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How will you then, ye impious,'scape your doom, When thrice six hundred times the circling Sun Self-judg'd, abandon'd, overcome?
His annual race shall through the Zodiac run, Your clouds of painted bliss shall inelt before your An'isle remote his mcnument shall rear, sight.
And every generous Briton pay a tear.”
Nor hope more solid bliss t' obtain,
ADVICE TO MR. POPE,
1714. But see where the mild Sovereign sits prepar'd His better subjects to reward!
Thou, who with a happy genius born, Where am I now! what power divine
Canst tuneful verse in flowing numbers turn, Transports me! what immortal splendours shine! Crown'd on thy Windsor's plains with early bays, Torrents of glory that oppress the sight!
Be early wise, nor trust to barren praise, What joys, celestial King! thy throne surround! Blind was the bard that sung Achilles' rage. The Sun, who, with thy borrow'd bcams so bright,
He sung, and begg'd, and curs'd th' ungiving age: Sees not his peer in all the starry round,
If Britain his translated song would hear, Would here, diminish'd, fade away,
First take the goll-then charm the listening tar; Like his pale sister of the night,
So shall thy father Homer smile to see When she resigns her delegated light,
His pension paid-though late, and paid to thee Lost in the blaze of day. Here wonder only can take place;
Then, Muse, th' adventurous ilight forbear! These mystic scenes thou canst no farther trace; Hope may come boundless future bliss embrace,
THE MEMORY OF MILTON. But what, or when, or how, or where,
HOMER'S DESCRIPTION OF HIMSELF, UNDER THE CH ** Are mazės all, which Fancy runs in vain;
RACTER OF DEMODOCHUS THE MUSICIAN, AT THE Nor can the narrow cells of human brain
FEAST OF KING ALCINOUS. The vast immeasurable thought contain.
FROM THE EIGHTH BOOK OF THE ODYSSEYS.
His various lot, she blendid good with ill;
Depriv'd him of his eyes, but did impart
ON HIS TRAGEDY OF CATO.
WITH THE TRAGEDY OF CATO,
Thoucy Cato shines in Virgil's epic song,
TO A LADY,
Two shining maids this happy work displays; By thee we view the finish'd figure rise,
Each moves our rapture, both divide our praise; And awful march before our ravish'd eyes;
In Marcja, we her godlike father trace; We hear his voice, asserting Virtue's cause;
While Lucia triumphs with each softer grace. His fate, renew'd, our deep attention draws,
One strikes with awe, and one gives chaste delight : Excites, by turns, our various hopes and fears,
That bright as lightning, this serene as light. And all the patriot in thy scene appears.
Yet by the Muse the shadow'd forins were wrought,
And both are creatures of the poet's thought. On Tyber's bank thy thought was first inspir'd;
In her that animates these lines, we view 'Twas there, to some indulgent grove retird,
The wonder greater, the description true; Rome's ancient fortunes rolling in thy mind,
Each living virtue, every grace combin'd, Thy happy Muse this manly work design'd:
And Marcia's worth with Lucia's sweetness join'd. Or, in a dream, thou saw'st Rome's genius stand, And, leading Cato in his sacred hand,
Had she been born ally'd to Cato's name, Toint out th’immortal subject of thy lays,
Numidia's prince had felt a real flame; And ask this labour to record his praise.
And pouring his resistless troops from far,
With bolder deeds had turn'd the doubtful war; ''Tis done--the hero lives and charms our 'age! Cæsar had fled before his conquering arms, While nobler morals grace the British stage. And Roman Muses sung her bcauty's charms Great Shakespeare's ghost, the solemn strain to
ROMISCtous crowds to worthless riches born, Such Roman eloquence adorns your lines,
Thy pencil paints, 'tis true, yet paints with scoria That sure the Sibyls books this year foretold, Sometimes the fool, by Nature left half-made, And in some mystic leaf was found enrollid, Mov d by some happy instinct, asks thy aid, “ Rome, turn thy mournful eyes from Afric's shore, | To give his face to reason some pretence, Nor in her sands thy Cato's tomb explore! And raise his looks with supplemental senses
SEREYATA FOR TWO VOICES,
IN LIBRO PRIMO EPISTOLARUM.
