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Slight not, in fupercilious ftrain,
Mere forms the fool implicit fway,
Whether the barb'rous foe invade,
Not thus fucceeds the peerlefs dame
The virtues of our sex and thine :
Her hand reftrains the widow's tears;
She shines but to fome favour'd eyes;
But thine is ev'ry winning art;
Than virtues of a narrow mind.
The lovely Thais by his side
Revolving in his alter'd soul Sat, like a blooming eaftern bride,
The various turns of fate below;
And now and then a figh he stole ;
And tears began to flow.
The mighty master fiild, to see
That love was in the next degree :
'Twas but a kindred found to move ; Timotheus plac'd on high
For pity melts the mind to love !
Softly fiveet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he footh'd his foul to pleasures.
War, he lung, is toil and trouble ;
Honor but an empty bubble ;
Never ending, still beginning, Who left his blissful seats above,
Fighting still, and still destroying : Such is the pow'r of mighty love!
If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, O, think it worth enjoging !
Lovely Thais fits beside thee,
Take the good the gods provide thee.
The many rend the skies with loud applause; the world.
So love was crown'd, but music won the cause. The list’ning crowd adınire the lofty found;
The prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gaz'd on the fair
Who caus'd his care,
And figh'd and look’d, figh'd and look’d,
Sighid and look’d, and fiqh'd again :
At length, with love and wine at once oppress’d, And seems to shake the spheres.
The vanquilh'd victor funk upon her brealt.
Now strike the golden lyre again; The prailc of Bacchus then, the sweet musician
And louder yet, and yet a louder strain.
Break his bands of sleep asunder,
And rouse him like a rartling peal of thunder.
Hark, hark the horrid sound
Has rais'd up his head;
As awak'd from the dead
And amaz’d, he starcs around.
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus crics,
See the furies arise,
Sce the snakes that they rear,
How they hiss in the air,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes !
Behold a ghastly band,
Each a torch in his hand,
These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were Sooth'd with the found, the king grew vain;
And unburied remain, [flain, Fought all his battles o'er again ;
Inglorious on the plain;
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew:
How they point to the Persian abedes, And while he heav'n and earth defyid, And glittring temples of their hostile gods ! Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride,
The princes applaud with a furious joy ; He chose a mourliful muse
And the King seiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to Soft pity to infuse :
Thais led the way
[destroy ; He sung Darius great and good,
To light him to his prey, By too severe a fate,
And, like another Hclen, fir'd another Troy. Fall'n, fall’n, fall’n, fall'n,
Thus, long ago, Fall’n from his high eltatc,
Ere licaving bellows learn’d to blow, And welt'ring in his blood;
While organs yet were mute, Deserted at his utmost need,
Timotheus to his breathing fute By those his former bounty fed,
And founding lyre On the bare earth expos'd he lics,
Could swell the foulto rage, or kindle soft desire, With not a friend to close his eves.
At last divine Cecilia came, With down-cast look the joyless vi&tor fate, Inventress of the vocal frame;
The fweet enthufiaft, from her facred ftore,
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, And added length to founds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown Let old Timotheus yield the prize, [before. Or both divide the crown; He rais'd a mortal to the fkies; She drew an angel down.
$113. An Epifle, from Mr. Phillips to the Earl of Dorfet. Copenhagen, March 9, 1709.
frozen climes, and endless tractsof now,
From ftreams that northern winds forbid to
What prefent fhall the Mufe to Dorfet bring,
The ships, unmor'd, the boift'rous winds defy,
The traveller a miry country fees,
Like fome deluded peafant Merlin leads
$114. The Man of Sorrow. GREVILL H! what avails the length'ning mead, By Nature's kindeft bounty fpread Along the vale of flowers!
Ah! what avails the dark'ning grove, Or Philomel's melodious love,
That glads the midnight hours! Ne'er glitters on the hawthorn fpray, From me (alas !) the god of day
Nor night her comfort brings:
See how the sturdy peafants ftride
By gay Contentment dreft.
Her choice divinely free: She vifits oft the hamlet cot, When Want and Sorrow are the lot Of Avarice and me.
But fee or is it Fancy's dream?
Shot fudden thro' the groves;
More mild than Paphian doves! Welcome, O! welcome, Pleafure's queen! And fee along the velvet green
The jocund train advance : With fcatter'd flow'rs they fill the air. The wood-nymph's dew-befpangled hair Plays in the fportive dance. Ah! baneful grant of angry Heaven, When to the feeling wretch is given A foul alive to joy! Joys fly with ev'ry hour away, And leave th'unguarded heart a prey To cares, that peace defiroy. And fee, with vifionary hafte (Too foon the gay delufion paft)
How in her sweet expressive face Despair has seiz’d my captive soul,
Beam'd forth the beauties of her mind, And horror drives without controul,
Yet heighten'd by exterior grace,
Of manners most engaging, most refin'd. Ten thousand beauties round me throng;
No piteous object could the fee,
But her fott bofom shard the woe,
While (miles of aitability
Endear'd whatever boon the might bestow. The tow'ring elm nods misery;
Whate'er th’emotions of her heart,
Still thone conípicuous in her eyes,
Stranger to every female art,
Alike to feign or to disguise : Ye vivid tints of Persia's looms,
And O the boast how rare! Ye were for mifery made.
