Philomela :: :: University of Virginia Library

No—'tis in vain—attempt not to persuade!
They were not, cou'd not be by Woman made:
Each Thought so strong, so finish'd every Line,
All o'er we see so rich a Genius shine;
O more than Man, we cry, O Workmanship Divine!
Courtly thy stile as Waller's! clear, and neat,
Not Cowley's Sense more beautiful, or great:
Num'rous the Verse, as Dryden's flowing Strain,
Smooth as the Thames, yet Copious as the Main.

But when the Author Royal Mary mourns,
Or in soft Fires for gay Orestes burns,
Again, our Sex's Pride is undeceiv'd:
A Soul so soft in Man yet never liv'd.
In vain, alas! in vain our Fate we shun;
We Read, and Sigh, and Love, and are Undone:
Circean Charms, and Female Arts we prove,
Transported all to some new World of Love.
Now our Ears tingle, and each thick-drawn Breath
Comes hard, as in the Agonies of Death:
Back to the panting Heart the purple Rivers flow,
Our swimming Eyes to see, our Feet unlearn to go:
In ev'ry trembling Nerve, a short-liv'd Palsy reigns,
Strange Fevers boil our Blood, yet shudder thro' our Veins.
Tyrannous Charmer hold! our Sense, our Souls restore!
Monopolize not Love, nor make the World adore!

Can heav'nly Minds be Angry! can she frown?
What Thunders has one eager Thought pull'd down?

xii

Diana thus by the bold Hunter found,
Instead of Darts, shot angry Blushes round.
O Goddess spare—all white as Cypria's Dove
Is thy untarnish'd Soul, and Loves as Angels Love;
Honour and Virtue each wild Wish repell,
And doubly sink 'em to their native Hell.
Saints may by Thee, their holiest Thoughts refine,
And Vestal Virgins dress their Souls by Thine.
Sure none but Thee such Passion can restrain;
None ever lov'd like Thee, and lov'd in vain.
What Age can equal, what Historian find
Such Tenderness, with so much Duty join'd?
Sapho and Behn reform'd, in Thee revive,
In Thee we see the chaste Orinda live.
Thy Works express thy Soul, we read Thee there,
Not thine own Pencil draws more like, or fair.
As Flowers steal unobserv'd from Nature's Bed,
And silent Sweets around profusely shed,

xiii

So You in secret Shades unknown, unseen
Commence at once a Muse, and Heroine.
Yet You're in vain Unknown, in vain wou'd shroud
That Sun, which shines too Bright t'endure a Cloud.

Prepare then for that Fame which You despise!
But when You're seen, still hide, O hide your Eyes!
Love Virtue, and adorn it! still let's see
Such Wit and Beauty join'd with Piety.
Let Heav'n and Heav'n's Vicegerent always share
Your noblest Thoughts, and your most duteous Care.
NASSAU's a Name, you're fated to Record,
No Pen but Yours can match the Hero's Sword.
If You Associate too, You'll guard Him more
Than all the loyal Myriads gone before.
Let harden'd Traitors know what 'tis t'abuse
The Patience of a King, and of thy Muse.
Let 'em no more a Monarch's Justice dare,
Draw on his Side, at once, and end the War!
These just, tho' poor Acknowledgments I send,
From distant Shades, to Heav'ns and Cæsar's Friend.

xiv

Those but debase, who weakly strive to raise,
You'll ne'er grow vain with [Gwinnett's] humble Praise.

xiv

ON REPRINTING Philomela's POEMS,

Forty Years after their first Publication.

Impartial old Time with his Scythe has cut down,
With the Dregs of the People, both Crosier and Crown;
Nor has Poetry 'scap'd! Philomela long Dead,
Now re-warbles her Throat, again lifts up her Head;
Of her beautiful Numbers, attend to the Flow,
In the Woods the delightfullest Singer is Rowe.

POEMS ON Several Occasions.

A PARAPHRASE ON THE CANTICLES.

CHAP. I.

Wilt thou deny the Bounty of a Kiss,
And see me languish for the melting Bliss?
More sweet to me than bright delicious Wine,
Press'd from the Purple Clusters of the Vine:
As fragrant too as Ointments poured forth,
Are the loud Echoes of thy matchless Worth;

Which makes the Virgins, kindled by thy Fame,
Wish to expire in the Celestial Flame:
Come then, display thy lovely Face, and we,
Drawn by resistless Charms, will follow thee;
Into thy Royal Chambers brought, where I,
May see my Lord, and fear no Witness by.

I'm black, 'tis true, for scorching in the Sun;
I kept another's Vine, and left my own;
But tho' thus clouded, the reflecting Face
Of my bright Love shall all this Blackness chace.

Say then, my Dear, much dearer than my Soul;
Where feed thy Milky Flocks? Unto what cool
Refreshing Shade dost thou resort? lest I
Should (as I languish) in thy Absence die:
Say, Lovely Shepherd, say, What happy Streams
Are gilded now with thy Illustrious Beams?

II.

I'll tell thee, Fairest of all Women, how,
Thou may'st my most frequented Pastures know:

Follow the Footsteps of my Flocks, and there
I will not fail to meet my Charming Fair.
Whom I, as Mistress of my Flocks will grace,
And on her Brows immortal Garlands place.

III.

The while my Spicknard shall ascend, and greet
My Charmer with its Tributary Sweet:
Then, all the Night, upon my panting Breast,
As fragrant Myrrh, let my Beloved rest.
So sweet he is, that Myrrh, nor Cypress e'er
With such delicious Breathings fill'd the Air.
When thy Two lovely Eyes inflame my Heart,
It leaps for Joy, and meets th' unerring Dart.

IV.

O! thou more fair, more vastly bright, than all
The World did ever Bright, or Glorious call:
My verdant Love still flourishing, to thee
Shall fixt, as our Eternal Mansions be.

CHAP. II

At thy Approach, my Cheek with Blushes glows,
And conscious Warmth, which with Thee comes and goes;
Like the pale Lily join'd to Sharon's Rose;
And Thorns to them I sooner would compare,
Than other Beauties to my Darling Fair.

II.

And I as soon would rank a fruitful Tree
With barren Shrubs, as Mortal Clods with thee.
Beneath thy Shade, blest, to my Wish, I sat,
And of thy Royal Banquet freely eat;
Whilst o'er my Head a Banner was display'd:
In which, O! melting Sight! the God of Love did bleed,
Excess of Pleasure will my Soul destroy;
I'm e'en oppress'd with the Tyrannic Joy:

O! therefore turn thy lovely Eyes away;
(Yet do not, for I die, unless they stay.)
I faint, I faint; alas! no Mortal yet,
With Eyes undazzled half this Splendor met:
But sure I cannot sink, upheld by Thee;
So would I rest unto Eternity.
And now I charge you, Virgins, not to make
The least Disturbance, till my Love awake.

III.

What Charming Voice is that salutes my Ear?
It must be my Beloved's; he is near:
He is, and yet unfriendly stays without:
He stays, as if he did a Welcome doubt.
But hark, methinks I hear him softly say;
Arise, my Fair, arise, and come away!
For lo the stormy Winter's past and gone;
And Summer, dress'd in all her Pride, comes on:
The warbling Birds in airy Raptures sing
Their glad Pindarics to the welcome Spring:

The Fig-Trees sprout, the chearful Vines look gay;
Arise, my lovely Fair,—One, come away!
Come forth, my Dove, my Charming Innocence;
How canst thou fear, while I am thy Defence?

IV.

Do thou the spiteful Foxes then destroy,
That would my young aspiring Vines annoy.
Not for the World would I exchange my Bliss,
While my Beloved's Mine, and I am His:
And till the Break of that Eternal Day,
Whose Rising Sun shall chace the Shades away;
Turn, my Beloved, turn again; and thy
Dear Sight shall make the lazy Moments fly.

CHAP. III.

'Twas in the Deadness of a Gloomy Night,
My Love, more pleasant than the wish'd-for Light,
O'er all my Bed I vainly sought; for there
My Arms could grasp no more than empty Air.
Griev'd with my Loss, thro' all the Streets I rove,
And ev'ry Ear with soft Complaints I move:
Then to the Watch, impatient, thus I cry;
Tell me, O tell! Did not my Love pass by?
When lo, a Glimpse of my approaching Lord,
A Heaven of Joy did to my Soul afford:
So the dark Souls, confin'd to endless Night,
Would smile, and welcome-in, a Beam of Light.
I clasp'd him, just as meeting Lovers wou'd,
Who had the Stings of Absence understood:
I held him fast, and cent'ring in his Breast,
My ravish'd Soul found her desired Rest.

Him to my Mother's House I did convey;
Humble it was, and yet he deign'd to stay.
And now I charge you, Virgins, not to make
The least Disturbance, till my Love awake.

Bridegroom.
Glorious as Titan, from the Eastern Seas,
A Beauty comes from yon dark Wilderness:
So Sacred Incense proudly rises up
In cloudy Pillars of perfumed Smoke:
Compounded Spices of the greatest Cost
Could ne'er such Aromatic Sweetness boast.

Bride.
The Shining Courts of Princely Solomon
Were nobly crouded with a Warlike Train:
All arm'd compleatly, all expert in Fight,
To guard him from the Terrors of the Night.
A Chariot Royal to himself he had;
Its Pillars of refined Silver made:
The Seats of Gold, fair Purple Clouds above;
And, all the Bottom, softly pav'd with Love.

But lo, a Prince, than Solomon more great;
On whom vast Troops of shining Angels wait:
His Crown more bright, and fix'd, than that which shone
Upon the Nuptial Brows of Solomon.

CHAP. IV.

Bridegroom.
Tho' all the lower World should ransack'd be,
There could be found no Parallel for Thee:
Thy Eyes like Doves, thy fair intangling Locks,
Curled, and soft as Gilead's Milky Flocks:
Like them thy Pearly Teeth appear, for so
Unsully'd from the Crystal Streams they go.
But O! To what may I thy Lips compare?
Since fragrant Roses bloom not half so fair.
The Morning ne'er with such a Crimson blush'd,
When from the Arms of sooty Night she rush'd.
The ripe Pomgranate's Scarlets are but faint,
To those fresh Beauties which thy Cheeks do paint.

Thy Neck and Breasts, in Whiteness, do out-go
Ungather'd Lilies, or descending Snow.
And till the Dawn of that expected Day,
When all my radiant Glories I display,
And chace at once, th' injurious Shades away:
I'll on the Hills of Frankincense reside,
And pass the Time with Thee, my Charming Bride;
My Love, in whom such vast Perfections meet,
As render Thee transcendently compleat:
Then, come with me, from Lebanon, my Spouse,
O come, and look beyond this Scene of Woes:
Thou may'st, and yet it is but darkly, see
The bright Abodes I have prepar'd for Thee.
So sweet she looks, that in blest Transports I,
Meet the believing Glances of her Eye;
My All on Earth, my Sister, and my Spouse;
Whom from a vast Eternity I chose:
Not Golden Goblets, crown'd with noble Wine,
E'er gave such elevating Joys as Thine;

Such, as the soft Expressions of thy Love;
So much those Dear, those charming Accents move.
My Love is like a flowry Mansion wall'd,
Or some reserved Crystal-Fountain seal'd;
Whose Waves, untouch'd, thro' secret Channels slide,
Untainted, as the Silver Streams, that glide
From Heaven, assaulting Lebanon; and fair,
As beauteous Eden's gilded Currents were.

Bride.
Were I a Garden, ev'ry Flow'r in me
Should proudly yield their conscious Sweets to thee;
The ruddy Fruit should thy Arrival greet,
And smile, and gently bend, thy Lips to meet.

Bridegroom.
So strongly thy kind Invitations move,
I will my Garden see, my Garden, and my Love;
Not Hybla's Hives such precious Sweets can yield,
Nor Clusters brought from rich Engeddy's Field,
Which, to my Lips, I'll raise with eager Haste,
My Lips, that long'd the Heav'nly Fruit to taste.

CHAP. V.

The Night her blackest Vestments had put on,
And all the fair Remains of Day were gone;
When my dear Lord, as he had oft before,
With Speed, and Love, approach'd the bolted Door:
Arise, my Love, he cries, and with a Voice,
Divinely charming, pleads his Entrance thus;
My Spouse, my Sister, and my fairest Love,
(Believing, sure, that Dialect would move;)
Arise, for laden with the Midnight Dew,
Disorder'd, all my streaming Tresses flew:
I knew the Voice, the moving Eloquence;
But ah! deluded by my drowsy Sense;
Careless, and soft, upon a mossy Bed,
I lean'd supine, with Od'rous Roses spread;
And long, with weak Excuses, did delay,
Amazing him at my unwonted Stay.

