountains tow'r,
There Rocks with frowning Prospect low'r,
Here Rivers, Woods, and Flocks are seen,
That browze the vegetable Green.
To the known Pail from ev'ry Grove
The lowing Heifers gladly rove,
Swell'd with ambrosial Milk they stand,
And duteous bear the stroaking Hand,
That draws the Stream with gentle Art,
And acts the filial Heifer's Part.
Hard by the infant Lambkins bleat,
And while they suck the parent Teat,

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Their Heads prelude with harmless Rage
The Battels of maturer Age.

Now o'er the watry Verge he bends,
And first th'unrav'ling Line suspends,
Next he anoints the baited Hook,
And sinks it in the crystal Brook.
The Powers of ev'ry Worm he tries,
And all the colour'd Race of Flies,
And all the various Forms of Paste,
That charm the Eye, or please the Taste,
And ev'ry Bait that Art can wish
To feed the Luxury of Fish.

Thus glide the chearful Hours of Light,
Thus rise the Ev'ning Shades of Night,

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He with his Thoughts Discourse can find,
With Thoughts the Actions of the Mind;
And now the arguing Sage disputes,
And now his own Surmise confutes,
Still, as the Train of Thoughts succeed,
Intent he eyes the bending Reed,
Whose dancing Corks the Victim show
That nibbles at the Bait below.

But if by Fortune's gentle Care,
He finds a lov'd Companion there,
They to the peopled Wave resort,
And pleas'd pursue th'alternate Sport,
While various Scenes their Wonder raise,
And Worlds inspire their Author's Praise.
With harmless Song they chear the Dale,
Or blend with Mirth some useful Tale,

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No Traitors here on Mischief plod,
No Atheist here blasphemes his God,
Nor speak They to a Fish's Ear
But what all-conscious Heav'n might hear.

When Phœbus glows with sultry Beams,
And Sweat distils in trickling Streams,
Or Jove descends in Storms of Rain,
Fast bubbling o'er the watry Plain,
When rising from his oozy Cave
Glides the swift Eel along the Wave,
Some lofty Tree's embow'ring Glade
Around them spreads a friendly Shade;
Safe they recline beneath the Wood,
The Rod still trembles o'er the Flood,
And loaded oft with scaly Spoils
With Gain rewards the pleasing Toils.

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Then, when the rising Shades of Night
Gloom o'er the fainting Rays of Light,
Homeward the weary Angler speeds,
And on his Prey luxuriant feeds,
Then sunk in balmy Sleep he lies,
And Nature seals his slumbring Eyes

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THE SHIPMAN's TALE

FROM CHAUCER.

There liv'd in France, as ancient Stories tell,
A wealthy Merchant skill'd in trading well;
Wise he was deem'd by all whose Maxims hold
That he's no Ideot who abounds in Gold.

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This thriving Merchant had an airy Bride,
Who dearly lov'd th'expensive Arts of Pride,
She'd frisk abroad to Company and Play,
Would dance all Night, and frolick all the Day.
But sharp's the End of ev'ry vain Desire,
And rampant Wives will frugal Husbands tire,
Their Pleasures fly like Shadows on a Wall,
And woe to him whose Purse must pay for all.
Yet tho' the Husband of a well drest Wife
Finds her a costly Article of Life,
'Tis for his Credit, we must still confess,
His Wife should wear a fashionable Dress,
Should make her Visits in a modish Gown,
And dance like other Ladies of the Town:
For if the stingy Niggard grudge the Cost,
And thinks it all extravagantly lost,

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A Friend may chance her private Debts to pay,
And that for certain is a dang'rous Way.

This Merchant's House was stor'd with dainty Fare,
And ev'ry Table smil'd with Plenty there,
From Day to Day his Guests unnumber'd came,
Rich was the Treat, and beauteous was my Dame.
That Men with buxom Wives should thus regale
Is wondrous odd—but I'll pursue my Tale.

Among his Friends a Monk would oft appear,
Fresh in the Vigour of his thirtieth Year;
The Man was form'd with ev'ry comely Grace,
And had a brisk Assurance in his Face,
His first Acquaintance was in early Days,
And lasted downward from their youthful Plays,

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'Twas hence he took the Boldness to attend,
And practis'd all the Freedoms of a Friend;
And since from out one native Town they came,
He claim'd a Kindred with the Merchant's Name;
Who proudly own'd it with a hearty Smile,
And sent him Greeting in the kindred Stile;
Thus both were eas'd of ev'ry formal Strife,
And leagu'd in Union to be Friends for Life,

Free was Sir John, and by his bounteous Care
Soon gain'd the Love of ev'ry Servant there,
The humblest Page in all the menial Band
Shar'd the kind Favours of his gen'rous Hand;
The House was all in Raptures when he came,
Bows from my Cousin, Courtsies from my Dame,
And ev'ry one with glad Surprize would run,
Pleas'd as a Bird to view the rising Sun.

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It chanc'd the Merchant once a Journey made,
When Bruges held an annual Mart of Trade,
But first he sent Sir John a friendly Call,
To take a Day's Diversion at his Hall;
And with himself, his Kindred, and his Wife,
To spend in Mirth a jovial Hour of Life;
Sir John receiv'd it with a secret Pride,
And soon obtain'd the Abbot's Leave to ride,
For 'twas his Office thro' the Grounds to range,
To view the Barns, the Pastures, and the Grange,
He was the most commodious Steward there,
And all was manag'd by his prudent Care.

Forth rode Sir John with Presents half a Dozen,
And who so welcome as my Lady's Cousin?

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He brought a Tub of Vernage for the Dame,
And two long Days they had a jovial Game;
Their Tide of Pleasures flow'd the usual Way,
And all Day long 'twas Gluttony and Play.

But worldly Cares the dearest Friends will part,
And Business call'd our Tradesman to the Mart,
He rose betimes his Ledger Rolls to look,
And see how Matters stood in ev'ry Book;
With painful Thought he summ'd up each Arrear,
And ballanc'd all th'Expences of the Year,
What Debts were owing, and whose Bills were crost,
How vast his Gain above the premier Cost;
There all alone the long Account he made,
And canvass'd o'er the mystic Craft of Trade.

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Sir John too started from his soft Repose,
And waking early with the Morning rose,
And as he walk'd among the Garden Trees
To take the Freshness of the genial Breeze,
Right up the Walk advanc'd his Cousin's Bride,
Her infant Daughter waddling by her Side,
Nor was she of the prating Girl afraid,
For she was yet a little harmless Maid.

Good morrow, Cousin, said the courteous Dame,
But why so early? You are sure to blame.
My Niece, said he, five Hours in ev'ry Night
Is Sleep enough for any single Wight,
For Men, whose Passions never aim to wed
With Ease are prompted to forsake their Bed,

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'Tis your old married Drones who slumber there,
And snore as soundly as a hunted Hare.
But what's the Matter that you look so pale?
Come, speak the Cause, and let me hear your Tale.
For by this early Vigil that you keep,
I guess some Frolick has disturb'd your Sleep;
Then in his Face his Passions briskly wrought,
And shew'd his Mind was tickled with the Thought.

Ah! Dear Sir John, my loving Coz. said she,
And shook her Head, 'tis not so gay with me,
For I declare by him who gave me Life,
There's not in France a more abstemious Wife,
I've Cause enough to rue my native Morn,
And curse the Hour that ever I was born,
But with these Topics I must not be free,
Nor dare I tell how Matters stand with me,

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Beneath my Troubles I shall surely bend,
And bring myself to some untimely End,
I every Day some new Affliction share,
And my poor Heart is fit to burst with Care.

Sir John beheld her with a deep Surprize,
And thus return'd—Let me for once advise,
Oh! Heav'n forbid that such a lovely Wife
For worldly Crosses should destroy her Life.
Come then, my Niece, unbosom all your Grief,
'Tis ten to one but I may bring Relief;
And if my Aid your precious Life can save,
I swear devoutly I'm your trusty Slave,
And you may safely on my Oath depend
I'll ne'er betray the Secrets of my Friend.

