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Just s9, my heart-But see-Ah no!

While, loud with conquest and with wine,
She smiles I will not, cannot go.

His jolly troop around him reel'd along,

. And taught the vocal skies to join
Love and the Graces smiling,

In this applauding song.
In Myra's eyes beguiling,

Again their charins recover,

Bacchus, ever gay and young,
Would you secure your duty,

First did drinking joys ordain:
Let kindness aid vour beauty,

1. Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Ye fair, to sooth the lover,

2. Drinking is the soldier's pleasure.

1. Rich the treasure!

2. Sweet the pleasure!

BOTH. Sweet is pleasure after pain!


Fir'd with the sound, the king grew vain;

Fought all his battles o'er again,

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he

slew the slain.

The master saw the madness rise,

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;

And while he Heaven and Earth defy'd,

He chose a mournful Muse,

Soft pity to infuse;

(pride. Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won

Then thus he chang'd his song, and check'd his
By Phillip's warlike son;
Aloft in awful state,

The godlike hero sate

See Darius great and good,
On his imperial throne:

By too severe a fate,
His valiant peers were plac'd around;

Fall’n from his high cstate: Their brows with roses and with myrties bound.

Behold his flowing blood !

On earth th' expiring monarch lies,

With got a friend to close his eyes,
Lovely Thais by his side
Blooming sat in beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair!

With downoast looks the joyless victor sate,
None but the brave deserves the fair!

Revolving in his alter'd soul

The various turns of chance below;

And, now and then, a sigh he stole,
Timotheus plac'd on high,

And tears began to flow,
Amid the tuneful quire,
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre;

The mighty master sinil'd to see

That Love was in the next degree, Trembling the notes ascend the sky,

'Twas but a kindred sound to move:
And heavenly joys inspire.

For Pity melts the mind to Love.
The song began from Jove,
Who left his blissful seats above;

Softly sweet in Lydian measures, (Such is the power of mighty Love!)

Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures. A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god;

AIR. WITH FLUTES, Sublime on radiant spires he rode,

War is toil and trouble, When he to fair Olympia press'd,

Honour is an airy bubble, And while he sought her snowy brcost;

Never ending, still beginning, Then round her slender waist he curl',

Fighting still, and still destroying, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of

If the world be worth thy winning, the world.

Think, O think it, worth enjoyingi The listening crowd adore the lofty sound,

Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
A present deity, they shout around:

Take the good the gods provide thee.
A present deity, the echoing roofs rebound;

With ravish'd ears

The prince unable to conceal his pain,
The monarch hears,

Gaz'd on the fair,
Assumes the god,

Who caus'd his care,
Affects the nod,

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,
And seems to shake the spheres.

Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:

At length, with Love and Wine at once oppressid,

The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.
The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung,
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young:

Behold he comes, the victor god!

1. Phæbus, patron of the lyre, Flush'd with a purple grace,

2. Cupid, god of soft desire, He shows his honest face;

srode, 1. Cupid, god of soft desire, As when, by tigers drawn, o'er India's plains hel 2. Phæbus, patron of the lyre,


1. and 2. How victorious are your charms!

And thy bright eye is brighter far 1. Crown'd with conquest,

Than any planet, any star. 2. Full of glory,

Thy sordid way of life despise, 1. and 2. See a monarch fall'n before ye,

Above thy slavery, Silvia, rise; .
Chain'd in Beauty's clasping arins ! Display thy beauteous form and mien,

And grow a goddess, or a queen.
Now strike the golden lyre again;
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain:

CONSTANTIA, see, thy faithful slave
Break his bands of sleep asurder, .

Dies of the wound thy beauty gave!
Rouze hiin, like a rattling peal of thunder,

Ah! gentle nymph, no longer try
Hark, hark, the horrid sound

From fond pursuing Love to fly,
Has rais'd up his head,
As awak'd from the dead,

Thy pity to my love inpart,
And arnaz'd he stares around!

Pity my bleeding aching heart,

Regard my sighs and flowing tears,

And with a smile remove my fears.
Revenge, revenge, Alecto cries,

wedded wife if thou would'st be,
See, the Furies arise !

