« הקודםהמשך »
Not the wild Herd of Nymphs and Swains,
As Custom leads the way :
And be as blest as they.
To dull Embraces move:
And make a World of Love.
Not the niad Tribe that Hell inspires
The purer Blifs destroy:
Can mingle Hearts and Hands : Logs of green Wood that quench the Coals, Are marry'd just like Stoic Souls, With Osyers for their Bands.
6. Not Minds of melancholy Strain, Still filent, or that still complain,
Can the dear Bondage bless : As well may heavenly Consorts spring, From two old Lutes, with ne'er à String,
Or none besides the Base.
7. Nor can the soft Enchantments hold Two jarring Souls of angry Mould,
The rugged and the keen, Simpson's young Foxes might as well In Bonds of chearful Wedlock dwell, With Fire-Brands ty'd between..
8. Nor let the cruel Fetters bind? A gentle to a favage Mind,
For Love abhors the Sight:
And feeds their mutual Loves : Bright Venus on her rolling Throne Is drawn by gentlest Birds alone,
And Cupids yoke the Doves.
The Indian Philosopher:
By the same Author.
WHY should our Joys transform to Pain?
Why gentle Hymen's fisken Chain
A plague of Iron prove? Bendil)), 'tis strange the Charnt that binds Millions of Hands, should leave their Minds
At such a loose from Love.
In vain I songht the wondrous Cause, Ranged the wide Fields of Nature's Laws,
And urg'd the Schools in vain; Then deep in Thought, within my Breast My Soul retir'd, and Number dress'd A bright Instructive Scene.
3. O'er the broad Lands, and cross the Tide On Fancy's airy Horse I ride,
(Sweet Rapture of the Mind)
Awoke his Morning-Song; Thrice he conjur’d the murm’ring Stream) The Birth of Souls was all his Thenie, And Half-Divine his Tongue.
5. He sung th' eternal rolling Flanie, That Vital Mass, that still the fanie
Does all our Minds compose : But shap'd in twice ten thousand Frames, Thence diff'ring Souls of differing Names, And jarring Tempers rose.
6. The mighty Power that form'd the Mind One Mould for every Tmo design'd,
And bless'd the New-born Pair : This be a Match for this: He faid, Then down he sent the Souls he made
To seek them Bodies here.
And never joyn'd their Hands:
The sweetest Joy of Life :
While Ganges ceas'd to flow :
I may be happy too.
Sonie courteous Angel, tell me where,
Or distant Seas detain ?
And wear the joyful Chain.
CXIII. Tk CXIII.
The Four Seasons of the Year.
SPRING. PErceiv'ft thou not the process of the Year,
How the Four Seafons in four Forms appear, , Resembling human Life in every Shape they wear. Spring first, like Infancy, Shoots out her Head, With milky Juice requiring to be fed : Helpless, tho' fresh, and wanting to be led. The green Stem grows in Stature and in Size, But only feeds with Hope the Farmer's Eyes; Then laughs the childish
year with Flourets crown'd, And lavilhly perfumes thé Fields around, But no substantial Nourishment receives, Infirm the Stalks, unfolid are the Leaves.
PRoceeding onward whence the year began,
The Summer grows adult, ripens into Man.