Mov'd with his Patience, my relenting Breast,
Forgetting now to say, I am undress'd,
Unto the Door, at length, I rush'd in spite
Of Darkness, and the Terrors of the Night;
With Rage, to break the guilty Bars I try'd,
Which Entrance to my Lord so long deny'd:
But found the dear resenting Charmer fled,
I curs'd my Sloth, and curs'd my conscious Bed.
Yet then such fragrant Sweetness fill'd the Air
From his dear Hands, I thought he'ad still been there.
I call'd aloud, still hoping he was near,
And louder still, but Ah! he would not hear.
Then thro' the Streets, distracted with my Grief,
I wildly roving, begg'd of All, Relief.
At last I met th' ungentle Watch, and they
Deride my Tears, and force my Veil away.
Ye tender Virgins! you that know the Pain
A Breast so soft as mine must needs sustain,
Robb'd of the once kind Partner of my Fires,
And still dear Object of my rack'd Desires;

I charge you, if you meet my absent Love,
With all the Rhet'ric of our Sex to move
His deafned Ears; and tell him, with a Sigh,
Deep as my Wounds, ah tell him how I die.
Perhaps that Tragic Word may force the dear
Relentless Author of my Grief to hear.

Daughters of Jerusalem.
What thy Beloved is, we first would know,
Fairest of Women! thou dost charge us so.
What Charms unequall'd in him dost thou see,
Impatient Fair! to raise these Storms in thee?

Bride.
Commencing all Perfection, he is such
Your most exalted Thoughts can hardly touch,
Unsully'd Heaps of Snow are not so white,
He's fairer than condensed Beams of Light.
His Rosy Cheeks of such a lucent Dye,
As Sol ne'er gilded on the Morning Sky.
His Head like polish'd Gold, his graceful Hair,
Dark as the Plumes that jetty Ravens wear.

His Eyes, the endless Magazines of Love,
How soft! how sweet! how pow'rfully they move!
He breathes more Sweetness than the Infant Morn,
When Heav'nly Dews the flowry Plains adorn,
The fragrant Drops of rich Arabian Gums,
Burnt on the Altar, yield not such Perfumes.
His Hands, surpassing Lilies, grac'd with Gems,
Fit to inrich Celestial Diadems.
His Breast smooth Ivory, enamel'd all
With Veins, which Saphirs 'twere unjust to call,
Divine his Steps, with his Majestic Air,
Not e'en the lofty Cedars can compare.
So sweet his Voice, the list'ning Angels throng
With silent Harps to his melodious Tongue,
He's altogether Lovely,—This is He,
Now, Virgins Pity! tho' you envy Me.

CHAP. VI.

Virgins.
But where, ah where, can this bright Wonder be!
For, till we see Him, we are all on Fire;
We'll find Him out, or in the Search expire.

Bride.
If my Prophetic Hopes can rightly guess,
The lovely Wand'rer in his Garden is,
Among the Lilies, and the Spices; He
Is now perhaps kindly expecting Me;
Oh 'tis a Heaven of Joy to think him Mine.

Bridegroom.
And who can see those Eyes, and not be Thine?
Thy Face, where all the conqu'ring Graces meet;
Where Majesty doth Virgin-Softness greet:
Ah turn away those fair approachless Eyes;
I Love, but cannot bear the kind Surprize.

Hide, hide th' intangling Glories of thy Hair;
More bright than Streams of fluid Silver are:
Expose no more thy pearly Teeth, the while
Those rosy Cheeks put on kind Looks, and smile:
Such genuine Charms, how strongly they allure
My Soul, and all their Rival's Beams obscure.
They're numberless, my Spouse, my darling Fair;
But one, the Choice, and all her Mother bare:
The Royal Beauties saw, and bless'd the Sight;
And setting, wonder'd at a Star so bright.
Who is't, they say, Fair as the breaking Morn,
When ruddy Beams the bashful Skies adorn?
Clear as the Lamp that gilds the sable Night;
Daz'ling as Sol's unsufferable Light:
Gentle, but aweful, as a Scene of War;
At once her Graces conquer and endear.
And could'st thou think, my Love, I e'er design'd
To leave a Spouse so beautiful and kind?
I went but down into the Almond-Grove,
A lone Recess, indulgent to my Love;

Thence rang'd the pleasant Vale, whose spreading Vine
May quit my Care, perhaps, with bounteous Wine:
Where the Pomgranets blooming Fruits display
More Sanguine-Colours than the Wings of Day:
Or ere I was aware, my happy Eyes
Meet Thee, a juster Object of Surprize;
Fair as a Vision breaking from the Skies:
Scarce could my Breast my leaping Heart retain,
Scarce could my Soul th' unweildy Joy sustain,
When I beheld those welcome Eyes again.
But why that Discontent upon thy Brow?
Thou wilt not leave me, cruel Beauty, now?
Injurious Charmer, stay—What needs this Art,
To try the Faith of a too-constant Heart:
Return again; let my Companions see
The sweet Inspirer of my Flames in Thee.
Return, my Dear, return and shew the most
Victorious Face, that e'er the World could boast.

On CANTICLES. Ch. V. VI. &c.

Oh! How his pointed Language, like a Dart,
Sticks to the softest Fibres of my Heart;
Quite thro' my Soul the charming Accents slide,
Which from his Life-inspiring Portals glide;
And whilst I, the inchanting Sound admire,
My melting Vitals in a Trance expire.
O! Son of Venus, mourn thy baffled Arts,
For I defy the proudest of thy Darts:
Undaz'led now, I thy weak Taper view,
And find no fatal Influence accrue;
Nor would, fond Child, thy feebler Lamp appear,
Should my bright Sun deign to approach more near:
Canst thou his Rival then pretend to prove?
Thou a false Idol, He the God of Love;
Lovely beyond Conception, he is all
Reason, or Fancy, amiable can call,

All that the most exerted Thoughts can reach,
When sublimated to its utmost Stretch.
O! altogether charming, why in Thee
Do the vain World no Form or Beauty see?
Why do they idolize a dusty Clod,
And yet refuse their Homage to a God?
Why from a beauteous flowing Fountain turn,
For the dead Puddle of a narrow Urn?
Oh Carnal Madness! sure we falsly call
So dull a thing as Man is, Rational;
Alas, my shining Love, what can there be
On Earth so splendid to out-glitter Thee?
In whom the Brightness of a God-head shines,
With all its lovely and endearing Lines;
Thee with whose Sight Mortality once blest,
Would throw off its dark Veil to be possest;
Then, altogether Lovely, why in thee
Do the vain World no Form or Beauty see.

From CANTICLES, Ch. VII, XI.

I

Come, thou most charming Object of my Love,
What's all this dull Society to us,
Let's to the peaceful Shades and Springs remove,
I'm here uneasy, tho' I linger thus.

II

What are the Trifles which I leave behind,
I've more than all the valu'd World in thee,
Where all my Joys, and Wishes are confin'd,
Thou'rt Day, and Life, and Heav'n itself to me.

III

Come, my Beloved, let's away, nor fear,
To those blest Seats where we'll our Flames improve,
With how much Heat shall I caress Thee there,
And in sweet Transports give up all my Love.

From Job Ch. XIX. V. 26.

Though after my Skin, Worms destroy this Body, yet in my Flesh shall I see God.

I

What tho' my Soul, rent from the close Embrace
Of this material Consort, take its Flight,
(Exil'd the Confines of her Native Place)
And leave these Eyes clos'd in a dismal Night:
She shall again resume the dear Abode,
And, cloath'd in Flesh, I shall behold my God.

II

Tho' in the gloomy Regions of the Grave,
Forgotten, and insensible I lie;
That tedious Night shall a bright Morning have,
The welcome Dawnings of Eternity.

My Soul shall then resume her old Abode,
And, cloath'd in Flesh, I shall behold my God.

III

Altho' resolv'd unto my Native dust,
Its proper Part, each Element refine;
Yet at my aweful Maker's Breath they must
The Individual Particles resign:
My Soul again shall take her old Abode,
And, cloath'd in Flesh, I shall behold my God.

Pindaric ODE on HABAKKUK.

I.

When God from Teman came,
And cloath'd in Glory from Mount Paran shone,
Dress'd in th' unsufferable Flame
That hides his daz'ling Throne,

His Glory soon eclips'd the once-bright Titan's Rays,
And fill'd the trembling Earth with Terror and Amaze.
Resplendent Beams did crown his aweful Head,
And shining Brightness all round him spread;
Omnipotence he grasp'd in his strong Hand,
And listning Death waited his dread Command;
Waiting 'till his resistless Bolts he'd throw;
Devouring Coals beneath his Feet did glow:
All Nature's Frame did quake beneath his Feet,
And with his Hand he the vast Globe did mete;
The frightned Nations scattered,
And at his Sight the bashful Mountains fled,
The everlasting Hills their Founder's Voice obey,
And stoop their lofty Heads to make th' Eternal Way.
The distant Ethiops all Confusion are,
And Midian's trembling Curtains cannot hide their Fear:
When thy swift Chariots pass'd the yielding Sea,
The blushing Waves back in Amazement flee,

Affrighted Jordan stops his flowing Urn,
And bids his forward Streams back to their Fountain turn.

II.

Arm'd with thy mighty Bow,
Thou marchedst out against thy daring Foe:
And very terrible thou didst appear
To them, but thus thy darling People cheer:
“Know, Jacob's Sons, I am the God of Truth,
“Your Father Jacob's God, nor can I break my Oath.”
The Mountains shook as our dread Lord advanc'd,
And all the little Hills around 'em danc'd:
The neighb'ring Streams their verdant Banks o'erflow,
The waters saw and trembled at the Sight,
Back to their old Abyss they go,
And bear the News to everlasting Night:
The Mother Deep within the Cavern roars,
And beats the silent Shores.

The Sun above no longer dares to strive,
Nor will his frighted Steeds their wonted Journey drive.
The Moon, to see her Brother stop his Car,
Grew pale, and curb'd her sable Reins for Fear;
Thy threatning Arrows gild their flaming Way,
And at the Glittering of thy Spear the Heathen dare not stay;
The very Sight of thee did them subdue,
And arm'd with Fury Thou the Vict'ry didst pursue.
So now, great God, wrapt in avenging Thunder,
Meet Thine and Nassaus' Foes, and tread them grov'ling under.

TO THE Author of the foregoing ODE. By the ATHENIANS

I.

We yield! we yield! the Palm, bright Maid! be thine!
How vast a Genius sparkles in each Line!
How Noble all! how Loyal! how Divine!
Sure Thou by Heaven inspir'd, art sent
To make the King's and Nation's Foes repent,
To melt each stubborn Rebel down,
Or the Almighty's hov'ring Vengeance show,
Arm'd with his glittering Spear and dreadful Bow,
And yet in a more dreadful Frown.

Ah would they hear! ah would they try
Th' exhaustless Mercy yet in Store,
From Earth's and Heaven's offended Majesty,
Both calmly ask, Why will they die?
Ah! would they yet repent, and sin no more!

II.

How bless'd, how happy we,
Could all we write one Convert make,
How gladly new Affronts could take
One Convert to dear Virtue, and dear Loyalty?
Tho' the full Crop reserv'd for Thee.
O! Virgin! touch thy Lyre:
What Fiend so stubborn to refuse
The soft, yet pow'rful Charms of thy Celestial Muse?
What gentle Thoughts will they inspire!
How will thy Voice, how will thy Hand,
Black Rebel-Legions to the Deep command!

Black Rebel-Legions murm'ring take their Flight,
And sink away to conscious Shades of everlasting Night:
While those they left, amazed stand,
And scarce believe themselves, themselves to find
Cloath'd, calm, and in a better Mind.

III.

Begin, begin, thy Noble Choice,
Great Nassau claims thy Lyre, and claims thy Voice,
All like himself the Hero shew,
Which none but Thou canst do.
At Landen paint him, Spears and Trophies round,
And Twenty thousand Deaths upon the slipp'ry Ground:
Now, now the dreadful Shock's begun,
Fierce Luxemburgh comes thund'ring on:
They charge, retreat, return and fly,
Advance, retire, kill, conquer, die!
Tell me, some God, what Gods are those
Inwrapt in Clouds of Smoke and Foes,

Who oft the tott'ring Day restore?
'Tis Nassau and Bavaria, say no more!
Nassau—that lov'd, that dreadful Name!
Bavaria! Rival of his Fame.
A Third comes close behind, who should he be?
'Tis Ormonde! mighty Ormonde! sure 'tis he:
'Tis nobly Fought, they must prevail;
Ah no, our Sins weigh down the doubtful Scale.
Ah thankless England, they engag'd for thee,
Or never could have miss'd the Victory:
With high Disdain from the moist Field they go,
And dreadfully retreat, yet face the trembling Foe.

