Thou who haft never yet put on difguife
To flatter faction, or defcend to vice;
Let no vain fear thy generous ardor tame,
But ftand erect, and found as loud as Fame.

As when our eye fome prospect would pursue,
Defcending from a hill, looks round to view,
Pailes o'er lawns and meadows till it gains
Some favourite fpot, and fixing there, remains :
With equal rapture my transported Mufe
Flies other objects, this bright theme to choose.

Queen of our hearts, and charmer of our fight, A monarch's pride, his glory and delight, Princess ador'd and lov'd! If verfe can give A deathless name, thine fhall for ever live; Invok'd where-e'er the British lion roars, Extended as the seas that gird the British fhores. The wife immortals in their feats above, To crown their labours, ftill appointed Love; Phobus enjoy'd the Goddess of the fea, Alcides had Omphale, James has Thee. O happy James! content thy mighty mind, Grudge not the world, for ftill thy Queen is kind, To lie but at whofe feet more glory brings Than 'tis to tread on fceptres, and on kings: Secure of empire in that beauteous breast, Who would not give their crowns to be fo bleft ? Was Helen half fo fair, fo form'd for joy, Well chofe the Trojan, and well burnt was Troy. But ah! what ftrange viciffitudes of fate, What chance attends on every worldly state? As when the skies were fack'd, the conquer'd Gods Compell'd from heaven, forfook their bleft abodes; Wandering in woods, they hid from den to den, And fought their fafety in the fhapes of men. As when the winds with kindling flames confpire, The blaze encreafes, as they fan the fire; From roof to roof the burning torrent pours, Nor fpares the palace, nor the lofticft towers: Or, as the stately pine, erecting high Her lofty branches, fhooting to the iky, If riven by the thunderbolt of Jove, Down falls at once the pride of all the grove, Level with loweft fhrubs lies the tall head That rear'd aloft, as to the clouds was fpread. So

*

But ceafe, my Mufe, thy colours are too faint,
Hide with a veil thofe griefs which none can paint;
This fun is fet.-But fee in bright array
What hofts of heavenly light recruit the day.
Love, in a fhining Galaxy, appears
Triumphant ftill, and Grafton leads the ftars.
Ten thousand loves, ten thousand several ways
Invade adoring crowds, who die to gaze;
Her eyes refiftlefs as the fyrens voice,

So fweet's the charm, we make our fate our choice.
Who most resembles let her next be nam'd,
Villiers for wifdom and deep judgment fam'd,
Of a high race, victorious Beauty brings

To grace our courts, and captivate our kings.

*Countess of Orkney.

With what delight my Mufe to Sandwich flies!
Whofe wit is piercing as her fparkling eyes:
Ah! how the mounts, and fpreads her airy wings,
And tunes her voice, when the of Ormond fings!
Of radiant Ormond, only fit to be

The fucceffor of beauteous Offory.

Richmond's a title, that but nam'd, implies
Majestic graces, and victorious eyes;
Fair Villiers first, then haughty Stuart came,
And Brudenel now no lefs adorns the name.
Dorfet already is immortal made

In Prior's verfe, nor needs a fecond aid.

By Bentinck and fair Rutenberg we find,
That Beauty to no climate is confin'd.

Rupert of royal blood, with modest grace,
Blushes to hear the triumphs of her face.

Not Helen with St. Alban's might compare: Nor let the Mufe omit Scroop, Holms, and Hare: Hyde, Venus is; the Graces are Kildare.

Soft and delicious as a fouthern sky,
Are Dashwood's fmiles; when Darnly frowns *
Careless, but yet fecure of conqueft ftill,
Lu'fon unaiming, never fails to kill;
Guiltless of pride to captivate, or shine,
Bright without art, the wounds without defign:
But Wyndham like a tyrant throws the dart,
And takes a cruel pleafure in the smart,
Proud of the ravage that her beauties make,
Delights in wounds, and kills for killing fake;
Afferting the dominion of her eyes,

As heroes fight for glory, not for prize.

