Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

O muse, inspirer of those placid Lays
That charm in modern Novels, Odes, and Plays,
Whose gently-soothing Opiates should be read
By sleep-imploring patients in their bed,
Give to thy vot'ries fashion-warbled strains,
In lulling lullabies to lull the brains,
Of pretty Misses, and of Miss-like Swains.

The Moon majestic moves her bright career,
While Darkness from her presence shrinks for fear;
Unrival'd now she journeys Heav'n's vast plain,
The subject Stars and Planets form her train,
Her globose front now bares—of beauty proud,
Now, chastely peeps from forth a fleecy cloud;
Whilst Silence tiptoe'd, cautious, seems to creep,
All Nature's feather'd tenants sunk in sleep,
Save Philomela —On the sharpen'd thorn
Her bosom pillow'd till returning morn,
In plaintive trills to Dian swells her song,
How plunder'd of her virtue and her tongue;
The pitying Goddess listens to her moan,
And dewy tears sheds from her silver throne;
For, Goddess tho', her pow'r can ne'er restore
The rose when pluck'd, to what it was before:
Echo still love-sick for her fribblish Swain,
Repeats each warble to the list'ning plain;

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The Rivulet in prattling concert floats,
The Grove remurmurs to the various notes;
And Zephyr wafting a piano breeze
In softest music whispers thro' the trees.

The Village clock had knell'd the midnight sound,
And shrouded Phantoms burst the sacred ground,
Beneath a druid oak when low-reclin'd,
Strephon, woe-bosom'd, sighing to the wind,
Pour'd forth in chastest strains the chastest love,
Melting and soft as notes of cooing Dove.

“Oh, Lindamira, quintessence of all
That Man can virtuous, fair, and lovely call,
Sweet as the sweetest flowers that grace the Spring,
Soft as the Down new drop'd from Angel's wing;
Comet of beauty, fountain of desire,
Who, cold yourself, can set the world on fire,
(Thus thro' an icy medium Phœbus' rays,
Collected to a point, bids Nature blaze)
Not rosy-finger'd May by Flora drest,
Not Venus to her wishes Av'rice blest,
Breathes half those sweets, nor half the beauty shows,
On Lindamira's cheeks that blushing glows:
Some smiling rays of pitying comfort shed,
'Tis yours to save or mark me with the dead.—
Witness, thou Moon, who oft hast heard my moan,
Witness, ye Stars, who twinkle round her throne,
Witness, ye echoing Hills, ye leafy Groves,
And—if awake—witness ye Turtle Doves,
No Fair, save Lindamira, e'er possest,
Nor shall—the faithful mansion of my breast.”

190

He said, when lo! across the dewy mead,
A Nymph appear'd with silent cautious tread;
As she advanc'd, a Goddess seem'd to move,
Onward she came, and sought the neighb'ring grove;
His Lindamira's form now shone confest,
Her garments loose, and more than half undrest;
Beneath a cloud the Moon withdrew, to shun
The sight of charms superior to her own;
No Stars, save her bright eyes, cou'd Strephon spy,
Her eyes eclips'd the twinklers of the sky;
To meet her steps each amorous flowret rose,
And with new-tinted lustre livelier glows;
The Lark, sweet herald of the Morn, awakes,
And for the East th'approaching Fair mistakes;
Young Zephyr with his luscious banquet blest,
Feasts on her coral lips, and lillied breast,
And trembling ghosts to church-yards speed away,
Scar'd at the sudden burst of hated day.

Strephon, amazement all, to see the Fair
Thus brave the perils of the midnight air,
Exclaims—“Am I awake, Almighty Power!
Can Lindamira, at this dang'rous hour
To midnight damps expose her Angel breast,
A stranger to her pillow and to rest?
Can Love—But hold, Delusion, nor thus cheat
My fluttering bosom with a hope so sweet:—
Can she for me!—Heav'n, how the thought inspires,
And with a more than transport wildly fires!—
I'll fly, and breathe such raptures, that her heart
Shall in her blush announce a mutual smart;

191

I'll instant at her feet—But hold, fond Youth,
Lest while you, plaintive, pour your passion's truth,
You wound those feelings which her bosom guide,
And strike a dagger in her virtue's pride!—
For ah, what tales wou'd Envy's snakes proclaim,
To stain with Falshood Lindamira's name,
Shou'd it be whisper'd that the midnight plain
Saw at her feet an am'rous sighing swain!
Forbid it, Delicacy, spotless Saint,
Whose charms, all wond'rous, modern Novels paint;
Forbid it, Chastity, whom Hermits hoar,
And Beaus, and Josephs, and Old Maids adore;
Shall I, who --- Drama so admire,
Ee'r give a loose to sensual desire?
I, who with Lollius' soothing music blest,
Have oft, in Pain's despight, been lull'd to rest,
(Thus Nurses on Hibernia's coast are said
With opiate notes to lull the aking head)
Shall I not curb my passion with a rein,
And tho' my heart shou'd break, my love restrain?
I will—Temptation's pow'r I thus defy,
And, flying, gain a glorious victory;
Some distant hour my spotless hopes may crown,
When, Honor-sanction'd, I my Love dare own.”

Ended his Plaint, poor Strephon stole away,
Trusting the fortune of some future day;
Whilst virtuous Lindamira sought the grove,
To meet a Swain—less delicate in Love.

A young Lady, who was ravish'd by her Brother Tereus, and afterwards, as Ovid relates, chang'd into a Nightingale. Scriblerius.

A Nymph whose Love was slighted by a Lady-like Gentleman call'd Narcissus. Scriblerius.