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Nor with less transport here the goddess sees The curious piece advance by slow degrees; At last such skill in every part was shown, It seem'd a new creation of her own; She starts, to view the finish’d figure rise, And spread his ample train, enrich'd with eyes; To see, with lively grace, his form express'd, The stately honours of his rising crest, His comely wings, and his soft silky breast! The leaves of creeping vines around him play, And Nature's leaves less perfect seem than they.
O matchless bird' whose race, with nicest care, Heaven seems in pleasure to have form'd so fair! From whose gay plumes ev'n Phoebus with delight Sees his own rays reflected doubly bright! Though numerous rivals of the wing there be That share our praise, when not compar'd to thee, Soon as thy rising glories strike our eyes, Their beauty shines no more, their lustre dies. So when Molinda, with superior charms, Dazzles the ring, and other nymphs disarms, To her the rallying Loves and Graces fly, And, fixing there, proclaim the victory.
No wonder, then, since she was born to excel, This bird's fair image she describes so well, Happy, as in some temple thus to stand, humortaliz’d by her successful hand.
Ports invoke, when they rehearse
In happy strains their pleasing dreams,
Some Muse unseen to crown their verse,
And boast of Heliconian streams:
But here, a real Muse inspires
(Who more reviving streams imparts)
Our fancies with the poets' fires,
And with a nobler flame our hearts.
While from her hand each honour'd guest
Receives his cup with liquor crown'd,
He thinks 'tis Jove's immortal feast,
And Venus deals the mectar round.
As o'er each fountain, poets sing,
Some lovely guardian-nymph has sway,
Who from the consecrated spring,
Wild beasts and satyrs drives away;
So hither dares no savage press,
Who Beauty's sovereign power defies;
All, drinking here, her charms confess,
Proud to be conquer'd by her eyes.
When Phoebus try’d his herbs in vain
On Hyacinth, had she been there,
With tea she would have cur'd the swain,
Who only then had dy'd for her.
January 1, 1701.
Vicrona comes! she leaves the forag’d groves!
Her flying camp of Graces and of Loves
Strikeoff their tents, and for the march prepare,
And to new scenes of triumph wait the fair.
: Inoke the slaves which other warriors gain,
Her rural slaves their absent victor mourn,
And wish not liberty, but her return.
The conquer'd countries droop, while she's away,
And slowly to the Spring their contribution pay.
While cooing turtles, doubly now alone,
With their lost loves another loss bemoan.
Mean time in peopled cities crowds press on,
And jealous seem who shall be first undone. ,
Victories, like Fame, before th' invader fly,
And lovers yet unseeing haste to die.
While she with careless, unelated mind,
Hears daily conquests which she ne'er design'd;
In her a soft, yet cruel heart is found,
Averse to cure, and vainly griev'd to wound.
When bellowing winds their jarring troops engage,
Or wasteful civil tumults roll along
With fiercer strength, and louder roar,
Driving the torrent of the throng,
And gathering into power.
Tet a proud tyrant cast a killing frown;
Or Jove in angry thunder on the world look down;
Nay, let the frame of Nature crack,
And all the spacious globe on high,
Shatter'd with universal rack,
Come tumbling from the sky:
Yet he'll survey the horrid scene
With steady courage and undaunted mien,
The only thing serene !
Thus Pollux and great Hercules [round, Roam'd through the world, and blest the nations Till, rais'd at length to heavenly palaces, Mankind, as gods, their benefactions crown'd; With these, Augustus shall for ever shine, And stain his rosy lips in cups divine. Thus his fierce tigers dauntless Bacchus bear; The glaring savages resist in vain, Impatient of the bit, and fretting on the rein; Through yielding clouds he drives th’ impetuous car, Great Romulus pursued the shining trace, And leapt the lake, where all The rest of mortals fall, And with his father's “horses scour'd the same bright airy race. Then in full senate of the deities, Settling the seats of power, and future fate, Juno began the high debate, And with this righteous sentence pleas'd the skies: “O Troy'" she said, “O hated Troyl A foreign woman’, and a boy", Lewd, partial, and unjust, Shook all thy proudest towers to dust; Inclin'd to ruin from the time Thy king did mock two powers divine, And ras'd thy fated walls in perjury, But doubly damn'd by that offence, Which did Minerva's rage incense, And offer'd wrong to me. t No more the treacherous ravisher Shines in full pomp and youthful charms; Nor Priam’s impious house with Hector's spear, Repels the violence of Grecian arms.