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The same to you, said she, I truly swear,
Tho' Men should all my Limbs in pieces tear,
Tho' I were certain to be rackt in Hell,
I'll ne'er disclose one Tittle that you tell.
Nor Friends nor Kindred shall with all their Art,
E'er wrest the darling Secret from my Heart.
When both the Parties thus had sworn the same,
They kist like Friends, and then began my Dame.

Were I where no officious Knave might hear,
And safe at Distance from a treach'rous Ear,
I'd tell a doleful Legend of my Life,
Fill'd with the Hardships of a suff'ring Wife,
For tho' my Husband from your Kindred shoot,
His rotten Branch defames your genial Root.

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By all our Saints, quoth he, his filthy Line
Was ne'er ally'd by kindred Blood to mine,
But I with Craft usurp'd the specious Name,
The more to visit you, my lovely Dame,
For whom full oft I feel a tingling Smart,
And whose sweet Face is pictur'd in my Heart:
Then now, my Love, dismiss your anxious Fear,
And let me all the sad Narration hear,
Unfold your Grievance, ere his frightful Face
Imperious comes, and drives you from the Place.
Ah! Dear Sir John, reply'd the conscious Dame,
Fain would I hide a Husband's secret Shame,
My Heart should cover what my Lips unfold,
But ah! 'twill burst, nor can I longer Hold.

My wicked Husband is the vilest Man
That e'er vex'd Woman since the World began,

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And tho', it may be, she's a naughty Wife,
Who tells the Secrets of her private Life,
A Wife, they say, should be a prudent Dame,
And hugely careful of her Husband's Fame;
Yet I of Husbands this Experience have,
That mine's a worthless, mean, penurious Knave.
You know we Women six Delights pursue,
And 'tis our Nature to demand our Due,
A Man that's bold, rich, airy, wise and free,
A Man that's buxom, is the Spouse for me.
Now I must pay a hundred Franks in Town,
The Purchase of a rich embroider'd Gown,
That for his Credit I with decent Pride
May dress next Sunday like a Merchant's Bride,
But if I don't wipe off this large Arrear,
The least Neglect will cost me wondrous dear;

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And I'd chuse rather to be still unborn
Than stand expos'd to any Tradesman's Scorn;
But if my Husband should this Secret gain,
I'm lost for ever, and shall die with Pain.
Then, good Sir John, lend me a hundred Franks,
And I'll return them with a thousand Thanks,
I'll surely pay you with a speedy Care,
And grant you all the Favours that I dare,
For if I fail you on th'appointed Time,
May Heav'n in Anger then pursue the Crime,
And Fate confound me with a dire Mischance
As great as e'er was Genilon's of France.
Sir John was tickled with a secret Flame,
And thus return'd his Answer to the Dame:
By all that's sacred I devoutly swear
That I for you a vast Affection bear,

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And now with Joy embrace the friendly Part
To ease the Cares that vex your anxious Heart;
For when your Husband is to Flanders gone,
Depend upon't, your Business shall be done;
Be sure that you our mutual Oath uphold,
And take this Kiss in Earnest of my Gold;
Go, order Dinner to be ready soon,
For by my Dial 'tis the Hour of Noon.

Away she scamper'd with a smiling Look,
And issu'd forth her Orders to the Cook,
Then quick she mounted to the Chamber Floor,
And knock'd full boldly at the Counter Door.
Qui lá? quoth he: 'Tis I am here, my Love,
What mean you thus to sit and starve above?
Lord! when will all this long Account be made?
The Duce confound these tedious Folks of Trade;

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Thy Wealth has prosper'd to a large Degree,
And Mammon is a bounteous God to thee.
Then let thy Bags in Peace a while remain,
And plod no longer on these Works of Gain.
For is it not a most unfriendly Crime
That poor Sir John goes fasting all this Time?
'Tis highly shameful he should starve and pine,
Then prithee come, let's go to Mass, and dine.

Dame, quoth the Merchant, thou'rt a simple Wife,
And unexperienc'd in a Tradesman's Life,
Nor dost thou know what dang'rous Slips are made,
What mighty Hazards are sustain'd in Trade,
For by the Shrine of our ador'd Saint Ive,
Scarce ten in twenty make a shift to thrive,
A Tradesman has a Warfare here below,
And he must ever make a thriving Show,

119

Must bear the Outside of a wealthy Man,
And drive the World before him as he can;
Be sure with Caution his Affairs to hide,
'Till Death approach, or 'till he steps aside.
For thus 'tis needful in this worldly Strife
To sail with Credit down the Stream of Life,
A small Experience will in Time persuade
That full of Dangers is the Chance of Trade.

You know to Morrow at the Dawn of Day
That I to Bruges must pursue my Way,
But I'll dispatch me with a speedy Care,
Nor do I mean to play the Rover there.
Now I beseech thee to regard thy Life,
And show the Prudence of a frugal Wife,
Thou hast enough in Conscience for thy Store,
Nor can a thrifty Huswife ask for more;

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Thy Stock of Victuals will the House uphold,
Thy Clothes are new, thy Purse is lin'd with Gold;
A Wife like thee can never say she's poor:
And at the Word he lock'd his Counter Door,
Then down he came, a Mass was quickly said,
And all in haste the Table-cloth was laid,
The Board was fill'd with ev'ry dainty Thing,
And gay Sir John was feasted like a King.

When Grace was said, Sir John with silent Fear
Thought on the Promise that he ow'd his Dear;
Then took the Merchant to a private Place,
And thus bespoke him with an earnest Face,
I see, dear Cousin, Things are order'd so
That you to Bruges are resolv'd to go,
May Heav'n attend you with a signal Care,
And good Saint Austin be your Guardian there,

121

But O my Friend, be thoughtful how you ride,
Go wisely on, and Temp'rance be your Guide,
And if there's any Thing by Day, by Night,
And if 'tis in my Pow'r or in my Might,
Declare with Freedom what your Soul would have,
And you at Pleasure may command your Slave.

But ere you go, this one Request attend,
And grant a fond Petition of your Friend,
I beg you'd lend me for a distant Day
A hundred Franks, which I'm oblig'd to pay,
For certain Beasts a Field of ours to store:
I wish with all my Heart 'twas yours, and more.
But guard it close from any conscious Sight,
And let your Hand be secret as the Night;
So shall my Heart this friendly Act revere,
And all the Favours I've experienc'd here.

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Coz., quoth the Merchant, 'tis a small Request,
My Purse is open at my Friend's Behest;
Nay all my Stores I gladly would unfold,
And you as freely may command my Gold.
But this your just Experience must allow
That ready Rhino is the Trader's Plough,
For tho' with Credit we a while may borrow,
And none who lends to Day, will ask to Morrow,
Yet to be plain, I cannot think 'tis clever
To let a courteous Tradesman stay for ever;
But, dear Sir John, your own Convenience use,
The Time's most proper that my Friend shall chuse.

With that he told him out a hundred Franks,
He cring'd obsequious, and return'd his Thanks,

123

Nor did a Soul this private Business hear,
But all was close from ev'ry Eye and Ear.
Then in they came to drink, and chat, and play,
And laugh'd and revell'd in the usual Way;
Thus past the Evening, till returning home
Forth rode Sir John, and reach'd the Abbey Dome.