Incipe. Vivendi rectè qui prorogat horain,
Rusticus expectat dum defluat amnis : at ille
Labitur & labetur in omne volubilis ævum.
TO-MORROW cheats us all.' Why dost thou stay In unelodious union joining, Best the wondrous joys can tell,
And leave undone what should be done to-day? That in hearts united dwell.
Begin-the present minute's in thy power;
But still t'adjourn, and wait a fitter hour,
Is like the clown, who at solne river's side
Expecting stands, in hopes the running tide
Will all ere long be past-Fool! not to know To young Victoria's happy fame,
It still has flow'd the same, and will for ever flow. Well may the Arts a trophy raise,
Music grow's sweeter in her praise,
ON A COLLAR
PRESENTED FOR HAPPY CILL, 1712. | apollo with his lyre.
Thou little favourite of the fair!
When thou these golden bands shalt wear, The listening Muses, all around her,
The hand that binds them softly kiss, Think 'tis Phaebus' strains they hear:
With conscious joy, and own thy bliss. Aal Cupid, drawing near to wound her,
Proud of his chain, who would not be Drops his bow, and stands to hear.
A slave, to gain her smiles, like thee?
TIIE CHARACTER OF THE
TRUTH, HONOUR, HONESTY.
A bero is the glorious prize!
Cleander comes-- Victoria, see, [nown'd,
The fair his flame approves. (oxuting blushes warm her cheeks, She smules,-she yields,--she loves.
Its magic sound
The nymph her swain caressing, 1 and 2.
SShall still improve the blessing.
For ever kind and true.
THE MOTTO CHOSEN BY THE RIGHT HON. THE
LADY HENRIETTA CAVENDISH HOLLES.
Fair lionour, next in beauty and in grace,
Yet stone and brass our hopes betray, Shines in her turn, and claims the second place; Age steals the mimic forms and characters away. She fils the well-born soul with noble fires,
In vain, O Egypt, to the wondering skies, And generous thoughts and godlike acts inspires. With giant pride, thy pyramids arise; Then Honesty, with native air, succeeds,
Whate'er their vast and gloonny vaults contain, Plain is her look, unartful are her deeds;
No names distinct of their great dead remain.
Beneath the mass confus'), in heaps thy monarchs And, just alike to friends and foes, she draws
Unknown, and blended in mortality. [lie, The bounds of right and wrong, nor errs froin equal laws.
To Death ourselves and all our works we owe. From Heaven this scale of virtue thus descends
But is there nought, O Muse, can save
Our inemories from darkness and the grave, By just degrees, and thy full choice defends. So when, in visionary trains, by night
And some short after-life bestow? Attending angels bless'd good Jacob's sight,
“ That task is mine,” the Muse replies, The mystic ladder thus appear'd to rise,
And, hark! she tunes the sacred lyre!
Verse is the last of human works that dies,
When Virtue does the song inspire.
ENTRY OF KING GEORGE ·
INTO LONDON, 1714.
Whole natjons join their voice,
And in thy strength rejoice.
Our sovereign George we see;
He comes, he reigns, by thee!
Thy favours on his head;
As guards around hin spread.
With wealth and fair increase,
Still blest at huine with peace.
Then look, Eliza, happy saint, look down!
Pause from immortal joys awhile
So short a space, so wondrous bright,
As if thy thrifty soul foreknew,
Soon to recall whom it had sent,
That hither didst awhile repair,
And, sickening in our grosser air,
Back to thy native seats would'st go ?
Permit thy friends, the faithful fow,
Themselves, not thce, to mourn.
Sees Hertford's ancient town, and lands,
The Lee's clear stream its course to flow
Through flowery vales, and moisten'd meads, And far around in beauteous prospects spreads
Her map of plenty all below.
Eliza's soul, born first above,
And with a mortal's frailties strove.
When missive Seraphs downward fly,
Put off their rays celestial-bright,
Swiftly her infant virtues grew:
EDWARD HUGIES, ESQ.
AND DAUGHTER OF RICHARD HARRISON, ESQ. OF
OBIT 15 nov. MDCCXIV.
Frail mansions of the silent dead,
- For see! to dust they both return,
We ask the sculptor's art in vain
Or seen in ligur'd brass to live
Or hang moist pearls on every tree.
