Nor shall the mounting lark the Muse detain,
That greets the morning with his early strain;
When, 'midst his song, the twinkling glass betrays,
While from each angle flash the glancing rays,
And in the Sun the transient colours blaze,
Pride lures the little warbler from the skies:
The light-enamour'd bird deluded dies.

But still the chase, a pleasing task, remains;
The hound must open in these rural strains.
Soon as Aurora drives away the night,
And edges eastern clouds with rosy light,
The healthy huntsman, with the cheerful horn,
Summons the dogs, and greets the dappled morn;
The jocund thunder wakes th' enliven'd hounds,
They rouze from sleep, and answer sounds for
sounds;

Wide through the furzy field their rout they take,
Their bleeding bosoms force the thorny brake:
The flying game their smoking nostrils trace,
No bounding hedge obstructs their eager pace;
The distant mountains echo from afar,
And hanging woods resound the flying war:
The tuneful noise the sprightly courser hears,
Paws the green turf, and pricks his trembling

train.

Where shall the trembling hare a shelter find?
Hark! death advances in each gust of wind!
Now stratagems and doubling wiles she tries,
Now circling turns, and now at large she flies;
Till, spent at last, she pants, and heaves for breath,
Then lays her down, and waits devouring death.

But stay, adventurous Muse! hast thou the force
To wind the twisted horn, to guide the horse?
To keep thy seat unmov'd, hast thou the skill,
O'er the high gate, and down the headlong hill?
Cans thou the stag's laborious chase direct,
Or the strong fox through all his arts detect?
The theme demands a more experienc'd lay:
Ye mighty hunters! spare this weak essay.

O happy plains, remote from wars alarms,
And all the ravages of hostile arms!
And happy shepherds, who, secure from fear,
On open downs preserve your fleecy care!
Whose spacious barns groan with increasing store,
And whirling flails disjoint the cracking floor!
No barbarous soldier, bent on cruel spoil,
Spreads desolation o'er your fertile soil;
No trampling steed lays waste the ripen'd grain,
Nor crackling fires devour the promis'd gain :
No flaming beacons cast their blaze afar,
The dreadful signal of invasive war :
No trumpet's clangour wounds the mother's ear,
And calls the lover from his swooning fair,

What happiness the rural maid attends,
In cheerful labour while each day she spends !
She gratefully receives what Heaven has sent,
And, rich in poverty, enjoys content.
(Such happiness, and such unblemish'd fame,
Ne'er glad the bosom of the courtly dame):
She never feels the spleen's imagin'd pains,
Nor melancholy stagnates in her veins;
She never loses life in thoughtless ease,
Nor on the velvet couch invites disease;
Her home-spun dress in simple neatness lies,
And for no glaring equipage she sighs:

I

SING that graceful toy, whose waving play With gentle gales relieves the sultry day: Not the wide fan by Persian dames display'd, Which o'er their beauty casts a grateful shade; Nor that long known in China's artful land, Which, while it cools the face, fatigues the hand: Nor shall the Muse in Asian climates rove, To seek in Indostan some spicy grove, Where, stretch'd at ease, the panting lady lies, To shun the fervour of meridian skies, While sweating slaves catch every breeze of air, And with wide-spreading fans refresh the fair; No busy gnats her pleasing dreams molest, Inflame her cheek, or ravage o'er her breast; But artificial zephyrs round her fly, And mitigate the fever of the sky.

Nor shall Bermudas long the Muse detain, Whose fragrant forests bloom in Waller's strain, Where breathing sweets from every field ascend, And the wild woods with golden apples bend. Yet let me in some odorous shade repose, Whilst in my verse the fair palmetto grows: Like the tall pine it shoots its stately head; From the broad top depending branches spread; No knotty limbs the taper body wears; Hung on each bough a single leaf appears, Which, shrivell'd in its infancy, remains Like a clos'd fan, nor stretches wide its veins, But, as the seasons in their circle run, Opes its ribb'd surface to the nearer Sun: Beneath this shade the weary peasant lies, Plucks the broad leaf, and bids the breezes rise.

Stay, wandering Muse! nor rove in foreign

climes;

To thy own native shore confine thy rhymes.
Assist, ye Nine, your loftiest notes employ;
Say, what celestial skill contriv'd the toy,
Say, how this instrument of Love began,
And in immortal strains display the Fan.

Strephon had long confess'd his amorous pain,
Which gay Corinna rallied with disdain :
Sometimes in broken words he sigh'd his care,
Look'd pale, and trembled when he view'd the fair;
With bolder freedoms now the youth advanc'd,
He dress'd, he laugh'd, he sung, he rhym'd, he
danc'd;

Now call'd more powerful presents to his aid,
And, to seduce the mistress, brib'd the maid;
Smooth flattery in her softer hours apply'd,
The surest charm to bend the force of pride;
But still unmov'd remains the scornful dame,
Insults her captive, and derides his flame,
When Strephon saw his vows dispers'd in air,
He sought in solitude to lose his care;
Relief in solitude he sought in vain,
It serv'd, like music, but to feed his pain.
To Venus now the slighted boy complains,
And calls the goddess in these tender strains:
"O potent queen! from Neptune's empire
sprung,