When Morning rose, the Merchant crost his Steed,
And pac'd to Bruges with an earnest Speed;
In all his Acts he shew'd a worldly Care,
And bargain'd cheap for ev'ry Dealer's Ware;
Nor revell'd he in any Lady's Vice,
Nor gam'd with Bullies at the Box and Dice,
Nor broke th'Allegiance that he ow'd his Wife,
But wisely led an honest Tradesman's Life,

124

A few Days after gay Sir John appear'd,
Fresh was his Look, and newly shav'd his Beard;
The House receiv'd him with their usual Grace,
And all were pleas'd to see his gen'rous Face.
But now to lead ye with a brisker Gale,
And touch the sov'reign Crisis of my Tale,
'Twas order'd so, that by a crafty Game
This golden Sum was paid the Merchant's Dame,
Sir John regal'd it with this lovely Wife,
And both my Cousins led a buxom Life,
'Till he in Prudence saw his Hour to start,
And so took Leave as usual to depart,
For all was manag'd with a dext'rous Care,
Nor was Sir John at all suspected there:
Thence we'll behold him on his Journey home,
Or leave him where his Fancy pleas'd to rome.

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But now from Fair the punctual Merchant came,
And gallop'd home to banquet with his Dame;
Full much he chatted o'er their plenteous Cheer,
The Mart was bad, and Things so wondrous dear,
That he in a Recognizance was bound,
And had engag'd to pay a thousand Pound,
And now to Paris must he bend his Care,
To sue for Aid his rich Acquaintance there.

To Paris then this thrifty Merchant rode,
And shap'd his Progress to Sir John's Abode,
Yet not to him of craving Wants begun,
Nor feign'd a Visit to disguise a Dun;
But made his Entrance in a gen'rous Way,
Like old Acquaintance to regale and play.

126

Sir John with Rapture view'd his friendly Guest,
And soon prepar'd him a luxurious Feast;
The Merchant prattled with a chearful Air,
And told him all his Business at the Fair;
But talk of Money stung Sir John with Pain,
And thus he answer'd in a flatt'ring Strain.
I'm glad, dear Cousin, you're return'd in Health,
And were I blest with any Hoard of Wealth,
Did my lean Purse in worldly Pelf abound,
I'd freely aid you with a thousand Pound.
The Gold you lent me, I repay'd your Dame,
And she by certain Tokens knows the same.
But I must now important Calls attend,
And urgent Business tears me from my Friend;
Adieu! may Fortune crown your prosp'rous Life,
Adieu! and greet me to your beauteous Wife.

127

The Merchant soon dispatch'd his grand Affair,
And hasted homeward with a joyful Air,
Flush'd with Success he found in ev'ry Part
That a full Purse procures the lightest Heart,
For Tradesman like he gilded all his Pain,
And knew the Cost was nothing to the Gain.

To meet her Spouse advanc'd his lovely Dame,
As 'twas her duteous Custom when he came.
In Scenes of Mirth they spent the welcome Day,
And revell'd in Extravagance of Play;
For he was quite a Stranger to the Spleen,
The Smiles of Fortune in his Looks were seen,
He shar'd no pining Debtor's baleful Curse,
Nor felt the Plagues that haunt an empty Purse;

128

So when they'd box'd about the jovial Cause,
And weary Mirth at last requir'd a Pause,
The Merchant thus bespoke his am'rous Dame,
And seem'd to kindle with an angry Flame.

I thought you'd been a more ingenuous Wife
Than thus to raise me such a hateful Strife,
To make my Cousin's friendly Love decline,
And set his Heart at Variance so with mine.
For sure you ought in Prudence to have told,
That he to you had first return'd my Gold.
I guess that he some dark Resentment took,
And view'd Disturbance in his cloudy Look.
Then tell me, Dear, if any one there be
Who in my Absence pays his Debts to thee,
Lest I perhaps assert a dang'rous Claim,
And wrong my Friend by some injurious Aim.

129

She heard with Anger, and began to rave,
I tell thee, Dear, Sir John's a scoundrel Knave,
For by th'immortal Pow'rs I thought that he
Had made a Present of this Gold to me,
And by a gen'rous Gratitude exprest
The just Requital of a welcome Guest.
But if my Spouse this small Demand pursues,
And claims from me the Payment of his Dues,
Come, take the Tribute of my youthful Charms,
And cancel all those Payments in my Arms,
For hear me now the serious Truth unfold;
That on my Habit I've bestow'd your Gold.
Believe me, Dearest, I regard your Fame,
And fain would dress me like a Merchant's Dame
My blooming Joys shall all these Debts remove,
And I'll be never in Arrears of Love,

130

My Arms shall meet thee with a pleasing Chear,
Come, turn thee hither, and forgive thy Dear.

The Merchant found it was in vain to chide,
And feigning Kindness thus bespoke his Bride,
Since what is past we never can recall,
I wave the Payment, and forgive thee all;
But prithee Wife, these costly Airs with-hold,
And be no more so lavish of my Gold.
Thus ends my Tale; may Fortune crown our Lives
With Wealth enough for us, and something for our Wives.

Verona Wine

131

THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ILIAD.

Translated into ENGLISH.

The ARGUMENT.

The Duel of Menelaus and Paris.

The Armies being ready to engage, a single Combat is agreed upon between Menelaus and Paris (by the Intervention of Hector) for the Determination of the War. Iris is to call Helena to behold the

132

Fight, she leads her to the Walls of Troy, where Priam sate with his Counsellors observing the Græcian Leaders on the Plain below, to whom Helen gives an Account of the Chief of them. The Kings on either Part take the solemn Oath for the Conditions of the Combat. The Duel ensues, wherein Paris being overcome is snatched away in a Cloud by Venus, and transported to his Apartment. She then calls Helen from the Walls, and brings the Lovers together. Agamemnon on the Part of the Græcians, demands the Restoration of Helen, and the Performance of the Articles.

The three and twentieth Day still continues throughout this Book. The Scene is sometimes in the Fields before Troy, and sometimes in Troy itself.

When thus in Arms appear'd each warrior Host,
Rank'd with their Chiefs along th'embattled Coast;
Forth rush'd the Trojans with confus'd Alarms,
Press'd to the Field, and clash'd the Din of Arms,
So the shrill Cranes from wintry Regions fly,
Sound o'er the Main, and shake the echoing Sky,

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To pigmy Foes they steer their deadly Flight,
Fierce on their Wings descends th'aerial Fight;
But silent, firm, with mutual Valour strong,
All breathing Wrath the Greeks advanc'd along.
And as a mountain Mist glides o'er the Plains,
Friend to the Thieves, but fatal to the Swains,
When hazy Skies the distant View confound,
So the thick Cloud rose darkning from the Ground,
While to the Fight amidst the dusty Lands
Swift and impetuous drove the num'rous Bands.

When Foe to Foe the fierce Battalions stood
Forth issu'd Paris to the Field of Blood;
Plac'd in the Front before his Trojan Van
Fair as a God advanc'd the beauteous Man.
A Panther's Hide wav'd o'er his Arms, below
Gleam'd his bright Sword, and hung beside the Bow;

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He shook two brazen Spears with proud Disdain,
And dar'd the bravest Greek that crown'd the Plain.
Him when Atrides soon discern'd from far
Stalk with Defiance in the Front of War,
As the grim Lion with a fierce Delight
Views the fat Stag, and rouses at the Sight,
The captive Prize his hungry Jaws devour,
And Dogs and Men in vain oppose his Pow'r;
Thus Atreus' Son exults with furious Joy,
And quells in vengeful Thought the pride of Troy;
Arm'd from his Chariot with a clatt'ring Sound
Sprung the fierce Chief impetuous to the Ground,
Soon as the Warrior in his Front appear'd,
The conscious Ravisher beheld and fear'd,
Back he retir'd, and with disgraceful Flight
Screen'd by his Ranks declin'd the deadly Fight;

135

As when a Traveller in the Mountain Brake
Views with a dread Surprize th'envenom'd Snake,
The Wretch with quick Recoil and trembling Pace
Starts shuddring back, and Fear appals his Face,
Struck with like Dread the Trojan Chief withdrew
Back to his Troops, and shun'd Atrides' View.