IV.

Thus sing, bright Maid! thus and yet louder sing,
Thy God, thy King!
Cherish that Noble Flame which warms thy Breast,
And be by future Worlds admir'd and bless'd:

The present Ages short-liv'd Glories scorn,
And into wide Eternity be Born!
There chast Orinda's Soul shall meet with Thine,
More Noble, more Divine;
And in the Heav'n of Poetry for ever shine:
There All the glorious few,
To Loyalty and Virtue true,
Like Her and You.
'Tis That, 'tis That alone must make you truly Great,
Not all your Beauty equal to your Wit,
(For sure a Soul so fine
Would ne'er possess a Body less divine)
Not all Mortality so loudly boast,
Which withers soon and fades,
Can aught avail when hurry'd to the Coasts,
Where wander wide lamenting Ghosts,
And thin unbody'd Shades.
'Tis Virtue only with you goes,
And guards you thro' Ten thousand Foes;

Hold fast on That, 'twill soon direct your Flight
To endless Fame and endless Light;
If That you lose, you sink away,
And take eternal Leave of Day.
Then fly false Man, if you'd an Angel-prove,
And consecrate to Heav'n your Nobler Love.

The Society of Gentlemen who wrote the Athenian Mercury.

From MICAH, Ch. VI. 5, 6, 7.

I.

Wherewith shall I approach this aweful Lord,
What shall I bring,
What Sacrifice
Will not so great a Deity despise;
Tell me, you lofty Spirits that fall down,
The nearest to his Heavn'ly Throne,
O! tell me how,
Or how shall I before our dread Creator bow.

Will Carmel's verdant Top afford,
No equal Offering,
Ten Thousand Rams, a bounteous Offering 'tis,
When all the Flocks upon a thousand spacious Hills are his;
Will Streams of fragrant Oil his Wrath controul;
Or the more precious Flood,
Of my dear first-born's Blood,
Compound for all my Debts, and make a full Atonement for my Soul.

II.

If not, great God, what then dost thou require,
Or what wilt Thou daign to accept from me,
All, That my Own thou giv'st me Leave to call,
I willingly again resign to Thee.
My Youth and all its blooming Heat,
My Muse and every Raptur'd Thought, to Thee I Dedicate.

('Tis fit the Issues of that sacred Fire,
Should to its own Celestial Orb retire)
And all my darling Vanities,
For thee, my God, I'll sacrifice,
My fav'rite Lust and all,
Among the rest, promiscuously shall fall;
No more that fond beloved Sin I'll spare,
Than the great Patriarch wou'd have done his Heir,
And this, great God, altho' a worthless Prize,
Is a sincere, intire, and early Sacrifice.

Abraham and Isaac.

From MALACHI, Ch. III. V. 14.

In vain ye murmur, we have serv'd the Lord,
As vainly listned to his flatt'ring Word,
He has forgot, or speaks not as he meant;
Else why are we thus idly Penitent?

Ye call the haughty blest, exalting those
That dare my Judgments impiously oppose,
And own, nay, almost boast themselves my Foes:
Whose Crimes would (were I not a God) command
The Scarlet Bolts from my unwilling Hand;
Then They who fear'd my Great and Aweful Name,
The only Few who dar'd oppose the Stream,
Unmov'd against the vulgar Torrent stood,
In spite of Numbers, resolutely good,
Not taxing, with indecent Insolence,
The dark Enigmas of my Providence:
But saw me still Illustrious thro' the same,
And lov'd and spoke, spoke often of my Name.
As oft I closely listned, nor shall they
Pass unrewarded at the last Great Day,
When all their pious Services I'll own,
For in my Records I shall find 'em down,
Their Brows I'll crown with Wreaths of Victory,
Whilst Men and Angels stand Spectators by;

Aloud I'll then, aloud proclaim them mine,
And 'mongst my brightest Treasures they shall shine;
Their Frailty with more Tenderness, than ere
A Father did his only Son's, I'll spare,
And then, but ah! too late you'll find it then,
Who were the wise, the only thinking Men;
Then you shall nothing but Derision meet,
Whilst Angels them with loud Applauses greet.

PARAPHRASE From John, Ch. III. V. 16.

For God so loved the World, that he gave his only begotten Son, &c.

I

Yes, so God lov'd the World; But where
Are this great Love's Dimensions?
Ev'n Angels stop; for baffled here
Are their vast Apprehensions.

In vain they strive to grasp the boundless Thing;
Not all their Comments can explain the mighty Truth I sing.

II

Yet still they pause on the Contents
Of this amazing Story;
How he that fill'd the wide Extents
Of Uncreated Glory;
He whom the Heav'n of Heav'ns cou'd not contain;
Shou'd yet within the Sacred Maid's contracted Womb remain.

III

They see him born, and hear him weep,
To aggravate their Wonder;
Whose aweful Voice had shook the Deep,
And breath'd his Will in Thunder:
That aweful Voice, chang'd to an Infant's Cry;
Whilst in a feeble Woman's Arms he seem: constrain'd to lie.

IV

A God (Ah! where are Human Boasts?)
Extended in a Manger!
The Lord of all the Heav'nly Host,
Expos'd to Scorn and Danger!
The On'ly Blest, the All-sufficient weeps:
But O! who guides the stagg'ring World, while its Protector sleeps?

V

And canst thou, Man, ungrateful prove,
When 'twas for thy Salvation,
He left those splendid Seats Above,
His late bright Habitation,
Where all his Deity shone, without th' Allay
Of a Seraphic Vehicle, or deficated Clay.

VI

Where He transcendently possess'd
The Fullness of Perfection,
Tho' here benighted and oppress'd,
The Type of all Dejection.
He asks for Food, that gave the Ravens Bread,
And the Great Founder of the World wants where to lay his Head.

VII

But O! what dark Catastrophe
Does Hell at last conspire!
Behold! upon a cursed Tree
The Lord of Life expire:
From this, amaz'd, the Sun withdraws his Eye,
Afraid to see his Maker bleed, and the Eternal die.

VIII

The Seraphims who throng'd about,
'Twixt Hope and Consternation;
Now blaze the wond'rous News throughout
The radiant Corporation:
Who vainly strive the Mystery to scan,
And fathom the stupendous Depth of this Great Love to Man.

IX

He on the Rights of Justice stood,
With their exalted Nature,
That now thro' Streams of Sacred Blood
Wafts the Terrestrial Creature;
Wafts Dusty-Man to that Felicity,
Which the Apostate Sons of Light must never hope to see.

From JOHN, Ch. XXI. V. 17.

Yes, Thou who know'st all, dost Thou know I love thee,
And that I set no Idol up above thee?
To thy unerring Censure I appeal,
Thou who know'st All Things, surely this canst tell?
I love thee more than Life, or Interest;
Nor hast thou any Rival in my Breast?
I love thee so, that I would calmly bear
The Mocks of Fools, and bless my happy Ear,
Let me from thee but one kind whisper hear?
I love thee so, that for a Smile of thine,
Might this, and all the brighter Worlds be mine;
I would not pause, but with a noble Scorn,
At the unequel slighted Offer spurn?
Yes, I to Fools these trifles can resign,
Nor envy them the World, whilst thou art mine;

I love thee as my Center, and can find
No Point but thee to stay my doubtful Mind;
Potent and uncontroul'd its Motions were,
Till fixt in thee, its only congruous Sphere.
Urg'd with a thousand specious Baits, I stood,
Displeas'd, and sighing for some distant Good,
To calm its genuine Dictates—but betwixt
Them all, remain'd suspended and unfixt.
I love the so, 'tis more than Death to be,
My Life, my Love, my All, depriv'd of Thee;
'Tis Hell, 'tis Horror, Shades and Darkness then,
Till thou unveil'st thy Heavenly Face agen;
I love thee so, I'd kiss the Dart should free,
My flutt'ring Soul, and send her up to thee;
O would'st thou break her Chain, with what Delight
She'd spread her Wings, and bid the World Good-night!
Scarce for my bright Conductors would I stay,
But lead thy flaming Ministers the Way,
In their known Passage to eternal Day.

And yet the Climes of Light would scarce seem fair,
Unless I met my bright Redeemer there;
Unless I there, cou'd view his charming Face,
And cope all Heaven in his sweet Embrace.

On the REVELATIONS, Chap. I. from v. 13. to v. 18.

I

Who cou'd, and yet out-live th' amazing Sight!
O! who could stand the Stress of so much Light!
Amidst the Golden Lamps the Vision stood,
Form'd like a Man, with all the Awe and Lustre of a God.

II

A Kingly Vesture cloath'd him to the Ground,
And Radiant Gold his sacred Breasts surround;

But all too thin the Deity to shroud;
For heav'nly Rays expresly shone thro' the unable Cloud.

III

His Head, his aweful Head was grac'd with Hair,
As soft as Snow, as melted Silver fair;
And from his Eyes such active Glories flow,
The conscious Seraphs well may veil their dimmer Faces to.

IV

His Feet were strong, and dreadful as his Port,
Worthy the God-like Form they did support;
His Voice resembled the Majestic Fall
Of mighty Waves: 'Twas aweful, great, divine, and solemn all.

V

His pow'rful Hand a Starry Scepter held,
His Mouth a threatning two-edg'd Sword did wield,

His Face so wondrous, so divinely fair,
As all the glorious Lights above had been contracted there.

VI

And now my fainting Spirits strove in vain
The uncorrected Splendor to sustain,
Unable longer such bright Rays to meet,
I dy'd beneath the pond'rous Load, at the great Vision's Feet.

VII

Till he who does the Springs of Life contain,
Breath'd back my Soul, and bid me live again;
And thus began (but O! with such an Air,
That nothing but a Power divine had made me live to hear.)

VIII

From unperceivable Eternity
I was, I am, and must for ever be:

I have been dead, but live for ever now.
Amen—And have in Triumph led the Kings of Darkness too.

Thoughts on DEATH.

I

I'm almost to the fatal Period come,
My forward Glass has well nigh run its last;
Ere a few Moments, I shall hear that Doom
Which ne'er will be recall'd, when once 'tis past.

II

Methinks I have Eternity in View,
And dread to reach the Edges of the Shore;
Nor doth the Prospect, the less dismal shew,
For all the thousands who have launch'd before.

III

Why weep my Friends, what is their Loss to mine,
I have but one poor doubtful Stake to throw,
And with a dying Prayer my Hopes resign,
If that be lost, I'm lost for ever too.

IV

'Tis not the painful Agonies of Death,
Nor all the gloomy Horrors of the Grave;
Were that the worst, unmov'd I'd yield my Breath,
And with a Smile the King of Terrors brave.

V

But there's an After-day, 'tis that I fear:
O! who shall hide me from that angry Brow;
Already I the dreadful Accents hear,
Depart from me, and that for ever too.

The REFLECTION.

Where glide my Thoughts,—rash Inclinations stay,
And let me think what 'tis you fool away,
Stay ere it be too late, yet stay and take,
A short Review of the great Prize at Stake.
O! stupid Folly 'tis eternal Joy,
That I'm about to barter for a Toy;
It is my God, O! dreadful Hazard, where
Shall I again the boundless Loss repair!
It is my Soul, a Soul that cost the Blood,
And painful Ag'nies of an humbled God.
O! blest Occasion made me stay to think,
Ere I was hurry'd off the dang'rous Brink,
Shou'd I have took the charming Venom in,
Strug'led with all these Terrors for a Sin,
How equal had my Condemnation been?

The Vanity of the World, ADDRESSED To the ATHENIANS.

What if serenely blest with Calms I swam,
Pactolus! in thy golden-sanded Stream?
Not all the Wealth that lavish Chance cou'd give,
My Soul from Death cou'd one short Hour reprieve.
When from my Heart the wandring Life must move,
No Cordial all my useless Gold cou'd prove.
What tho' I plung'd in Joys so deep and wide,
'Twou'd tire my Thoughts to reach the distant Side,
Fancy itself 'twou'd tire to plumb th' Abyss;
If I for an uncertain Lease of this,
Sold the fair Hopes of an eternal bliss?
What if invested with the Royal State
Of da'zling Queens, ador'd by Kings, I sat?

Yet when my trembling Soul's dislodg'd, wou'd be
No Room of State within the Grave for me.
What if my Youth, in Wit's and Beauty's Bloom,
Shou'd promise many a flatt'ring Year to come?
Tho' Death should pass the beauteous Flourisher,
Advancing Time wou'd all its Glory mar.
What if the Muses loudly sung my Fame,
The barren Mountains echoing with my Name?
An envious Puff might blast the rising Pride,
And all its bright conspicuous Lustre hide.
If o'er my Relicks Monuments they raise,
And fill the World with Flatt'ry, or with Praise,
What wou'd they all avail, if sink I must,
My Soul to endless Shades, my Body to the Dust?

