Start at the starting prey, or rustling wind,
And, hot at first, inglorious lag behind.
A sauntering tribe! may such my foes disgrace!
Give me, ye gods, to breed the nobler race.
Nor grieve thou to attend, while truths unknown
I sing, and make Athenian arts our own.

Dost thou in hounds aspire to deathless fame ?
Learn well their lineage and their ancient stem.
Each tribe with joy old rustic heralds trace,
And sing the chosen worthies of their race;
How his sire's features in the son were spy'd,
When Die was made the vigorous Ringwood's bride.
Less sure thick lips the fate of Austria doom,
Or eagle noses rul'd almighty Rome.

Good shape to various kinds old bards confine, Some praise the Greek, and some the Roman line; And dogs to beauty make as differing claims, As Albion's nymphs, and India's jetty dames. Immense to name their lands, to mark their bounds, And paint the thousand families of hounds: First count the sands, the drops where oceans flow, Or Gauls by Marlborough sent to shades below, The task be mine, to teach Britannia's swains, My much-lov'd country, and my native plains. Such be the dog, I charge, thou mean'st to train, His back is crooked, and his belly plain, Of fillet stretch'd, aud huge of haunch behind, A tapering tail, that nimbly cuts the wind; Truss-thigh'd, straight-ham'd, and fox-like form'd

his paw,

Large-leg'd, dry sol'd, and of protended claw.
His flat, wide nostrils snuff the savory steam,
And from his eyes he shoots pernicious gleam;
Middling his head, and prone to earth his view,
With ears and chest that dash the morning dew:
He best to stem the flood, to leap the bound,
And charm the Dryads with his voice profound;
To pay large tribute to his weary lord,
And crown the sylvan hero's plenteous board.

The matron bitch whose womb shall best produce
The hopes and fortune of th' illustrious house,
Deriv'd from noble, but from foreign seed,
For various nature loaths incestuous breed,.
Is like the sire throughout. Nor yet displease
Large flanks, and ribs, to give the teemer ease.
In Spring let loose thy pairs. Then all things

prove

The stings of pleasure, and the pangs of love:
Ethereal Jove then glads, with genial showers,
Earth's mighty womb, and strews her lap with
flowers.

Hence juices mount, and buds, embolden'd, try
More kindly breezes, and a softer sky:
Kind Venus revels. Hark! on every bough,
In lulling strains the feather'd warblers woo.
Fell tigers soften in th' infectious flames,
And lions fawning, court their brinded dames:
Great Love pervades the deep; to please his mate,
The whale, in gambols, moves his monstrous
weight,

Heav'd by his wayward mirth old Ocean roars,
And scatter'd navies bulge on distant shores.

All Nature smiles; come now, nor fear, my love,
To taste the odours of the woodbine grove,
To pass the evening glooms in harmless play,
And, sweetly swearing, languish life away.
An altar, bound with recent flowers, I rear
To thee, best season of the various year;

All hail! such days in beauteous order ran,
So swift, so sweet, when first the world began,
In Eden's bowers, when man's great sire assign'd
The names and natures of the brutal kind.
Then lamb and lion friendly walk'd their round,
And hares, undaunted, lick'd the fondling hound;
Wondrous to tell! but when, with luckless hand,
Our daring mother broke the sole command,
Then Want and Envy brought their meagre train,
Then Wrath came down, and Death had leave to reigns
Hence foxes earth'd, and wolves abhor'd the day,
And hungry churls ensnar'd the nightly prey;
Rude arts at first; but witty Want refin'd
The huntsman's wiles, and Famine form'd the mind.
Bold Nimrod first the lion's trophies wore,
The panther bound, and lanc'd the bristling boar;
He taught to turn the hare, to bay the deer,
And wheel the courser in his mid career:
Ah! had he there restrain'd his tyrant hand!
Let me, ye powers, an humbler wreath demand.
No pomps I ask, which crowns and sceptres yield,
Nor dangerous laurels in the dusty field;
Fast by the forest, and the limpid spring,
Give me the warfare of the woods to sing,

To breed my whelps, and healthful press the game,
A mean, inglorious, but a guiltless name.

And now thy female bears in ample womb
The bane of hares, and triumphs yet to come.
No sport, I ween, nor blast of sprightly horn,
Should tempt me then to hurt the whelps unborn,
Unlock'd, in covers let her freely run,

To range thy courts, and bask before the Sun;
Near thy full table let the favourite stand,
Strok'd by thy son's, or blooming daughter's hand.
Caress, indulge, by arts the matron bride,
T'improve her breed, and teem a vigorous tribe.

