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Yet in his empire o'er thy abject breaft,
His flames and torments only are expreft:

His

rage can in my

fmiles alone relent; And all his joys folicit my confent.

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Soft love, fpontaneous tree, its parted root
Muft from two hearts with equal vigour shoot:
Whilft each delighted, and delighting gives
The pleafing ecftacy, which each receives:
Cherish'd with hope, and fed with joy, it grows:
Its chearful buds their opening bloom difclofe;
And round the happy foil diffusive odoúr flows.
If angry fate that mutual care denies;
The fading plant bewails its due fupplies;
Wild with despair, or fick with grief, it dies.
By force beafts act, and are by force restrain'd:
The human mind by gentle means is gain'd.
Thy useless strength, mistaken king, employ:
Sated with rage, and ignorant of joy,
Thou shalt not gain what I deny to yield;
Nor reap the harveft, though thou spoil'ft the field.
Know, Solomon, thy poor extent of fway;
Contract thy brow, and Ifrael shall obey:
But wilful Love thou muft with fmiles appeafe;
Approach his awful throne by just degrees;
And, if thou would't be happy, learn to please.
Not that thofe arts can here successful prove;
For I am deftin'd for another's love.

Beyond the cruel bounds of thy command,
To my dear equal in my native land,

}

My plighted vow I gave: I his receiv'd:

Each fwore with truth, with pleasure each believ'd.
The mutual contract was to Heaven convey'd:
In equal fcales the bufy angels weigh'd

Its folemn force, and clap'd their wings, and fpread
The lafting roll, recording what we faid.

Now in my heart behold thy poniard ftain'd;
Take the fad life which I have long difdain'd;
End, in a dying virgin's wretched fate,
Thy ill-ftar'd paffion, and my ftedfaft hate.
For long as blood informs these circling veins,
Or fleeting breath its lateft power retains;
Hear me to Egypt's vengeful Gods declare.
Hate is my part: be thine, O King, despair.
Now ftrike, fhe faid, and open'd bare her breaft;
Stand it in Judah's chronicles confeft,

That David's fon, by impious paflion mov'd,
Smote a fhe-flave, and murder'd what he lov'd!
Afham'd, confus'd, I ftarted from the bed,
And to my foul yet uncollected, faid:
Into thyfelf, fond Solomon, return;

Reflect again, and thou again shalt mourn.

When I through number'd years have Pleasure fought,
And in vain hope the wanton phantom caught;
To mock my fenfe, and mortify my pride,
'Tis in another's power, and is deny'd.
Am I a king, great Heaven! does life or death
Hang on the wrath, or mercy of my breath;
While kneeling I my fervant's fmiles implore;
And one mad damfel dares difpute my power?

То

To ravish her! that thought was foon deprefs'd,
Which muft debafe the monarch to the beaft.
To fend her back! O whither, and to whom?
To lands where Solomon must never come?
To that infulting rival's happy arms,

For whom, difdaining me, fhe keeps her charms?
Fantaftic tyrant of the amorous heart;

How hard thy yoke! how cruel is thy dart!
Thofe 'fcape thy anger, who refufe thy fway;
And thofe are punish'd moft, who moft obey.
See Judah's king revere thy greater power:
What canft thou covet, or how triumph more?
Why then, O Love, with an obdurate ear
Does this proud nymph reject a monarch's prayer?
Why to fome fimple fhepherd does the run,
From the fond arms of David's favourite fon?
Why flies fhe from the glories of a court,
Where wealth and pleasure may thy reign fupport,
To fome poor cottage on the mountain's brow,
Now bleak with winds, and cover'd now with fnow;
Where pinching want must curb her warm defires,
And houfhold cares fupprefs thy genial fires?
Too aptly the afflicted heathens prove

Thy force, while they erect the fhrines of Love,
His myftic form the artizans of Greece
In wounded stone, or molten gold, exprefs:
And Cyprus to his godhead pays her vow:
Faft in his hand the idol holds his bow:
A quiver by his fide fuftains his ftore

Of pointed darts; fad emblems of his power:

A pair

A pair of wings he has, which he extends

Now to be gone; which now again he bends
Prone to return, as best may serve his wanton ends.
Entirely thus I find the fiend pourtray'd,
Since first, alas! I saw the beauteous maid:
I felt him ftrike; and now I fee him fly:
Curs'd Dæmon! O! for ever broken lie
Those fatal shafts, by which I inward bleed!
O! can my wishes yet o'ertake thy speed!
Tir'd may'ft thou pant, and hang thy flagging
wing:

Except thou turn'ft thy course, refolv'd to bring
The damfel back, and fave the love-fick king!
My foul thus ftruggling in the fatal net,
Unable to enjoy, or to forget;

I reafon'd much, alas! but more I lov'd;
Sent and recall'd, ordain'd, and difapprov'd;
"Till, hopeless, plung'd in an abyfs of grief,
I from neceffity receiv'd relief:

Time gently aided to affwage my pain;

And Wisdom took once more the flacken'd rein.
But O how fhort my interval of woe!
Our griefs how swift! our remedies how flow!
Another nymph (for fo did Heaven ordain,

To change the manner, but renew the pain)
Another nymph, amongst the many fair,
That made my fofter hours their folemn care,
Before the reft affected well to stand;

And watch'd my eye, preventing my command.

}

Abra,

Abra, fhe fo was call'd, did foonest hafte
To grace my prefence; Abra went the laft:
Abra was ready ere I call'd her name;
And, though I call'd another, Abra came.
Her equals firft obferv'd her growing zeal;
And laughing glofs'd, that Abra ferv'd fo well.
To me her actions did unheeded die,

Or were remark'd but with a common eye;
"Till, more appriz'd of what the rumour said,
More I obferv'd peculiar in the maid.

The fun declin❜'d had fhot his western ray;
When, tir'd with business of the folemn day,
I purpos'd to unbend the evening hours,
And banquet private in the women's bowers.
I call'd before I fat to wash my hands:
(For fo the precept of the law commands):
Love had ordain'd, that it was Abra's turn
To mix the sweets, and minifter the urn.

With awful homage, and fubmiffive dread,
The maid approach'd, on my declining head
To pour the oils: fhe trembled as fhe pour'd;
With an unguarded look fhe now devour'd
My nearer face; and now recall'd her eye,
And heav'd, and ftrove to hide a fudden figh.
And whence, faid I, canst thou have dread, or pain ?
What can thy imagery of forrow mean?

Secluded from the world, and all its care,
Haft thou to grieve or joy, to hope or fear?
For fure, I added, fure thy little heart
Ne'er felt Love's anger, nor receiv'd his dart.

Abafh'd

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