תמונות בעמוד

He lost his Crook, he left his Flocks,
And wand'ring thro the lonely Rocks,

He nourish'd endless Woe,

The Nymphs and Shepherds round him came,
His Grief Some pity, others blame,

The fatal Cause all kindly seck :
He mingld his Concern with theirs,
He gave 'em back their Friendly Tears;

He sigh’d, but wou'd not speak.
Clorinda came among the rest,
And she too kind Concern express'd,

And ask'd the Reason of his Woe?
She ask'd, but with an Air and Mein,
That made it easily foreseen,

She fear'd too much to know,
The Shepherd rais'd his mournful Head;
And will you pardon me, he said,

While I the Truth reveal?
Which nothing from my Breast shou'd tear,
Which never shou'd offend your Ear,

But that you bid nie tell.
'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain,
Since you appeard upon the Plain,

You are the cause of all my Care : Your Eyes ten thousand Dangers dart, Ten thousand Torments vex my Heart;

I love, and I despair.
Too much, Alexis, I have heard ;
'Tis what I thought, 'tis what I fear'd,

And yet I pardon you, the cry'd ;
But you shall promise ne'er again,
To breath your Vows, or speak your Pain;

He bow'd, obey'd, and dy'd.

Ir. Prior.



David's Song under Michal's Windom.

Awake, awake, my Lyre,
And tell thy Silent Mafter's hunible Tale,

In sounds that may prevail ;
Sounds that gentle Thoughts inspire,

Tho' so exalted she,

And I so lowly be,
Tell her such diff'rent Notes make all thy Harmony.

Hark, how the Strings awake,
And tho' the Moving Hand approach not near,

Themselves with awful fear,
A kind of numerous Trembling make.

Now all thy Forces try,

Now all thy Charms apply,
Revenge upon her Ear the Conquests of her Eye.

Weak Lyre! Thy Virtue sure
Is useless here, since thou art only found

To Cure, but not to Wound,
And she to Wound, but not to Cure.

Too weak too wilt thou prove,

My Passion to remove, Pl.yfick to other lils, thou art Nourissement to Love,

Sleep, Sleep again, ny Lyre,
For thou can'st never tell my humble Tale,

in Sounds that will prevail,
Nor gentle Thoughts in her inspire;

All thy vain Mirth lay by,

Bid thy Strings filent lie, Sleep, Sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy Malter die..




Pfalm 114.
HEN Ifrael was from Bondage led,

Led by th' Almighty's Hand,

Froni out a Foreign Land,
The great Sea beheld, and fed.
As Men pursu'd, when that fear past they find,
Stop on some higher Ground to look behind;
So whilst through wondrous ways,

The Sacred Army went,
The Waves afar stood up to gaze,

And their own Rocks did represent,
Solid as Waters are above the Firmament.
Old Jordan's Waters to their Spring,

Start back with fudden Fright;

The Spring amazed at the Sight,
Ask'd what News from Sea they bring.
The Mountains shook, and to the Mountains side,
The little Hills leap'd round themselves to hide;
As young affrighted Lambs,

When they ought dreadful Spy,
Run trenbling to their helpless Damsg

The mighty Sea and River by,
Were glad for their excuse to see the Hills to fly
What ail'd the nighty Sea to flee?

Or why did Jordan's Tide,
Back to his Fountain Glide ?

Jordan's Tide, what ailed thee?
Why leap'd the Hills? Why did the Mountains shake?
What ail'd them their fix'd Natures to forfake?

Fly where thou wilt, Sea!

And Jordan's Current cease;
Jordan, there is no need of thee,

For at God's Word, when e're he please,
The Rocks shall weep new Waters forth injtead of these.



The Grove,


By the Earl of Roscommon.
AH, happy Grove! Dark and fecure Retreat

Of Sacred Silence, Rest's Eternal Seat :
How well your cool and unfrequented Shade,
Sutes with the chaste Retirements of a Maid.
Oh! If kind Heav'n had been so much my Friend,
To make my Fate upon ny Choice depend:
All my Ambition I would here confine,
And only this Elysium should be mine.
Fond Men, by Pallion wilfully betray'd,
Adore those Idols which their Fancy made:
Purchasing Riches with our Time and Care,
We lose our Freedom in a gilded Snare;
And having all, all to our felves refuse,
Oppress'd with Bleslings which we fear to use.
Fame is at best but an inconstant Good,
Vain are the boafted Titles of our Blood;
We foonest lose what we most highly prize,
And with our Youth our short-liv'd Beauty dies.
In vain our Fields and Flocks increase our Store,
If our abundance makes us wish for more.
How happy is the harniless Country Maid,
Who, rich by Nature, scorns superfluous Aid!
Whose modest Clothes no wanton Eyes invite,
But, like her Soul, preserves the native White:
Whose little Store, her well-taught Mind does please,
Not pinch'd with Want,nor cloy'd with wanton ease,
Who free from Storms, which on the great ones fall,
Makes but few Wilhes, and enjoys them all :


No Care but Love can discompose her Breast, Love, of all Cares, the fiveetest and the best. Whilst on sweet Grass hur Bleating Charge does lie, Our happy Lover feeds upon her Eye : Not one on whom, or Gods, or Men impose, But one whom Love has for this Lover chof. Under some favourite Myrtle's shady Boughs, They speak their Pasiions in repeated Vows : And whilst a Blush confeites how the burns, His faithful Heart makes as fincere Returns. Thus in the Arnis of Love and Peace they lie, And whilst they live, their Flames can never die.


A Description of Goliah's marching out of the Phi

liftian Army.

A ND from the midst, a nionstrous Man stept out,

Aloud they shouted at each Step he took ; We, and the Earth it self, beneath him shook, Vast as the Hill, down which he march'd h’appear'd; Amaz'd all Eyes, nor was their Army fear'd. A young tall Squire (tho’then he seem'd notío) Did from the Camp, at firft, before him go.; At first he did, but scarce cou'd follow strait, Sweating beneath a Shields unruly weight, On which was wrought the Gods and Gyants fight, Rare Work! All filld with Terrour and Delight.

vaft Hill,'gainst thund'ring Baal was thrown, Trees and Beasts on't fell,burnt with Light'ning down. One flings a Mountain, and its River too Torn up with’t; that Rains back on him that threw. Some from the Main to pluck whole Islands try; The Sea boils round with Flames shot thick from Sky.

C 2




« הקודםהמשך »