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And hark, she mourns, but mourns in vain,

RECITATIVE, Her beauteous, lov'd Adonis, slain.

Ah, foolish Strephon! change thy strain; The hills and woods her loss deplore;

The lovely scene false joy inspires : The Najads hear, and flock around;

For look, thou fond, deluded swain,
And Echo sighs, with mimic sound,

A rising storm invades the main!
Adonis is no more!

The planet of the night,
Again the goduess raves, and tears her hair:

Inconstant, from thy sight
Then vents her grief, her love, and her despair.

Behind a cloud retires.
Flora is tied; thou lor'st in vain:

Ah, foolish Strephon! change thy strain.
Dear Adonis, Beauty's treasure,
Now my sorrow, once my pleasure;
O return to Venus' arms!

Hope beguiling,
Venus never will forsake thee;

Like the Moon and Ocean smiling,
Let the voice of Love o'ertake thee,

Does thy easy faith betray;
And revive thy drooping charms.

Flora ranging,

Like the Moon and Occan changing,

More inconstant proves than they,
Thus, queen of beauty, as the poets feign,
While thou didst call the lovely swain;

Transform'd by heavenly power,
The lovely swain arose a flower,
And, smiling, grac'd the plain.

And now he blooms, and now he fades;
Venus and gloomy Proserpine

Fair rival to the god of day,
Alternate claim his charms divine;
By turns restor'd to light, by turns he seeks the Beauty, to thy celestial ray

A thousand sprightly fruits we owe;
Gay wit, and moving eloquence,

And every art t' improve the sense,
Transporting joy,

And every grace that shines below.
Tormenting fears,

Not Phoebus does our songs inspire,
Reviving smiles,

Nor did Cyllenius forin the lyre,
Succeeding tears,

"Tis thou art music's living spring;
Are Cupid's various train.

To thee the poet tunes his lays,
The tyrant boy

And, sweetly warbling Beauty's praise,
Prepares his darts,
With soothing wiles,

Describes the power that makes him sing:
With cruel arts,

Painters from thee their skill derive,
And pleasure blends with pain.

By thee their works to ages live,
For ev'n thy shadows give surprise,
As when we view in crystal streams
The morning Sun, and rising beams,

That seem to shoot from other skies.

Enchanting vision! who can be

Unmov'd that turns his eyes on thee?

Yet brighter still thy glories shine,
And double charms thy power improve,
When Beauty, dress’d in smiles of Love,

Grows, like its parent Heaven, divine!

OUNG Strephon, by his folded sheep,
Sat wakeful on the plains;
Love held his weary eyes from sleep,
While, silent in the vale,

The listening nightingale,

Forgot her own, to hear his strains.
And now the beauteous queen of night,

l'nclouded and serene,
Sheils on the neighbouring sea her silver light;

The neighbouring sea was calm and bright; Love frowns in beauteous Myra's eyes; The shepherd sung inspird, and bless'd the lovely

Ah, nymph! those cruel looks give v'er.
While Love is frowning, Beauty dies,

And you can charm no more.
While the sky and seas are shining,
See, iny Flora's charms they wear;

Mark, how, when sullen clouds appear, Secret Night, my joys divining,

And wintry storins deface the year,
Pleas'd my aniorous tale to hear,

The prudent cranes no longer stay,
Smiles, and softly turns her sphere.

But take the wing, and through the air, While the sky and seas are shining,

From the cold region fly away,
Sec, my Flora's charms they wear.

And far o'er land and seas to warmer climes repair











Just so, my heart-But see-Ah no!

While, loud with conquest and with wine, She smileseI will not, cannot go,

His jolly troop around him reel'd along,
And taught the vocal skies to join

In this applauding song,
Love and the Graces smiling,
In Myra's eyes beguiling,

Again their charis recover,

Bacchus, ever gay and young,
Would you secure your duty,

First did drinking joys ordain:
Let kindness aid vour beauty,

1. Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Ye fair, to sooth the lover,

2. Drinking is the soldier's pleasure.

1. Pich the treasure!

2. Sweet the pleasure !

BOTH. Sweet is pleasure after pain !

Fir'd with the sound, the king grew vain;

Fought all his battles o'er again,

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he AN ODE IN HONOUR OF ST, CECILIA'S DAY,

slew the slain.

The master saw the madness rise,

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;

And while he Heaven and Earth defy'd,

He chose a mournful Muse,

Soft pity to infuse;

(pride, 'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won

Then thus he chang'd his song, and check d his
By Phillip's warlike son;
Aloft in awful state,
The godlike hero sate

See Darius great and good,
On his imperial throne:

By too severe a fate,
His valiant peers were plac'd around;

Fall'n from his high estate:
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound,

Behold his flowing blood !
On carth th' expiring monarh lies,

With not a friend to close his eyes.
Lovely 'Thais by his side
Blooming sat in beauty's pride.