ANSWER OF THE ATHENIANS.

Nothing, Ah nothing! Virtue only gives
Immortal Praise; that, only, ever lives.
What Pains wait Vice, what endless Worlds of Woe,
You know full well; but, may you never know.

The RAPTURE.

I

Lord! if one distant Glimpse of Thee
Thus elevate the Soul,
In what a Height of Extasy
Do those bless'd Spirits roll;

II

Who, by a fix'd eternal View,
Drink in Immortal Rays;
To whom, unveiled, thou dost shew,
Thy Smiles, without Allays?

III

An Object, which if mortal Eyes
Cou'd make Approaches to,
They'd soon esteem their best-lov'd Toys
Not worth one scornful View.

IV

How then, beneath its Load of Flesh,
Wou'd the vex'd Soul complain!
And how the friendly Hand she'd bless,
Wou'd break her hated Chain!

THE EXPOSTULATION.

I

How long, great God, a wretched Captive here,
Must I these hated Marks of Bondage wear?
How long shall these uneasy Chains controul
The willing Flights of my impatient Soul?
How long shall her most pure Intelligence
Be strain'd through an Infectious Screen of gross, corrupted Sense?

II

When shall I leave this darksome House of Clay;
And to a brighter Mansion wing away?

There's nothing here my Thoughts to entertain,
But one tir'd Revolution o'er again:
The Sun and Stars observe their wonted Round,
The Streams their former Courses keep: No Novelty is found.

III

The same curst Acts of false Fruition o'er,
The same wild Hopes and Wishes as before;
Do men for this so fondly Life caress,
(That airy Puff of splendid Emptiness?)
Unthinking Sots! kind Heav'n, let me be gone,
I'm tir'd, I'm sick of this dull Repetition.

THE WISH. TO THE ATHENIANS.

Would some kind Vision represent to me
How bright thy Streets, Celestial Salem! be;
I'd trace thy shining pearly Paths, and tell
How bless'd are Those who in thy Temple dwell:
How much more bright than e'er proud Phœbus shed
Are those vast Rays th' Eternal Sun does spread!
Cou'd I the chiefest of Ten Thousand view,
Wou'd Angels me their Admiration shew,
I'd tell the Virgins, tell 'em o'er agen
How Fair he look'd to the Black Sons of Men:

Might I, but ah, while clogg'd with sinful Flesh,
In vain I breathe out the impatient Wish!
But have a Glimpse of those fair Fields of Bliss,
Where dress'd in Beams, the shining Saints do move
More gay than all the fancy'd Shades of Love:
Where still from pure exhaustless Fountains, to
Bright Silver Streams the Crystal Waters flow;
Where the true Son of Glory ne'er declines,
But with unclouded Vigour always shines.
Where endless Smiles Celestial Faces wear,
No Eye eclips'd with a rebellious Tear,
For Grief is an unheard-of Stranger there.
Say then, if aught of that bless'd Place you know,
Describe its Bliss, its dazzling Glories show!

ANSWER OF THE ATHENIANS.

Ah! Bright Unknown! you know not what you ask;
Angels wou'd bend beneath th' unequal Task.
Were that bless'd World disclos'd, 'twou'd seem so Fair,
Who wou'd not leap Life's Barriers to be there?
Yet see a Glimpse, all, Heav'n permits to see,
And learn the rest from Faith and Extasy.

The Paradise of God, those happy Seats which cost
Far more, alas, than that fair Eden we have lost,
Exceeds luxuriant Fancy's richest Dress,
And Beggars Rime and Numbers self t'express.
No,—were we lost in that Primæval Grove,
Where Father Adam with his New-born Bride

Walk'd careless, walk'd and lov'd, nor Want, nor Sin,
Nor jealous Rage, nor curst tormenting Hopes
Their Sacred Verge approaching; cou'd we pierce,
As the blind Bard, with intellectual Sight,
Thro' those first happy Mortals Sylvan Shade,
Thro' clust'ring Vines, whose swelling Purple Grapes
With gen'rous Juice invited the bless'd Pair
To taste, nor fear to die; where all the Springs,
That from some easy Mountains mossy Side,
Or hoary Rock ran gently murmuring;
A thousand Flowers upon the bending Banks,
A thousand Birds upon the fragrant Trees,
And Eve herself all smiling join'd the Quite,
With blissful Hymns of chaste and holy Love.
Were these and more united to compose
A Poet's Heav'n, to the true Heav'n 'twou'd be
A barren Wilderness, nay worse, a World.

Not Reason's self, a Ray of the Divine
Off-spring, and Friend of God, when manacled

In sinful mortal Mold, altho' it trace,
No Sister Truth thro' each Dædalian Maze,
And builds on Sense with well poiz'd Argument,
Not That can tell us, what we there shall see,
Or have, or know, or do, or ever be.
Nay, tho' with nobler Faith's more perfect Glass,
We look beyond the Crystal starry Worlds,
We know but Part, sunk in our darksome selves,
And from Life's Dungeon wish the glim'ring Light:
Coasters of Heav'n we beat along the Shore,
Some Creeks and Land-marks found, but know no more.
The Inland Country's undiscover'd still,
The glorious City of th' eternal King,
Yet of Celestial Growth we bear away,
Some rich immortal Fruit, Joy, Peace and Love,
Knowledge and Praise, Vision and pure Delight,
Rivers of Bliss, aye-dwelling from the Throne
Of the most High, exhaustless Fund of Light.
There, there, is Heav'n, 'tis He who makes it so,
The Soul can hold no more, for God is all,

He only equals its capacious Grasp,
He only over fills to Spaces Infinite.
Ah! who can follow?—That shall only those
Who with intrepid Breasts the World oppose.
Tear out the glitt'ring Snake, tho' ne'er so close it twine,
And part with Mortal Joys, for Joys Divine.

Milton.

A PASTORAL ON THE NATIVITY OF OUR SAVIOUR.

[_]

In Imitation of an Italian Pastoral.

Menalcas.
Some mighty things these aweful Signs portend!
Amaz'd, we see new Stars the Skies ascend;
A thousand strange usurping Lights appear,
And dart their sudden Glories thro' the Air;

A daz'ling Day without the Sun returns,
And thro' the Midnight's dusky Horror burns.

Palemon.
And in the Depth of Winter, Spring appears,
For lo! the Ground a sudden Verdure wears;
The op'ning Flow'rs display their gaud'est Dye,
And seem with all the Summer's Pride to vie.

Urania.
Nor without Myst'ry are these Joys that roll
In Torrents thro' my now prophetic Soul,
And softly whisper to my ravish'd Breast,
That more than All the Tribes, the Race of Judah's blest.

Menalcas.
But see, the Eastern Skies disclose a Light,
Beyond the Noon-tide's flaming Glories bright;
This Way its Course the sacred Vision bends,
And with much State and solemn Pomp descends.

Sonorous Voices echo from afar,
And softly warble thro' the trembling Air:
The circling Spheres the charming Sound prolong,
And answer all the Cadence of their Song:
And now the sacred Harmony draws near,
And now a Thousand heav'nly Forms appear.

Angels.
Immortal Glory give to God on High,
Thro' all the lofty Stations of the Sky;
Let Joy on Earth, and endless Peace ensue,
The Great Messiah's born, thrice happy Men, to you.

Urania.
The Great Messiah born! Transporting Sound!
To the wide World spread the blest Accents round.
What Joy these long-expected Tidings bring!
To us is born a Saviour and a King.

Angels.
An Infant, in a Virgin's Arms he lies,
Who rides the Winds, and thunders thro' the Skies;

The God to whom the flaming Seraphs bow,
Descends to lead the Life of Mortals now.

Menalcas.
—Surprizing Pow'r of Love!
Ev'n God himself thy mighty Force does prove;
Thou rul'st the World below, and govern'st all above!

Palemon.
Ye shining Messengers be farther kind,
And tell us where the wond'rous Child to find.

Angels.
Your glad Conductors to the Place we'll be,
Eager as you, this mystic Thing to see.

Urania.
Some present to the Infant King let's bear,
For Zeal shou'd always liberal appear.

Angels.
Come on, we'll lead you to the poor Abode,
Where, in a Manger, lives th' Incarnate God,

Reduc'd to lodge among the sordid Beast,
Who all the spacious Realms of Light possess'd;
And he whose humble Ministers we were,
Becomes a tender Virgin's helpless Care.
Thro' Heav'n, but now, the hasty Tidings rung,
And Anthems on the wond'rous Theme they sung.

Palemon.
But to what happy Maid of human Race
Has Heav'n allotted this peculiar Grace?

Angels.
Ye echoing Skies repeat Maria's Name,
Maria thro' the starry Worlds proclaim:
In her bright Face Celestial Graces shine,
Her Mind's enrich'd with Treasures all divine,
From David's Royal House descends her noble Line.
But see the humble Seat, the poor Abode,
That holds the Virgin with the Infant God.

Menalcas.
Thee, Virgin-born, thus prostrate I adore,
And offer here the Choice of all my Store.
Untill'd, the Earth shall now vast Harvest yield,
And laughing Plenty crown the open Field.
Clear Rivers in the Desarts shall be seen,
And barren Wastes cloath'd in eternal Green.
Instead of Thorns, the stately Firr shall rise,
And wave his lofty Head amidst the Skies;
Where Thistles once, shall fragrant Myrtles grow,
The beauteous Rose on ev'ry Bush shall glow,
And from the Purple Grape rich Wines, unpress'd, shall flow.

Palemon.
Great Star of Jacob, that so bright dost rise,
Turn, lovely Infant, thy auspicious Eyes:
This soft and spotless Wool to Thee I bring,
My earliest Tribute to the New-born King.

With Thee each sacred Virtue takes its Birth,
And Peace and Justice now shall rule the Earth.
Thou shalt the Bliss of Paradise restore,
And Wars and Tumults shall be heard no more.
The Wolf and Lamb shall now together feed,
And with the Oxe, the Lyon's savage breed.
The Child shall with the harmless Serpent play,
And lead, unhurt, the gentle Beast away.
And where the Sun ascends the shining East,
And where he ends his Journey in the West,
Thy glorious Name shall be ador'd and blest.

Urania.

The Hope of Israel Hail—with humble Zeal
To the unquestion'd Son of God, I kneel:
All hail to Thee, of whom the Prophets old
Such mighty Things to our Forefathers told.
Thy Kingdom shall from Sea to Sea extend,
And reach the spacious World's remotest End.

The spicy Isle, and Saba's wealthy King,
To Thee from far shall costly Presents bring.
Thy stedfast Throne shall stand for ever fast,
And thy Dominion Time itself outlast.

This gentle Lamb, the best my Flocks afford,
I bring an Off'ring to All Nature's Lord.

Angels.
And we the Regents of the Spheres, thus low
Before Mankind's Illustrious Saviour bow,
Astonish'd, in an Infant's Form we see,
Disguis'd th' Ineffable Divinity,
Who arm'd with Thunder, on the Fields of Light,
O'ercame the potent Seraphims in Fight.
Thus humbled—O unbounded Force of Love!
Subdu'd by That from all the Joys above,
Thou cam'st the wretched Life of Man to prove.
Thus Thou our ruin'd Numbers wilt supply,
And fill the Desolations of the Sky.

THE Fall of PHAETON, Paraphrased.

With swelling Thoughts, fix'd on his great Intent,
Now Phaeton had climb'd the Sun's Ascent;
And to his radiant Father's Palace came,
Whose Heav'nly Seat look'd blazon'd all with Flame:
On stately Pedestals, erected high,
Above the Convex of the utmost Sky,
Its Glorious Front, dazel'd, yet pleas'd the Sight,
With vig'rous Sallies of Ætherial Light,
The Entrance, all, Divinely deck'd, was wrought,
Beyond th' Invention of a Human Thought:

With various Figures exquisite and bold,
As the amazing Novelties they told.
Here aweful Neptune rises from the Deep,
Around, the peaceful Billows seem to sleep:
Here dreadful Whales the blust'ring Tritons stride,
And raise a Silver Tempest as they glide:
In mighty Shells the lovely Nereids swim,
And blueish Gods the lofty Billows climb.
Wide from the Shore a pleasant Scene of Land,
With careless Beauty did itself expand:
Here Mountains, Valleys, Springs, and Sacred Groves,
Flocks, Herds, Unpolish'd Shepherds, and their Loves;
The Dryads, Satyrs, Sylvan-Gods, and Fawns,
Had here their Rural Palaces and Lawns.

Above all this, appear'd the blest Abodes,
And gay Pavillions of th' Immortal Gods:
Upon a Painted-Zodiac, brightly shone
With glitt'ring Emralds Sol's refulgent Throne.