But Hector kindling at th'inglorious Sight
With brave Reproach upbraids his tim'rous Flight,
Unhappy Paris, whose deceitful Charms
Speak thee no Warrior but in Woman's Arms,
Oh! hadst thou never drawn this vital Breath,
Or sunk unmarried in th'Embrace of Death,
Rather than thus ill-fated to be born
Thy Country's Scandal, and the Grecians Scorn.
Gods! how they scoff to see their Fears mistook
Thy courtly Visage for a Champion's Look;

136

But tho' thy Face a gallant Air impart,
That fair Disguise conceals a Coward's Heart.
Was this thy Valour when thy pompous Oars
Thro' foreign Seas explor'd the Spartan Shores;
When thou and thy Allies with impious Swords
Stole the fair Bride of two heroic Lords,
And to thy Father's Bane, thy Country's Woe,
Shame to thy self, but Triumph to the Foe,
Thy Hand convey'd with a destructive Joy
That fatal Beauty to the Walls of Troy;
And now thou dar'st not in thy Fair's Defence
Meet the just Anger of her injur'd Prince,
Soon would he show thee in th'unequal Strife
Thy Arm's too weak to keep Atrides' Wife.
Nor shall thy courtly Form, thy graceful Air,
Thy silver Cittern, and thy curling Hair;

137

Those Gifts of Venus in that Day be found
Arm'd in thy Cause, when thou shalt press the Ground;
Had Troy dispens'd but Justice to her Foes,
The Grave on thee had well reveng'd her Woes.

To Hector thus the beauteous Chief confest,
Just is the Blame thy angry Voice exprest,
But where, brave Warrior, shall a Soul appear
Like thine impassive to the Shocks of Fear?
Strong as the Steel which nervous Artists wield
To fell those Trees that plow the watry Field,
Such is the Force thy vig'rous Heart bestows,
Such in thy Soul th'unwearied Valour glows.
But let not Hector's Might those Gifts disdain
Which golden Venus grants her fav'rite Swain,
Rare are the Gifts which Heav'n alone supplies,
No Wish commands these Favours of the Skies.

138

Yet wouldst thou have me to the Combat yield,
First seat the Greeks and Trojans o'er the Field,
I'll meet Atrides in each Army's Sight
For Helen's Charms and Helen's Dow'r to fight,
And he whom Conquest shall adorn with Fame,
His be the Dow'r, and his the beauteous Dame.
Thus Friends and Foes may cease their warlike Toil,
And you possess fair Ilium's fertile Soil,
While they to Greece restore their shining Arms,
Greece fam'd for Steeds, and blest with Beauty's Charms.

He spoke, and Hector with a valiant Joy
Grasp'd his mid Spear, and stay'd the Bands of Troy,
Then bold into the midst the Warrior goes,
Mark'd by the Eyes of all his num'rous Foes,

139

Thick fly the Stones, the whizzing Arrows glow,
Wing'd with fierce Aim from ev'ry Grecian Bow.

But thro' the Field thus cry'd the Imperial King,
Greece, stay thy Hand, nor draw the hostile String;
Great Hector's Motions would bespeak our Ear,
Known by his Plume and Signal of his Spear;
Th'offensive Arms the Greeks forbore to wield,
Aw'd by their King, and Silence still'd the Field.

Then in the midst to all the warrior Bands
Thus Hector spoke his Brother's bold Demands,
Ye Greeks and Trojans, hear the gen'rous Words
Which Paris sends, whose Quarrel draws your Swords.

140

Let Greece and Troy no more in Arms appear,
Wide o'er the Plain be fix'd the glitt'ring Spear,
He'll meet Atrides in each Army's Sight,
For Helen's Charms and Helen's Dow'r to fight;
And he whom Conquest shall adorn with Fame,
His be the Dow'r and his the beauteous Dame,
Thus lasting Leagues shall heal our hostile Jars,
And mutual Peace compose th'alternate Wars.

He spoke, but all kept Silence at the Word,
'Till bold in Arms up rose fair Helen's Lord,
Hear me too, Warriors, for I grieve to see
The Wounds you've felt for Paris and for me;
But tho' we made these gallant Armies Foes,
This Hand, I trust, shall now dismiss your Woes,
Fall he alone on whom Destruction low'rs,
But you in Peace shall league your friendly Pow'rs.

141

Be then, O Troy, the solemn Rites begun,
Two Lambs prepare ye for the Earth and Sun,
This God a White, and that a Black demands,
The third is Jove's from our majestic Hands.
Pledg'd for his Son's let Ilium's hoary King
Seal the strong League, and all his Sanctions bring;
His Sons no faith can fix, no Oaths can bind,
For Youth is rash, and wav'ring as the Wind,
Age by what's past what may be future sees,
And deep Experience forms its wise Decrees.

All heard and all approv'd him with Delight,
Rais'd with big Hopes to end the Toils of Fight,
Then quick descending from the lofty Car
Fix'd their bold Steeds beyond the Files of War;
Next from their Limbs the cumbrous Mail unbound,
And plac'd their glitt'ring Arms along the Ground;

142

Join'd on all Sides appear'd the warrior Race,
Each by his Arms, and clos'd the crowded Space.
Then march'd great Hector's Delegates to bring
Troy's ritual Victims, and the rev'rend King;
Talthybius hasten'd to the naval Strand,
Obsequious Herald of his Lord's Command,
To bring the Lamb the peaceful Rites require,
Doom'd by the Greeks to Heav'n's immortal Sire.

Mean while to Helen wing'd Thaumantias came,
In Form she seem'd Antenor's kindred Dame
Laodice; 'twas thus the Goddess stood,
The fairest Nymph of Priam's princely Blood.
She at her Loom the beauteous Artist found,
The Trojan Wars emblaz'd the Texture round,
Wide o'er the Web full many a Hero's Doom,
Slain in her Cause was imag'd in her Loom.

143

When thus advancing to the Royal Fair
Spoke the swift Maid who gilds the show'ry Air.

Approach, O fairest of thy Sex's Charms,
And see what Wonders grace the Field of Arms,
No Warrior fierce in bloody Fights t'engage,
Pants for the Foe or burns with martial Rage;
Prop'd on their Shields the silent Host appears,
Ceas'd are the Wars, and fix'd the brazen Spears.
Thy Spartan Lord and Paris only stay
Arm'd in thy Cause to end the bloody Day,
For thee their Spears the warlike Rivals wield,
Thee the fair Bride of him who wins the Field.

The Goddess spoke, and in the beauteous Dame
Wak'd the soft Image of her former Flame,

144

Her Parents, Friends, and Country left behind
Glow'd in the Wishes of her anxious Mind;
She veil'd her Face, and rose with awful Fear,
Soft as she went distill'd the conscious Tear.
Behind were Clymene and Æthra seen,
Two fair Attendants of the lovely Queen;
Silent they mov'd towards the Scæan Gate,
Where round the King the Guardians of the State
Old Panthus, Clytius, and Thymœtes sate:
Lampus and Hicetaon, Sons of Mars,
Once brave in Arms, but now disus'd to Wars,
Antenor and Ucalegon renown'd
For sage Advice the grave Assembly crown'd;
That now no more in fighting Fields appears,
Now frail with Age, and talkative in Years,
Full weak their Voice, in such a feeble Strain
The Grashoppers chirp tuneful o'er the Plain.

145

Th'approaching Beauty charm'd them to her Cause,
Wondring they gaz'd, and whisper'd their Applause,
Who now, they cry'd, this long, long War can blame?
Who would not fight for such a glorious Dame?
Bright as a Goddess an immortal Grace
Blooms in the Beauties of her heav'nly Face,
Yet take her hence, nor let that Face destroy
Fair as it is the future Hopes of Troy.

Thus all in Secret their Applauses spoke,
When rev'rend Priam first the Silence broke,
Approach, fair Helen, fix thy Seat by mine,
See from the Walls the Spouse who once was thine,
Thy Friends and Kindred of the Spartan Line;
Not thou, but Heav'n inspir'd these Grecian Foes
Heav'n the sole Cause of all my fatal Woes.