The fkilful Mufe's earliest care has been
The praife of never-fading Mazarine;
The Poet and his theme, in fpite of Time,
For ever young, enjoy an endless prime.
With charms fo numerous Myra does furprife,
The lover knows not by which dart he dies;
So thick the volley, and the wound so fure,
No flight can fave, no remedy can cure.

Yet | dawning in her infancy of light,
O fee! another Brudenel heavenly bright,
Born to fulfil the glories of her line,
And fix Love's empire in that race divine.

we

Fain would my Mufe to Cecil ¶ bend her fight, But turns aftonifh'd from the dazzling light, Nor dares attempt to climb the fteepy flight.

O Kneller! like thy pictures were my fong, Clear like thy paint, and like thy pencil strong; Thefe matchlefs Beauties fhould recorded be, Immortal in my verfe, as in thy Gallery §.

}

dic.

то THE

COUNTESS OF NEWBOURG, Infifting earnestly to be told who I meant by MYRA.

ear,

ITH Myra's Charms, and my extreme despair, Long had my Mufe amaz'd the reader's My friends, with Pity, heard the mournful found, And all enquir'd from whence the fatal wound; Th' aftonish'd world beheld an endless flame, Ne'er to be quench'd, unknowing whence it came : So fcatter'd fire from scorch'd Vefuvius flies, Unknown the fource from whence those flames arife: Ægyptian Nile fo fpreads its waters round, O'erflowing far and near, its head unfound.

Myra herself, touch'd with the moving fong, Would needs be told to whom thofe plaints belong; My timorous tongue not daring to confefs, Trembling to name, would fain have had her guess; Impatient of excufe, the urges ftill,

Periifts in her demand, the muft, she will;

If filent, I am threaten'd with her hate;
If I obey-Ah! what may

be

my

fate?

Uncertain to conceal, or to unfold,

She fmiles-the goddefs fmiles and I grow bold.
My vows to Myra, all were meant to thee,
The praife, the love, the matchlefs conftancy.
'Twas thus of old, when all th' immortal dames
Were grac'd with poets, each by several names;
For Venus, Citherea was invok'd;

Altars for Pallas, to Tritonia smok'd.

Such names were theirs; and thou the most divine, Moft lov'd of heav'nly beauties-Myra's thine.

TH

TO MYRA,

I.

HOUGHTFUL nights, and restless waking,
Oh, the pains that we endure!
Broken faith, unkind forfaking,
Ever doubting, never fure.
II.

Hopes deceiving, vain endeavours,
What a race has love to run!
Falfe protesting, fleeting favours,
Ev'ry, ev'ry way undone.
III.

Still complaining, and defending,
Both to love, yet not agree;
Fears tormenting, Paffion rending,
Oh! the Pangs of jealousy!
IV.

From fuch painful ways of living,
Ah! how fweet could love be free!
Still prefenting, still receiving,
Fierce, immortal ecftacy.

S

INCE truth and conftancy are vain, Since neither love nor fenfe of pain, Nor force of reafon can perfuade, Then let example be obey'd.

In courts and cities, could you fee
How well the wanton fools agree;
Were all the curtains drawn, you'd find
Not one, perhaps, but who is kind.

Minerva, naked from above,
With Venus, and the wife of Jove,
Expofing ev'ry Beauty bare,
Defcending to the Trojan heir;
Yet this was the whom poets name
Goddess of chastity and fame.

Penelope, her lord away,
Cave am'rous audiences all day;
Now round the bowl the fuitors fit,
With wine, provoking mirth and wit,
Then down they take the stubborn bow,

Thus twenty chearful winters past,

Their ftrength, it feems, the needs must know.

She's yet immortaliz'd for chafte.

Love and defpair, like twins, poffeft
At the fame fatal birth my breast;
No hope could be, her fcorn was all
That to my deftin`d lot could fall.
III.

I thought, alas! that love could dwell
But in warm climes, where no fnow fell;
Like plants, that kindly heat require,
To be maintain'd by conftant fire.