Here sat in Purple the Bright God of Day,
(Whom Phaeton now trembles to survey:)
Smooth were his Cheeks, most lovely Eyes, his Brows
Adorn'd with Rays, and his own sacred Boughs:
Around, the Days, the Months, and Years attend,
While, at his Feet, the crooked Ages bend:
The beauteous Spring (more gay than all the rest,)
Stood smiling by, clad in a Flowry Vest:
Summer, with Ears of Corn, her Temples bound,
And Autumn with luxuriant Clusters crown'd:
In Order next old hoary Winter stood;
His Aspect horrid, and congeal'd his Blood.

Surrounded thus with Majesty and State,
Bold Phaeton's Illustrious Father sate,
The God his ven'trous Off-spring now espies,
Amaz'd! demands, What urg'd his Enterprize?
And what great Embassy cou'd bring him to the Skies?
Monarch of Light, the doubtful Youth returns,
Whose Absence Life itself and Nature mourns:

Most splendid Ruler of the welcome Day,
Serenest Spring of all that's fair and gay—
If bolder I may speak—O! Sire—if e'er
The Thoughts of Love and Clymene were dear;—
Then grant a certain Sign, which may on Earth
Resolve the question'd Grandeur of my Birth,
My best-lov'd-Son, great Phoebus made Reply,
(And back he cast the radiant Energy
Of his thick Beams) my Phaeton draw nigh:
And doubt no longer my Paternal Rights;
For, by Clymene, by th' intense Delights
That gave Thee Birth, so—now chuse out a Sign,
And by the dark Infernal Lake 'tis Thine.

Strait the ambitious Youth demands the Sway
Of his hot Steeds, and Chariot of the Day.
Amaz'd, the lucent Deity shook his Head,
Revolving his tremendous Oath, and said;
Unthinking Phaeton, what dost thou ask?
Not Jove himself durst undertake the Task:

Tho' not a God in the Blue Arch more great,
Yet even he'd decline our Flaming Seat.
Can'st thou, a Mortal, then supply my Throne?
Curb my fierce Steeds, and pass th' Intemp'rate Zone?
So hard and difficult, th' Ascent of Day,
Scarce, with fresh Horses, vanquish I the Way:
With Horror, on the distant Earth at Noon,
We from the Zenith's dismal Heighth look down
The steep Descent; from thence we swiftly roll:
Nor here our headlong Courses brook Controul.
E'en Lovely Thetis sees my Fall with Dread,
Tho' ev'ry Night she 'xpects me to her Bed.
Besides, thou'lt meet a Thousand rugged Jars,
From the encount'ring Motions of the Stars;
Scarce our Immortal Efforts stem their Force:
Betwixt the Bull's sharp Horns then lies thy Course,
By Sagitarius, and the Scorpion's Claws,
The ghastly Crab, and Leo's dreadful Jaws.

Expect no Groves, nor Flow'ry Mansions there,
Nor Gods, nor Nymphs; but Monsters ev'ry where.
Then let a Father's timely Care persuade,
And yet retract the dang'rous Choice Thou'st made;
Be wise, and urge no more this fatal Sign;
Alas, my Grief, too sadly, speaks Thee Mine.
Of all the Earth's, or Sea's rich Bosoms hide;
Or Treasures which in upper Air abide;
Ask what Thou wilt, or dar'st (besides) to wish;
Do, Phaeton, ask any thing but This;
And, by my former Sacred Oath, 'tis Thine.

But the hot Youth, fix'd on his rash Design,
With such an Enterprize, the more inflam'd,
His anxious Father's Oath, now boldly claim'd,
Who forc'd to yeild. The nimble Hours soon brought
His Chariot forth, in hot Vesuvio wrought,
By crafty Vulcan, and the Cyclops Art,
Who'ad shown immortal Skill in ev'ry Part:
The Wheels, and Axle-Tree, the purest Gold,
Bright as those lucid Tracts in which they roll'd:

The Harness all emboss'd with Crysolites,
And twinkling Sparks of wond'rous colour'd Lights.

But now Aurora from her Eastern Bed,
Had o'er th' Expanse her Dewy Mantle spread:
The sickly Moon the Hemisphere resigns;
And, with her Waning, Lucifer declines.
The Dawning grew more fair and ruddy still,
And Sol, officious now against his Will,
With Sacred Compounds his fierce Orb allays,
Then crowns the joyful Hero with his Rays:
With tender Speeches caution'd thus the while,
Let not Presumption thy fond Thoughts beguile,
To give my hot unruly Steeds their Course,
But use the Reins with utmost Care and Force,
Along a beaten, broad, and oblique Way,
Far from the Poles, now lies the Road of Day,
Avoid the Altar, and the hissing Snake,
Both opposite, betwixt them keep the Track;
Observe a careful Distance from the Skies,
Lest thou affront the aweful Deities;

Nor near the Earth approach, the Mean is best,
To Destiny, with Hope, I leave the rest.
For, lo the pale Commandress of the Night,
Resigns her Empire to th' expected Light.
Take up the Reins; my Son, or yet be wise,
And grasp a more proportion'd Enterprize.

But Phaeton, as resolute as great,
Undaunted, leaps into the Blazing Seat;
Pleas'd with his glorious Charge, nor doubts his Skill
To manage it, he mounts th' Olympic Hill.
Aloud th' Immortal Steeds begin to neigh,
And strike their Fiery Hoofs, and make new Day;
As thro' the Clouds they cut their sparkling Way:
And finding now the reeling Chariot freight
With nothing equal to celestial Weight,
Unruly grow; and heedless of the Rein,
Its feeble Cheeks, and trembling Guide disdain;
And, all disorder'd, careless of their Way,
Thro' Paths unknown to Sol himself, they stray:

Now near the Fair Triones, who in vain,
Implor'd more Temp'rate Quarters in the Main.
With Heat reviv'd, see the fierce Serpent roll,
Tho' fix'd his Station near the Frozen Pole.
Bootes sweats, and drives his lazy Team
A nimble Pace, untry'd before by them:
As much distress'd, unhappy Phaeton
From Great Olympus' arched Top looks down:
Black Horror now, and aggravating Fear,
Thro' all his conscious Thoughts triumphant were:
He curst his Pride, conspicuous Seat, and Birth,
And covets the obscurest Place on Earth;
To be the Son of Merops, safe below,
Unknown to Gods and Men, would please him now:
So, all confus'd, the hopeless Pilot raves,
And yeilds, at last, to the relentless Waves.
What can he do? much of the glowing East
Is yet unconquer'd; more he dreads the West,
That dang'rous Fall; nor one clear Track can find
In Heav'n; nor call his Horses Names to mind:

Who now, near where the dreadful Scorpion lay,
Hurry'd the shatter'd Chariot of the Day:
Proud of the Reins, which from his trembling Hands
Now faintly drop, no Obstacle withstands
Their furious Course; but thro' the blazing Sky
They foam, and rave, and all disorder'd fly,
Now upward, to the Stars, a Path they rend,
Then down again the frightful Steeps descend:
Below, her own Diana from afar,
With Wonder, views her radiant Brother's Car:
Th' exhaled Earth down to its Center dry,
Wants Juice, her fainting Products to supply:
Assaulted with the too prevailing Rays,
In fatal Flames, whole Towns and Mountains blaze:
High Athos, Oete, and the Piney Top
Of pleasant Ida into Cinders drop:
Old Tmolus, the Cilician Mount, and high
Parnassus, smoak, up to the darken'd Sky:

Vesuvio roars, more fierce its Entrails glow;
Nor work the Cyclops at their Anvils now,
Steep Othrys, Cynthus, Erix, Mimas, flame,
Nor Rhodopean Snows the fiercer Fire can tame.

Caucasus fries, Dindyma chaps, and burns
Her kindling Grove; fair Aphrodites mourns.
The Airy Alps, and Gloomy Appennine,
With Ossa, in the Conflagration shine:
Surrounded thus with Smoke, and wrathful Fires,
Unhappy Phaeton almost expires:
Despair within, and Terror all without,
By's furious Steeds, at Pleasure, hurl'd about;
Gasping, and faint, still hurried round, nor more,
Tho' prop'd by Fate, a Mortal could have bore:
They say, the Ethiopians now with Heat
Adust and scorch'd, diffus'd a Sable Sweat;
And all the wasted Fountains sadly ring
Of some fair Naiad mourning for her Spring.
Nor from the larger Streams the Flame recoils,
For in its Channel antient Tanais boils.

Xanthus, whose Waves again that Fate must know;
Mæander, whose wild Waters, circling flow.
Melas, Eurotas, Ister, and the fair
Euphrates Torrents, half exhausted are.
Orontes, Phasis, and the cooler Stream
Of Sperchius now like boiling Chaldron's steam;
Alpheus, Ganges, and the flowing Gold,
That in the rich Pactolus' Channel roll'd:
The Muses mourn, their Swans, who, as they die,
In charming Notes, Sing their own Elegy:
Deep, in his utmost subterranean Bed,
Great Nilus hides his undiscover'd Head.
Earth cracks, to Hell descend the hated Beams,
And plague the howling Ghosts with worse Extreams:
Th' exhausted Ocean leaves a Field of Sand,
Nor does vex'd Neptune one cool Wave command;
He 'as lost his Share of the grand Monarchy,
And vainly lifts his forked Trident high.
The Lovely Sisters melt upon the Rocks,
While aged Doris tears her Silver Locks:

The Phcæ die; the Dolphins vainly dive
In scalding Streams, to keep themselves alive.
As much the Goddess of the Earth distress'd,
With trembling Lips, the King of Gods address'd:

“If Thou the groaning World's Destruction mean,
“(Incensed Jove) why sleep thy Thunders then?
“If Thou the Cause of this Calamity,
“Or if 'tis some less potent God than Thee;
“Where's all thy Goodness, all thy gentle Care
“For Mortals now—that shou'd these Ills repair?
“Have I for this thy Sacred Victims fed
“In Hecatombs, to thy high Altars led?
“Those Altars, which with thy bright Temples smoke,
“While Jove, in vain, the gasping Priests invoke:
“And lo the mighty Poles begin to fume?
“And, where's thy Starry Seat, shou'd they consume?
“Tir'd Atlas sweating, of his Load complains,
“And scarce the burning Axle-Tree sustains.”
But, fainting here, she stopt, and shrinks her Head,
Below the gloomy Dwellings of the Dead.

Jove calls the Gods (with him, whose daring Son,
Too fond of Glory, had this Mischief done:)
To view the dreadful Flames; then mounts on high,
The loftiest Turret that commands the Sky:
From whence he us'd to shade the sultry Air,
And with kind Show'rs the parched Earth to chear:
But throws his Flood-gates open now in vain,
And press'd the light transparent Clouds for Rain:
At which incens'd, his ruddy Thunder glows,
Nor durst the God of Beams himself oppose.
See the wing'd Vengeance now, see where it breaks,
On the rash Cause of those lamented Wrecks;
And sends the bold Usurper breathless down
To the scorch'd Earth, from his affected Throne.

So, strike the Gallic Tyrant, who has hurl'd
As guilty Flames thro' the complaining World:
So aweful Jove, so strike him from his Seat,
And all his Aims, and all his Hopes defeat.

Lewis XIV.

The Second Book of Ovid's Metamorphoses, opens with this Fable. [N. B. A very Eminent Writer has borrowed largely from this Piece.]

A PASTORAL.

Daphne.
Why sigh'st Thee so, What Grievance can annoy,
A Nymph like Thee? Alas, why sighs my Joy?
My Philomela, why dost bend thy Head?
Hast lost thy Pipe, or is thy Garland dead?
Thy Flocks are fruitful, flow'ry all thy Plain?
Thy Father's Darling, Why should'st thou complain?

Philomela.
Unfriendly thus, when I expect Relief,
To mock the weightier Causes of my Grief.

Daphne.
Thou dost abuse my Love: How should I guess
The unknown Reason of thy Tears, unless
Thy Birds are fled, or else the Winds have blown,
This stormy Night, Thy tallest Cypress down?
Thy Shepherd's true, or I had nam'd him first.

Philomela.
Ah! were he so, I would contemn the rest.

Daphne.
Why dost Thou fear it? Not a truer Swain
E'er drove his Sheep to this frequented Plain.