“Our feuds did long embroil the mortal rout,
At last the storm is spent,
My fury with it ebbing out,
These terms of peace content;
To Mars I grant among the stars a place
For his son Romulus, of Trojan race;
Here shall he dwell in these divine abodes,
Drink of the heavenly bowl,
And in this shining court his name enrol,
With the serene and ever-vacant gods:
While seas shall rage between his Rome and Troy.
The horrid distance breaking wide,
The banish’d Trojans shall the globe enjoy,
And reign in every place beside;
While beasts insult my judge's" dust, and hide
Their litter in his cursed tomb,
The shining Capitol of Rome
Shall overlook the world with awful pride, [dome.
And Parthians take their law from that eternal
* Romulus was supposed to be the son of Mars by the priestess Ida.
“Let Rome extend her fame to every shore;
And let no banks or mounds restrain
Th’ impetuous torrent of her wide command;
The seas from Europe, Africk part in vain;
Swelling above those floods, her power
Shall, like its Nile, o'erflow the Lybian land.
Shining in polish'd steel, she dares
The glittering beams of gold despise,
Gold, the great source of human cares,
Hid wisely deep from mortal eves,
Till, sought in evil hour by hands unblest,
Opening the dark abodes,
There issued forth a direful train of woes,
That give mankind no rest;
For gold, devoted to th’ infernal gods,
No native human uses knows.
“Where'er great Jove did place
The bounds of Nature yet unseen,
He meant a goal of glory to the race
The Roman arms shall win:
Rejoicing, onward they approach
To view the outworks of the world,
The maddening fires, in wild debauch, [whirl’d
The snows and rains unborn, in endless eddies
“'Tis I, O Rome, pronounce these fates behind,
But will thy reign with this condition bind, s
That no false filial piety,
In idle shapes deluding thee, |
Or confidence of power, !
Tempt thee again to raise a Trojan tower;
Troy, plac'd beneath malignant stars, o
Haunted with omens still the same,
Rebuilt, shall but renew the former flame, -
Jove's wife and sister leading on the wars.
Thrice let her shine with brazen walls,
Rear'd up by heavenly hands:
And thrice in fatal dust she falls,
By faithful Grecian bands;
Thrice the dire scene shall on the world return,
And captive wives again their sons and husbands
But stop, presumptuous Muse, thy daring flight,
Nor hope in thy weak lyric lay,
The heavenly language to display,
Or bring the counsels of the gods to light.
Thr Paphian isle was once the blest abode
Of Beauty's goddess and her archer-god.
There blissful bowers and amorous shades were seen,
Fair cypress walks, and myrtles ever green.
'Twas there, surrounded by a hallow’d wood,
Sacred to Love, a splendid temple stood;
Where altars were with costly gums perfum’d,
And lovers sighs arose, and smoke from hearts con-
Till, thence remov’d, the queen of beauty flies
To Britain, fam'd for bright victorious eyes.
Here fix’d, she chose a sweeter seat for Love,
And Greenwich-park is now her Cyprian grove.
Nor fair Parnassus with this hill can vie,
Which gently swells into the wondering sky,
Commanding all that can transport our sight,
And varying with each view the fresh delight.
From hence my Muse prepares to wing her way,
And wanton, like the Thames,through smiling meads
Describe the groves beneath, the sylvan bowers,
The river's winding train,and great Augusta's towers.
But see!—a living prospect drawing near
At once transports, and raises awful fear !
Love's favourite band, selected to maintain
His choicest triumphs, and support his reign.
Muse, pay thy homage here—yet oh beware!
Aud draw the glorious scene with artful care,
For foolish praise is satire on the fair.
Behold where bright Urania does advance,
And lightens through the trees with every glance!
A careful pleasure in her air is seen;
Diana shines with such a graceful mien,
When in her darling woods she's feign'd to rove,
The chase pursuing, and avoiding love.
At flying deer the goddess boasts her aim,
But Cupid shows the nymph a nobler game,
Th'unerring shafts so various fly around,
'Tis hard to say which gives the deepest wound;
Or if with greater glory we submit,
Pierc'd by her eyes, her humour, or her wit,
See next her charming sister, young and gay,
In beauty's bloom like the sweet month of May !
