How in the world, to me a defart grown, Abandon'd and alone,
Without my sweet companion can I live? Without thy lovely smile,
The dear reward of every virtuous toil,
What pleasures now can pall'd Ambition give?
E'en the delightful fenfe of well-earn'd praise, Unfhar'd by thee, no more my lifelefs thoughts could raise.
For my distracted mind
What fuccour can I find?
On whom for confolation fhall I call?
Support me, every friend;
Your kind affiftance lend,
To bear the weight of this oppreffive woe. Alas! each friend of mine,
My dear departed love, so much was thine, That none has any comfort to bestow.
My books, the best relief
In every other grief,
Are now with your idea fadden'd all:
Each favourite author we together read
My tortur'd memory wounds, and speaks of Lucy dead.
We were the happiest pair of human kind: The rolling year it's various courfe perform❜d, And back return'd again; `.
Another, and another, fmiling came,
And faw our happinefs unchang'd remain.
Still in her golden chain
Harmonious Concord did our wifhes bind: Our ftudies, pleasures, tafte, the fame. O fatal, fatal ftroke!
That all this pleafing fabrick Love had rais'd
On which ev'n wanton Vice with envy gaz'd,
every scheme of bliss our hearts had form'd, With foothing hope for many a future day,
In one fad moment broke!
Yet, O my foul! thy rifing murmurs stay; Nor dare th' all-wife Disposer to arraign, Or against his fupreme decree
With impious grief complain."
That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade, Was his moft righteous will-and be that will obey'd
Would thy fond love his grace to her controuls And, in these low abodes of fin and pain,
Unjustly, for thy partial good, detain? No-rather frive thy grovelling mind to raise Up to that unclouded blaze,
That heavenly radiance of eternal light, In which enthron'd fhe now with pity fees How frail, how infecure, how flight, Is every mortal bliss;
E'en Love itfelf, if rifing by degrees Beyond the bounds of this imperfect state, Whofe Reeting joys fo foon must end, It does not to it's fovereign good afcend, Rife, then, my foul, with hope elate, And feek thofe regions of ferene delight, Whofe peaceful path, and ever-open gate, No feet but thofe of harden'd Guilt fhall mifs: There death himself thy Lucy fhall restore;
There yield up all his power e'er to divide you more.
ADOR the old, the wealthy, and the ftrong,
Chearful in years (nor of the heroick Mufe Unknowing, nor unknown) held fair poffeffions Where flows the fruitful Danube. Seventy fprings Smil'd on his feed, and feventy harveft-moons Fill'd his wide granaries with autumnal joy: Still he refum'd the toil; and fame reports, While he broke up new ground, and tir'd his plough In graffy furrows, the torn earth difclos'd Helmets and swords, (bright furniture of war, Sleeping in ruft) and heaps of mighty bones. The fun defcending to the western deep, Bid him lie down and reft: he loos'd the yoke; Yet held his wearied oxen from their food, With charming numbers, and uncommon fong.
Go, fellow-labourers, you may rove secure, Or feed befide me; tafte the greens and boughs That you have long forgot; crop the sweet herb, And graze in safety; while the victor Pole
Leans on his fpear, and breathes; yet ftill his eye Jealous and fierce, How large, old foldier, fay, How fair a harvest of the flaughter'd Turks Strew'd the Moldavian fields? What mighty piles Of vaft deftruction, and of Thracian dead, Fill and amaze my eyes? Broad bucklers lie (A vain defence!) fpread o'er the pathless hills, And coats of fealy fteel, and hard habergeon, Deep-bruis'd, and empty of Mahometan limbs. This the fierce Saracen wore, (for, when a boy,
I was their captive,and remind their dress:) Here the Polonians dreadful march'd along, In auguft port, and regular array,
Led on to conqueft. Here the Turkish chief Prefumptuous trod, and in rude order rang'd His long battalions; while his populous towns Pour'd out fresh troops perpetual, dreft in arms, Horrent in mail, and gay in fpangled pride. O the dire image of the bloody fight Thefe eyes have feen, when the capacious plain Was throng'd with Dacian fpears; when polish'd helms, And convex gold, blaz'd thick against the fun, Reftoring all his beams! but frowning War, All gloomy, like a gather'd tempeft, stood Wavering, and doubtful where to bend it's fall. The ftorm of miffive steel delay'd a while By wife command; fledg'd arrows on the nerve; And fcymiter and fabre bore the sheath Reluctant; till the hollow brazen clouds
Had bellow'd from each quarter of the field
Loud thunder, and difgorg'd their fulphurous fire.
Then banners wav'd, and arms were mix'd with arms;
Then javelins anfwer'd javelins as they fled,
For both fled hiffing death: with adverse edge
The crooked faulchions met; and hideous noise
From clashing shields, through the long ranks of war, Clang'd horrible. A thousand iron ftorms
Roar diverfe; and in harsh confufion drown The trumpet's filver found. O rude effort Of harmony! Not all the frozen ftores
Of the cold North, when pour'd in rattling hail, Lash with fuch madness the Norwegian plains, Or fo torment the ear. Scarce founds fo far The direful fragor, when fome fouthern blaft Tears from the Alps a ridge of knotty oaks Deep fang'd, and ancient tenants of the rock:
The maffy fragment, many a rood in length, With hideous crafh, rolls down the rugged cliff Refiftlefs, plunging in the fubject lake,
Como, or Lugaine; th' afflicted waters roar, And various thunder all the valley fills;
Such was the noife of war: the troubled air Complains aloud, and propagates the din To neighbouring regions; rocks and lofty hills Beat the impetuous echoes round the sky.
Uproar, revenge, and rage, and hate, appear In all their murderous forms; and flame, and blood, And sweat and duft, array the broad campaign. In horror; hafty feet, and sparkling eyes, And all the favage paffions of the foul, Engage in the warm business of the day.
Here mingling hands, but with no friendly gripe, Join in the fight, and breafts in close embrace, But mortal as the iron arms of death.
Here words auftere, of perilous command, And valour swift t'obey; bold feats of arms, Dreadful to fee, and glorious to relate,
Shine thro' the field with more furprizing brightness Than glittering helms or fpears. What loud applaufe (Beft meed of warlike toil) what manly shouts, And yells unmanly, thro' the battle ring!
And fudden wrath dies into endless fame.
Long did the fate of war hang dubious. Here Stood the more numerous Turk; the valiant Pole Fought here, more dreadful, tho' with leffer wings. But what the Dahets or the coward foul Of a Cydonian; what the fearful crowds Of base Cilicians 'fcaping from the slaughter Of Parthian beafts, with all their racing riders; What could they mean against th' intrepid breast Of the pursuing foe? Th' impetuous Poles Rush here, and here the Lithuanian horse
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