146

But say what Greek is he who crowns the Field,
To whose bold Air the tallest Warriors yield,
Say from what Monarch did that Hero spring,
His Royal Gesture speaks that Greek a King.

Dread Sire, the fairest of her Sex replies,
Whose awful Presence bids my Fears arise,
Oh! had I dy'd, ere I by Flatt'ry won
Left my chaste Lord to wed thy fatal Son,
From both my Brothers, all my Friends to rove,
False to my Child, disloyal to my Love;
For this the conscious Anguish of my Shame
Flows into Tears, and wastes my feeble Frame.
But hear the Answer which my Sire demands,
Before your Eyes great Agamemnon stands,
The first who from the Line of Atreus springs,
The chief of Warriors, and the best of Kings,

147

My Brother too, if yet my foul Disgrace
Allow me Sister of that gen'rous Race.

She ended, and the King with Wonder rais'd
View'd his brave Foe, and thus admiring prais'd,
Propitious Fates on thee, Atrides, shone,
What Realms in Arms attend thy crowded Throne!
A warlike Pow'r once grac'd the Phrygian Lands,
Brave Otreus' Troops and Mygdon's num'rous Bands,
Encamp'd with theirs my Trojan Squadrons stood,
Rang'd on the Banks of Sangar's gulphy Flood,
'Twas when we met the Amazonian Dames,
Bold all as Men, and breathing equal Flames;
Yet these must all in Force and Numbers yield,
Match'd with thy Greeks who fill the spacious Field.

148

He said, and view'd the brave Ulysses round,
What's he, whose Arms lie prostrate on the Ground?
Large is his Bulk, his Breast is broader spread,
But wants the height of Agamemnon's Head;
He, like the Ram amidst his fleecy Train,
Runs thro' the Ranks, and orders all the Plain.

That Greek, reply'd the Progeny of Jove,
Speaks the fam'd Offspring of Laertes Love,
'Tis wise Ulysses, on her dreary Shore
Rough Ithaca th'experienc'd Warrior bore,
Rude is his Country, but the Hero's Name
Skill'd in deep Arts exalts his Country's Fame.

His Silence here the grave Antenor broke,
'Tis true, O Helen, what your Praises spoke,

149

Greece did Ulysses and thy Prince employ
Sent in thy Cause her Delegates to Troy;
Both in my House a friendly Freedom shar'd,
I knew their Statures, and their Parts compar'd.
Atrides standing bore a loftier State,
But with superior Awe Ulysses sate;
When both their Gifts of Elocution show'd,
Atrides' Words with just Expression flow'd,
Few, but yet close, and plain but never dull,
All was sententious, and succinctly Full.
But when his artful Prudence to disclose
Forth from his Seat Ulysses gravely rose,
He fix'd his stedfast Eyes upon the Ground,
Nor rear'd his Hand, nor wav'd his Sceptre round,
But like the Form of stupid Dulness stood,
Or Madness thoughtful in his sullen Mood;

150

Yet his Words follow'd, with a gentle Flow,
Soft, melting, copious as the wintry Snow,
Th'unrival'd Speech our just Applauses drew,
None judg'd Ulysses from a partial View.

The King then look'd on Ajax with Surprize,
What Greek is he who bears that monstrous Size?
High o'er the rest with Shoulders widely spread
Uprears the giant Chief his tow'ring Head.
'Tis warlike Ajax, said the beauteous Dame,
The valiant Bulwark of the Grecian Name.
The brave Idomeneus beyond him stands,
And seems a God amidst his Cretan Bands,
Our Seat did oft that Royal Guest detain,
When he from Crete to Sparta crost the Main.
Here could I name what other Greeks below
Rule the wide Field, for I the Warriors know:

151

But two brave Chiefs to my enquiring Sight
Rise not among th'imperial Sons of Fight,
Pollux, who most in strength of Arms exceeds,
And Castor, skill'd to reign the fiery Steeds;
My valiant Brothers by a mix'd Embrace,
From one fair Mother sprung our princely Race.
Perhaps the Chiefs from Sparta's lovely Plain
Spread not their Sails along the stormy Main,
Or now refuse disgraceful Arms to wield,
Forc'd by my Shame to fly th'inglorious Field.

Thus she, but they in Death's Embraces bound
Slept in the Tomb beneath their native Ground.
And now the Heralds with a conscious Joy
Brought thro' the Town the Sacrifice of Troy:
Two votive Lambs, a Goat's distended Skin,
Whose Bulk inclos'd the sacred Wine within;

152

Idæus brought an Urn of radiant Mold,
Join'd with the Cups whose Figures rose in Gold.
Skill'd in Address the obsequious Herald stood,
And thus bespoke the Sire of Trojan Blood.

Rise, Priam, rise, the Royal Warriors yield
To seal the League, and call thee to the Field,
In Helen's Cause two rival Chiefs appear,
Adventrous Paris dares Atrides' Spear;
And he whom Conquest shall adorn with Fame,
His be the Dow'r, and his the beauteous Dame.
Thus Friends and Foes may cease their warlike Toil,
And we possess fair Ilium's fertile Soil,
While they to Greece restore their shining Arms,
Greece fam'd for Steeds, and blest with Beauty's Charms.

153

Struck with Surprize these fatal Words to hear
The trembling Prince confest a Parent's Fear,
Then bad the Chiefs his Royal Coursers bring,
Sudden the Chiefs obey'd the rev'rend King.
Slow to the Seat the hoary Sire ascends,
And grave Antenor on his Prince attends.
Thro' Scæa's Gates th'imperial Car proceeds,
Thence to the Field they drove the gen'rous Steeds;
Then both descending took their silent Stands
Right in the midst between the hostile Bands.
With that the Warrior of Laertes' Line
Rose with the King; the Heralds mix'd the Wine,
Near to the Kings the sacred Heralds drew,
And o'er their Hands the pure Ablution threw.

154

Atrides then his glitt'ring Knife displaid,
That ever hung beside his warlike Blade,
Then o'er the Lambs the fatal Steel he spread,
And crop'd a Lock from ev'ry Victim's Head;
The Heralds seiz'd it with a rev'rend Care,
And gave each Leader his allotted Share;
Then stood Atrides, and with suppliant Cries
High rear'd his Hands, and thus invok'd the Skies.

O Jove supreme, to whose Almighty Will
Bend the high Heav'ns, and Ida's sacred Hill,
Thou glorious Sun with thy all-seeing Beams,
Thou Parent Earth, and all ye conscious Streams,
Ye gloomy Gods, who rule th'infernal Coast,
Rack guilty Souls, and scourge the perjur'd Ghost;
Hear and attest; if Paris' Arm prevails,
Greece on the Main shall hoist her flying Sails,

155

Safe from a Foe let his victorious Pow'r
Keep the rich Beauty, and enjoy her Dow'r,
If Heav'n with Conquest crowns Atrides' Sword,
To him be Helen and her Dow'r restor'd,
Let Ilium pay the Forfeit of her Crime,
Own'd in the Annals of succeeding Time!
But if the Sons of Troy the Fine detain,
When Paris once lies prostrate on the Plain,
Here will I still the Sword of Vengeance wield,
And see whose Conquest shall decide the Field.

Deep at the Word he struck the deadly Wound,
And laid the gasping Victims on the Ground,
The Chiefs did next the golden Urns incline,
From ev'ry Urn they pour'd the mingled Wine;
Then join'd their Pray'rs the hallow'd Rites to close,
And thus their solemn Imprecation rose.

156

Hear, Jove, and all ye Rulers of the Skies,
Who first shall dare to break these sacred Ties,
As on the Ground distills this purple Flood,
So may their Brains, and so their Children's Blood,
May all their Race like transient Shadows glide,
And all be curs'd with an adult'rous Bride!
Thus both the Hosts invok'd the Pow'rs above,
But mov'd in vain th'unwilling Ears of Jove.

