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Around it, mingled in a solemn band,
Let Phoebe's lovers, and Asteria's stand,
With fervent vows t' attend the sacrifice;
While rich perfumes from melted gums arise,
To bribe for Phoebe's health the partial skies.

Forbid it, Love, that sickly blasts consume
The flower of beauty in its tender bloom!
Shall she so soon to her own Heaven retire,
Who gave so oft, yet never felt thy fire?
Who late at splendid feasts so graceful shone,

By pleasing smiles and numerous conquests known;
Where, 'midst the brightest nymphs, she bore the
From all-from all but her Asteria's eyes. [prize
Behold the maid, who then secure repell'd
The shafts of Love, by fainting sickness quell'd!
(As Beauty's goddess once a wound sustain'd,
Not from her son, but from a mortal's hand)
Asteria too forgets her sprightly charms,
And drooping lies within her Phoebe's arms.
Thus in romantic histories we read

Of tournaments by some great prince decreed,
Where two companion-knights their lances wield
With matchless force, and win, from all, the field;
Till one, o'erheated in the course, retires,
And feels within his veins a fever's fires;
His grieving friend his laurels throws away,
And mourns the dear-bought triumphs of the day.
So strict's the union of this tender pair,
What Heaven decrees for one, they both must share.
Like meeting rivers, in one stream they flow,
And no divided joys or sorrows know.

Not the bright twins', preferr'd in Heaven to shine,
Fair Leda's sons, in such a league could join.
One soul, as fables tell, by turns supply'd
That heavenly pair, by turns they liv'd and dy'd:
But these have sworn a matchless sympathy,
They'll live together, or together die.

When Heaven did at Asteria's birth bestow
Those lavish charms, with which she wounds us so,
To form her glorious mind, it did inspire
A double portion of th' ethereal fire,
That half might afterward be thence convey'd,
To animate that other lovely maid,

Thus native instinet does their hearts combine,
In knots too close for Fortune to untwine.

So India boasts a tree, that spreads around
Its amorousboughs, which, bending,reach theground,
Where taking root again, the branches raise
A second tree to meet its fond embrace;
Then side by side the friendly neighbours thrive,
Fed by one sap, and in each other live.

Of Phoebe' health we need not send to know How Nature strives with her invading foe, What symptoms good or ill each day arise; We read those changes in Asteria's eyes. Thus in some crystal fountain you may spy The face of Heaven, and the reflected sky, See what black clouds arise, when tempests lower, And gathering mists portend a falling shower, And when the Sun breaks out, with conquering ray To chase the darkness, and restore the day.

Such be thy fate, bright maid! from this decline Arise renew'd thy charms, and doubly shine! And as that dawning planet was addrest With offer'd incense by th' adoring East, So we'll with songs thy glad recovery greet, The Muse shall lay her presents at thy feet;

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With open arms, Asteria shall receive
The dearest pledge propitious Heaven can give.
Fann'd by these winds, your friendship's generous
fire

Shall burn more bright, and to such heights aspire,
The wondering world shall think you from above
Come down to teach how happy angels love.

SONG.

FAME of Dorinda's conquest brought
The god of Love her charms to view;
To wound th' unwary maid he thought,
But soon became her conquest too.

He dropp'd, half drawn, his feeble bow,
He look'd, he rav'd, and sighing pin'd;
And wish'd in vain he had been now,
As painters falsely draw him, blind.
Disarm'd, he to his mother flies;

Help, Venus, help thy wretched son! Who now will pay us sacrifice?

For Love himself's, alas! undone. To Cupid now no lover's prayer

Shall be address'd in suppliant sighs; My darts are gone, but oh! beware, Fond mortals, of Dorinda's eyes.

TO OCTAVIA INDISPOSED.

AROUND
your couch whilst sighing lovers view
Wit, beauty, goodness, suffering all in you;
So mournful is the scene, 'tis hard to tell
Which face betrays the sick, or who is well.
They feel not their own pains,while yours they share,
Worse tortur'd now, than lately by despair.
For bleeding veins a like relief is found,
When iron red-hot by burning stops the wound.
'Grant, Heaven," they cry, "this moment our de
To see her well, though we the next expire." [sire,

BEAUTY AND MUSIC.
Ye swains, whom radiant Beauty moves,
Or Music's art with sounds divine,
Think how the rapturous charm improves,
Where two such gifts celestial join;
Where Cupid's bow, and Phœbus' lyre,
In the same powerful hand are found;
Where lovely eyes inflame desire,
While trembling notes are taught to wound,
Inquire not who's the matchless fair,

That can this double death bestow:
If young Harmonia's strains you hear,
Or view her eyes, too well you'll know,

CUPID'S REVIEW,

CUPID, survey thy shining train around
Of favourite nymphs, for conquest most renown'd;
The lovely warriors that in bright array
Thy power support, and propagate thy sway.
Then say, what beauteous general wilt thou choose,
To lead the fair brigade against thy rebel foes?