IV.
That without hope, 'twould die as foon,
A little hope-but I have none :
On air the poor Camelions thrive,
Deny'd e'en that, my love can live.
V.

As toughest trees in storms are bred,
And grow in fpite of winds, and fpread;
The more the tempeft tears and fhikes
My love, the deeper root it takes.
VI.

Despair, that aconite does prove,
And certain death to others love;
That poifon, never yet withstood,
Does nourish mine, and turns to food.
VII.

O! for what crime is my torn heart
Condemir'd to fuffer deathlefs fmart?
Like fad Prometheus, thus to lie
An endless pain, and nover die.

P

ΤΟ

MY RA. I.

REPAR'D to rail, refolv'd to part,

When I approach'd the perjur'd fair,

What is it awes my timorous heart?
Why does my tongue forbear?

II.

With the leaft glance, a little kind,

Such wond'rous pow'r have Myra's charms, She calms my doubts, enflaves my mind, And all my rage difarms.

M1

In Imitation of Theocritus.

FIX, mix the Philters, quick-he flies, the flies,
Deaf to my call, regardlefs of my cries.
Are vows fo vain? could oaths fo feeble prove?
Ah! with what cafe the breaks thofe chains of love!
Whom love with all his force had bound in vain,
Let charms compel, and magic rites regain.

Begin, begin, the mystic fpells prepare,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
Queen of the night, bright emprefs of the stars,
The friend of love, affitt a lover's cares;
And thou, infernal Hecate, be nigh,
At whofe approach fierce wolves affrighted fly:
Dark tombs difclofe their dead, and hollow cries
Echo from under ground-Arife, arife.

Begin, begin, the myftic fpells prepare,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.

A:

As crackling in the fire this laurel lies,
So, ftrugling in love's flame, her tover dies;
It burfts, and in a blaze of light expires,
So may fhe burn, but with more lafting fires.
Begin, begin, the myftic fpells prepare,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
As the wax melts, which to the flame I hold,
So may the melt, and never more grow cold.
Tough iron will yield, and ftubborn marble run,
And hardest hearts by love are melted down.

Begin, begin, the myftic fpells prepare,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
As with impetuous motion whirling round,
This magic wheel still moves, yet keeps its ground,
Ever returning, fo may she come back,
And never more the appointed round for fake.

Begin, begin, the myftic fpells prepare,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
Diana, hail! all hail! moft welcome thou,
To whom th' infernal king and judges bow;
O thou, whofe art the power of hell difarms,
Upon a faithlefs woman try thy charms.

Hark! the dogs howl, fhe comes, the goddefs comes,
Sound the loud trump, and beat our brazen drums.

Begin, begin, the myftic fpells prepare,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
How calm's the fky how undisturb'd the deep!
Nature is husht, the very tempefts fleep;
The drowsy winds breathe gently thro' the trees,
And filent on the beach, repofe the feas:
Love only wakes; the ftorm that tears my breaft
For ever rages, and diftracts my reft:
O love! relentless love! tyrant accurft,
In defarts bred, by cruel tygers nurs'd!

Begin, begin, the myftic fpells prepare,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
This Ribbon, that once bound her lovely waift,
O that my arms might gird her there as fast!
Smiling the gave it, and I priz'd it more
Than the rich zone the Idalian Goddess wore :
This Ribbon, this lov'd relict of the fair,
So kift, and fo preferv'd-thus-thus I tear.
O love! why doft thou thus delight to rend
My foul with pain? Ah! why torment thy friend?
Begin, begin, the myftic spells prepare,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
Thrice have I facrific'd, and proftrate thrice
Ador'd: affift, ye powers, the facrifice.
Whoe'er he is whom now the fair beguiles
With guilty glances, and with perjur'd smiles,
Malignant vapours blaft his impious head,

Ye lightnings fcorch him, thunder ftrike him dead;
Horror of confcience all his flumbers break,
Distract his reft, as love keeps me awake;
If married, may his wife an Helen be,
And curs'd, and fcorn'd, like Menelaus, he.
Begin, begin, the myftic fpells prepare,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
Thefe powerful drops, thrice on the threshold pour,
And bathe with this enchanted juice, her door,
That door where no admittance now is found,
But where my foul is ever hovering round.