So, if small things may be compar'd with great,
And Nature's works the Muses imitate,
So, stretch'd in shades, and lull'd by murmuring
streams,

Great Maro's breast receiv'd the heavenly dreams.
Recluse, serene, the musing prophet lay,
Till thoughts in embryo, ripening, burst their way.
Hence bees in state, and foaming coursers come,
Heroes, and gods, and walls of lofty Rome.

I AM, cry'd Apollo, when Laphne he woo'd,
And panting for breath, the coy virgin pursued,
When his wisdom, in manner most ample, exprest
The long list of the graces his godship possest:
I'm the god of sweet song, and inspirer of lays;
Nor for lays, nor sweet song, the fair fugitive stays;
I'm the god of the harp-stop my fairest-in vain;
Nor the harp, nor the harper, could fetch her again.
Every plant, every flower, and their virtues I know,
God of light I'm above, and of physic below: [fast;
At the dreadful word physic, the nymph fled more
At the fatal word physic she doubled her haste.

Thou fond god of wisdom, then, alter thy phrase, Bid her view the young bloom, and thy ravishing rays, Tell her less of thy knowledge, and more of thy charms,

Apd, my life for 't, the damsel will fly to thy arms.

THE FATAL CURIOSITY.

MUCH had I heard of fair Francelia's name,
The lavish praises of the babler, Fame :

I thought them such, and went prepar❜d to pry,
And trace the charmer, with a critic's eye;
Resolv'd to find some fault, before unspy'd,
And disappointed, if but satisfy'd.

Love pierc'd the vassal heart, that durst rebel,
And where a judge was meant, a victim fell:
On those dear eyes, with sweet perdition gay,
I gaz'd, at once, my pride and soul away;
All o'er I felt the luscious poison run,
And, in a look, the hasty conquest won.

Thus the fond moth around the taper plays, And sports and flutters near the treacherous blaze; Ravish'd with joy, he wings his eager flight, Nor dreams of ruin in so clear a light; He tempts his fate, and courts a glorious doom, A bright destruction, and a shining tomb.

TO A LADY:

WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THE PHENIX.

LAVISH of wit, and bold, appear the lines,
Where Claudian's genius in the Phenix shines;
A thousand ways each brilliant point is turn'd,
And the gay poem, like its theme, adorn'd:
A tale more strange ne'er grac'd the poet's art,
Nor e'er did fiction play so wild a part.

Each fabled charm in matchless Cælia meets,
The heavenly colours, and ambrosial sweets;
Her virgin bosom chaster fires supplies,
And beams more piercing guard her kindred eyes.
O'erflowing wit th' imagin'd wonder drew,
But fertile fancy ne'er can reach the true.

Now buds your youth, your cheeks their bloom The untainted lily, and unfolding rose; [disclose, Ease in your mien, and sweetness in your face, You speak a Syren, and you move a Grace; Nor time shall urge these beauties to decay, While virtue gives, what years shall steal away: The fair, whose youth can boast the worth of age, In age shall with the charms of youth engage; In every change still lovely, still the same, A fairer Phenix in a purer flame.

A DESCRIPTION OF THE PHENIX.

FROM CLAUDIAN.

Is utmost ocean lies a lovely isle,
Where Spring still blooms, and greens for ever smile,
Which sees the Sun put on his first array,
And hears his panting steeds bring on the day;
When, from the deep, they rush with rapid force,
And whirl aloft, to run their glorious course;
VOL XI.

When first appear the ruddy streaks of light,
And glimmering beanis dispel the parting night.
In these soft shades, unprest by human feet,
The happy Phenix keeps his balmy seat,
Far from the world disjoin'd; he reigns alone,
Alike the empire, and its king unknown.
A god-like bird! whose endless round of years
Out-lasts the stars, and tires the circling spheres;
Not us'd like vulgar birds to eat his fill,
Or drink the crystal of the murmuring rill;
But fed with warmth from Titan's purer ray,
And slak'd by streams which eastern seas convey;
Still he renews his life in these abodes,
Contemns the power of Fate, and mates the gods.
His fiery eyes shoot forth a glittering ray,
And round his head ten thousand glories play;
High on his crest, a star celestial bright
Divides the darkness with its piercing light;
His legs are stain'd with purple's lively dye,
His azure wings the fleeting winds out-fly;
Soft plumes of cheerful blue his limbs infold,
Enrich'd with spangles, and bedropt with gold.
Begot by none himself, begetting none,
Sire of himself he is, and of himself the son;
His life in fruitful death renews his date,
And kind destruction but prolongs his fate :
Ev'n in the grave new strength his limbs receive,
And on the funeral pile begin to live.