Then Priam rose, and thus exprest his Fear,
Ye warlike Bands, my Heart's Intention hear;
Home will I go where Troy's imperial Pow'r
High to the Winds uprears its lofty Tow'r,
I love my Son, nor can my aged Sight
Brook the sad Prospect of this dang'rous Fight,
'Tis vain to guess which conquer'd Chief shall yield,
Jove only knows the Fortune of the Field.

157

High on his Car the slaughter'd Lambs he threw,
And with Antenor from the Plain withdrew.
Then Hector and Ulysses measur'd round
The Lists of Fight, and mark'd the fatal Ground;
Next in the Helmet threw, the dubious Chance,
Whose Arm should first emit the brazen Lance.
Then pray'd the Hosts, and thus with lifted Hands
Rose the joint Wish of all the warrior Bands;
O Jove supreme, to whose Almighty Will
Bend the high Heav'ns, and Ida's sacred Hill,
Who caus'd this War, let his unbody'd Ghost
Tread the dark Mansions of the infernal Coast,
Let mutual Peace this solemn League maintain,
And bind our Friendship with a lasting Chain.

158

Then warlike Hector, as he glanc'd a Look
Back on the Field, the brazen Helmet shook,
Forth leap'd his Brother's Lot; the Heroes round
Each in his Place sate num'rous o'er the Ground;
The fiery Steeds inclos'd the lifted Field,
Beside each Warrior gleam'd his various Shield.
With that the Lord of Helen's beauteous Charms
Round his fair Shoulders brac'd his dazling Arms,
First on his Legs, in martial Pomp dispos'd
Blaz'd the rich Greaves with Studs of Silver clos'd;
Fix'd on his Breast Lycaon's Corslet shone,
Down from his Shoulders wav'd a glitt'ring Zone,
There hung the Sword, of Brass the temper'd Blade,
With silver Nails the shining Hilt inlaid.

159

Next the fair Warrior from the dusty Field
Rear'd the vast Orb of his capacious Shield;
A burnish'd Helm gleam'd o'er his Head, behind
The Horse-hair Crest wav'd dreadful to the Wind,
And while his Hand a shining Jav'lin chose,
Arm'd at all Points the brave Atrides rose.

Thus arm'd and frowning with a fierce Disdain
March'd the two Chiefs amidst the fatal Plain;
A deep Suspence, as each advanc'd along,
Sate in the Eyes of all the gazing Throng.
Now Foe to Foe their brazen Jav'lins shook,
Lowr'd with Revenge, and glar'd an angry Look,
First beauteous Paris at Atrides flung,
Full on his Shield the furious Jav'lin rung,
But quick rebounding from its brazen Field,
Sprung blunted off nor pierc'd th'impassive Shield.

160

Then fierce Atrides stood prepar'd to throw,
But first from Jove implor'd a conqu'ring Blow,
O Jove, may this vindictive Arm succeed,
False to his Friend may Paris justly bleed;
Let gen'rous Friends an awful Fear engage,
And rise uninjur'd in a future Age!

Fierce at the Word elanc'd along the Field
Flew the sharp Spear against the Trojan's Shield,
Deep thro' his Orb the Spear impetuous came,
And fix'd within his Croslet's temper'd Frame;
Then glanc'd along, and pierc'd his Robe below,
Down he reclin'd, and shun'd the deadly Blow.
But Atreus' Son sprung furious to invade,
And swiftly drew the dreadful-gleaming Blade,
Then on his Crest impel'd a pondrous Stroke,
Crack'd the weak Steel, the Sword short shiv'ring broke.

161

Deep sigh'd Atrides, and with angry Cries,
Glanc'd a fierce Look against the partial Skies,
Pernicious Jove, from thee descends my Woe,
Thou shield'st from Vengeance this injurious Foe;
See the Sword shivers, and the faithless Dart
Errs from my Arm, nor wounds the Traytor's Heart.
He spoke, and soon the Warrior's Helm comprest,
Where the thick Horse-hair floated o'er his Crest,
Then drag'd him on with his victorious Hands
Prone o'er the Ground towards the Grecian Bands;
Fierce as he drag'd him on, the Spartan King
Round his clos'd Beaver strain'd th'embroider'd String:
Soon had he triumph'd o'er th'inglorious Chief,
But Beauty's Queen beheld her Fav'rite's Grief;
Swift to his Aid the Goddess mov'd along,
Swift from his Head she rent the cumbrous Thong.

162

An empty Helm deceiv'd Atrides' Hands,
The empty Helm amidst the Grecian Bands
Furious he threw, the wondring Greeks around
Uprear'd the glitt'ring Helmet from the Ground.
Then as the Chief advanc'd with Fury near,
Rush'd on his Foe, and aim'd the brazen Spear,
Fair Beauty's Queen a sudden Darkness spread,
And veil'd in ambient Clouds the Warrior's Head;
Then the kind Goddess with resistless Pow'r
Rapt the dear Champion to his nuptial Bow'r,
Round the gay Dome ambrosial Sweets of Love
Shed their rich Dews, and fill'd the proud Alcove.

Swift thro' the Dome the bright Celestial fled
To call fair Helen to the genial Bed,
High on the Tow'r the Spartan Beauty stood
Midst the fair Nymphs of Priam's princely Blood

163

A known Disguise officious Venus took,
And chang'd her Glories to a Matron's Look,
Whose skilful Hand, ere she from Sparta came,
Wove the rich Textures of the Royal Dame;
She pull'd her Robe, whose Fragrance fill'd the Air,
And thus the Pow'r of Love addrest the Fair.

Go, beauteous Nymph, thy eager Speed employ,
Thy Paris calls thee to the Dome of Joy;
There the gay Chief enrob'd with Beauty's Pride
Glows on his Bed, and waits his am'rous Bride;
Nor as a Warrior does the Prince appear
Rough from the Dangers of Atrides Spear,
Soon will thy Eyes the blooming Chief approve,
Drest for the Ball or thence retir'd to Love.

164

The Goddess spoke, and in the beauteous Dame
Wak'd his dear Form, and rais'd the am'rous Flame
Soon as she saw the Breast that moves Desire,
Her Neck, and Eyes that glanc'd Cœlestial Fire,
She knew the Queen of Beauty in Disguise,
And conscious thus exprest her dread Surprize.

False Pow'r of Love, to what imperial Dome
Still must I wander from my native home?
Must I to Phrygia or Mœonia tend,
If there thou deign'st to serve an am'rous Friend:
Since now thy Paris on the fatal Strand
Falls by the Valour of Atrides' Hand;
Since I must hence an odious Bride depart,
Com'st thou insidious to seduce my Heart?

165

Go, Venus, go, thy heav'nly Pow'r deny,
No more ascend the Mansions of the Sky,
With him the Solace of his Grief reside,
Wait as a Slave, protect him as a Bride;
For I'll no more defame my Royal Charms,
Nor meet th'Embrace of his inglorious Arms,
All Troy would scoff, and each opprobrious Dame
Raise in my Soul the copious Pangs of Shame.

To whom the Goddess with an angry Voice,
Urge not my Wrath, lest I renounce my Choice,
Should I incens'd my Guardian Pow'r remove,
Should once my Hate glow furious as my Love,
Soon will Revenge inspir'd by my Commands,
Rage in the Breasts of all the hostile Bands;
Thou to their Wrath shalt yield thy odious Breath,
And all thy Beauties shall be lost in Death.

166

At this the Nymph that sprung from Jove's Embrace
Mov'd silent on, and veil'd her conscious Face,
Then thro' the Crowd of Trojan Dames unseen
The Guardian Goddess led th'obsequious Queen.
Soon as they enter'd Priam's stately Rooms,
Her duteous Handmaids ply'd their curious Looms;
High to the Bow'r, where Paris lay reclin'd,
Uprose the fairest of the beauteous Kind;
Full in his View the Laughter-loving Dame
Plac'd the fair Offspring of Jove's heav'nly Flame;
She turn'd her Eyes aside with cold Disdain,
And thus reproach'd him in a scornful Strain.