Happy, happy, happy pair!

With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, None but the brave deserves the fair!

Revolving in his alter'd soul
The various turns of chance below;

And, now and then, a sigh he stole,
Timotheus plac'd on high,

And tears began to fiow,
Amid the tunetul quire,

The mighty master smil'd to see
With fiving fingers touch'd the lyre;

That Love was in the next degree, Frembling the notes ascend the sky,

'Twas but a kindred sound to move:,
And heavenly jors inspire.

For Pity melts the mind to Love.
The song began from Jove,

Softly sweet in Lydian measures,
Who left his blissful seats above;

Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures, (Such is the power of inighty Love!) A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god;

Sublime on radiant spires he rode,

War is toil and trouble,
When he to fair Olympia pressid,
And while he sought her snowy breast;

Honour is an airv bubble,

Never ending, still beginning, Then round her slender waist he curld,

Fighting still, and still destroying, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of

If the world be worth thy winning, the world. The listening crowd adore the lofty sound,

Think, ( think it, worth enjoying;

Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
A present deity, they shout around:
A present deity, the echoing roofs rebound;

Take the good the gods provide thee,

With ravish'd ears

The prince unable to conceal his pain,
The monarch hears,

Gaz'd on the fair,
Assumes the god,

Who caus'd his care,
Affects the nod,

And sigh'd and look d, sigh'd and look'd,
And seems to shake the spheres.

Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again:
At length, with Love and Wine at once oppressid,

The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breasta The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young:

DUETTO. Behold he comes, the victor god!

1. Phoebus, patron of the lyre, Flush'l with a purple grace,

2. Cupid, god of soft desire, He shows his honest face;

(rode, 1. Cupid, god of soft desire, As when, by tigers drawn, o'er India's plains he 2. Phoebus, patron of the lyre,






I. and 2. How victorious are your charms! And thy bright eye is brighter far 1. Crown'd with conquest,

Than any planet, any star. 2. Full of glory,

Thy sordid way of life despise,
I. and 2. See a monarch fall'n before ye,

Above thy slavery, Silvia, rise;
Chain'd in Beauty's clasping arms! Display thy beauteous form and mien,

And grow a goddess, or a queen.
Now strike the golden lyre again;
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain:

CONSTANTIA, see, thy faithful slave
Break his bands of sleep asunder,

Dies of the wound thy beauty gave!
Rouze him, like a rattling peal of thunder, Ah! gentle nymph, no longer try
Hark, hark, the horrid sound

From fond pursuing Love to tiy.
Has rais'd up his head,
As awak'd from the dead,

Thy pity to my love impart,
And amaz'd he stares around!

Pity my bleeding aching heart,

Regard my sighs and tlowing tears,

And with a smile remore my fears.
Revenge, revenge, Alecto cries,

A wedded wife if thou would'st be,
See, the Furies arise !

By sacred Ilymen join'd to me,
See the snakes that they rear,

Ere yet the western Sun decline,
How they hiss in their hair,

My hand and heart shall both be thine,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!


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Behold a ghastly band,

Turice lov'd Constantia, heavenly fair,
* Each a torch in his hand!

For thee a servant's forin I wear;
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, "Though blest with wealth, and nobly born,
And unbury'd remain,

For thee, both wealth and birth I scorn:
Inglorious on the plain.

Trust me, fair maid, my constant flame
Give the vengeance due

For ever will remain the same;
To the valiant crew.

My love, that ne'er will cease, my love
Behold how they toss their torches on high,

Shall equal to thy beauty prove.
How they point to the Persian aborles.
And glittering temples of their hostile gods !




The princes applaud with a furious joy;
And the king seiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to de-


Thais led the way,

To light him to his prey,
And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy,


Thus long ago,
Ere hearing bellows learn'd, to blow,

While organs yet were mute;
Tinotheus, to his breathing fute,

And sounding lyre,
Could swell the soul to race, or kindle soft desire.

At last divine Cecilia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store,

Enlarr'd the foriner narrow bounds,

And added length to solemn sounds, [fore. With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown be



ETERNAL are the chains which here

The generous souls of lovers bind,
When Hymnen joius our hands, we swear

To be for ever true and kind;
And when, by Death, the fair are snatch'd away,

Lest we our solumn vows should break,
In the same grave our living corpse we lay,

And willing the same fate pai take,

My dearest spouse, that thou and I

May shun the fear which first shall die,
Clasp'd in each other's arms we'll live,

Alike consun'd in Love's soft fire,
That Heither may at last survive,

But gentle both at once expire.


Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;
He rais'd a mortal to the skies,

She drew an angel down,

Tgy origin's divine, I see,
Of mortal race thou canst not be;
Thy lip a ruby lustre shows;
Tay purple cheek outshines the rose,

ARQUtänassa's charms inspire

Within my breast a lover's fire;
Age, its feeble spite displaying,

Vainly wrinkles all her face,
Cupids, in each wrinkle playing,

Charm my eyes with lasting grace :

To cry


But before old Time pursued her,

Masons, instead of " building houses," Ere he sunk these little caves,

To“ build the church,” would starve their spouses, How I pity those who view'd her,

And gladly leave their trades, for storming
And in youth were made her slaves!

The meeting houses or informing.
Bawds, strumpets, and religion-haters,
Piinps, pandars, atheists, fornicators,

Rogues, that, like Falstaff, scarce know whether ON FULVIA, TIE WIFE OF ANTIIONY.

A church's inside 's stone or leather,

Yet join the parsons and the people,

“ the church,”—but mean - the steeple.” Wuile from his consort false Antonius dies, If, holy mother, such you'll own And doats on Glaphyra's far brighter eyes,

For your true sons, and such alone,
Fulvia, provok'd, her female arts prepares,

Then Heaven have mercy upon you,
Reprisals seeks, and spreads for me her snares. But the de'il take your beastly crew,!
“ The husband's false,"-But why must I endure
This nauseous plague, and her revenge procure ?
What though she ask? --How happy were my doon,
Should all the discontented wives of Rome
Repair in crowds to me, when scorn'd at home!

ADE TO THE CREATOR OF THE WORLD. “ 'Tis war,” she says “ if I refuse her charms :" Let's think--she's ugly.—Trumpets,sound to arms!


Quid prius dicam solitis parentis


Qui mare & terras, variisquc mundum

Temperat horis?
BLESSED time of reformation,

'nde nil majus gencratur ipso; That's now beginning through the nation !

Nec viget quicquam simile, aut secundum. The Jacks bawl loud for church triumphant,

And swear all Whigs shall kiss the rump on't.
See how they draw the beastly rabble

With zeal and noises formidable,
And make all cries about the town

Join notos to roar fanatics down!

That the praises of the Author of Nature, which As bigots give the sign about,

is the fittest subject for the sublime way of writing, They stretch their throats with hideous shout.

was the most ancient use of poetry, cannot be Black tinkers bawl aloud “ to settle

learned from a more proper instance (next to ex“ Church privilege”-for “ mending kettle."

amples of holy writ) than from the Greek fragEach sow-gelder that blows his horn,

ments of Orpheus; a relique of great antiquity Cries out " to have dissenters sworn."

they contain several verses concerning God, and The oyster-wenches lock their fish up,

his making and governing the universe; which, And cry“ no presbyterian bishop !"

though imperfect, have many noble hints and The mouse-trap men lay save-alls by,

lofty expressions. Yet, whether these verses were And 'gainst “ low-church men” loudly cry; indeed written by that celebrated father of poetry A creature of amphibious nature,

and music, who preceded Homer, or by OnomaThat trims betwixt the land and water,

critus, who lived about the time of Pisistratus, And leaves his mother in the lurch,

and only contain some of the doctrines of OrTo side with rebels 'gainst the church!

pheus, is a question of little use or importance. Some cry for “ penal laws," instead

A large paraphrase of these in French verse has Of“ pudding-pies, and gingerbread :"

been prefixed to the translation of Phocylides, but And some, for“ brooms, old boots, and shoes,"

in a flat style, much inferior to the design. The Roar out, God bless our commons' house !"

following ode, with many alterations and additions Some bawl “ the votes about the town,

proper to a modern poem, is attempted upon the And wish they'd “ vote dissenters down."

same model, in a language which, having stronger Instead of “ kitchen-stull," some cry,

sinews than the French, is, by the confession of " Confound the late whig-ministry !"

their best critic, Rapin, more capable of sustainAnd some, for “ any chairs to mend,"

ing great subjects.
The commons' late address conmend.
Some for “old gowns for china ware,
Exclaim against " extempore prayer :"
And some for “old suits, cloaks, or coats,"

Cry, “ D-n your preachers without notes !”
He that cries“ coney skins, or onions,"

O Muse unfeign'd! ( true celestial fire, Blames “ toleration of opinions,”

Brighter than that which rules the day, Blue-apron wbores, that sit with furmety,

Desveid! a mortal tongue inspire Rail at “occasional conformity.”

To sing some great immortal lay! Instead of “ cucumbers to pickle,"

Begin, and strike aloud the consecrated lyre! Some cry aloud, no conventicle!"

Hence, ye profane! be far away!



Hence, all ye impious slaves, that bow

At one wide view his eye surveys
To idol Justs, or altars raise,

His works, in every distant cline;
And to false heroes give fantastic praise !

He shifts the seasons, months, and days, And bence, ye gods, who to a crime your spurious The short-liv'd otispring of revolving Time; beings owe!