Behold the god advance in comely pride,
Arm'd with his bow, his quiver by his side:
Inferior Cupids on their master wait;

He smiles well pleas'd, and waves his wings in state.
His little hands imperial trophies bear,
And laurel-wreaths to grace th' elected fair.

Hyde-Park the scene for the Review he nam'd,
Hyde-Park for pleasure and for beauty fam'd,
Where, oft from western skies the god of light
Sees new-arising suns, than his more bright;
Then sets in blushes, and conveys his fire
To distant lands, that more his beams require.
And now the charming candidates appear:
Behold Britannia's victor graces there,
Who vindicate their country's ancient claim
To Love's pre-eminence, and Beauty's fame.
Some, who, at Anna's court, in honour rais'd,
Adorn birth-nights, by crowding nations prais'd;
Preserv'd in Kneller's pictures ever young,
In strains immortal by the Muses sung.

Around the ring th' illustrious rivals move, And teach to Love himself the power of love. Scarce, though a god, he can with safety gaze On glory so profuse, such mingled rays; For Love had eyes on this important day, [away. And Venus from his forehead took the blinding cloth Here Mira pass'd, and fix'd his wondering view, Her perfect shape distinguished praises drew; Tall, beauteous, and majestic to the sight, She led the train, and sparkled in the light. There Stella claims the wreath, and pleads her By which each day some new adorer dies.

[eyes,

Serena, by good-humour doubly fair, With native sweetness charms, and smiling air. While Flora's youthful years and looks display The bloom of ripening fruits, the innocence of May, The opening sweets that months of pleasure bring, The dawn of Love, and life's indulgent spring.

"Twere endless to describe the various darts, With which the fair are arm'd to conquer hearts. Whatever can the ravish'd soul inspire With tender thoughts, and animate desire, All arts and virtues mingled in the train; And long the lovely rivals strove in vain, [plain. While Cupid, unresolv'd, still search'd around the "O! could I find," said Love," the phoenix she, In whom at once the several charms agree; That phoenix she the laurel crown should have, And Love himself with pride become her slave." He scarce had spoke, when see-Harmonia came! Chance brought her there, and not desire of fame; Unknowing of the choice, till she beheld The god approach to crown her in the field. Th' unwilling maid, with wondrous modesty, Disclaim'd her right, and put the laurel by: Warm blushes on her tender cheeks arise, And double softness beautify'd her eyes.

At this, more charm'd, "The rather I bestow," Said Love, 66 these honours you in vain forego; Take then the wreath, which you, victorious fair, Have most deserv'd, yet least affect to wear."

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Thus ancient legends would our faith abuse:
In vain-for were the bold tradition true,
While your harmonious touch that charm renews,
Again the scraph would appear to you.

O happy fair! in whom, with purest light,
Virtue's united beams with beauty shine!
Should heavenly guests descend to bless our sight,
What form more lovely could they wear than
thine?

SONNET.

Je mourrai de trop de plaisir,

Si je la trouve favourable; Je mourrai de trop de desir,

Se je la trouve inexorable, Ainsi je ne sçaurois guerir

De la douleur qui me possede; Je suis assuré de perir

Par le mal, ou par le remede.

IN ENGLISH.

I DIE with too transporting joy,
If she I love rewards my fire;
If she's inexorably coy,

With too much passion I expire. No way the Fates afford to shun The cruel torment I endure; Since I am doom'd to be undone By the disease, or by the cure.

TO A PAINTER.

PAINTER, if thou canst safely gaze
On all the wonders of that face;
If thou hast charms to guard a heart
Secure by secrets of thy art;

O! teach the mighty charm, that we
May gaze securely too, like thee.
Canst thou Love's brightest lightning draw,
Which none e'er yet unwounded saw?
To what then wilt thou next aspire,
Unless to imitate Jove's fire?
Which is a less adventurous pride,
Though 'twas for that Salmoneus dy'd,
That beauteous, that victorious fair,
Whose chains so many lovers wear;
Who with a look can arts infuse,
Create a Painter, or a Muse;
Whom crowds with awful rapture view;
She sits serene, and smiles on you!
Your genius thus inspir'd will soar
To wondrous heights unknown before,
And to her beauty you will own
Your future skill and fix'd renown.