For when a thousand times the summer Sun
His bending race has on the zodiac run,
And when as oft the vernal signs have roll'd,
As oft the wintery brought the numbing cold;
Then drops the bird, worn out with aged cares,
And bends beneath the mighty load of years.

So falls the stately pine, that proudly grew,
The shade and glory of the mountain's brow.
When pierc'd by blasts, and spouting clouds o'er-
It, slowly sinking, nods its tottering head, [spread,
Part dies by winds, and part by sickly rains,
And wasting age destroys the poor remains.

Then, as the silver empress of the night, O'er-clouded, glimmers in a fainter light, So froz'n with age, and shut from light's supplies, In lazy rounds scarce roll his feeble eyes, [nown'd, And those fleet wings, for strength and speed reScarce rear th' inactive lumber from the ground. The bird, prophetic of approaching fate. Mysterious arts a second time create Pil'd on a heap Sabæan herbs he lays, Parch'd by his sire the Sun's intensest rays; The pile design'd to form his funeral scene He wraps in covers of a fragrant green, And bids his spicy heap at once become A grave destructive, and a teeming womb. On the rich bed the dying wonder lies, Imploring Phoebus with persuasive cries, To dart upon him in collected rays, And new-create him in a deadly blaze.

The god beholds the suppliant from afar, And stops the progress of his heavenly carr. [burn, "O thou," says he, "whom harmless fires shall Thy age the flame to second youth shall turn, An infant's cradle is thy funeral urn. Thou, on whom Heaven has fix d th' ambiguous doom To live by ruin, and by death to bloom, Thy life, thy strength, thy lovely form renew, And with fresh beauties doubly charm the view." Thus speaking, 'midst the aromatic bed

A golden beam he tosses from his head;

I

Swift as desire, the shining ruin flies,
And straight devours the willing sacrifice,
Who hastes to perish in the fertile fire,
Sink into strength, and into life expire.

In flames the circling odours mount on high,
Perfume the air, and glitter in the sky,
The Moon and Stars, amaz'd, retard their flight,
And Nature startles at the doubtful sight;
For, whilst the pregnant urn with fury glows,
The goddess labours with a mother's throes,
Yet joys to cherish, in the friendly flames,
The noblest product of the skill she claims.

Th' enlivening dust its head begins to rear, And on the ashes sprouting plumes appear; In the dead bird reviving vigour reigns, And life returning revels in his veins: A new-born Phenix starting from the flame, Obtains at once a son's, and father's name; And the great change of double life displays, In the short moment of one transient blaze. On his new pinions to the Nile he bends, And to the gods his parent urn commends, To Egypt bearing, with majestic pride, The balmy nest, where first he liv'd and dy'd. Birds of all kinds admire th' unusal sight, And grace the triumph of his infant flight; In crowds unnumber'd round their chief they fly, Oppress the air, and cloud the spacious sky; Nor dares the fiercest of the winged race Obstruct his journey through th' ethereal space; The hawk and eagle useless wars forbear, Forego their courage, and consent to fear; The feather'd nations humble homage bring, And bless the gaudy flight of their ambrosial king, Less glittering pomp does Parthia's monarch yield, Commanding legions to the dusty field; Though sparkling jewels on his helm abound, And royal gold his awful head surround; Though rich embroidery paint his purple vest, And his steed bound in costly trappings drest, Pleas'd in the battle's dreadful van to ride, In graceful grandeur, and imperial pride.

Fam'd for the worship of the Sun, there stands A sacred fane in Egypt's fruitful lands, Hewn from the Theban mountain's rocky womb An hundred columns rear the marble dome; Hither, 'tis said, he brings the precious load, A grateful offering to the beamy god; Upon whose altar's consecrated blaze The seeds and relics of himself he lays, Whence flaming incense makes the temple shine, And the glad altars' breathe perfumes divine, The wafted smell to far Pelusium flies, To chear old Ocean, and enrich the skies, With nectar's sweets to make the nations smile, And scent the seven-fold channels of the Nile. Thrice happy Phenix! Heaven's peculiar care Has made thyself thyself's surviving heir; By Death thy deathless vigour is supply'd, Which sinks to ruin all the world beside; Thy age, not thee, assisting Phoebus burns, And vital flames light up thy funeral urns. Whate'er events have been, thy eyes survey, And thou art fixt, while ages roll away; Thou saw'st when raging Ocean burst his bed, O'er-top'd the mountains, and the earth o'er-spread; When the rash youth inflam'd the high abodes, Scorch'd up the skies, and scar'd the deathless gods.