Philomela.
Like Thee in Ignorance, how blest were I?
But Nymph a falser thing did never sigh:
Curse on his Charms; accurst th' unluckly Day,
He sought by chance his stragling Flocks this Way;
When gay and careless, leaning on my Crook,
My roving Eyes this fatal Captive took,
Well I remember yet, with what a Grace
The youthful Conq'ror made his first Address:

How moving, how resistless were his Sighs;
How soft his Tongue, how very soft his Eyes.
In spite of all my natural Disdain,
I fell a Victim to the smiling Swain!
How much more blest, how happy had I been,
Had I his lovely killing Eyes ne'er seen!
In these delightsome Pastures long I kept
My harmless Flocks, and as much Pleasure reapt,
In being all I hop'd to be, as They,
Whose aweful Nods subjected Nations sway.
The Shepherds made it all their Care to gain
My Heart, which knew no Passion but Disdain,
Till this young Swain, the Pride of all our Grove,
Into my Soul infus'd the Bane of Love.

A PASTORAL ELEGY.

Philomela.
So, gentle Destinies, decide the Strife;
Ah! spare but Hers, and take my hated Life.

Daphne.
Cease, cease, dear Nymph, the Fates ordain not so.

Philomela.
The more ungentle they; but wilt Thou go?

Daphne.
I must; and wish my Epilogue were done,
That from this tiresome Stage I may be gone.

Philomela.
Ah me! dear Boy! this breaks my feeble Heart:
But find'st thou no Reluctancy to part?

Daphne.
Without the least Reluctance, all below,
Save Thee, dear Nymph, I willingly forego:
My Swain, my Mates, my Flocks and Garland too.
In those blest Shades, to which my Soul must flee,
More beauteous Nymphs, and kinder Shepherds be;
Who ne'er reflect on what they left behind,
Wrapt with the Joys they in Elysium find.
By Silver Streams, thro' blissful Shades they rove,
Their Pleasure to Eternity improve.
There all the smiling Year is cloath'd with Green;
No Autumn, but Eternal Spring is seen.
There the wing'd Choir in loud and artful Strains
Transmit their Echoes to the happy Plains:
And thither Strephon will my Soul pursue,
When He, like Me, has bid the World adieu.
There, if Her Innocence she still retain,
My Philomela I shall clasp again;

And there, when Death shall stop his Noble Race,
With a more God-like and Heroic Grace,
Thou shalt behold the matchless Theron's Face,
But now farewel, my latest Sands are run,
And Charon waits, impatient to be gone.
Farewel, poor Earth; from thy unhappy Shore
None ever launch'd more joyfully before.
Not Death's grim Looks affright me, tho' so near,
Alas! why should the Brave and Virtuous fear!

Philomela.

Alas! She's gone, my dear Companion's gone,
And left me in this desart World alone;
Unforc'd, Her beauteous Soul has took its Flight,
Serene, and Glitt'ring, to Eternal Light.

More blind than Love, or Chance, relentless Death,
Why didst thou stop my charming Daphne's Breath?
The best, the bravest, faithful Friend alive;
Fate cut my Thread, I'll not the loss survive.

Alas! Why rises the unwelcome Sun?
Nought now is worth our Sight, since Daphne's gone.
Go, smile on some blest Clime, where Thou'lt not see
A Loss so vast, nor Wretch so curst as me;
Whom Grief hath wrapt in so condens'd a Shade
As thy intruding Beams shall ne'er invade:
For, What avails thy Light, now Daphne's gone,
And left me weeping on the Shore alone?
Yet could the gentle Fair but see me mourn,
From that blest Place she would perhaps return.
But vain, alas! are my Complaints; she's gone,
And left me in this desart World alone.

For ah! depriv'd, my dearer Life, of Thee,
The World is all a Hermitage to Me:
No more together shall we sit or walk,
No more of Pan, or of Elysium talk:
Ah! no, no more shall I the fleeting Day
In kind Endearments softly pass away:
No more the noblest Height of Friendship prove,
Now Daphne's gone, I know not who to love.

Mourn, all ye Groves and Streams, mourn ev'rything,
You'll hear, no more, the pretty Syren sing.
Tune, Shepherds, tune your Pipes to mournful Strains;
Alas! we've lost the Glory of the Plains.
Let ev'ry thing a sadder Look put on;
For Daphne's dead, the dear lov'd Nymph is gone.

PARTHENIA. AN ELEGY.

With singing Angels hence she posts away,
As lovely now, and excellent as they:
For one short Moment Death's grim Looks she bore,
But ne'er shall see his gastly Visage more.
Releas'd from her dull Fetters; as the Light,
Active, and pure, Parthenia takes her Flight;

100

And finds, at last, the aweful Secrecy,
How Spirits act, and what they do, and be.
But now she's swallow'd in a Flood of Light,
And scarce endures the Splendor of the Sight:
Dear Shade, whom Heaven did so soon remove
From these Cold Regions to the Land of Love;
To endless Pleasures, and eternal day;
How glitt'ring now? How satisfy'd and gay
Art thou? methinks I do but half lament
The lovely Saint, from my Embraces rent:
Nor can on those fair Mansions cast my Eyes,
To which she's fled, and not re-call my Sighs.
My Grief for her were as unjust, as vain,
If from that Bliss 'twould hurry her again:
For tho' the charming'st Friend on Earth I've lost,
Yet she the while may the Advantage boast:
And should her pure unfetter'd Soul but daign
A careless Glance on these dark Coasts again,
'Twould smile, as conscious, where she left her Chain;

101

And smile again at the surprizing Odds
Of her late Dwelling, and chose bright Abodes;
Those bright Abodes where now, securely blest,
She sings the Anthems of Eternal Rest.

THE REPLY.

No: I'm unmov'd; nor can thy charming Muse,
One tender Thought into my Breast infuse.
I am from all those sensual Motions free;
And you, in vain, speak pretty things to Me:
For thro' the splendid Gallantries of Love,
Untouch'd, and careless, now I wildy rove,
From all th' Attacks of those proud Darts secure,
Whose trifling Force too tamely you endure;

102

Nor aught, on Earth's, so delicate to move
My nicer Spirit, and exact my Love:
Even Theron's lovely and inticing Eyes,
Tho' arm'd with Flames, I can at last despise;
With all the genuine Charms and courtly Arts,
By which your treach'rous Sex invade our Hearts:
No more those little Things contract my Breast,
By a Diviner Excellence possest;
And, should I yield again, it dear must cost
My Victor, e'er he shall the Conquest boast;
For the mad Venom's quite expell'd my Veins,
And calmer Reason now triumphant reigns:
No more the dearest Object of my Sight
Can move a soft Sensation of Delight:
Or force my ling'ring Blood a swifter Pace,
Or paint new Smiles and Blushes on my Face.
I've rent the charming Idol from my Heart,
And banish'd All from thence, that took his Part.
No more the smiling Beaus shall tempt me on
To gaze, and sigh, and think myself undone;

103

Whilst Love, like some fierce Torrent unconfin'd,
Breaks in, o'er spreads, and swallows up my Mind;
And with its black ungrateful Streams controul
All the Diviner Rays within my Soul.
Ah! no: no more, will ever I admire,
Or urge the Sparks of the now dormant Fire:
Or for a wild fantastic Extasy,
Change the dear Joys of this blest Liberty;
Free as a wand'ring Zephir, thro' the Air,
Methinks I range, and hate my former Sphere.
I meet the noblest Forms, yet scorn to pay
A fond Devotion to well-moulded Clay:
Nor would I ev'n for my late splendid Chain
Forgo this charming Liberty again;
Which with so sweet a Calmness fills my Breast,
As cannot be in Words, no not in Thine exprest.

122

PLATONIC LOVE.

I

So Angels Love! and all the rest is Dross;
Contracted, selfish, sensitive and gross.
Unlike to This, all free and unconfin'd,
Is That bright Flame I bear thy brighter Mind.

II

No stragling Wish, or Symptom of Desire,
Comes near the Limits of this Holy Fire;
Yet 'tis intense and active, tho' so fine,
For all my pure Immortal Part is Thine.

III

Why shou'd I then the Heav'nly Spark controul,
Since there's no brighter Ray in all my Soul,
Why shou'd I blush t'indulge the Noble Flame,
For which e'en Friendship's a degrading Name.

123

IV

Nor is the Greatness of my Love to Thee,
A Sacrilege unto the Deity,
Can I th' enticing Stream almost adore,
And not respect its lovely Fountain more?

124

HUMAN LOVE,

IN Answer to the forgoing. By a Country GENTLEMAN.

So Angels Love! So let them love for Me;
As Mortal, I must like a Mortal be.
My Love's as pure as theirs, more unconfin'd;
I Love the Body, they but Love the Mind.

II

Without Enjoyment, Can Desire be ill,
For That which wou'd a Man with Pleasure fill?
This more intense and active, sure must be,
Since I, both Soul and Body give to Thee.

125

III

This Flame as much of Heav'n as That contains,
And more, for unto That but Half pertains:
Friendship One Soul to th' Other doth unite,
But Love joins all, and therefore is more bright.

IV

Neither doth Human Love, Religion harm,
But rather Us against our Vices arm:
Shall I not for a charming Mistress die?
When Heav'n commands Increase and Multiply.

126

REPLY TO HUMAN LOVE.

Some Tuneful Being now my Breast inspire
With Thoughts as Noble, as Celestial Fire;
For Clitus is my Theme;
But ah in vain, borne on Pindaric Wings,
My vent'rous Muse
The mighty Aim pursues:
For to his native Skies, still Clitus mounts and sings,
And we are distant still, to an Extream.

127

Behold the Heav'nly Charmer, keeps aloft;
While Angels croud, and listen to his Song;
And not one Angel-Critic in the Throng
Who durst correct a Thought.
So Nobly are they dress'd,
So Gracefully express'd;
So smoothly glide the Numbers from his Tongue;
So well his Touch the charming Strings Obey,
That all his Heav'nly Auditors admire,
To hear him sing, with as much Skill as They.
His Voice and Theme did so their Harps inspire;
That the glad Anthem they repeat agen,
Glory to God on high, Peace and Good-Will to Men.

128

TO A FRIEND WHO Persuades me to leave the Muses.

Forego the charming Muses! No, in spite
Of your ill-natur'd Prophecy I'll write;
And for the future paint my Thoughts at large,
I waste no Paper at the Hundred's Charge:
I rob no Neighb'ring Geese of Quills, nor slink,
For a Collection, to the Church for Ink:
Beside, my Muse is the most gentle Thing
That ever yet made an Attempt to sing:
I call no Lady Punk, nor Gallants Fops,
Nor set the Married World an edge for Ropes;

129

Yet I'm so nat'rally inclin'd to Rhyming,
That undesign'd, my Thoughts burst out a Chiming;
My active Genius will by no means sleep,
Pray let it then its proper Channel keep.
I've told you, and you may believe me too,
That I must this, or greater Mischief do;
And let the World think me inspir'd, or mad,
I'll surely write whilst Paper's to be had;
Since Heav'n to me has a Retreat assign'd,
That would inspire a less harmonious Mind.
All that a Poet loves I have in View,
Delightsome Hills, refreshing Shades, and pleasant Vallies too;
Fair spreading Meadows cloath'd with lasting Green,
And Sunny Banks with gliding Streams between,
Gay as Elysium, in a Lover's Dream,
Or Flora's Mansion, seated by a Stream,
Where free from sullen Cares I live at Ease,
Indulge my Muse, and Wishes, as I please,

130

Exempt from all that looks like Want or Strife,
I smoothly pass along the Plains of Life:
Thus Fate conspires; which Way then can I move?
Besides, my Friend, I'm veh'mently in Love,
This Truth there's not a Willow Sprig but knows,
In whose sad Shade I breathe my watchful Woes.
But why for these slight Reasons do I pause,
When I've a cogent one at hand, Because!

And that my Muse may take no counter Spell,
I fairly bid the Boarding-School farewel:
No young Impertinent shall here intrude,
And coax me from this blissful Solitude.
Spite of her Heart, my Dame shall damn no more
Great Sedley's Plays, tho' never look'd 'em o'er;
Affront my Novels, no, nor in a Rage,
Force Dryden's lofty Products from the Stage,
Whilst all the rest of the melodious Crew,
With the Whole System of Athenians too,
For Study's Sake, out of the Window flew.

131

But I to Church shall fill her Train no more,
And walk as if I sojourn'd by the Hour.

To Dancing-Master I have bid adieu,
Fall off, and on, be hang'd, and Coopee too
Thy self for me, my cap'ring Days are o'er,
Th' inspir'd Bacchanals I'll act no more.
Eight Notes must for another Treble look,
In Burlesque to make Faces by the Book.
My darling Pencil, and Japanning too,
And pretty Cupid in the Glass, Adieu!
And since the dearest Friends that are must part,
Old Governess farewel, with all my Heart.
Now welcome peaceful Shades and murm'ring Springs,
And welcome all th'inspiring tender Things,
That please my Genius, suit my Make and Years,
Unburden'd yet with all but Lovers-Cares.

