VIII.

So, when the Parthian turn'd his steed,
And from the hostile camp withdrew,
With cruel skill the backward reed
He fent; and, as he fled, he flew.

Seeing the Duke of ORMOND's Picture
at Sir GODFREY KNELLER'S.

OUT

UT from the injur'd canvas, Kneller, ftrike
These lines too faint: the picture is not like.
Exalt thy thought, and try thy toil again :
Dreadful in arms, on Landen's glorious plain
Place Ormond's duke: impendent in the air
Let his keen fabre, comet-like, appear,
Where'er it points, denouncing death: below
Draw routed fquadrons, and the numerous foe,
Falling beneath, or flying from his blow:

Till, weak with wounds, and cover'd o'er with blood
Which from the Patriot's breaft in torrents flow'd,

He faints; his steed no longer feels the rein;
But stumbles o'er the heap, his hand had flain.
And now exhausted, bleeding, pale he lies ;
Lovely, fad object! in his half-clos'd eyes
Stern vengeance yet, and hoftile terror stand:
His front yet threatens, and his frowns command.
The Gallic chiefs their troops around him call;
Fear to approach him, though they fee him fall.-
O Kneller,

F F 3

O Kneller, could thy shades and lights exprefs
The perfect hero in that glorious drefs;
Ages to come might Ormond's picture know,
And palms for thee beneath his laurels grow:
In fpite of time, thy work might ever shine;
Nor Homer's colours last so long as thine.

CELIA TO DAMON.

"Atque in amore mala hæc proprio, fumméque fecundo

"Inveniuntur.-"

Lucret. lib. iv.

WHAT can I fay, what arguments can prove

My truth, what colours can defcribe my love,

If its excefs and fury be not known,

In what thy Celia has already done?

Thy infant flames, whilft yet they were conceal'd In timorous doubts, with pity I beheld; With eafy fmiles difpell'd the filent fear, That durft not tell me what I dy'd to hear. In vain I strove to check my growing flame, Or fhelter paffion under friendship's name: You faw my heart, how it my tongue bely'd; And when you prefs'd, how faintly I deny'd. Ere guardian thought could bring its scatter'd aid, Ere reason could support the doubting maid, My foul furpriz'd, and from herself disjoin'd, Left all referve, and all the fex, behind:

From

From your command her motions fhe receiv'd;
And not for me, but you, the breath'd and liv'd.
But ever bleft be Cytherea's fhrine,

And fires eternal on her altars fhine!

Since thy dear breaft has felt an equal wound;

Since in thy kindness my defires are crown'd.

By thy each look, and thought, and care, 'tis fhown,
Thy joys are center'd all in me alone;

And fure I am, thou wouldst not change this hour
For all the white ones Fate has in its power.-
Yet thus belov'd, thus loving to excefs,
Yet thus receiving and returning blifs,
In this great moment, in this golden now,
When every trace of what, or when, or how,
Should from my foul by raging love be torn,
And far on fwelling feas of rapture borne ;
A melancholy tear afflicts my eye,
And my heart labours with a fudden figh;
Invading fears repel my coward joy,
And ills foreseen the prefent bliss destroy.
Poor as it is, this beauty was the cause,
That with firft fighs your panting bofom rose:
But with no owner Beauty long will ftay,
Upon the wings of Time borne fwift away;
Pass but fome fleeting years, and these poor eyes
(Where now without a boaft fome luftre lies)
No longer fhall their little honours keep;
Shall only be of ufe to read or weep :

And on this forehead, where your verfe has faid,
The Loves delighted, and the Graces play'd,

Infulting age will trace his cruel way,

And leave fad marks of his destructive sway.

Mov'd by my charms, with them your love may ceafe, And as the fuel finks, the flame decrease:

Or angry

heaven may quicker darts prepare,

And fickness strike what time a while would spare.
Then will my fwain his glowing vows renew;
Then will his throbbing heart to mine beat true;
When my own face deters me from my glass,
And Kneller only fhews what Celia was?

Fantastic Fame may found her wild alarms;
Your country, as you think, may want your arms.
You may neglect, or quench, or hate the flame,
Whose finoke too long obfcur'd your rifing name;
And quickly cold indifference will enfue,
When you Love's joys through Honour's optic view.
Then Celia's loudeft prayer will prove too weak,
To this abandon'd breast to bring you back;
When my loft lover the tall fhip afcends,
With mufic gay, and wet with jovial friends,
The tender accent of a woman's cry
Will pafs unheard, will unregarded die;
When the rough feaman's louder fhouts prevail,
When fair Occafion fhews the springing gale,

And Intereft guides the helm, and Honour fwells

the fail.

Some wretched lines, from this neglected hand, May find my hero on the foreign strand,

Warm with new fires, and pleas'd with new com

mand:

While the who wrote them, of all joy bereft,
To the rude cenfure of the world is left;
Her mangled fame in barbarous paftime loft,
The coxcomb's novel, and the drunkard's toast.
But nearer care (O pardon it!) fupplies
Sighs to my breast, and forrow to my eyes.
Love, Love himself (the only friend I have)
May scorn his triumph, having bound his flave.
That tyrant-god, that reftlefs conqueror,
May quit his pleasure, to affert his power;
Forfake the provinces that bless his sway,
To vanquish those which will not yet obey.
Another Nymph with fatal power may rise,
To damp the finking beams of Celia's eyes;
With haughty pride may hear her charms confeft,
And fcorn the ardent vows that I have bleft.
You every night may figh for her in vain,
And rife each morning to fome fresh disdain:
While Celia's fofteft look may cease to charm,
And her embraces want the power to warm:
While these fond arms, thus circling you, may prove
More heavy chains than those of hopeless love.
Juft Gods! all other things their like produce;
The vine arifes from her mother's juice:
When feeble plants or tender flowers decay,
They to their feed their images convey:
Where the old myrtle her good influence sheds,
Sprigs of like leaf erect their filial heads :
And when the parent rofe decays and dies,
With a refembling face the daughter-buds arife.