So when of old great Ammon's son,
Adorn'd with spoils in battle won,
In graceful picture chose to stand,
The work of fam'd Apelles' hand;
"Exert thy fire," the monarch said,
"Now be thy boldest strokes display'd,
To let admiring nations see
Their dreaded victor drawn by thee;
To others thou may'st life impart,
But I'll immortalize thy art."

TO THE

AUTHOR OF FATAL FRIENDSHIP,

A TRAGEDY.

As when Camilla once, a warlike dame,
In bloody battles won immortal fame,
Forsook her female arts, and chose to bear
The ponderous shield, and heave the massy spear,
Superior to her sex, so swift she flew

Around the field, and such vast numbers slew,
That friends and foes, alike surpris'd, behold
The brave Virago desperately bold,
And thought her Pallas in a human mould.
Such is our wonder, matchless maid! to see
The tragic laurel thus deserv'd by thee.

Still greater praise is yours; Camilla shines
For ever bright in Virgil's sacred lines,
You in your own.◄

Nor need you to another's bounty owe,
For what yourself can on yourself bestow;
So monarchs in full health are wont to rear,
At their own charge, their future sepulchre.

Who thy perfections fully would commend, Must think how others their vain hours misspend, In trifling visits, pride, impertinence,

[pride.

Dress, dancing, and discourse devoid of sense;
To twirl a fan, to please some foolish beau,
And sing an empty song, the most they know;
In body weak, more impotent of mind.
Thus some have represented woman-kind.
But you, your sex's champion, are come forth
To fight their quarrel, and assert their worth;
Our Salic law of wit you have destroy'd,
Establish'd female claim, and triumph'd o'er our
While we look on, and with repining eyes
Behold you bearing off so rich a prize,
Spite of ill-nature, we are forc'd t'
approve
Such dazzling charms, and, spite of envy, love.
Nor is this all th' applause that is your due,
You stand the first of stage-reformers too;
No vicious strains pollute your moral scene, [clean;
Chaste are your thoughts, and your expression
Strains such as yours the strictest test will bear:
Sing boldly then, nor busy Censure fear,
Your virgin voice offends no virgin ear.
Proceed in tragic numbers to disclose
Strange turns of fate, and unexpected woes.
Reward, and punish! awfully dispense
Heaven's judgments, and declare a Providence;
Nor let the comic Muse your labours share,
'Tis meanness, after this, the sock to wear:
Though that too merit praise, 'tis nobler toil
T'extort a tear, than to provoke a smile.
What hand, that can design a history,
Would copy low-land boors at Snic-a-Snce?
Accept this tribute, inadam, and excuse
The hasty raptures of a stranger Muse.

1698.

ON DIVINE POETRY.

Is Nature's golden age, when new-born day
Array'd the skies, and Farth was green and gay;
When God, with pleasure, all his works survey'd,
And virgin innocence before him play'd;
In that illustrious morn, that lovely spring,
The Muse, by Heaven inspir'd, began to sing.

Descending angels, in harmonious lays,
Taught the first happy pair their Maker's praise.
Such was the sacred art-We now deplore
The Muse's loss, since Eden is no more.
When Vice from hell rear'd up its hydra-head,
Th' affrighted maid, with chaste Astrea, fled,
And sought protection in her native sky;

In vain the heathen Nine her absence would supply.
Yet to some few, whose dazzling virtues shone,
In ages past, her heavenly charms were known.
Hence learn'd the bard, in lofty strains to tell
How patient Virtue triumph'd over Hell;
And hence the chief, who led the chosen race
Through parting seas, deriv'd his songs of praise:
She gave the rapturous ode, whose ardent lay
Sings female force, and vanquish'd Sisera;
She tun'd to pious notes the psalmist's lyre, [fire!
And fill'd Isaiah's breast with more than Pindar's

SONG.

WRITTEN FOR THE LATE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S BIRTH-DAY.

WHILE Venus in her snowy arms

The god of battles held,

And sooth'd him with her tender charms,
Victorious from the field;

By chance she cast a lovely smile,

Propitious, down to Earth,

And view'd in Britain's happy isle

Great Gloucester's glorious birth. "Look, Mars," she said; "look down, and see A child of royal race!

Let's crown the bright nativity

With every princely grace: Thy heavenly image let me bear, And shine a Mars below;

Form you his mind to warlike care,

I'll softer gifts bestow."

