To jocund mirth, soft joy, and careless ease :
Forfake what may inftruct, for what
may please ;
Effay amufing art, and proud expence ;
And make thy reafon fubject to thy fenfe.
I commun'd thus: the power of wealth I try'd,
And all the various luxe of coftly pride;
Artists and plans reliev'd my folemn hours ;
I founded palaces, and planted bowers;
Birds, fishes, beafts, of each exotic kind,
I to the limits of my court confin'd;
To trees transferr'd I gave a fecond birth ;
And bad a foreign fhade grace Judah's earth;
Fish-ponds were made, where former forests grew;
And hills were level'd, to extend the view;
Rivers diverted from their native course,
And bound with chains of artificial force,
From large cascades in pleafing tumult roll'd,
Or rofe through figur'd ftone, or breathing gold;
From furthest Africa's tormented womb
The marble brought, erects the fpacious dome,
Or forms the pillars long-extended rows,
On which the planted grove, the penfile garden, grows.
The workmen here obey the master's call,
To gild the turret, and to paint the wall;
To mark the pavement there with various stone;
And on the jafper steps to rear the throne :
The fpreading cedar, that an age had stood,
Supreme of trees, and mistress of the wood,
Cut down and carv'd, my fhining roof adorns,
And Lebanon his ruin'd honour mourns.
A thousand artists fhew their cunning power,
To raise the wonders of the ivory tower.
A thousand maidens ply the purple loom,
To weave the bed, and deck the regal room;
Till Tyre confeffes her exhaufted store,
That on her coaft the Murex * is no more;
Till from the Parian isle, and Libya's coast,
The mountains grieve their hopes of marble lost;
And India's woods return their just complaint,
Their brood decay'd, and want of Elephant.
My full defign with vaft expence atchiev'd,
I came, beheld, admir'd, reflected, griev'd;
I chid the folly of my thoughtlefs hafte,
For, the work perfected, the joy was paft.
To my new courts fad thought did still repair; And round my gilded roofs hung hovering care. In vain on filken beds I fought repose; And restless oft' from purple couches rofe; Vexatious thought ftill found my flying mind Nor bound by limits, nor to place confin'd; Haunted my nights, and terrify'd my days; Stalk'd through my gardens, and pursued my ways, Nor fhut from artful bower, nor loft in winding maze.. Yet take thy bent, my foul; another sense Indulge; add Mufic to magnificence:
Effay if harmony may grief control;
of found prevail upon the soul.
* The Murex is a fhell-fish; of the liquor whereof
Often our feers and poets have confest,
That Mufic's force can tame the furious beast;
Can make the Wolf, or foaming Boar, restrain
His rage; the Lion drop his crested main,
Attentive to the song; the Lynx forget
His wrath to Man, and lick the Minstrel's feet.
Are we, alas! lefs favage yet than these ?
Elfe mufic fure may human cares appease.
I fpake my purpose; and the chearful choir
Parted their shares of harmony: the Lyre
Soften'd the Timbrel's noife; the Trumpet's found
Provok'd the Dorian Flute (both sweeter found
When mix'd); the Fife the Viol's notes refin'd,
And every strength with every grace was join'd.
Each morn they wak'd me with a sprightly lay;
Of opening Heaven they fung, and gladsome day.
Each evening their repeated skill express'd
Scenes of repofe, and images of rest:
Yet ftill in vain; for mufic gather'd thought:
But how unequal the effects it brought!
The foft ideas of the chearful note,
Lightly receiv'd, were eafily forgot;
The folemn violence of the graver found
Knew to ftrike deep, and leave a lasting wound.
And now reflecting, I with grief descry
The fickly luft of the fantastic eye;
How the weak organ is with feeing cloy'd,
Flying ere night what it at noon enjoy’d.
And now (unhappy fearch of thought!) I found
The fickle ear foon glutted with the found,
Condemn'd eternal changes to pursue,
Tir'd with the last, and eager of the new.
I bad the Virgins and the Youth advance,
To temper Mufic with the fprightly Dance.
In vain! too low the mimic-motions feem;
What takes our heart muft merit our esteem.
Nature, I thought, perform'd too mean a part,
Forming her movements to the rules of art;
And, vex'd, I found that the Mufician's hand
Had o'er the Dancer's mind too great command.
I drank; I lik'd it not 'twas rage; 'twas noife;
An airy fcene of tranfitory joys.
In vain I trusted that the flowing bowl
Would banish forrow, and enlarge the foul.
To the late revel, and protracted feast,
Wild dreams fucceeded, and disorder'd reft;
And, as at dawn of morn fair Reason's light
Broke through the fumes and phantoms of the night,
What had been faid, I afk'd my foul, what done;
How flow'd our mirth, and whence the fource begun ?
Perhaps the jeft that charm'd the fprightly crowd,
And made the jovial table laugh fo loud,
To fome falfe notion ow'd its poor pretence,
To an ambiguous word's perverted fenfe,
To a wild fonnet, or a wanton air,
Offence and torture to the fober ear:
Perhaps, alas! the pleafing ftream was brought
From this man's error, from another's fault;
From topics, which good-nature would forget,
And prudence mention with the last regret.
K 3
Add yet unnumber'd ills, that lie unseen
In the pernicious draught; the word obfcene,
Or harfh, which once elanc'd must ever fly
Irrevocable; the too prompt reply,
Seed of fevere diftruft and fierce debate ;
What we fhould fhun, and what we ought to hate.
Add too the blood impoverish'd, and the courfe
Of health fupprefs'd, by wine's continued force.
Unhappy Man whom Sorrow thus and Rage
To different ills alternately engage;
Who drinks, alas! but to forget; nor fees,
That melancholy floth, fevere disease,
Memory confus'd, and interrupted thought,
Death's harbingers, lic latent in the draught;
And, in the flowers that wreath the fparkling bowl, 140
Fell Adders hifs, and poifonous Serpents roll.
Remains there aught untry'd, that may remove
Sicknefs of mind, and heal the bofom?-Love.
Love yet
remains indulge his genial fire,
Cherish fair Hope, folicit young Defire,
And boldly bid thy anxious foul explore
This laft great remedy's myfterious power.
Why therefore hefitates my doubtful breast?
Why ceafes it one moment to be blest?
Fly fwift, my friends; my fervants, fly; employ 150
Your inftant pains to bring your Master joy.
Let all my Wives and Concubines be drefs'd;
Let them to-night attend the royal feaft;
All Ifrael's beauty, all the foreign fair;
The gifts of princes, or the fpoils of war:
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