The secret in her faithful breast repos'd, 'Twas thus the Man of Sorrow spoke; She ne'er with lawless tongue disclos'd, His wayward step then pensive took
In secret filence lody'd inviolate there. Along th’unhallow'd lhade.
Of feeble words- unable to express
Her matchless virtues, or my own distress ! $115. Morody to the Memory of a Young Ladly. Relentless death! that, steel'd to human woe,
With murd'rous hands deals havoc on man
Why (cruel!)strike this deprecated blow, (kind, YET do I live! O how shall I fustain
And leave such wretched multitudes behind ?
And supplicate thy aid, as I do now:
In vain - Perverse, still on the unweeting head
'Tis thine thy vengeful darts to thed; These
eyes, these tear-Iwoln eyes beheld her fall: Hope's infant blossoms to destroy, Ah no- - the lives on some far happier shore, And drench in tears the face of joy. She lives — but (cruel thought !) the lives for me
But oh fell tyrant! yet expect the hour I, who the tedious absence of a day light;
When Virtuc íhall renounce thy power; Remov'd, would languish for my charmer's When thou no more thalt blot the face of day, Would chide the ling’ring moments for delay,
Nor mortals tremble at thy rigid sway.
Alas' the day — where'er I turn my eyes,
Some fad memento of my lors
appears ; (O misery past a cure!)
I fly the fatal house --- suppress my fighs, Hours, days, and years, successively to roll,
Resolv'd to dry my una vailing tears: Nor cver more behold the comfort of my soul ?
But, ah! in vain — no change of time
The memory can efface (or place Was she not all my fondest wish could frame?
Of all that fiveetness, that enchanting air, [spair. Did ever mind so much of heav'n partake?
Now loft; and nought remains but anguish and de.
Appointed Virtue's children tafe to keep!
Had Innocence or Virtue been their care,
She had not dy'd, nor had I liv’d to weep: Deaf to their brutal threats, and faithful to her Mov'd by my tears, and by her patience mov’d,
To see her foite th’endearing fmile, Come then, fome Muse, the saddest of the train
My forrows to beguile, (No more your bard shall dwell on idle lays) When Torture's keeneft rage the prov'd; Teach me each moving melancholy itrain,
Sure they had warded that untimely dart, And O discard the pageantry of phrale:
Which broke her thread of life, and rent a hus. Il suit the flower of speech with woes like mine!
How Tall I e'er forget that dreadful hour,
When, feeling Death's resistless pow'r,
My hand the press’d, wet with her falling tears, A flood of tears may guih to my relief, [of grief. And thus, in fault'ring accents, spoke her fears : And from my lwelling hcart discharge this load " Ah, my lov'd lord, the transient scene is o'er, Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear “ And we must part (alas!) to meet no more! To wound my ears with the fad tales you tell ; “ But oh! if e'er thy Emma's name was dear, " How good she was, how gentle, and how fair!" !" If e'cr'thy vows have charm'd my ravilh'd
In pity cealcoalas ! I know too well:
"If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain,
"If it has been my fole endeavour still
"With envious eyes thy partial fondness see,
"And oh! be tender for its mother's fake. "Wilt thou?
"I know thou wilt fad filence fpeaks affent; "And in that pleasing hope thy Emma dies
I, who with more than manly ftrength have bore
Has claim'd me for her own.
How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow!
Thy fruitless forrow spare; [creed;
To fhew that all the flatt'ring fchemes of joy,
Then O! with pious fortitude fuftain
Caught and imprifon'd in a lonely cage.
Moping a while, in fullen mood
Droops the fweet mourner-but ere long
Serenely forrowing, breathes its piteous cafe,
Forgive me, Heaven!-yet-yet the tears wal
And O-the joyless night!
How fhall I find repofe on a fad widow'd be
A while fhall ceafe his forrows to deplore:
Her voice oft whispering in my ear;
Will all my fhadowy fchemes of blifs depois,
And darkens all the fcene with woe.
Through valley, grot, and grove; Nought can their beauties or my lofs reftore; No herb, no plant can med'cine my difeafe, And my fad fighs are borne on ev'rypatling breeze. Sicknefs and forrow hov'ring round my bed,
Who now with anxious hafte fhall briguld With lenient hand fupport my drooping heat, Adwage my pains, and mitigate my grief! Should worldly bufinefs call away,
Who now thall in my absence fondly mourn, Count ev'ry minute of the loit'ring day, Impatient for my quick return?