Memoirs of the Life of Barton Booth ... With his Character. To which are added Several Poetical Pieces, Written by Himself, viz. Translations from Horace, Songs, Odes, &c. To which is likewise annexed, the Case of Mr. Booth's last illness, and what was observ'd (particularly with regard to the Quick-Silver found in his Intestines) upon the Opening of his Body, in the Presence of Sir Hans Sloan by Mr. Alexander Small, Surgeon. Publish'd by an Intimate Acquaintance of Mr. Booth, By Consent of his Widow |
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ODE. On MIRA, DANCING. |
 | Memoirs of the Life of Barton Booth |  |
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ODE. On MIRA, DANCING.
She comes! the God of Love asserts his Reign,
Resistless o'er the gazing Throng:
Alone she fills the spacious Scene!
The Charm of ev'ry Eye! the Praise of ev'ry Tongue!
Order and Grace together join'd,
Sweetness with Majesty combin'd,
To make the beauteous Form compleat,
On ev'ry Step and Motion wait.
Resistless o'er the gazing Throng:
Alone she fills the spacious Scene!
The Charm of ev'ry Eye! the Praise of ev'ry Tongue!
Order and Grace together join'd,
Sweetness with Majesty combin'd,
To make the beauteous Form compleat,
On ev'ry Step and Motion wait.
Now to a slow and melting Air she moves;
Her Eyes their Softness steal from Venus' Doves:
So like in Shape, in Air, and Mien,
She passes for the Paphian Queen;
The Graces all around her play;
The wond'ring Gazers die away.
Her Eyes their Softness steal from Venus' Doves:
So like in Shape, in Air, and Mien,
She passes for the Paphian Queen;
The Graces all around her play;
The wond'ring Gazers die away.
Whether her easy Body bend,
Or her fair Bosom heave with Sighs;
Whether her graceful Arms extend,
Or gently fall, or slowly rise;
Or returning, or advancing;
Swimming round, or sidelong glancing;
Gods! how divine an Air
Harmonious Gesture gives the Fair!
Or her fair Bosom heave with Sighs;
Whether her graceful Arms extend,
Or gently fall, or slowly rise;
50
Swimming round, or sidelong glancing;
Gods! how divine an Air
Harmonious Gesture gives the Fair!
We see, in all her Pride,
The well-trimm'd Bark at Anchor ride;
But when her hoisted Sails she spreads,
And o'er the bounding Waves her wat'ry Dance she leads,
With new Delight the Object we survey,
While in the Winds her wanton Streamers play.
Strange Force of Motion! that subdues the Soul,
Like sweetest Music's magic Pow'r!
That can the noisy Multitude controul!
Can Eloquence her self do more?
The well-trimm'd Bark at Anchor ride;
But when her hoisted Sails she spreads,
And o'er the bounding Waves her wat'ry Dance she leads,
With new Delight the Object we survey,
While in the Winds her wanton Streamers play.
Strange Force of Motion! that subdues the Soul,
Like sweetest Music's magic Pow'r!
That can the noisy Multitude controul!
Can Eloquence her self do more?
But now the flying Fingers strike the Lyre!
The sprightly Notes the Nymph inspire;
She whirls around! she bounds! she springs!
As if Jove's Messenger had lent her Wings.
Such Daphne was, when near old Peneus' Stream
She fled, to shun a loath'd Embrace;
(Of antient Bards the frequent Theme)
Such were her lovely Limbs, so flush'd her charming Face!
So round her Neck! her Eyes so fair!
So rose her swelling Chest! so flow'd her Amber Hair!
While her swift Feet outstript the Wind,
And left th' enamour'd God of Day behind.
The sprightly Notes the Nymph inspire;
She whirls around! she bounds! she springs!
As if Jove's Messenger had lent her Wings.
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She fled, to shun a loath'd Embrace;
(Of antient Bards the frequent Theme)
Such were her lovely Limbs, so flush'd her charming Face!
So round her Neck! her Eyes so fair!
So rose her swelling Chest! so flow'd her Amber Hair!
While her swift Feet outstript the Wind,
And left th' enamour'd God of Day behind.
While the light-footed Fairy flies,
Our mounting Spirits nimbly rise;
The Pulse still answer to the Strains,
And the Blood dances in our Veins.
Our mounting Spirits nimbly rise;
The Pulse still answer to the Strains,
And the Blood dances in our Veins.
Of Cynthia's Air let Poets dream,
When from the hoary Mountains Height,
Down to Eurotas' silent Stream,
She leads her Virgin Train, and charms the Sight:
Whether on Mountains, or in Woods,
In flow'ry Launs, or verdant Fields,
Or bathing in the silver Floods,
Lo! to a mortal Fair the fansy'd Goddess yields.
When from the hoary Mountains Height,
Down to Eurotas' silent Stream,
She leads her Virgin Train, and charms the Sight:
Whether on Mountains, or in Woods,
In flow'ry Launs, or verdant Fields,
Or bathing in the silver Floods,
Lo! to a mortal Fair the fansy'd Goddess yields.
| Memoirs of the Life of Barton Booth | |