132

A PINDARIC ODE, TO THE Athenian Society.

I.

Each String I've touch'd, each Muse I have invok'd,
Yet still the mighty Theme,
Copes my unequal Praise;
Perhaps the God of Numbers is provok'd,
I grasp a Subject fit for none but him,
Or Dryden's sweeter Lays:
Dryden! a Name I ne'er could yet rehearse,
But strait my Thoughts were all transform'd to Verse.

133

II.

And now methinks I rise;
But still the lofty Subject baulks my Flight,
And still my Muse despairs to do great Athens Right;
Yet takes the zealous Tribute which I bring,
The early Products of a Female Muse;
Until the God into my Breast shall mightier Thoughts infuse,
When I with more Command, and prouder Voice shall sing:
But how shall I describe the matchless Men?
I'm lost in the bright Labyrinth agen.

III.

When this lewd Age, as ignorant as accurst,
Arriv'd in Vice and Error to the worst,
And like Astrea, banish'd from the Stage,
Virtue and Truth were ready stretch'd for Flight;
Their num'rous Foes,
Scarce one of either's Champion's ventur'd to oppose;
Scarce one brave Mind, dust openly engage,
To do them Right.

134

Till prompted with a gen'rous Rage,
You cop'd with all th' Abuses of the Age;
Unmask'd and challeng'd its abhorred Crimes,
Nor fear'd to lash the Vices of the Times.

IV.

Successfully go on,
T'inform and bless Mankind, as you've begun,
Till like your selves they see,
The frantic World's imagin'd Joys to be,
Unmanly, sensual, and effeminate,
Till they, with such exalted Thoughts possest,
As you've inspir'd into my willing Breast,
Are charm'd, like me, from the impending Fate.

V.

But ah! Forgive me Heav'n, I blush to say't,
I, with the vulgar World, thought Irreligion great,
Tho' fine my Breeding, and my Notions high;
Tho' train'd in the bright Tracts of strictest Piety,

135

I, like my splendid Tempters, soon grew vain,
And laid my slighted Innocence aside;
Yet oft my nobler Thoughts I have bely'd,
And to be ill, was ev'n forc'd to feign.

VI.

Until by You,
With more Heroic Sentiments inspir'd,
I turn'd, and stood the vig'rous Torrent too,
And at my former weak Retreat admir'd;
So much was I by your Example fir'd,
So much the Heav'nly Form did win,
Which to my Eyes you'ad painted Virtue in.

VII.

O! could my Verse,
With equal Flights, to After-times rehearse
Your Fame; it should as bright and deathless be,
As that Immortal Flame you've rais'd in me.

136

A Flame which Time,
And Death itself wants Power to controul,
Not more sublime,
Is the divine Composure of my Soul;
A Friendship so exalted and immense,
A Female Breast did ne'er before commence.

137

TO CELINDA.

I

I can't, Celinda, say I Love,
But rather I Adore,
When with transported Eyes I view
Your shining Merits o'er.

II

A Fame so spotless and serene,
A Virtue so refin'd;
And Thoughts as great, as e'er was yet
Grasp'd by a Female Mind.

138

III

There Love and Honour, dress'd in all
Their genuine Charms, appear;
And, with a pleasing Force, at once
They conquer and endear.

IV

Celestial Flames are scarce more bright,
Than those your Worth inspires,
So Angels love, and so they burn
In just such Holy Fires.

V

Then let's, my dear Celinda, thus
Bless'd in ourselves, contemn
The treach'rous and deluding Arts,
Of those base Things, call'd Men.

139

THE FEMALE PASSION.

I

A thousand great Resolves, as great
As Reason could inspire,
I have commenc'd; but ah! how soon
The daring Thoughts expire!

II

Honour and Pride I've often rouz'd,
And bid 'em bravely stand,
But ere my charming Foe appears,
They cowardly disband.

140

III

One Dart from his Insulting Eyes,
Eyes I'm undone to meet,
Throws all my boasting Faculties
At the lov'd Tyrant's Feet.

IV

In vain, alas! 'tis all in vain,
To struggle with my Fate;
I'm sure I ne'er shall cease to love,
Much less can e'er I hate!

V

Against relentless Destiny,
Hopeless to overcome,
Not Sysiphus more sadly strives
With his Eternal Doom.

141

TO STREPHON.

To Me his Sighs, to Me are all his Vows,
But there's my Hell, the Depth of all my Woes,
We burn alike, but O! the distant Bliss,
A View of That my greatest Torment is;
Accurst Ambition, grov'ling Interest,
Such hated Crimes as yet did never rest
Within my Soul, must now unjustly keep
Me from my Heav'n! would they may sink as deep,
As that black Chaos whence they sprung, and leave
Those Mortals wretched which they now deceive.

142

TO ORESTES.

To vex thy Soul with these unjust Alarms,
Fie, dear mistrustful, can'st thou doubt thy Charms;
Or think a Breast so young and soft as Mine,
Could e'er resist such killing Eyes as Thine?
Not love Thee! witness all ye Powers above,
(That know my Heart) to what Excess I love,
How many tender Sighs for Thee I've spent,
I who ne'er knew what serious Passion meant,
Till to revenge his slighted Votaries,
The God of Love, couch'd in thy beauteous Eyes
At once inspir'd and fix'd my roving Heart,
Which till that Moment scorn'd his proudest Dart.

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And now I languish out my Life for Thee,
As others unregarded do for Me;
Silent as Night, and pensive as a Dove,
Thro' Shades more gloomy than my Thoughts I rove,
With downcast Eyes, as languishing an Air,
The Emblem I, of Love, and of Despair.

ANSWER BY THE ATHENIANS.

What Charms to Two such Feuds wou'd equal prove?
You are possess'd with Poetry and Love.
Fruitless Experiments no more we'll try;
Lost to Advice, Rhyme on, Love on, and Die.

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TO A LADY at Court.

I

Come, pr'ythee leave the Courts,
And range the Fields with me;
A thousand pretty Rural Sports
I'll here invent for Thee.

II

Involv'd in blissful Innocence,
We'll spend the shining Day,
Untouch'd with that mean Influence
The duller World obey.

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III

About the flow'ry Plains we'll rove,
As gay and unconfin'd,
As are, inspir'd by Thee and Love,
The Sallies of my Mind.

IV

Now seated by a lovely Stream,
Where beauteous Mermaids haunt;
My Song, while Nassau is my Theme,
Shall Them and Thee inchant.

V

Then in some gentle soft Retreat,
Secure as Venus-Groves,
We'll all the charming Things repeat
That introduc'd our Loves.

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VI

I'll pluck fresh Garlands for thy Brows,
Sweet as a Zephyr's Breath,
As fair and well design'd as those
Th' Elysium Lovers-Wreath.

VII

And like those happy Lovers we,
As careless and as blest,
Shall in each others Converse be
Of the whole world possest.

VIII

Then pr'ythee, Phyllis, leave the Courts,
And range the Fields with me;
Since I so many-harmless Sports
Can here procure for Thee.

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THE VISION, To Theron.

Now gentle Sleep my willing Eyes had clos'd,
And this gay Scene the smiling God impos'd,
Methought I in a Myrtle Shade was plac'd,
My Tresses curl'd, my Brows with Laurel grac'd;
Fresh was the Air, serenely bright the Day,
And all around look'd ravishingly gay,
Active my Thoughts, my Lyre was in my Hand,
And once more Theron did my Voice command;
Once more the Charming Hero did inspire
My daring Muse with an Heroïc Fire;

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The smiling Cupids softly flutter'd round,
Till animated with the gen'rous Sound,
Like fighting Gods, each shook his Dart and frown'd.
The listning Streams, inchanted with my Song,
Scarce drove their still preceding Waves along;
Whilst o'er, and o'er, obliging Echo bears,
Thro' ev'ry Cavern the immortal Airs;
About my Lips th' impatient Zephyrs hung,
To snatch the tuneful Numbers from my Tongue;
And the pleas'd Graces crouded round, to, hear their Darling sung.
The Queen of Beauty, and her Doves, stood by,
When I, to please the Lovely Deity,
Told her, what Looks, what Eyes, and Smiles He had,
Not her own Charms more fatally betray'd:
At ev'ry Strain the wounded Goddess sighs,
Strains sweet and powerful, as her own Fair Eyes.
Then, smiling, tow'rds her own bright Orb she flew,
And, with her, all the sanguine Visions drew.

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ANOTHER.

Within the close Recesses of a Shade,
A Shade for Holy Contemplation made,
No beauteous Branch, no Plant, or fragrant Flow'r,
But flourish'd near this fair delicious Bow'r:
With charming State its lofty Arches rise,
Adorn'd with Blossoms, as with Stars the Skies:
All pure and fragrant was the Air I drew,
Which Winds thro' Myrtle-Groves and Orange blew;
Clear Waves along with pleasing Murmur rush,
And down the artful Falls, in Cat'racts gush.

'Twas here, within this happy Place retir'd,
Harmonious Pleasures all my Soul inspir'd;
I take my Lyre and try each tuneful String,
Now War, now Love, and Beauty's Force would sing;
To Heav'nly Subjects now, in serious Lays,
I strive my faint, unskilful Voice to raise,

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But as I unresolv'd and doubtful lay,
My Cares in easy Slumbers glide away;
Nor with such pleasing Sleep, such soothing Rest,
And Dreams like This I e'er before was blest;
No wild uncouth Chimeras intervene,
To break this perfect Intellectual Scene.

The Place was all with Heav'nly Light o'erflown,
And Glorious with Immortal Splendor shone;
When lo! a bright Ætherial Youth drew near,
Ineffable his Motions and his Air,
A soft, beneficent expressless Grace,
With Life's most florid Bloom adorn'd his Face;
His Brows a Laurel, ever green, did bind,
And long his radiant Hair fell down behind,
His Azure-Robes hung free and waving with the Wind.
Angelic his Address, his tuneful Voice
Inspir'd a Thousand elevating Joys:
When thus the wond'rous Youth his Silence broke,
And with an Accent all Seraphic spoke.

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To Heav'n, nor longer pause, devote thy Songs,
To Heav'n the Muse's Sacred Art belongs;
Let God's unbounded Glory be thy Theme,
Who fills th' Eternal Regions with his Fame;
And when Death's fatal Sleep shall close thine Eyes,
In Triumph We'll attend Thee to the Skies;
We'll Crown Thee there, with everlasting Bays;
And teach Thee all our most Celestial Lays,
Thus spoke, the shining Vision upwards flies,
And darts like Light'ning thro' the op'ning Skies.

FLORINDA

I

So brightly sweet Florinda's Eyes,
Their rising Beams display,
That as the scorched Indians, we
Even dread the coming Day.

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II

For if her Morning Rays with such
Unusual Vigour Stream,
How must th' unhappy World be scorch'd,
With her Meridian Beam?

III

If now she innocently kills
With an un-aiming Dart,
Who shall resist her when, with Skill,
She levels at a Heart?

IV

If with such Smiles the pretty Nymph,
Now captivate the Sense,
What when her Glory's at the Heighth
Will be their Influence?

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ON DESPAIR.

When the intruding Horrors of the Night,
Had just depriv'd our Hemisphere of Light,
And sable Foldings seem'd to imitate
The Blackness and Confusion of my Fate,
As by a River's Side I walk'd along,
Uncurl'd and loose my artless Tresses hung:
Despair and Love were seated in my Face,
Then down I sunk, upon the bending Grass,
There to the Streams, my mournful Griefs relate,
And curs'd the Stars that over-rul'd my Fate;
To see my Tears the gentle Floods swell high,
The Rocks relent, and groan as oft as I;
The Winds, less deaf than my ungrateful Swain,
Listen, and breathe o'er all my Sighs again.

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Ah! never, never, said I with an Air,
That the poor pitying Echo griev'd to hear,
And softly, fearing to increase my Pain,
No, never, never, she reply'd again,
Then all Things else, as Trifles I despise,
Said I, and smiling clos'd my wretched Eyes.

162

TO MEMORY.

Best Gift that Heav'n's Indulgence could bestow!
To Thee our surest Happiness we owe;
Thou all the flying Pleasures dost restore,
Which but for Thee, blest Mem'ry! were no more;
For we no sooner grasp some frail Delight,
But ready for its everlasting Flight,
E'er we can call the hasty Bliss our own,
If not retain'd by Thee, it is for ever gone.
Thou to the kind successful Lover's Heart,
A Thousand melting Raptures dost impart,
When yet more lovely than herself, and kind,
Thou bring'st his fancy'd Mistress to his Mind;
The flatt'ring Image wears a livelier Grace,
A softer Mien, and more inticing Face.