By turns they die, by turns are born. But hear, O Bleaven, and Earth, and Seas profound ! Now cheerful Spring the circle leads, Hear, ye fathom'd Deeps below,

And strows with flowers the smiling meads; And let your echoing vaults repeat the soupd; Gay Suinmer next, whom russet robes adorn, Let Nature, trembling all around,

And waving fields of yellow corn; Attend her Master's awful name,

Then Autumn, who with lavish stores the lap of From whom Heaven, Earth, and Seas, and all the Nature spreads; wide Creation came.

Decrepit Winter, laggard in the dance,

(Like feeble Age oppress'd with pain) He spoke the great command; and Light,

A heavy season does maintain, Heaven's eldest-born and fairest child,

With driving snows, and winds, and rain; Flash'd in the lowering face of ancient Night,

Till Spring, recruited to advance,
And, pleas'd with its own birth, serenely sinil'd. The various year rolls round again.

The sons of Morning, on the wing,
Hovering in choirs, his praises sung,

But who, thou great Ador'd! who can withstand When, from the unbounded vacuous space,

The terrours of thy lifted hand, A beauteous rising World they saw,

When, long provok'd, thy wrath awakes, When Nature show'd her yet unfinish'd face,

And conscious Nature to her centre shakes? And Motion took th' establish'd law

Rais'd by thy voice, the thunder flies, To roll the various globes on high;

Hurling pale Pear and wild Confusion round, When Time was taught his infant wings to try,

How dreadful is th' inimitable sound, And from the barrier sprung to his appointed

The shock of Earth and Seas, and labour of the


Then where's Ambition's haughty crest? Supreme, Almighty, still the same!

Where the gay head of wanton Pride? 'Tis he, the great inspiring Mind,

See! tyrants fall, and wish the opening ground. 'That animates and moves this universal frame,

Would take them quick to shades of rest, Present at once in all, and by no place confin'd. And in their common parent's breast, Not Heaven itself can bound his sway;

From thee, their bury'd forms for ever hide! Beyond th' untravell’d limits of the sky,

In vain--for all the elements conspire, Invisible to mortal eye,

The shatter'd Earth, the rushing Sea, He dwells in uncreated day.

Tempestuous Air, and raging Fire, Without beginning, without end; 'tis he

To punish vile mankind, and fight for thee; That fils th’ unmeasur'd growing orb of vast im Nor Death itself can intercept the blow, mensity.

Eternal is the guilt, and without end the woes What power but his can rule the changeful Main, O Cyrus! Alexander! Julius! all And wake the sleeping Storın, or its loud rage re Ye mighty Lords, that ever rul'd this ball! strain ?

Once gods of Earth, the living destinies, When Winds their gather'd forces try,

That made a hundred nations bow ! And the chaf'd Ocean proudly swells in vain,

Where's your extent of empire now! His voice reclaims th’impetuous roar;

Say, where preserv'd your phantom Glory lies, In murinuring tides th'abated billows Ay,

Can brass the fleeting thing secure? And the spent tempest dies upon the shore.

Enshrin'd in temples does it stay? The meteor world is his, Heaven's wintry store, Or in huge amphitheatres endure The moulded hail, the feather'd snow;

The rage of rolling Time, and scorn decay? The summer breeze, the soft refreshing shower, Ah, no! the mouldering monuments of Fame The loose divided cloud, and many-colour'd bow; Your vain deluded hopes betray, The crooked lightning darts around,

Nor show th' ambitious founder's name, His sovereign orders to fulfil;

Mix'd with yourselves in the saine mass of clay, The shooting flame obeys th’ Eternal will,

Launch'd from his hand, instructed where to kill, Proceed, my Muse! Time's wasting thread pursuc, Or rive the mountain oak, or blast th' unshelter'd And see, at last, th' unravellid clue, ground.

When cities sink, and kingdoms are no more,

And weary Nature shall her work give o'er. Yet, pleas'd to bless, indulgent to supply,

Behold th' Almighty Judge on high! He, with a father's tender care,

See in his hand the book of Fate ! Supports the nuinerous family

Myriads of spirits fill the sky That peoples earth, and sea, and air.

T attend, with dread solemnity, From Nature's giant race, th' enormous elephant, The World's last scene, and Time's concluding Down to the insect worm and creeping ant;

date. From th' eagle, sovereign of the sky,

The feeble race of short-livid Vanity, To tach inferior feather'd brood;

And sickly Pomp, at once shall die! From crowns and purple majesty,

Foul Guilt to midnight caves will shrink away, To humble shepherds on the plain,

Look back, and tremble in her flight, Hlis hand unscen, divides to all their food,

And curse at Heaven's pursuing light, And the whole world of life sustains.

Surrounded with the vengeance of that day,

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