When Nature ceases, thou shalt still remain, Nor second Chaos bound thy endless reign; Fate's tyrant laws thy happier lot shall brave, Baffle Destruction, and elude the Grave.

VERSES

TO MRS. LOWTHER

ON HER MARRIAGE.

FROM MENACE.

THE greatest swain that treads th' Arcadian grove,
Our shepherds envy, and our virgins love,
His charming nymph, his softer fair obtains,
The bright Diana of our flowery plains;
He, 'midst the graceful, of superior grace,
And she the loveliest of the loveliest race.

Thy fruitful influence, guardian Juno, shed,
And crown the pleasures of the genial bed:
Raise thence, their future joy, a smiling heir,
Brave as the father, as the mother fair.
Well may'st thou shower thy choicest gifts on those,
Who boldly rival thy most hated foes;
The vigorous bridegroom with Alcides vies,
And the fair bride has Cytherea's eyes.

TO A LADY;

WITH A PRESENT of flowers.

THE fragrant painting of our flowery fields,
The choicest stores that youthful Summer yields,
Strephon to fair Elisa hath convey'd,
The sweetest garland to the sweetest maid.
O cheer the flowers, my fair, and let them rest
On the Elysium of thy snowy breast,
And there regale the smell, and charm the view,
With richer odours, and a lovelier hue.
Learn hence, nor fear a flatterer in the flower,
Thy form divine, and beauty's matchless power:
Faint, near thy cheeks, the bright carnation glows,
And thy ripe lips out-blush the opening rose:
The lily's snow betrays less pure a light,
Lost in thy bosom's more unsullied white;
And wreaths of jasmine shed perfumes, beneath
Th' ambrosial incense of thy balmy breath.

Ten thousand beauties grace the rival pair,
How fair the chaplet, and the nymph how fair!
But ah! too soon these fleeting charms decay,
The fading lustre of one hastening day.
This night shall see the gaudy wreath decline,
The roses wither, and the lilies pine.

The garland's fate to thine shall be apply'd,
And what advance thy form, shall check thy pride:
Be wise, my fair, the present hour improve,
Let joy be now, and now a waste of love;
Each drooping bloom shall plead thy just excuse,
And that which show'd thy beauty, show its use.

ON A LADY'S PICTURE:

TO GILFRED LAWSON, ESQ.

As Damon Chloe's painted form survey'd,
He sigh'd, and languish'd for the jilting shade:
For Cupid taught the artist hand its grace,
And Venus wanton'd in the mimic face.

Now he laments a look so falsely fair, And almost damns, what yet resembles her; Now he devours it, with his longing eyes; Now sated, from the lovely phantom flies, Yet burns to look again, yet looks again, and dies. Her ivory neck his lips presume to kiss, And his bold hands the swelling bosom press; The swain drinks in deep draughts of vain desire, Melts without heat, and burns in fancy'd fire. Strange power of paint! thou nice creator art! What love inspires, may life itself impart. Struck with like wounds, of old, Pygmalion pray'd, And hugg'd to life his artificial maid; Clasp, new Pygmalion, clasp the seeming charms, Perhaps ev'n now th' enlivening image warms, Destin'd to crown thy joys, and revel in thy arms: Thy arms, which shall with fire so fierce invade, That she at once shall be, and cease to be a maid.