Thou com'st inglorious from th'embattled Strand,
O hadst thou fall'n beneath Atrides' Hand,

167

Oft hast thou brag'd thy vig'rous Arm would show
Whose warlike Spear could strike the surest Blow,
Go, mighty Chief, resume thy brazen Shield,
Dare the fierce Rival to the hostile Field;
Yet warn'd by me no more in Arms appear,
Nor fall the Victim of his conqu'ring Spear.

Ah! beauteous Nymph, reply'd the anxious Chief,
Cease with Reproach to edge my fatal Grief;
To Atreus' Son Minerva lent her Aid,
Nor has he conquer'd but the warrior Maid;
This Hand may yet the prostrate Foe destroy,
For Heav'n has Gods that aid the Cause of Troy.
But now, my Fair, let angry Discord cease,
And Love compose our jarring Hearts to Peace;
Not thus I lov'd, when I from Sparta's Plain
Rapt thy dear Beauties o'er the stormy Main,

168

When first incircled with thy lovely Arms,
In Cranae's Isle I mingled with thy Charms;
Now o'er my Breast exalted Raptures move,
And my fierce Passion breathes a stronger Love.

Then to the Bed adorn'd with stately Pride,
Rose the glad Lover and his duteous Bride.
But fierce Atrides in the Field below
Rag'd like a Lion for his absent Foe,
Vain thro' the Ranks the angry Warrior flies,
Thro' all the Sons of Troy and Troy's Allies;
Nor those had sav'd the Coward's odious Breath,
For all abhorr'd him as the Shades of Death.
Then rose the King, and spoke his just Demands,
Ye Trojans, Dardans, and auxiliar Bands,

169

Victorious Fate has crown'd my Brother's Sword,
To him be Helen and her Dow'r restor'd;
Let Ilium pay the Forfeit of her Crime,
Own'd in the Annals of succeeding Time.
Thus did the King assert his Country's Cause,
And Greece in Shouts return'd him loud Applause.

Menelaus.

Ulysses.

Agamemnon.

Paris.

Venus.

Agamemnon.

170

IRREGULAR ODE

And it came to pass when the People heard the Sound of the Trumpet, and the People shouted with a great Shout; that the Wall fell down flat. On Joshua VI. 20.

I.

Jordan! what ail'd thy trembling Brook?
Big with Omnipotence no Rod
Wav'd by the unseen Arm of God
Thy wond'ring Channel strook.
Was Moses risen in the Son of Nun,
Efficient in the Ark his mystic Wand,

171

That liquid Heaps prærupt, should cease to run,
And own no less than an Almighty's Hand?
No—one than Moses greater far,
Ev'n Moses's I AM,
Henceforth of saving to be nam'd, conducts the War,
And faithful to his Name,
Bids Vict'ry lead the Way,
While Joshua's mighty Power the Winds and Seas obey.
Blest Flock! whose Shepherd the great King
Folds you beneath the Shadow of his Wing,
And while the hov'ring Presence wards your Harms,
One constant Miracle still consecrates your Arms.

II.

Whom then does Jericho deride
Fond of her Ramparts, and entrench'd in Pride?

172

Will she in Gates of Brass rejoice,
When fierce Jehovah's all-commanding Breath
Glows in the Trump's destructive Voice,
And lends to tuneful Sounds the Blast of Death.
Rous'd with a just Disdain,
And grasping in his Hand ten thousand Fates
He hurl'd his redden'd Vengeance o'er the Plain,
And curs'd in Anger the devoted Gates.
Now on the seventh Day's Morn,
Hark! how the fated Music of each feeble Horn
Like baleful Lightning thro' the frighted Bulwark flies,
The Wall at that triumphant Noise
Starts into Ruins—God was in the Voice.

173

III.

Hail Music! Sister of the Soul!
Pervading Cement of this beauteous Whole!
Pow'rful Effluence of the Mind Divine!
Shall I not say Omnipotence is thine?
Thee do the Heav'ns declare,
While pois'd in Chords and measur'd Sound
In his own Orbit ev'ry Sphere
Dances a glad Seraphic Round.
Thy sympathetic Balm
Saul's frantic Dæmon could serenely calm,
Charm Stones into a Wall,
And the same Art that builds, can make the Structure fall.

174

IV.

Ah! dreadful glorious Voice!
Lo! a blue Tempest of consuming Fire
Out from his flaming Nostrils flies,
And everlasting Mountains melt before his Ire.
See! Ocean starts, and shrinks beneath his Caves,
An awful Fear confounds the shuddering Waves.
Shield me, some Angel, from his kindling Wrath,
Thro' my stunn'd Limbs celestial Warmth dispense,
Soft Numbers round me breath,
And to its former Seat reduce my scatter'd Sense.

V.

'Tis thus th'Almighty speaks,
'Tis thus his Voice in Terror breaks,

175

When Sinai's Hill of Old the Law
Exprest in Smoke, and Peals of Thunder saw,
Did not his agonizing Sides in throws of Travail shake,
And at the stormy Presence quake?
Did not the harder Hearts of an unbending Crew
Soften, and tremble, and refuse the View?
Tho' Legislative Accents loud proclaim'd
The Tumult peaceful, and no Vengeance aim'd.
So with a tenfold Pomp of Terror rob'd
God shall unhinge the tuneful Joints of All,
The crumbling Mass of Earth unglob'd
Crush'd by th'Almighty Voice like Jericho shall fall.

176

ODE UPON LIGHT.

I.

All hail illustrious Parent of the Day,
Hail thou of Heav'n firstborn,
To glad Creation at her Dawn,
And gild the growing Harmony.
Source of Ages! Flow of Time!
By thee the Hours have fledg'd their Wing,
Æras start, and Seasons spring;

177

From thee they sprang, from thee they glide,
Light ever fleeting, ever gay,
Light their Spring, their Lamp and Guide,
To measure out their Line
And mark their destin'd way.
By thy nimble Speeding,
Wearied Wish exceeding,
Ray to Ray succeeding,
Well we trace
Thy furious Bound, thy eager Pace,
At that all-forming Summons to appear,
That spoke thee to exist and canton out the Year.

II.

Say to what friendly Aid we owe
Those Gleams that in the Mind's fair Mirror play,

178

From what rich Fountain flow
Those ripened Beams of intellectual Day;
By whose fair Pencil is each Image wrought
That teems to Birth, and glitters into Thought:
How Fancy ev'ry Shape puts on,
How kindling Sparks her Form compose,
And whence that ever shining Train
That Memory or Experience shows;
How constant Flames the Lamp of Reason fill
To light the Judgment and direct the Will.

III.

Yet where benighted Reason strays
In Faith's unnavigable Ocean lost,
There Heav'n a bounteous Light displays,
And steers the shatter'd Vessel to the Coast.

179

First in the hallow'd Lines
The glimm'ring Truth in mystic Notes we trace,
Till gather'd in a full Meridian Blaze
The swelling Prospect shines.
Thus mimic Colours on the Canvas laid
Bloom by Degrees in nice Distinction spread,
The Light displays itself, and animates the Shade.

IV.

Must Learning, Muse, bewail her fading Light?
Muse, dispel th'oblivious Night,
Lest what the Flood of Years has swept away,
Rust with Tarnish and Decay.
Muse, the fleeting Hours retrieve,
And bid forgotten Æra's live.
Hark! the Strings obsequious move,
See! the bounding Fingers rove,

180

Now the majestic Epic stalks along,
Hail the great Notes, and bless the rising Song.
Now in softly pensive strains
Weeping Elegy complains,
Now now the giddy Lyre
Gives Life to Sound, and Sense informs the Wire;
Distemper'd Darkness veils her lazy Head,
Oblivion quits her downy Bed,
Science blooms, and Arts refine,
Letter'd Æra's know
In fair Array to shine,
And Athens now revives where Cam and Isis flow.

181

KITTY AND CHARLOTTE,

Occasion'd by a POEM call'd The Female PHAETON.