Ky sac ed Hymen join'd to me,
See the snakes that they rear,

Ere yet the western Sun decline,
How they biss in their hair,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

| My hard and heart shall both be thine,
Behold a ghastly band,

Turice lov'd Constantia, heavenly fair,
Each a torch in his hand!

For thec a servant's form I wear;
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain. | Though blest with wealth, and nobly born,
And unbury'd reinain,

For thee, both wealth and birth I scorn :
Inglorious on the plain.

Trust me, fair maid, my constant fame
Give the vengeance due

For ever will remain the same;
To the valiant crew.

My love, that ne'er will cease, my love
Behold how they toss their torches on high, Shall equal to thy beauty prove.

How they point to the Persian abodes.
And glittering .emples of their hostile gods !

The princes applaud with a furious joy ;
and the king seiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to de-




And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.

ETERNAL are the chains which here

The generous souls of lovers bind,
Thus long ago,

When Hymen joins our hands, we swear
Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,

To be for ever true and kind;
While organs yet were mute;

And when, by Death, the fair are snatch'd away, Tiinotheus, to his breathing flute,

Lest we our solemn vows should break,
And sounding lyre,

In the same grave our living corpse we lay,
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. And willing the same fate partake.

At last divine Cecilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,
And added length to solemn sounds, [fore. My dearest spouse, that thou and I
ith Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown be- ! May shun the fear which first shall die,

Clasp'd in each other's arms we'll live,

Alike consum'd in Love's soft fire,
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

That neither may at last survive,
Or both divide the crown;

But gentlc both at once expire.
He rais'd a mortal to the skies,

She drew an angel down.

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The origin's divine, I see,
Of mortal race thou canst not be;
Thy lip a ruby lustre shows;
Thy purple cheek outshines the rose,

ARQUEÄNASSA's charms inspire

Within my breast a lover's fire;
Age, its feeble spite displaying,

Vainly wrinkles all her face,
Cupids, in each wrinkle playing,
I Charm my eyes with lasting grace :

But before old Time pursued her,

| Masons, instead of " building houses," Ere he sunk these little caves,

To“ build the church," would starve their spouses, How I pity those who view'd her,

And gladly leave their trades, for storming And in youth were made her slaves !

| The meeting houses or informing.

Bawds, strumpets, and religion-haters,
Piinps, pandars, atheists, fornicators,

Rogues, that, like Falstaff, scarce know whether ON FULVIÀ, TUE WIFE OF ANTHONY.

A church's inside 's stone or leather,

Yet join the parsons and the people, FROM THE LATIN OF AUGUSTUS CÆSAR. To cry "the church,”—but mean “the steeple.” While from his consort false Antonius flies,

If, holy mother, such you'll own And doats on Glaphyra's far hrighter eyes,

For your truc sons, and such alone, Fulvia, provok'd, her female arts prepares,

Then Heaven have mercy upon you, Reprisals seeks, and spreads for me her snares. But the de'il take your beastly crew! “ The husband's false."-But why must I endure

This nauseous plague, and her revenge procure?
What though she ask? ---How happy were my dooin,
Should all the discontented wives of Rome

Repair in crowds to me, when scorn'd at home!

TODE TO THE CREATOR OF THE WORLD, “ 'Tis war,” she says “ if I refuse her charms :" Let's think-she's ugly.- Trumpets,sound to arms!


Quid prius dicam solitis parentis


Qui mare & terras, variisque mundum

Temperat horis?
O Blessed time of reformation,

Unde nil majus generatur ipso; That's now beginning through the nation!