PART OF THE

FOURTH BOOK OF LUCAN.
Casar, having resolved to give battle to Petreius and
Afranius, Pompey's lieutenants in Spain, encamped
near the enemy in the same field. The behaviour
of their soldiers, at their seeing and knowing one
another, is the subject of the following verses.
THEIR ancient friends, as now they nearer drew,
Prepar'd for fight the wondering soldiers knew;
Brother with brother, in unnatural strife,
And the son arm'd against the father's life:
Curst civil war! then conscience first was felt,
And the tough veteran's heart began to melt.
Fix'd in dumb sorrow all at once they stand,
Then wave, a pledge of peace, the guiltless hand;
To vent ten thousand struggling passions move,
The stings of nature, and the pangs of love.
All order broken, wide their arms they throw,
And run, with transport, to the longing foe:
Here the long-lost acquaintance neighbours claim,
There an old friend recalls his comrade's name,
Youths, who in arts beneath one tutor grew,
Rome rent in twain, and kindred hosts they view.
Tears wet their impious arms, a fond relief,
And kisses, broke by sobs, the words of grief;
Though yet no blood was spilt, each anxious mind
With horrour thinks on what his rage design'd.
Ah! generous youths, why thus, with fruitless pain,
Beat ye those breasts? why gush those eyes in vain ?
Why blame ye Heaven,and charge your guilt on Fate?
Why dread the tyrant, whom yourselves make great?
Bids he the trumpet sound? the trumpet slight.
Bids he the standards move? refuse the fight.
Your generals, left by you, will love again
A son and father, when they 're private men.
Kind Concord, heavenly born! whose blissful reign
Holds this vast globe in one surrounding chain,
Whose laws the jarring elements control,

And knit each atom close from pole to pole;
Soul of the world! and love's eternal spring!
This lucky hour, thy aid fair goddess bring!
This lucky hour, ere aggravated crimes
Heap guilt on guilt, and doubly stain the times.
No veil henceforth for sin, for pardon none;
They know their duty, now their friends are known.
Vain wish! from blood short must the respite be,
New crimes, by love inhanc'd, this night shall see:
Such is the will of Fate, and such the hard decree.

'Twas peace. From either camp, now void of fear The soldiers mingling chearful feasts prepare: On the green sod the friendly bowls were crown'd, And hasty banquets pil'd upon the ground: Around the fire they talk; one shows his scars, One tells what chance first led him to the wars Their stories o'er the tedious night prevail, And the mute circle listens to the tale; They own they fought, but swear they ne'er could Deny their guilt, and lay the blame on Fate; Their love revives, to make them guiltier grow, A short-liv'd blessing, but to heighten woe.

[hate,

When to Petreius first the news was told, The jealous general thought his legions sold. Swift with the guards, his head-strong fury drew, From out his camp he drives the hostile crew; Cuts clasping friends asunder with his sword, And stains with blood each hospitable board.

Then thus his wrath breaks out, "O! lost to fame!
Oh! false to Pompey, and the Roman name!
Can ye not conquer, ye degenerate bands?
Oh! die at least; 'tis all that Rome demands.
What! will ye own, while ye can wield the sword,
A rebel standard, and usurping lord?
Shall he be sued to take you into place
Amongst his slaves, and grant you equal grace?
What? shall my life be begg'd? inglorious thought!
And life abhorr'd, on such conditions bought!
The toils we bear, my friends, are not for life,
Too mean a prize in such a dreadful strife;
But peace would lead to servitude and shame,
A fair amusement, and a specious name.
Never had man explor'd the iron ore,
Mark d out the trench, or rais'd the lofty tower,
Ne'er had the steed in harness sought the plain,
Or fleets encounter'd on th' unstable main;
Were life, were breath, with fame to be compar'd
Or peace to glorious liberty preferr❜d.

By guilty oaths the hostile army bound,
Holds fast its impious faith, and stands its ground;
Are you perfidious, who espouse the laws,
And traitors only in a righteous cause?
Oh shame! in vain through nations far and wide,
Thou call'st the crowding monarchs to thy side,
Fall'n Pompey! while thy legions here betray
Thy cheap-bought life, and treat thy fame away."
He ended fierce. The soldier's rage returns,
His blood flies upward, and his bosom burns.

So, haply tam'd, the tiger bears his bands,
Less grimly growls, and licks his keeper's hands;
But if by chance he tastes forbidden gore,
He yells amain, and makes his dungeon roar.
He glares, he foams, he aims a desperate bound,
And his pale master flies the dangerous ground.

Now deeds are done, which man might charge On stubborn Fate, or undiscerning Night, [aright Had not their guilt the lawless soldiers known, And made the whole malignity their own. The beds, the plenteous tables, float with gore, And breasts are stabb'd, that were embrac'd before: Pity awhile their hands from slaughter kept; Inward they groan'd, and, as they drew, they wept: But every blow their wavering rage assures, In murder hardens, and to blood inures. [descry, Crowds charge on crowds, nor friends their friends But sires by sons, and sons by fathers die. Black, monstrous rage! each, with victorious cries, Drags his slain friend before the general's eyes, Exults in guilt, that throws the only shame On Pompey's cause, and blots the Roman name.