Thus at his birth two deities

Their blessings did impart:
And love was breath'd into his eyes,
And glory form'd his heart.
His childhood makes of war a game;
Betimes his beauty charms
The fair; who burn'd with equal flame
For him, as he for arms.

1699.

ON A PEACOCK,

FINELY CUT IN VELLUM BY MOLINDA

WHEN Fancy did Molinda's hand invite,
Without the help of colour, shade, or light,
To form in vellum, spotless as her mind,
The fairest image of the feather'd kind;
Nature herself a strict attendance paid,
Charm'd with th' attainments of th' illustrious maid,
Inspir'd her thought, and, smiling, said, I'll see
How well this fair-one's art can copy ine."
So to her favourite Titian once she came,
To guide his pencil, and attest his fame,
With transport granting all that she could give,
And bid his works to wondering ages live.

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Nor with less transport here the goddess sees The curious piece advance by slow degrees; At last such skill in every part was shown, It seem'd a new creation of her own; She starts, to view the finish'd figure rise, And spread his ample train, enrich'd with eyes; To see, with lively grace, his form express'd, The stately honours of his rising crest, His comely wings, and his soft silky breast! The leaves of creeping vines around him play, And Nature's leaves less perfect seem than they. O matchless bird! whose race, with nicest care, Heaven seems in pleasure to have form'd so fair! From whose gay plumes ev'n Phoebus with delight Sees his own rays refiected doubly bright! Though numerous rivals of the wing there be That share our praise, when not compar'd to thee, Soon as thy rising glories strike our eyes, Their beauty shines no more, their lustre dies. So when Molinda, with superior charms, Dazzles the ring, and other nymphs disarms, To her the rallying Loves and Graces fly, And, fixing there, proclaim the victory.

No wonder, then, since she was born t' excel, This bird's fair image she describes so well, Happy, as in some temple thus to stand, Immortaliz'd by her successful hand.

Her rural slaves their absent victor mourn,
And wish not liberty, but her return.
The conquer'd countries droop, while she's away,
And slowly to the Spring their contribution pay.
While cooing turtles, doubly now alone,
With their lost loves another loss bemoan.

Mean time in peopled cities crowds press on,
And jealous seem who shall be first undone.
Victories, like Fame, before th' invader fly,
And lovers yet unseeing haste to die.
While she with careless, unelated mind,
Hears daily conquests which she ne'er design'd;
In her a soft, yet cruel heart is found,
Averse to cure, and vainly griev'd to wound.

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ON

LUCINDA'S TEA-TABLE.

POETS invoke, when they rehearse
In happy strains their pleasing dreams,
Some Mase unseen to crown their verse,
And boast of Heliconian streams:

But here, a real Muse inspires

(Who more reviving streams imparts) Our fancies with the poets' fires,

And with a nobler flame our hearts.
While from her hand each honour'd guest
Receives his cup with liquor crown'd,
He thinks 'tis Jove's immortal feast,
And Venus deals the nectar round.

As o'er each fountain, poets sing,
Some lovely guardian-nymph has sway,
Who from the consecrated spring,

Wild beasts and satyrs drives away;

So hither dares no savage press,
Who Beauty's sovereign power defies;
All, drinking here, her charms confess,
Proud to be conquer'd by her eyes.
When Phoebus try'd his herbs in vain

On Hyacinth, had she been there,
With tea she would have cur'd the swain,
Who only then had dy'd for her.
January 1, 1701.

THE MARCH.

VICTORIA Comes she leaves the forag'd groves!
Her flying camp of Graces and of Loves
Strike all their tents, and for the march prepare,
And to new scenes of triumph wait the fair.
Unlike the slaves which other warriors gain,

ODE ON THE SPRING.

FOR THE MONTH OF MAY.

WANTON Zephyr, come away!
On this sweet, this silent grove,
Sacred to the Muse and Love,
In gentle whisper'd murmurs play!
Come, let thy soft, thy balmy breeze
Diffuse thy vernal sweets around

From sprouting flowers, and blossom'd trees;
While hills and echoing vales resound
With notes, which wing'd musicians sing
In honour to the bloom of Spring.

Lovely season of desire!

Nature smiles with joy to see

The amorous Months led on by thee,
That kindly wake her genial fire.
The brightest object in the skies,
The fairest lights that shine below,
The Sun, and Mira's charming eyes,
At thy return more charming grow:
With double glory they appear,
To warm and grace the infant Year.

HORACE,

ODE III. BOOK III.