The sportful nymph, once in the neighbouring
Surpris’d by chance the sleeping god of Love;
His head reclin'd upon a tuft of green,
And by him scatter'd lay his arrows bright and keen;
She tied his wings, and stole his wanton dart,
Then, laughing, wak'd the tyrant lord of hearts;
He smil'd,—and said—“”Tis well, insulting fair!
Yet how you sport with sleeping Love beware!
My loss of darts I quickly can supply,
Your looks shall triumph for Love's deity:
And though you now my feeble power disdain,
You once perhaps may feel a lover's pain.”
Though Helen's form, and Cleopatra's charms,
The boast of Fame, once kindled dire alarms;
Those dazzling lights the world no more must view,
And scarce would think the bright description true,
Did not that ray of beauty, more divine,
In Mira's eyes by transmigration shine.
Her shape, her air, proportion, lovely face,
And matchless skin contend with rival grace;
And Venus' self, proud of th' officious aid,
With all her charms adorns th’ illustrious maid.
But hark'—what more than mortal sounds are
Be still, ye whispering winds, and moving trees:
A second Mira does all hearts surprise,
At once victorious with her voice and eyes.
Her eyes alone can tenderest love inspire,
Her heavenly voice improves the young desire.
So western gales in fragrant gardens play
On buds produc’d by the sun's quickening ray,
And spread them into life, and gently chide their
We court that skill, by which we're sure to die;
The modest fair would fain our suit deny,
And sings unwillingly with trembling fear,
Asif concern'd our ruin is so near;
So generous victors softest pity know,
And with reluctance strike the fatal blow.
Engaging Cynthia's arm'd with every grace;
Her lovely mind shines cheerful through her face,
A sacred lamp in a fair crystal case.
Not Venus star, the brightest of the sphere,
Smiles so serene, or casts a light so clear.
O happy brother of this wondrous fair!
The best of sisters well deserves thy care;
Her sighing lovers, who in crowds adore,
Would wish thy place, did they not wish for more.
What angels are, when we desire to know,
We form a thought by such as she below,
And thence conclude they're bright beyond compare,
Compos'd of all that's good, and all that's fair.
There yet remains unnam'd a dazzling throng
Of nymphs, who to these happy shades bclong,
O Venus' lovely queen of soft desires!
For ever dwell where such supply thy fires'
May Virtue still with Beauty share the sway,
And the glad world with willing zeal obey !
Th" inspiring Muses and the god of Love,
Which most should grace the fair Molinda strove:
Love arm'd her with his bow and keenest darts,
The Muses more enrich'd her mind with arts,
Though Greece in shining temples heretofore
Did Venus and Minerva's powers adore,
The ancients thought no single goddess fit,
To reign at once o'er Beauty and o'er Wit;
Fach was a separate claim; till now we find
The different titles in Molinda join'd.
From hence, when at the court, the park, the play,
She gilds the evening, or improves the day,
All eyes regard her with transporting fire,
One sex with envy burns, and one with fierce desire:
But when withdrawn from public show and noise,
In silent works her fancy she employs,
A smiling train of Arts around her stand,
And court improvement from her curious hand.
She, their bright patroness, o'er all presides,
And with like skill the pen and needle guides;
By this we see gay silken landscapes wrought,
By that, the landscape of a beauteous thought:
Whether her voice in tuneful airs she moves,
Orcuts dissembled flowers and paper groves,
Her voice transports the ear with soft delight,
Her flowers and groves surprise the ravish'd sight:
Which ev'n to Nature's wonders we prefer;
All but that wonder Nature form'd in her.
A LETTER TO A FRIEND in the country.
Whilst thou art happy in a blest retreat,
And free from care dost rural songs repeat,
Whilst fragrant air fans thy poetic fire,
And pleasant groves with sprightly notes inspire,
(Groves whose recesses and refreshing shade
Indulge th' invention, and the judgment aid)
I, midst the smoke and clamours of the town,
That choke my Muse, and weigh my fancy down,
Pass my unactive hours;
In such an air, how can soft numbers flow,
Or in such soil the sacred laurel grow 2
All we can boast of the poetic fire,
Are but some sparks that soon as born expire.
Hail happy Woods' harbours of Peace and Joy!
Where no black cares the mind's repose destroy
Where grateful Silence unmolested reigns,
Assists the Muse, and quickens all her strains.