I

Still was the Night when Charlotte's Eyes
In folded Slumber lay,
But busy Fancy still supplies
The Labours of the Day.

182

II

The Wrongs of her contracted Reign
The sleeping Maid inspire,
And Kitty's Triumphs swell'd her Pain,
That left no Worlds to fire.

III

Her Guardian Sylph with healing Care
Empow'r'd a golden Dream,
To calm the Tumults of the Fair,
And speak a softer Theme.

IV

“From fev'rish Wastes and barren Sands
“The scorcht Numidian flies,

183

“To breath in more indulgent Lands,
“And less distemper'd Skies.

V

When in mild Drops of pearly Dew
“The genial Morning glides,
The Tulip glows with painted Hue,
“And spreads her silken Sides.

VI

“But oh! beware the Noon-tide Blaze,
“And too commanding Day,
Each withering Pride and shrivell'd Grace,
“Confess the sad Decay.

184

VII

“Thus runs the Tale, and thou, fair Maid,
“The Moral must divine,
“And own some fainter Touch betray'd,
“Of Kitty's Reign and Thine.

VIII

“Kitty in Storms of angry Day
“Like keenest Lightning flies,
“Charlotte maintains a milder Sway,
“And builds as she destroys.

IX

“Kitty with fierce and tyrant Arts
“Of Eastern Monarchs reigns,

185

“Charlotte endears her subject Hearts,
“And easy Rule maintains.

X

“Charlotte can boast a long-liv'd Sway,
“Kitty an ardent Rage,
“Her Conquest lasted for a Day,
“This triumphs for an Age.

186

TO DORINDA

Forbidding me to write to her.

I

Now softest Peace attend his gentle Shade,
And greenest Myrtles bloom around his Urn,
Who first to absent Love his Help convey'd,
And bade divided Hearts, at distance, burn.

187

II

Love by his gentle and auspicious Pow'r
In faithful Breasts a faithful Commerce found:
Wafts the fond Sigh from each disjointed Shore,
And weaves the Knot that Climes and Seas unbound.

III

Tho' rolling Surges stretch th'expanded Scene,
Their Cliffs tho' envious Mountains interpose:
The faithful Quill still pleads the Lover's Pain,
Paints all his Hopes and images his Woes.

IV

Whence then, fair Rebel to the Cause of Love,
Could such a Breach of thy Allegiance spring,

188

To steal his fav'rite and obedient Dove,
And pluck the softest Feather of her Wing?

V

How couldst thou teach my Bosom this Concern,
And yet refuse the Tribute of its Love:
Fan the soft Fire, and bid it cease to burn,
Or raise the Whirlwind and forbid it move?

VI

What makes the Earth to heave with lab'ring Throws
But Winds imprison'd in her tortur'd Womb?
Thus but for thee my Bosom had Repose,
Did not thy Eyes inspire, my Passions would be dumb.

189

UPON STELLA

Appearing always at her Window.

I

Young Stella bright in Beauty's early Dawn
Displays to constant View her radiant Eyes,
But unregarded like the daily Sun
Her glaring Charms are seen without Surprize.

190

II

O would the fair One shine with well-tim'd Care,
Like Comets rare amidst the gloomy Sky,
Then would the Nymph be fatal as the Star,
Then Worlds would burn, and haughty Princes die.

191

AUSONIUS EPIG.

Thus Imitated.

[_]

Dum dubitat Natura Marem faceretnè Puellam,
Factus es ô Pulcher penè Puella Puer.

As Nature did her self perplex
Should Miss or Master be the Sex,
And neither would their Claim surrender,
The Dame so long the Point debated,
She neither this nor that created,
But left thee of the doubtful Gender.

192

TO THE FAIR UNKNOWN,

Upon seeing her in the Music Booth at Sturbridge Fair.

I

Could these faint Numbers glow with equal Fire,
To that which in his Breast the Writer feels,
Could Phœbus like the FAIR UNKNOWN inspire,
Or Verse but emulate the Flame it tells;
The Lover some Success had found, and she
Been known to Fame, tho' lost to Love and me.

193

II

Wound not that Love with too severe a Name,
Which was not Chance but Passion in Excess;
Conceal'd the Hand from whence the Arrow came,
My Hopes may be, but not my Anguish less.
Strikes not the Lightning with a Fate as true,
Tho' vanquish'd Reason wonder'd whence it flew?

III

If not in Pity to your Lover's Woes,
For your own Sake at least your self reveal,
Lest when I die, and thou the fatal Cause,
You lose a Triumph you deserve so well.
Nay ev'n repay'd will all my Suff'rings be,
And envy'd in my Fall, if known I fall by thee.

194

IV

Yet more—a thousand Loves may lurk behind,
And half your Course of Glory yet to run,
A flowing Wit, discreet and beauteous Mind,
May crown those Conquests which your Eyes begun.
Nor bid me dread the thousand Deaths in Store,
I look'd, I sigh'd, and lov'd, and was undone before.

V

In vain the midnight Anchorite may boast
Of rugged Maxims and pedantic Rules,
For what is Life, its best Enjoyments lost,
In the dull Mazes of insipid Schools?
Love must refine what Science scarce began,
And mould the letter'd Savage into Man.

195

VI

Let lazy Hermits dream in College Cells
Supinely great, and indolently good,
Whose frozen Breasts such glimm'ring Rapture swells
As lifeless, dull Platonics understood.
Go, tell that doating Sage—who looks on thee
With Plato's Eyes—may question if he see.

VII

Judge now my Passion by severest Truth,
And read what rigid Justice cannot blame,
If I have err'd, inform a willing Youth,
At best mistaken only was my Flame.
Was Love a Crime? then teach me to adore,
And Zeal shall be what Passion was before.

196

VERSES Imitated from AURATUS,

By ------ Esq;.

Bear me, ye propitious Pow'rs,
To sacred Neptune's watry Bow'rs,
To Heav'n above, or Hell below,
Beyond the Reach of Cupid's Bow:
Bear me, ye Gods,—no matter where,
So Love be but a Stranger there.

197

While thus the anxious Strephon cry'd,
A laughing Cupid stood beside,
And dost thou think, vain Man, said he,
That Heav'n and Hell, and Earth and Sea,
Are not alike subdu'd by me?
Great Jove has felt a Lover's Care,
And languish'd for a mortal Fair.
In vain the azure God of Seas
Amidst his Waters hopes for Ease,
Those Waters I to Flames can turn,
And teach his frozen Heart to burn.
Not Pluto's self can ward the Blow,
When to his Shades I bend my Bow,
Tho' Death and Terrors guard his Throne,
Avernus, Styx, and Phlegethon.

198

Give me my Chains, reply'd the Swain,
With Joy I'll bear the sharpest Pain,
Chearful forget the cruel Smart,
And in that Triumph be a Part,
Where Earth and Hell, and Sea and Air,
And captive Gods attend thy Car.

199

FROM THE GREEK OF ALCÆUS.

By the Same.

How vain the Man whose feeble Mind
Gives way to fretful Care;
From Sorrow hopes Relief to find,
And Comfort from Despair!

'Tis Wine alone that can redress
The Torments we endure;

200

A gen'rous Foe to all Distress,
To ev'ry Pain a Cure.

Bacchus the surest Friend of Love,
A Friend to Man is found,
The same that points the Dart will prove
A Balsam to the Wound.

201

ANACREONTIC,

By the Same.

Beneath this cool refreshing Shade
By curling Vines and Roses made,
Indulge, my fair, the soft Desire
Which Love and blooming Youth inspire.

The blushing Rose around thy Head
Shall here her sweetest Odours shed,
The mantling Vine shall yield to you
At once her Shade and Nectar too:
O come, my Phyllis, let us prove
That we were only born to Love.

202

Youth and Love are in their Prime,
Improve, my Fair, the happy Time,
Love admits of no Delay,
Time has Wings and hastes away.

FINIS.