Condemn'd eternal changes to purfue,
Tir'd with the last, and eager of the new.
I bad the Virgins and the Youth advance,
To temper Mufic with the sprightly Dance.
In vain too low the mim c-motions feem;
What takes our heart muft merit our esteem.
Nature, I thought, perform'd too mean a part,
Forming her movements to the rules of art;
And, vex'd, I found that the Mufician's hand
Had o'er the Dancer's mind too great command.
I drank; I lik'd it not 'twas rage; 'twas noife;
An airy fcene of tranfitory joys.
In vain I trusted that the flowing bowl
Would banish forrow, and enlarge the foul.
To the late revel, and protracted feast,
Wild dreams fucceeded, and diforder'd reft;
And, as at dawn of morn fair Reason's light
Broke through the fumes and phantoms of the night,
What had been faid, I afk'd my foul, what done;
How flow'd our mirth, and whence the fource begun ?
Perhaps the jeft that charm'd the fprightly crowd,
And made the jovial table laugh fo loud,
To fome falfe notion ow'd its poor pretence,
To an ambiguous word's perverted sense,
To a wild fonnet, or a wanton air,
Offence and torture to the fober ear:
Perhaps, alas! the pleafing ftream was brought
From this man's error, from another's fault;
From topics, which good-nature would forget,
And prudence mention with the last regret.
Add yet unnumber'd ills, that lie unséen
In the pernicious draught; the word obscene,
Or harsh, which once elanc'd must ever fly
Irrevocable; the too prompt reply,
Seed of fevere diftrust and fierce debate;
What we should shun, and what we ought to hate.
Add too the blood impoverish'd, and the course
Of health fupprefs'd, by wine's continued force.
Unhappy Man whom Sorrow thus and Rage
To different ills alternately engage;
Who drinks, alas! but to forget; nor fees,
That melancholy floth, fevere disease,
Memory confus'd, and interrupted thought,
Death's harbingers, lie latent in the draught;
And, in the flowers that wreath the fparkling bowl, 140
Fell Adders hifs, and poisonous Serpents roll.
Remains there aught untry'd, that may remove
Sickness of mind, and heal the bofom :-Love.
Love yet remains indulge his genial fire,
Cherish fair Hope, folicit young Defire,
And boldly bid thy anxious foul explore
This laft great remedy's myfterious power.
Why therefore hesitates my doubtful breast ?
Why ceases it one moment to be bleft?
Fly fwift, my friends; my fervants, fly; employ 150
Your inftant pains to bring your Master joy.
Let all my Wives and Concubines be drefs'd;
Let them to-night attend the royal feast ;
All Ifrael's beauty, all the foreign fair;
The gifts of princes, or the fpoils of war:
Before their Monarch they fhall fingly pass;
And the moft worthy fhall obtain the grace.
I faid: the feaft was ferv'd; the bowl was crown'd; To the King's pleasure went the mirthful round. The women came: as cuftom wills, they past: On one (O that distinguish'd one!) I caft The favourite glance! O! yet my mind retaine That fond beginning of my infant pains. Mature the Virgin was, of Egypt's race;
Grace fhap'd her limbs; and Beauty deek'd her face;
Eafy her motion feem'd, ferene her air;
Full, though unzon'd, her bosom rofe; her hair,
Unty'd, and ignorant of artful aid,
Adown her fhoulders loosely lay difplay'd;
And in the jetty curls ten thousand Cupids play'd.
Fix'd on her charms, and pleas'd that I could love,
Aid me, my friends, contribute to improve
Your Monarch's blifs, I faid; fresh roses bring
To ftrew my bed, till the impoverish'd Spring
Confess her want; around my amorous head
Be dropping myrrh and liquid amber shed,
Till Arab has no more. From the foft lyre,
Sweet Aute, and ten-ftring'd inftrument, require
Sounds of delight: and thou, fair Nymph! draw nigh;
Thou, in whose graceful form and potent eye,
Thy Master's joy long-fought at length is found;
And, as thy brow, let my defires be crown'd;
O favourite Virgin! that haft warm'd the breast,
Whose fovereign dictates fubjugate the Eaft!
K 4
I faid; and fudden from the golden throne,
With a fubmiffive step, I hafted down.
The glowing garland from my hair I took,
Love in my heart, Obedience in my look ;
Prepar❜d to place it on her comely head:
O favourite Virgin! (yet again I faid)
Receive the honours deftin'd to thy brow;
And O, above thy fellows, happy thou !
Their duty must thy fovereign word obey :
Rife up, my Love, my fair-one, come away.
What pang, alas! what ecftasy of smart,
Tore up my fenfes, and transfix'd my heart;
When the with modeft fcorn the wreath return'd,
Reclin'd her beauteous neck, and inward mourn'd!
Forc'd by my pride, I my concern suppress'd,
Pretended drowfinefs, and wifh of rest:
And fullen I forfook th' imperfect feast :
Ordering the Eunuchs, to whofe proper care
Our Eastern grandeur gives th' imprison'd fair,
To lead her forth to a distinguish'd bower,
And bid her drefs the bed, and wait the hour.
Reftlefs I follow'd this obdurate Maid
(Swift are the steps that Love and Anger tread);
Approach'd her person, courted her embrace,
Renew'd my flame, repeated my disgrace ;
By turns put on the Suppliant and the Lord;
Threaten'd this moment, and the next implor'd;
Offer'd again the unaccepted wreath,
And choice of happy love, or instant death.
Averfe to all her amorous King defir'd,
Far as fhe might the decently retir'd:
And, darting fcorn and forrow from her eyes,
What means, faid fhe, King Solomon the Wife ?
This wretched body trembles at your power:
Thus far could Fortune, but she can no more.
Free to herself my potent mind remains ;
Nor fears the Victor's rage, nor feels his chains.
'Tis faid, that thou canft plaufibly dispute,
Supreme of Seers! of Angel, Man, and Brute;
Canft plead, with subtle wit and fair discourse,
Of Paffion's folly, and of Reafon's force;
That, to the Tribes attentive, thou canst fhow
Whence their misfortunes or their bleffings flow;
That thou in fcience as in power art great;
And Truth and Honour on thy edicts wait.
Where is that knowledge now, that regal thought, 230
With just advice and timely counsel fraught?
Where now, Ó Judge of Ifrael! does it rove?—
What in one moment doft thou offer? Love-
Love! why 'tis Joy or Sorrow, Peace or Strife;
'Tis all the colour of remaining life:
And human mifery must begin or end,
As he becomes a tyrant or a friend.
Would David's fon, religious, juft, and grave,
To the first bride-bed of the world receive
A foreigner, a heathen, and a flave?
Or, grant thy paffion has these names destroy'd,
That Love, like Death, makes all distinction void;
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