Send me to Whigs as true and hearty,
“As ever pity'd poor Maccarty;
Let Townshend, Sunderland, be there,
Or Robin Walpole in the chair;
And drink—but sure none such there are !
The Devil, the pope, and rebel Mar;
Yet still my loyalty I'll boast,
King George shall ever be iny toast;
And fearless scorn each traitor's frown.
l'nite in bliss, in grief divide
And tune your harps to sing eternal love, Forbrar-nor fruitless sorrowings now employ, When shall my voice attain your high degree; Think she was lent awhile, not given,
When shall my soul, froin clouds of sorrow free, (Such was th' appointed will of Heaven)
Hear your celestial song, and aid the harmony? Then, grateful, call that year an age of virtuous
APOLLO AND DAPHNE.
AN ALLUSION TO HORACE.
SET TO MUSIC BY DR. PE PUSCH.
AND PERFORMED AT THIE THEATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY
Protinus alter amat; fugit altera nomen amantis.
SCENE, THE VALLEY OF TEMPE, IN THESSALY,
PRINTED AT THE BREAKING OUT OF THE REBELLION
IN THE YEAR 1715.
If o'er St. James's park he stray,
Place me among a hundred spies,
APOLLO AND DAPHNE.
THE FIRST SCENE IS A RIVER.
leaning on his urn. He rises and comes forward,
How long 'must Peneus chide in vain
His daughter's coyness and disdain?
I hear the sighs of slighted love;
Why ever cruel, Daphne, why?
Hear me, thy father and thy friend,
Behold again to her I bgw,
DAPHNE. Devoted ever to remain
Canst thou the mountain tiger hind, A virgin of her spotless train ;
Or stop the floods, or fix the wind? Hear, Cynthia, and confirm my vow.
Do this--then Daphne will perhaps be kind
Ev'n tigers Love's soft laws obey;
Art thou more savage far than they?
Look all around thee, and above !
Love lights the skies, and paints the meads;
Its genial flame [Erit Daphne.
Though heav'n, and earth, and occan spreada; prseus.
Thou art thyself the happiest child of Love,
Do not thy birth disclaim.
What hast thou sworn?
Though fair as Phæbus thou should'st seem,
And were thy words soft as his lyre, And know, thy fatal vow draws down
They could not move me to desire ; The curse of Heaven, a father's frown,
Wake, shepherd, from thy dream, And sure destruction waits thy scorn.
Cease to sooth thy fruitless pain;
Why for frowns wilt thou be suing?
Cease to languish and complain,
'Tis to seek thy own undoing,
Still to love, and love in vain.
In her soft cheek and beauteous eyes,
What new enchanting graces rise !
[Asides Ever meet thy keenest darts.
DUETTO POR APOLLO AND DAPHNE,
No more deny me,
O cease to fly me
Your faithful swain. newly slain the Python.
No longer try me,
For ever fly me, 'Tis done-the monster Python, slain
Despairing swain. By Phæbus' shafts, lies breathless on the plain.
Yet hear me. Yet why with conquest am I thus adorn'd ?
Forbear me. Alas! I feel a mortal's pain,
Let sighs imploring, Conquer'd by Love, whom once I scorn'd.
And looks adoring, O Daphne! till thy smiles I can obtain,
Still speak my pain. No more these marks of triumph let me bear;
Your sighs imploring, But thus a shepherd's semblance wear,
And looks adoring, Till blest by thee I grow a gud again.
But more disdain.
[Eril Daphne. [Throws away his bow and arrows, and takes
APOLLO. up a sheep-hook.]
She's gone nor knows from whom she flies. See-she appears; how wondrous fair!
Mistaken coyness ! false disdain ! Hail, goddess of these verdant groves !
Phæbus she prais'd, but scorns the swain DAPRXE.
Then, breaking from this dark disguise,
When Phæbus what he is shall seem,
My glittering rays, and melting lyre,
At last shall warm thee to desire,
And wake thee, Daphne, from thy dream
Where Cupid's bow is failing,
Ambition's charms prevailing,
Shall triumph o'er the fair.
The nymph that love despises,
Some sccret passion prizes,
That still forbids despair.
EXTER DAPHNE AND DORIS.
Doris, why this trifling tale?
That good advice may once prevail;
Save one-nor all your lovers lose,
Alas! that I, poor I might gain
What you each day refuse !