66

Whose glorious birth admiring Nereids sung, Who 'midst the fragrant plains of Cyprus rove, Whose radiant presence gilds the Paphian grove, Where to thy name a thousand altars rise, And curling clouds of incense hide the skies: O beauteous goddess! teach me how to move, Inspire my tongue with eloquence of love! If lost Adonis e'er thy bosom warm'd, If e'er his eyes or godlike figure charm'd, Think on those hours when first you felt the dart, Think on the restless fever of thy heart; Think how you pine in absence of the swain: By those uneasy minutes know my pain Ev'n while Cydippe to Diana bows, And at her shrine renews her virgin vows, The lover, taught by thee, her pride o'ercame; She reads his oaths, and feels an equal flame. Oh, may my flame, like thine, Acontius, prove! May Venus dictate, and reward my love! When crowds of suitors Atalanta try'd, She wealth and beauty, wit and fame, defy'd; Each daring lover, with adventurous pace, Pursued his wishes in the dangerous race; Like the swift hind, the bounding damsel flies, Strains to the goal, the distanc'd lover dies. Hippomenes, O Venus! was thy care, You taught the swain to stay the flying fair; Thy golden present caught the virgin eyes; She stoops; he rushes on, and gains the prize. Say, Cyprian deity, what gift, what art, Shall humble into love Corinna's heart? If only some bright toy can charm her sight, Teach me what present may suspend her flight." Thus the desponding youth his flame declares: The goddess with a nod his passion hears.

Far in Cythera stands a spacious grove, Sacred to Venus and the god of Love: Here the luxuriant myrtle rears her head, Like the tall oak the fragrant branches spread; Here Nature all her sweets profusely pours, And paints th' enamell'd ground with various flowers;

Deep in the gloomy glade a grotto bends,
Wide through the craggy rock an arch extends,
The rugged stone is cloth'd with mantling vines,
And round the cave the creeping woodbine twines.
Here busy Cupids, with pernicious art,
Form the stiff bow, and forge the fatal dart;
All share the toil; while some the bellows ply,
Others with feathers teach the shafts to fly :
Some with joint force whirl round the stony wheel,
Where streams the sparkling tire from temper'd
steel;

Some point their arrows with the nicest skill,
And with the warlike store their quivers fill.

A different toil another forge employs
Here the loud hammer fashions female toys;
Hence is the fair with ornament supply'd;
Hence spring the glittering implements of pride;
Each trinket that adorns the modern dame
First to these little artists ow'd its frame:
Here an unfinish'd diamond crosslet lay,
To which soft lovers adoration pay;
There was the polish'd crystal bottle seen,
That with quick scents revives the modish spleen;
Here the yet rude unjointed snuff-box lies,
Which serves the rallied fop for smart replies;
There piles of paper rose in gilded reams,
The future records of the lover's flames;
Here clouded canes 'midst heaps of toys are found,
And inlaid tweezer-cases strow the ground;
There stands the toilette, nursery of charms,
Completely furnish'd with bright Beauty's arms;
The patch, the powder-box, pulville, perfumes,
Pins, paint, a flattering glass, and black-lead
combs.

The toilsome hours in different labour slide, Some work the file, and some the graver guide; From the loud anvil the quick blow rebounds, And their rais'd arms descend in tuneful sounds. Thus when Semiramis, in ancient days, Bade Babylon her mighty bulwarks raise, A swarm of labourers different tasks attend: Here pullies make the ponderous oak ascend; With echoing strokes the craggy quarry groans, While there the hissel forms the shapeless stones; The weighty mallet deals resounding blows, Till the proud battlements her towers enclose.

་

Now Venus mounts her car, she shakes the reins, And steers her turtles to Cythera's plains; Straight to the grot with graceful step she goes, Her loose ambrosial hair behind her flows: The swelling bellows heave for breath no more; All drop their silent hammers on the floor; In deep suspense the mighty labour stands ; While thus the goddess spoke her mild commands: "Industrious Loves! your present toils forbear; A more important task deinauds your care: Long has the scheme employ'd my thoughtful mind, By judgment ripen'd, and by timne retin'd. That glorious bird have ye not often seen, Who draws the car of the celestial queen? Have ye not oft survey'd his varying dyes, His tail all gilded o'er with Argus' eyes? Have ye not seen him in a sunny day Unfurl his plumes, and all his pride display; Then suddenly contract his dazzling train, And with long-trailing feathers sweep the plain? Learn from this hint, let this instruct your art; Thin taper sticks must from one centre part: Let these into the quadrant's form divide, The spreading ribs with snowy paper hide;

Let these amours adorn the new machine,
And female Nature on the piece be seen;
So shall the fair, as long as Fans shall last,
Learn from your bright examples to be chaste."

THE FAN.

BOOK III.

THUS Momus spoke. When sage Minerva rose; From her sweet lips smooth elocution flows; Her skilful hand an ivory pallet grac'd, Where shining colours were in order plac'd. As gods are bless'd with a superior skill, And, swift as mortal thought, perform their will; Straight she proposes, by her art divine, To bid the paint express her great design. Th' assembled powers consent. She now began, And her creating pencil stain'd the Fan.