The design of this ode was to insinuate to Augustus the danger of transferring the seat of the empire from Rome to Troy, which we are informed he once entertained thoughts of.

THE man to right inflexibly inclin'd,

Poising on virtue's base his mind,
Rests in himself secure,
Indissolubly firm in good;

Lat tempests rise, and billows rage,
All rock within, he can uninov'd endure
The foaming fury of the flood,

That loath subjection, and would break their chain, | When bellowing winds their jarring troops engage,

Or wasteful civil tumults roll along

With fiercer strength, and louder roar,
Driving the torrent of the throng,
And gathering into power.

Let a proud tyrant cast a killing frown;

Or Jove in angry thunder on the world look down;
Nay, let the frame of Nature crack,
And all the spacious globe on high,
Shatter'd with universal rack,
Come tumbling from the sky:
Yet he'll survey the horrid scene

With steady courage and undaunted mien,
The only thing serene!

Thus Pollux and great Hercules [round,
Roam'd through the world, and blest the nations
Till, rais'd at length to heavenly palaces,
Mankind, as gods, their benefactions crown'd;
With these, Augustus shall for ever shine,
And stain his rosy lips in cups divine.

Thus his fierce tigers dauntless Bacchus bear;
The glaring savages resist in vain,
Impatient of the bit, and fretting on the rein;
Through yielding clouds he drives th' impetuous car.
Great Romulus pursued the shining trace,

And leapt the lake, where all

The rest of mortals fall,

"Let Rome extend her fame to every shore;
And let no banks or mounds restrain
Th' impetuous torrent of her wide command;
The seas from Europe, Africk part in vain;
Swelling above those floods, her power
Shall, like its Nile, o'erflow the Lybian land.
Shining in polish'd steel, she dares

The glittering beams of gold despise,
Gold, the great source of human cares,
Hid wisely deep from mortal eyes,
Till, sought in evil hour by hands unblest,
Opening the dark abodes,
There issued forth a direful train of woes,
That give mankind no rest;
For gold, devoted to th' infernal gods,
No native human uses knows.
"Where'er great Jove did place

The bounds of Nature yet unseen,
He meant a goal of glory to the race
The Roman arms shall win:
Rejoicing, onward they approach
To view the outworks of the world,
The maddening fires, in wild debauch,

[whirl'd!

The snows and rains unborn, in endless eddies

" "Tis I, O Rome, pronounce these fates behind,

And with his father's horses scour'd the same bright But will thy reign with this condition bind,

airy race.

Then in full senate of the deities,

Settling the seats of power, and future fate,

Juno began the high debate,

And with this righteous sentence pleas'd the skies:
"O Troy!" she said, "O hated Troy!
A foreign woman”, and a boy,
Lewd, partial, and unjust,

Shook all thy proudest towers to dust;
Inclin'd to ruin from the time

Thy king did mock two powers divine,
And ras'd thy fated walls in perjury,
But doubly damn'd by that offence,
Which did Minerva's rage incense,
And offer'd wrong to me.
No more the treacherous ravisher

Shipes in full pomp and youthful charms;
Nor Priam's impious house with Hector's spear,
Repels the violence of Grecian arms.

"Our feuds did long embroil the mortal rout,

At last the storm is spent,
My fury with it ebbing out,
These terms of peace content;

To Mars I grant among the stars a place
For his son Romulus, of Trojan race;
Here shall he dwell in these divine abodes,
Drink of the heavenly bowl,

And in this shining court his name enrol,

With the serene and ever-vacant gods: While seas shall rage between his Rome and Troy. The horrid distance breaking wide, The banish'd Trojans shall the globe enjoy, And reign in every place beside; While beasts insult my judge's' dust, and hide Their litter in his cursed tomb, The shining Capitol of Rome Shall overlook the world with awful pride, [dome. And Parthians take their law from that eternal

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That no false filial piety,

In idle shapes deluding thee,

Or confidence of power,

Tempt thee again to raise a Trojan tower;
Troy, plac'd beneath malignant stars,
Haunted with omens still the same,
Rebuilt, shall but renew the former flame,
Jove's wife and sister leading on the wars.
Thrice let her shine with brazen walls,
Rear'd up by heavenly hands:
And thrice in fatal dust she falls,

By faithful Grecian bands;

Thrice the dire scene shall on the world return, And captive wives again their sons and husbands mourn."

But stop, presumptuous Muse, thy daring flight, Nor hope in thy weak lyric lay,

The heavenly language to display, Or bring the counsels of the gods to light.

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