Such were the scenes of our first parents' love,
In Eden's groves with equal flames they strove,
While warbling birds, soft whispering breaths of
And murmuring streams, to grace their nuptials
All nature smil'd; the plains were fresh and green,
Unstain'd the fountains, and the heavens serene.
Ye blest remains of that illustrious age
Delightful springs and Woods!-- .
Might I with you my peaceful days live o'er,
You, and my friend, whose absence I deplore,
Calm as a gentle brook's unruffled tide
Should the delicious flowing minutes glide;
Discharg’d of care, on unfrequented plains,
We’d sing of rural joys in rural strains.
No false corrupt delights our thoughts should move,
But joys of friendship, poetry, and love.
While others fondly feed ambition's fire,
And to the top of human state aspire,
That from their airy eminence they may
with pride and scorn th’ inferior world survey,
Here we should dwell obscure, yet happier far than
VERSES PRESENTED TO A LADY, wrrh a Drawing (by The author) of cupid.
When generous Dido in disguise caress'd
This god, and fondly clasp'd him to her breast,
Soon the sly urchin storm'd her tender heart,
And amorous flames dispers'd through every part.
In vain she strove to check the new-born fire,
It scorn'd her weak essays, and rose the higher:
In vain from feasts and balls relief she sought,
The Trojan youth alone employ'd her thought:
Yet Fate oppos'd her unrewarded care; . "
Forsaken, scorn'd, she perish'd in despair.
No such event, fair nymph, you need to fear,
Smiles, without darts, alone attend him here;
Weak and unarm’d, not able to surprise, .
He waits for influence from your conquering eyes.
Heaven change the omen, then; and may this prove
A happy prelude to successful love!
Book I. ode XXII. Integer vitae, scelerisque purus, Noneget Mauri jaculis neque arcu, &c.
Hence, slavish Fear! thy Stygian wings display! - Thou ugly fiend of Hell, away! wrapp'd in thick clouds, and shades of night, To conscious souls direct thy flight! Therebrood on guilt, fix there a loath'd embrace, And propagate vain terrours, frights, Dreams, goblins, and imagin'd sprights, Thy visionary tribe, thy black and monstrous race; ão, haunt the slave that stains his hands in gore' Possess the perjur'd mind, and rack the usurer more, Than his oppression did the poor before.
vainly, you feeble wretches, you prepare The glittering forgery of war:
The poison'd shaft, the Parthian bow, and spear
Like that the warlike Moor is wont to wield,
Which, pois'd and guided, from his ear
He hurls impetuous through the field;
In vain you lace the helm, and heave in vain the shield:
He's only safe, whose armour of defence
Is adamantine innocence.
If o'er the steepy Alps he go, Vast mountains of eternal snow, Or where fam'd Ganges and Hydaspes flow; If o'er parch'd Libya's desert land, Where threatening from afar Th’ affrighted traveller Encounters moving hills of sand; No sense of danger can disturb his rest; He fears no human force, nor savage beast; Impenetrable courage steels his manly breast.
Thus, late within the Sabine grove, While free from care, and full of love, I raise my tuneful voice, and stray Regardless of myself and way, A grizly wolf, with glaring eye, View'd me unarm’d, yet pass'd unhurtful by. A fiercer monster ne'er, in quest of food, Apulian forests did molest; Numidia never saw a more prodigious beast; Numidia, mother of the yellow brood, Where the stern lion shakes his knotted mane, And o aloud for prey, and scours the spacious plain.
Place me where no soft breeze of summer wind Did e'er the stiffen'd soil unbind, Where no refreshing warmth e'er durst invade, But Winter holds his unmolested seat, In all his hoary robes array'd, [beat. And rattling storms of hail, and noisy tempests Place me beneath the scorching blaze Of the fierce Sun's immediate rays, Where house or cottage ne'er were seen, Nor rooted plant or tree, nor springing green; Yet, lovely Lalage, my generous flame Shall ne'er expire; I'll boldly sing of thee, Charm'd with the music of thy name, And guarded by the gods of Love and Poetry.