Nec viget quicquam simile, aut secundum. The Jacks bawl loud for church triumphant,

And swear all Whigs shall kiss the rump on't.
See how they draw the beastly rabble

With zeal and noises formidable,
And make all cries about the town

Join notes to roar fanatics down!

| That the praises of the Author of Nature, which As bigots give the sign about,

is the fittest subject for the sublime way of writing, They stretch their throats with hideous shout.

was the most ancient use of poetry, cannot be Black tinkers bawl aloud “ to settle

learned from a more proper instance (next to ex• Church privilege'--for “ mending kettle."

amples of holy writ) than from the Greek fragEach sow-gelder that blows his horn,

ments of Orpheus; a relique of great antiquity : Cries out “ to have dissenters sworn."

they contain several verses concerning God, and The oyster-wenches lock their fish up,

his making and governing the universe ; which, And cry “no presbyterian bishop !"

though imperfect, have many noble hints and The mouse-trap men lay save-alls by,

lofty expressions. Yet, whether these verses were And 'gainst “ low-church men" loudly cry;

indeed written by that celebrated father of poetry A creature of amphibious nature,

and music, who preceded Homer, or by OnomaThat trims betwixt the land and water,

critus, who lived about the time of Pisistratus, And leaves his mother in the lurch,

and only contain some of the doctrines of OrTo side with rebels 'gainst the church!

pheus, is a question of little use or importance. Some cry for “ penal laws," instead

A large paraphrase of these in French verse has Of“ pudding-pies, and gingerbread :"

been prefixed to the translation of Phocylides, but And some, for “ brooms, old boots, and shoes,"

in a flat style, much inferior to the design. The Roar out, “ God bless our commons' house !"

following ode, with many alterations and additions Some bawl “ the votes' about the town,

proper to a modern poem, is attempted upon the And wish they'd “ vote dissenters down."

same model, in a language which, having stronger Instead of “kitchen-stuff," some cry,

sinews than the French, is, hy the confession of “ Confound the late whig-ministry !”

their best critic, Rapin, more capable of sustainAnd some, for “ any chairs to mend,"

ing great subjects.
The commons' late address coinmend.
Soine for “ old gowns for china ware,”
Exclaim against “ extempore prayer :"

And some for “old suits, cloaks, or coats,"

ODE TO THE CREATOR OF THE WORLD, Cry, “D-n your preachers without notes !" He that cries « coney-skins, or onions,"

O Must upfeisn'd! O true celestial fire, Blames “ toleration of opinions."

Brighter than that which rules the day, Blue-apron whores, that sit with furinety,

Descend! a mortal tongne inspire Rail at “occasional conformity."

To sing some great immortal lay! Instead of " cucumbers to pickle,"

Begin, and strike aloud the consecrated lyre! Some cry aloud, “no conventicle !"

Hence, ye profane! be far away!

Hence, all ye impious slaves, that bow

At one wide view his eye surreys To idol lusts, or altars raise,

His works, in every distant cline; And to false heroes give fantastic praise !

He shifts the seasons, months, and days, And hence, ye gods, who to a criine your spurious The short-livu otispring of revolving Time; beings owe!

By turns they die, by turns are born. Bat hear, O Heaven, and Earth, and Seas profound ! Now cheerful Spring the circle lends, Hear, ye fathom's Deeps below,

And strows with flowers the smiling meads; And let your echoing vaults repeat the sound; Gay Summer next, whom russet robes adorn, Let Nature, trembling all around,

And waving fields of yellow corn; Attend her Master's awful name,

Then Autumn, who with lavish stores the lap of From whom Heaven, Earth, and Scas, and all the Nature spreads; wide Creation came.

Decrepit Winter, laggard in the dance,

(Like feeble Age oppress'd with pain) He spoke the great command; and Light,

A heavy season does maintain, Heaven's eldest-born and fairest child,

With driving snows, and winds, and rain; Flash'd in the lowering face of ancient Night,

Till Spring, recruited to advance,
And, pleas'd with its own birth, screnely smil'd. The various year rolls round again.

The sons of Morning, on the wing,
Hovering in choirs, his praises sung,

But who, thou great Ador'd! who can withstand When, from the unbounded vacuous space,

The terrours of thy lifted hand, A beauteous rising World they saw,

When, long provok'd, thy wrath awakes, When Nature show'd her yet unfinish'a face,

And conscious Nature to her centre shakes? And Motion took th' establish'd law

Rais'd by thy voice, the thunder flies, To roll the various globes on high;

Hurling pale Fear and wild Confusion round, When Time was taught his infant wings to try,

How dreadful is th' inimitable sound, And from the barrier sprung to his appointed The shock of Earth and Seas, and labour of the

Skies! race.