O'er the fair field trees spread, and rivers flow, Towers rear their heads, and distant mountains grow;

Life seems to move within the glowing veins,
And in each face some lively passion reigns.
Thus have I seen woods, hills, and dales appear,
Flocks graze the plains, birds wing the silent air,
In darken'd rooms, where light can only pass
Through the small circle of a convex glass;
On the white sheet the moving figures rise,
The forest waves, clouds float along the skies.
She various fables on the piece design'd,
That spoke the follies of the female kind.
The fate of pride in Niobe she drew
(Be wise, ye nymphs, that scornful vice subdue).
In a wide plain th' imperious mother stood,
Whose distant bounds rose in a winding wood;
Upon her shoulder flows her mantling hair,
Pride marks her brow, and elevates her air;
A purple robe behind her sweeps the ground,
Whose spacious border golden flowers surround;
She made Latona's altars cease to flame,
And of due honours robb'd her sacred name;
To her own charms she bade fresh incense rise,
And adoration own her brighter eyes.
Seven daughters from her fruitful loins were born,
Seven graceful sons her nuptial bed adorn,
Who, for a mother's arrogant disdain,
Were by Latona's double offspring slain.
Here Phoebus his unerring arrow drew,
And from his rising steed her first-born threw;
His opening fingers drop the slacken'd rein,
And the pale corse falls headlong to the plain.
Beneath her pencil here two wrestlers bend,
See, to the grasp their swelling nerves distend;
Diana's arrow joins them face to face,
And death unites them in a strict embrace.
Another here flies trembling o'er the plain
(When Heaven pursues, we shun the stroke in
This lifts his supplicating hands and eyes,
And 'midst his humble adoration dies.
As from his thigh this tears the barbed dart,
A surer weapon strikes his throbbing heart:
While that to raise his wounded brother tries,
Death blasts his bloom, and locks his frozen eyes.
The tender sisters, bath'd in grief, appear
With sable garments and dishevell'd hair,
And o'er their gasping brothers weeping stood;
Some with their tresses stopt the gushing blood;

[vain):

They strive to stay the fleeting life too late,
And in the pious action share their fate.
Now the proud dame, o'ercome by trembling fear,
With her wide robe protects her only care;
To save her only care in vain she tries,
Close at her feet the latest victim dies.
Down her fair cheek the trickling sorrow flows,
Like dewy spangles on the blushing rose;
Fixt in astonishment she weeping stood,
The plain all purple with her children's blood;
She stiffens with her woes; no more her hair
In easy ringlets wantons in the air;
Motion forsakes her eyes; her veins are dry'd,
And beat no longer with the sanguine tide:
All life is fled; firm marble now she grows,
Which still in tears the mother's anguish shows.

Ye haughty fair, your painted Fans display,
And the just fate of lofty pride survey.
Though lovers oft extol your beauty's power,
And in celestial similies adore ;

Though from your features Cupid borrows arms,
And goddesses confess inferior charms;
Do not, vain maid, the flattering tale believe,
Alike thy lovers and thy glass deceive.

Here lively colours Procris' passion tell,
Who to her jealous fears a victim fell.
Here kneels the trembling hunter o'er his wife,
Who rolls her sickening eyes, and gasps for life;
Her drooping head upon her shoulder lies,
And purple gore her snowy bosom dyes.
What guilt, what horrour, on his face appears!
See, his red eye-lid seems to swell with tears;
With agony his wringing hands he strains,
And strong convulsions stretch his branching veins.
Learn hence, ye wives! bid vain suspicion cease,
Lose not, in sullen discontent, your peace:
For, when fierce love to jealousy ferments,
A thousand doubts and fears the soul invents;
No more the days in pleasing converse flow,
And nights no more their soft endearments know.
There on the piece the Volscian queen expir'd,
The love of spoils her female bosom fir'd.
Gay Chloreus' arms attract her longing eyes,
And for the painted plume and helm she sighs;
Fearless she follows, bent on gaudy prey,
Till an ill-fated dart obstructs her way;
Down drops the martial maid; the bloody ground
Floats with a torrent from the purple wound;
The mournful nymphs her drooping head sustain,
And try to stop the gushing life in vain.

Thus the raw maid some tawdry coat surveys, Where the fop's fancy in embroidery plays; His snowy feather, edg'd with crimson dyes, And his bright sword-knot, lure her wandering eyes; Fring'd gloves and gold brocade conspire to move, Till the nymph falls a sacrifice to love.

Here young Narcissus o'er the fountain stood, And view'd his image in the crystal flood; The crystal flood reflects his lovely charms, And the pleas'd image strives to meet his arms. No nymph his unexperienc'd breast subdued, Echo in vain the flying boy pursued, Himself alone the foolish youth admires, And with fond look the smiling shade desires: O'er the smooth lake with fruitless tears he grieves, His spreading fingers shoot in verdant leaves, Through his pale veins green sap now gently flows, And in a short-liv'd flower his beauty blows.

Let vain Narcissus warn each female breast, That beauty's but a transient good at best.