163

Thou from the flying Minutes dost retrieve,
The Joys Clorinda's Wit and Beauty give;
Those Joys which I had once possess'd in vain,
Did not the dear Remembrance still remain,
Methinks she speaks, and all my Soul inspires,
Brightens each Thought, and gives my Muse new Fires;
'Tis she who lends my daring Fancy Wings,
Softens my Lyre, and tunes its warbling Strings.

Thou only to the Guilty art severe,
Who the Review of their past Actions fear;
But to the Innocent and Virtuous Mind,
Art still propitious, smiling still, and kind,
To Thee we all those charming Pleasures owe,
The Pleasures which from gen'rous Actions flow,
They're still the Noblest we possess below.

164

SONG.

He's gone the bright Way, that his Honour directs him,
O! all ye kind Powers, let me beg you protect him:
He's gone, my dear Strephon, and left me here mourning,
But hang these dull Thoughts, I'll fancy him returning:
Returning, I'll think the great Hero, Victorious,
With Joy to my Arms, as faithful as glorious:
Against his bright Eyes, I am sure there's no standing;
He looks like a God, and moves as commanding.
With a Face so Angelic the Foe will be charmed,
The Conquest were his, tho' he met 'em disarm'd.
They could not be, sure, of a rational Nature,
That wou'd not relent at so moving a Feature.

165

Venus disguis'd he'll be thought by his Beauty;
And spar'd from the Sense of a generous Duty.
Yet when I reflect on the Wounded and Dying,
In Spite of my Courage, it sets me a sighing.
But the resolute Brave no Danger can stay him,
Tho' I us'd all my Charms, all my Arts to delay him.
Yet O! ye kind Powers, you are bound to protect him,
Since he's gone the bright Way that Glory directs him.

A Farewel to LOVE.

Well, since in Spite of all that Love can do,
The dang'rous Steps of Honour you'll pursue,
I'll just grow Wise and Philosophic too:
I'll bid these tender silly Things Farewel;
And Love, with thy great Antidote, expel:

166

I'll tread the same ambitious Paths with Thee,
And Glory too shall be my Deity.
I'll therefore now release my Train of Fools,
In pure Good-Nature to the loving Souls;
For Pity's-sake at last I'll set to rights
The vain Conceits of the presumptuous Wights:
For tho' I shake off Theron's Chains, yet He
Is all that e'er deserv'd a Smile from me.
But he's unjust, and false; yet I a Part,
Would not accept, tho' of a Monarch's Heart.
Therefore ye flatt'ring Hopes and Wishes too,
With all Loves, soft Concomitants, Adieu:
No more to its Imperious Yoke I'll bow;
Pride and Resentment fortify me now.
My Inclinations are revers'd; nor can
I but abhor the Slavery of Man,
Howe'er the empty Lords of Nature boast,
O'er me, their fond Prerogative is lost:
For, uncontroul'd I thus resolve to rove,
And hear no more of Hymen, or of Love:

167

No more such wild fantastic things shall charm
My Breast; nor my serener Thoughts alarm.
No more for Sport I'll make a Lover creep,
And look like silly Wretch who bit a Sheep;
Nor with dissembled Smiles indulge the Fops,
In pure Revenge to their audacious Hopes;
Tho' at my Feet a thousand Victims lay,
I'd proudly spurn the whining Slaves away:
Deaf as the Winds, or Theron, would I prove,
And hear no more of Hymen, or of Love.
Like bright Diana now I'll range the Woods,
And haunt the silent Shades and silver Floods;
I'll find out the remotest Paths I can,
To shun th' offensive, hated Face of Man;
Where I'll Indulge my Liberty and Bliss,
And no Endymion shall obtain a Kiss.
Now, Cupid, mourn, th' Inlargment of my Fate,
Thou'ast lost a Politician in thy State:
I could have taught Thee, hadst thou lost thy Arms,
To fool the World with more delusive Charms:

168

I could have made thy Taper burn more bright,
And wing thy Shafts with an unerring Flight:
'Twas I directed that successful Dart,
Which found its Way to the Great Strephon's Heart:
'Twas I who made the lovely Flatman bow,
A proud Contemner of thy Laws, till now;
I sung thy Power, and inspir'd the Swains,
Or thou hadst been no Deity on the Plains,
Yet think no more my Freedom to surprize,
Which nothing can controul but Theron's Eyes;
And ev'ry flatt'ring Smile, and ev'ry Grace,
With all the Air of that bewitching-Face,
My Pride and Resolutions may deface:
From whom those Eyes for ever I'll remove,
To shun the Sight of what I would not love:
And then, tho' ev'ry Cyclop stretch'd his Art,
To form the little angry God a Dart,
I'll yet defy his Rage to touch my Heart:
For tho' my Years compel me, in Disdain,
Of the false Charmer meanly to complain;

169

'Tis yet some Satisfaction to my Mind,
I for his Sake abandon all Mankind.
My prouder Muse, to love no more a Slave,
Shall sing the Just, the Fortunate, and Brave,
And twine her promis'd Wreaths for Theron's Brow,
The Hero, not the faithless Lover now.
More blooming Glories may'st thou still acquire,
And urge my Breast with a more active Fire;
May new Successes wait upon thy Sword,
And deathless Honour all thy Acts record;
May all Thou dost thy Character compleat;
And, like thy self, be Loyal still and Great:
Whilst in an equal Orb as free I move,
And think no more of Hymen, or of Love.

170

LOVE for LOVE.

AN Epistle to Clymene.

By Thomas Rowe Esq;

Still must we mourn thy Absence? still complain,
And court Thee from thy sad Retreat in vain?
When teeming Earth with fruitful Moisture fed,
Brings forth new Flow'rs, to deck the Paths You tread;
When each returning Morn shines doubly bright,
And each cool Ev'ning brings a charming Night,
The Country-Shades may yield a soft Delight.
But when o'er All the savage Winter reigns,
Makes bare the Groves, and desolates the Plains;

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When Nature's Face is chang'd, and ev'ry Day
Snatches some poor, decaying Charm away,
'Tis Madness, dear Clymene, then to stay.
What new, unheard-of Pleasures can'st Thou find;
What strange Delights, to entertain thy Mind?
Or do important Reasons force thy Will,
And to the gloomy Scene confine thee still?
I guess the mighty Cause: Thou fear'st to prove,
In this vile Town, the dreadful Thing call'd Love.
The little Tyrant reigns amidst the Sport,
The Smiles and Pleasures of the Town and Court.
Nor only there; Him ev'n the Wilds obey,
And Country-Desarts own his aweful Sway.
In vain to Woods and Solitudes we fly,
In vain the City change for purer Sky;
More dang'rous ev'n than Courts the Shades may prove,
And with more Ease admit th' Invader, Love.
Wild was the Place, and savage all around,
Where fair Angelica young Medor found.

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Severe the Dame, but grave, and sternly coy;
Am'rous, soft too, and tender was the Boy:
You know the rest—Then haste from your Abodes,
Leave the weak Shelter of the Fields and Woods:
O! come, and in a Thousand Breasts inspire
Successless Rage, and unavailing Fire.
Nor dread th' Effects of all their treach'rous Arts,
Their boasted Stratagems to conquer Hearts:
Unless the Fates assist, their moving Tale
Will never o'er your native Cold prevail.
To prove this true, believe the Tale I tell;
Not Oracles more Sacred Truths reveal.

As wand'ring pensive thro' the silent Groves,
I meditate my Sorrows and my Loves;
Daphnis, the Terror of our Woods, I view;
A mightier Name Love's Empire never knew:
None e'er so well an haughty Breast cou'd tame,
Or warms to Fires unknown the coldest Dame.
Prostrate before an heedless Fair he lies,
Sheds fruitful Tears, and wastes a Thousand Sighs;

173

Then Love and Sorrow pleading in his Look,
Thus to the Cruel Nymph the Charmer spoke.

How long, my Fair, wilt Thou thy Fate delay?
Still wilt Thou idly waste the precious Day,
And in Indifference loiter Life away?
Hear always with Contempt my tender Theme,
Despise Love's Pleasures, and his Pow'r blaspheme?
Ah! no: The Joys my Passion courts in vain,
Another Shepherd with more Ease will gain;
His happier Flame will thy fierce Pride remove,
Subdue thy stubborn Heart, and melt it all to Love.
All Nature owns the God: In barb'rous Plains,
Where Half the Year is Night, and Cold eternal reigns,
The frozen Race is warm'd to soft Desires,
And feels in ev'ry Vein the Genial Fires.
However distant, the dread Hour must come,
Which all thy fading Beauties will resume:
Then in a just Revenge, th' offended Boy
May give his Suff'rings, and withhold his Joy;

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Send a fresh Warmth, as ev'ry Charm decays,
And wild Desires you want the Pow'r to raise.
Ah! Nymph, the Horror of this Fate prevent,
Appease the angry God, and yet in time repent.
Let tasteless Age th' Extatic Bliss despise,
Grow coldly grave, and stoically wise;
Do You, my Fair, while blooming Youth invites
To warmer Sentiments, and gay Delights,
Your Scorn and dull Indiff'rence dispossest,
Receive the gentle Tyrant to your Breast;
Reward a constant Flame, and yield to prove
The mighty Transports of a Mutual-Love.
No other solid Blessings Mortals know,
Nor Heav'n can on its Fav'rites more bestow,
To give a Taste of its own Joys below.

He ceas'd—The Neighb'ring Echoes caught the Sound,
The little Birds sung tender Notes around;
The list'ning Waves in gentle Murmurs move,
And ev'ry balmy Zephyr whisper'd Love;

175

Yet her cold Heart in Silence heard his Pain;
When the Heart's silent, all Things speak in vain.

The WHIM.

Near a clear Stream, beneath a cooling Shade,
Charming Retreat, the pensive Iris stray'd;
Iris, a Name to distant Nations known,
By her fam'd Verses Beauties, and her Own.
Heedless She rov'd; for nor the murm'ring Sound
Of the smooth Waves, nor Flow'rs that deck'd the Ground,
Nor the Birds tender Songs could charm the Fair,
Or ease her gloomy Thoughts and melancholy Care.

At last She cries, Fond Love, I own no more
Thy aweful Tyranny, and boasted Pow'r;
No more thro' Thee tumultuous Fears arise,
Sighs from my Breast, and Torrents from my Eyes:

176

A Native Coldness reigns in ev'ry Part,
And all is calm and quiet in my Heart.
But ah! how poorly I that Calmness taste,
Forc'd to regret ev'n all my Suff'ring past.
Alas! th' unwary Soul but little knows,
That wishes for the Blessings of Repose.
In the sad State of Idleness and Ease,
When Nothing busies, Nothing too can please.
The treach'rous Tyrant, Love, less faintly charms,
Sweet are his Ills, and pleasing all his Harms:
The Mind each Moment to Delights improves;
For all is Pleasures to an Heart that loves.
In what a tedious Round of Griefs he lives,
Who, wretehed, his own Tenderness survives!
Can one that ever felt an am'rous Pain,
Unloving, Life's vexatious Load sustain?
Lose ev'ry ling'ring Hour, and waste away
In dull, unactive Indolence, the Day?
Ah! no: Return, soft God; resume thy Reign,
Bring with thee all thy Fires, to kindle mine again:
Alas! thou wilt not come; and all my Calls are vain;

177

Cruel! Thou cam'st an uninvited Guest,
And mad'st, unsought, a Passage to my Breast:
Now thou can'st all my Pray'rs and Vows despise,
And scorn to gain a weak inglorious Prize.
I ask not for the Transports those possess,
Whom Thou, with smiling Fates, and mutual Loves dost bless.
The Barb'rous, Charming Youth that rul'd my Heart,
Has taught me all thy Rigour, and thy Smart;
Heedless of mine, in other Flames he burns,
And Hate, or worse Indifference, returns.
The Joy of being Lov'd, I ne'er can prove;
I ask no other now, but that of Love.
Have not my Fears, and my Alarms been vain?
How am I sure that I have broke my Chain?
Don't I, while I desire, already feel the Pain?
What shall I do; What Method take, to find
The true Condition of my floating Mind?
See, while I speak, the dear Ingrateful come!
His Presence clears my Doubts and fixes all my Doom;

178

I view the lovely Swain; his Sight inspires
Soft melting Thoughts, and raging fierce Desires,
And all my Soul conceives the well-known Fires.
Welcome, ye boundless Griefs and racking Pains!
Welcome, ye ne'er-to-be forgotten Chains!
Amidst Confusion, Horror and Despair,
Studious I'll feed the dear distracting Care,
And thank Thee, Gracious Love, who well hast heard my Pray'r.

N. B. These two Poems were Translated Paraphrastically, from the French Originals of Mademoiselle Des Houliers, by Mr. Rowe.

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