Then where's Ambition's haughty crest? Supreme, Almighty, still the same!

Where the gay head of wanton Pride? 'Tis he, the great inspiring Mind,

See! tyrants fall, and wish the opening ground, That animates and moves this universal frame,

Would take them quick to shades of rest, Present at once in all, and by no place contin'd. And in their common parent's breast, Not Heaven itself can bound bis sway;

Froin thee, their bury'd forms for ever hide ! Beyond th' untravell'd limits of the sky,

In vain-for all the elements conspire, Javisible to mortal eye,

The shatter'd Farth, the rushing Sea, He dwells in uncreated day.

'Tempestuous Air, and raging Fire, Without beginning, without end ; 'tis he

To punish vile mankind, and fight for thee; That fills th' unmeasur'd growing orb of vast im- | Nor Death itself can intercept the blow, mensity.

Eternal is the guilt, and without end the woe. What power but his can rule the changeful Main, O Cyrus! Alexander! Julius! all And wake the sleeping Storm, or its loud rage re Ye inighty Lords, that ever rul'd this hall! strain ?

Once gods of Earth, the living destinies, When Winds their gather'd forces try,

That made a hundred nations bow ! And the chaf'd Occan proudly swells in vain,

Where's your extent of empire now! His voice reclaims th' impetuous roar;

Say, where preserv'd your phantom Glory lies! In murmuring tides th'abated billows fly,

Can brass the tieeting thing secure? And the spent tempest dies upon the shore.

Enshrin'd in temples does it stay? The meteor world is his, Heaven's wintry store, Or in huge amphitheatres endure The moulded hail, the feather'd snow :

The rage of rolling Time, and scorn decay? The summer breeze, the soft refreshing shower, Ah, no! the mouldering inonuments of Fame The loose divided cloud, and many-colour'd bow; Your vain deluded hopes betray, The crooked lightning darts around,

Nor show th' ambitious founder's name, His sovereign orders to fulfil;

Mix'd with yourselves in the same mass of clay. The shooting fame obeys th' Eternal will,

| Proceed, my Muse! Tiine's wasting thread pursue, Launch'd from his hand, instructed where to kill, Or rive the mountain oak, or blast th' unshelter'd

And see, at last, th' unraveild clue,

When cities sink, and kingdoms are no more, ground.

And weary Nature shall her work give o'cr. Yet, pleas'd to bless, indulgent to supply,

Behold th' Almighty Judge on high! He, with a father's tender care,

See in his hand the book of Fate! Supports the numerous family

Myriads of spirits fill the sky That peoples earth, and sea, and air.

T'attend, with dread solemnity, From Nature's giant race, th' enormous clephant, The World's last scene, and Time's concluding Down to the insect worm and creeping ant;

date. From th'egle, sovereign of the sky,

The feeble race of short-liv'd Vanity, To each inferior feather'd brooi);

And sickly Pomp, at once shall die! From crowns and purple majesty,

Foul Guilt to midnight caves will shrink away, To, humble shepherds on the plain,

Look back, and tremble in her flight, His hand unseen, diviiles to all their food,

And curse at Heaven's pursuing light, And the whole world of life sustains.

Surrounded with the vengeance of that day.

How will yon then, ye impious,'scă pe your doom, | When thrice six hundred times the circling Sun Self-judy'd, abandon'd, overcome?

His annual race shall through the Zodiac rup: Your clouds of painted bliss shall melt before your An isle remote his monument shall rear, sight.

And every generous Briton pay a tear.”
Yet shall you not the giddy chase refrain,

Nor hope more solid bliss t' obtain,
Nor once repeat the joys you knew before;
But sigh, a long eternity of pain,

Tost in an ocean of desire, yet never find a shore.