The wandering sailors, pale with fear, For thee the gods implore, When the tempestuous sea runs high, And when, through all the dark benighted sky, No friendly moon or stars appear To guide their steerage to the shore: For thee the weary soldier prays; Furious in fight, the sons of Thrace, And Medes, that wear majestic by their side A full-charg’d quiver's decent pride, , Gladly with thee would passinglorious days, Renounce the warrior's tempting praise, And buy thee, if thou might'st be sold, With gens, and purple vests, and stores of plunder'd gold. But neither boundless wealth, nor guards that wait Around the consul's honour’d gate, Nor anti-chambers with attendants fill'd, The mind's unhappy tumults can abate, Or banish sullen cares, that fly Across the gilded rooms of state, And their foul nests, like swallows, build Close to the palace-roofs, and towers that pierce the skv. Much less will Nature's modest wants supply; And happier lives the homely swain, Who, in some cottage, far from noise, His few paternal goods enjoys, Nor knows the sordid lust of gain, Nor with Fear's tormenting pain His hovering steps destroys. Vain man! that in a narrow space At endless game projects the daring spear ! For short is life's uncertain race: Then why, capricious mortal! why Dost thou for happiness repair To distant climates, and a foreign air? Fool' from thyself thou canst not fly, Thyself, the source of all thy care. So flies the wounded stag, provok'd with pain, Bounds o'er the spacious downs in vain; The feather'd torment sticks within his side, And from the smarting wound a purple tide Marks all his way with blood, and dyes the grassy plain. But swifter far is execrable Care Than stags, or winds that through the skies Thick-driving snows and gather'd tempests bear; Pursuing Care the sailing ship out-Ilies, Climbs the tall vessel's painted sides; Nor leaves arm'd squadrons in the field, But with the marching horsemen rides, And dwells alike in courts and camps, and makes all places yield. Then, since no state's completely blest, Let's learn the bitter to allay With gentle mirth, and wisely gay . Enjoy at least the present day, And leave to Fate the rest. Nor with vain fear of ills to come Anticipate th' appointed doom. Soon did Achilles quit the stage, The hero fell by sudden death; While Tithon to a tedious wasting age Drew his protracted breath. And thus old partial Time, my friend, Perhaps, unask'd, to worthless me Those hours of lengthen'd life may lend,
Thee shining wealth and plenteous joys surround,
And, all thy fruitful fields around,
Unnumber'd herds of cattle stray.
Thy harness'd steeds with sprightly voice
Make neighbouring vales and hills rejoice,
While smoothly thy gay chariot flies o'er the swift measur’d way.
To me the stars, with less profusion kind,
An humble fortune have assign'd,
And no untuneful lyric vein,
But a sincere contented mind,
That can the vile malignant crowd disdain.
THE BIRTH OF THE ROSE. FROM. The French.
Osce, on a solemn festal day
Held by th’ immortals in the skies,
Flora had summon'd all the deities
That rule o'er gardens, or survey
The birth of greens and springing flowers,
And thus address'd the genial powers.
“Ye shining Graces of my courtly train, The cause of this assembly know ! In sovereign majesty I reign O'er the gay flowery universe below; Yet, my increasing glory to maintain, . A queen I'll choose with spotless honour fair, The delegated crown to wear. Let me your counsel and assistance ask, To accomplish this momentous task.”
The deities that stood around, At first return’d a murmuring sound; Then said, “Fair goddess, do you know The factious feuds this must create, What jealous rage and mutual hate Among the rival flowers will grow? The vilest thistle that infests the plain Will think his tawdry painted pride Deserves the crown; and, if deny'd, Perhans with traitor-plots, molest your reign.” “Vain are your fears, Flora reply'd, 'Tis fix’d—and hear how I'll the cause decide:
“Deep in a venerable wood Where oaks, with vocal skill endued, Did wondrous oracles of old impart, Beneath a little hill's inclining side, Agrotto's seen where Nature's art Is exercis'd in all her smiling pride. Retir'd in this sweet grassy cell, A lovely wood-nymph once did dwell. She always pleas'd; for more than mortal fire Shone in her eyes, and did her charms inspire; A Dryad bore the beauteous nymph, a Sylvan was - [her sire. Chaste, wise, devout, she still obey'd With humble zeal Heaven's dread commands, To every action ask'd our aid, And oft before our altars pray'd; Pure was her heart, and undefil’d her hands. She's dead—and from her sweet remains The wondrous mixture I would take, This much desired, this perfect flower to make. Assist, and thus with our transforming pains, We'll dignify the garden-beds, and grace our fa
Which he'll refuse to thee.