ON HIS INTENDED TRANSLATION OP HOMER'S ILIAD, But see where the mild Sovereign sits prepar'd

1714. His better subjects to reward!

( Thoy, who with a happy gerius börn, Where am I now! what power divine

Canst tuneful verse in flowing numbers turn, Transports me! what immortal splendours shine! Crown'd on thy Windsor's plains with early bays, Torrents of glory that oppress the sight!

Be early wise, nor trust to barren praise. What joys, celestial King! thy throne surround! Blind was the bard that surig Achilles' rage, The Sun, who, with thy borrow'd beams so bright, He sung, and begy'd, and curs'd th' ungiving age: Sees not his peer in all the starry round,

If Britain his translated song would hear, Would here, diminish'd, fade away,

First take the gold--then charm the listening car; Like his pale sister of the night,

So shall thy father Homer smile to see When she resigns her delegated light,

His pension paid-though late, and paid to thee. Lost in the blaze of day. Here wonder only can take place;

Then, Muse, th' adventurous fight forbear! These mystic scenes thou canst no fartha'r trace;

TO Hope may some boundless future bliss embrace,

THE MEMORY OF MILTON. But what, or when, or how, or where,

HOMER'S DESCRIPTION OF HIMSELF, UNDER THE CHAAre mazes all, which Fancy runs in vain;

RACTER OF DEMODOCHUS THE MUSICIAN, AT THE Nor can the narrow cells of human brain

FEAST OF KING ALCINOI'S. The vast immeasurable thought contain.

The Muse with transport lov'd him; yet, to fill

His various lot, she blendid good with ill;

Depriv'd him of his eyes, but did inpart

The heavenly gift of song, and all the tuncful art. ON HIS TRAGEDY OP CATO. Thoucn Cato shines in Virgil's epic song, Prescribing laws among th' Elysian throng; Though Lucan's verse, exalted by his name,

TO A LADY, ('er gods themselves bas rais'd the hero's fame;

WITH THE TRAGEDY OF CATO. The Roman stage did ne'er his image see,

Two shining maids this happy work displays; Drawn at full length; a task reserv'd for thee. By thee we view the finish'd figure rise,

Each moves our rapture, both divide our praise; And awful march before our ravish'd eyes;

In Marcia, we her godlike father trace; We hear his voice, asserting Virtue's cause;

While Lucia triumphs with each softer grace. His fate, renew'd, our deep attention draws,

One strikes with awe, and one gives chaste delight : Excites, by turns, our various hopes and fears,

That bright as lightning, this serene as light. And all the patriot in thy scene appears.

Yet by the Muse the shadow'd forins were wrought,

And both are creatures of the poet's thought. On Tyber's bank thy thought was first inspir'd;

In her that animates these lines, we view 'Twas there, to some indulgent grove retird,

The wonder greater, the description true; Rome's ancient fortunes rolling in thy mind,

Each living virtue, every grace combin'd, Thy happy Muse this manly work design'd:

And Marcia's worth with Lucia's sweetness joind. Or, in a dream, thou saw'st Rome's genius stand,

Had she been born ally'd to Cato's name,
And, leading Cato in his sacred hand,
Point out th' immortal subject of thy lays,.

Numidia's prince had felt a real name;
And ask this labour to record his praise.

And pouring his resistless troops from far,

With bolder deeds had turn'd the doubtful war;' 'Tis done the hero lives and charms our age! Cæsar had fled before his conquering arms, While nobler morals grace the British stage. And Roman Muses sung her beauty's charms. Great Shakespeare's ghost, the solemn strain to

hear, (Methinks I see the laureld shade appear!) Will hover o'er the scene, and, wondering, view

A FRAGMENT. His favourite Brutus rival'd thus by you. Such Roman greatness in each action shines, PROMISCUOUS crowds to worthless riches born, Such Roman eloquence adorns your lines,

Thy pencil paints, 'tis true, yet paints with scorn. That sure the Sibyls books this year foretold, Sometinies the fool, by Nature left half-made, And in some mystic leaf was found enroll’d, Mov'd by some happy instinct, asks thy aid, “ Rome, turn thy mournful eyes from Afric's shore, | To give his face to reason some pretence, Nor in her sands thy Cato's tomb explore ! | And raise his looks with supplemental sense,

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