Hafte, and obey; and binding be the spell:
Here ends my charm; O Love! fucceed it well:
By force of magic, ftop the flying fair,
Bring Myra back, my perjur'd wanderer.
Thou 'rt now alone, and painful is restraint,
Eafe thy preft heart, and give thy forrows vent;
Whence fprang, and how began thefe griefs, declare ;
How much thy love, how cruel thy defpair.
Ye moon and stars, by whose aufpicious light

I haunt thefe groves, and wafte the tedious night!
Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,
Its killing anguish, and its fecret fmart.
Too late for hope, for my repofe too soon
I faw, and lov'd: Her heart engag`d, was gone;
A happier man poffefs'd whom I adore ;
O! I should ne'er have feen, or feen before.

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,
Its killing anguifh, and its fecret fmart.
What shall I do? Shall I in filence bear,
Destroy myself, or kill the ravisher?
Die, wretched lover, die; but O! beware,
Hurt not the man who is belov'd by her;
Wait for a better hour, and trust thy fate,
Thou feek'ft her love, beget not then her hate.

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,
Its killing anguish, and its fecret smart.

My life confuming with eternal grief,
From herbs and fpells, I feek a vain relief;
To every wife magician I repair

In vain, for ftill I love, and I defpair.
Circe, Medea, and the Sybils' books,
Contain not half th' enchantment of her looks.

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,
Its killing anguish, and its fecret smart.
As melted gold preferves its weight the fame,
So burnt my love, nor wafted in the flame.
And now, unable to fupport the ftrife,
A glimmering hope recalls departing life:
My rival dying, I no longer grieve,
Since I may ask, and the with honour give.

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,
Its killing anguifh, and its fecret smart.
Witnefs, ye hours, with what unwearied care,
From place to place I still purfu'd the fair;
Nor was occafion to reveal my flame,
Slow to my fuccour, for it kindly came,
It came, it came, that moment of delight,
O Gods! and how I trembled at the fight!

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,
Its killing anguish, and its fecret smart.
Difmay'd, and motionless, confus'd, amaz'd,
Trembling I ftood, and terrify'd I gaz'd ;
My faultering tongue in vain for utterance try'd,
Faint was my voice, my thoughts abortive dy'd,
Or in weak founds, and broken accents came,
Imperfect, as difcourfes in a dream.

Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,
Its killing anguish, and its fecret smart.
Soon the divin'd what this confufion meant,
And guefs'd with eafe the caufe of my complaint.
My tongue emboldening as her looks were mild,
A: length I told my griefs-and ftill the fmil'd.
O fyren!

O fyren! fyren! fair deluder, fay,

Why would you tempt to truft, and then betray?
So faithless now, why gave you hopes before?
Alas! you should have been lefs kind, or more.
Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,
Its killing anguifh, and its fecret smart.
Secure of innocence, I feek to know

From whence this change, and my misfortunes grow,
Rumour is loud, and every voice proclaims
Her violated faith, and confcious flames :

Can this be true? Ah! flattering mischief speak;
Could make vows, and in a moment break?
And can the space so very narrow be

you

Betwixt a woman's oath, and perjury?

O Jealoufy all other ills at firft

My love effay'd, but thou art fure the worst.
Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart,
Its killing anguish, and its fecret smart.
Ungrateful Myra! urge me thus no more,
Nor think me tame, that once fo long I bore;
If paffion, dire revenge, or black defpair,
Should once prevail beyond what man can bear,
Who knows what I? Ah! feeble rage, and vain!
With how fecure a brow the mocks my pain:
Thy heart, fond lover, does thy threats belie,
Canft thou hurt her, for whom thou yet wouldst die?
Nor durft the thus thy juft refentment brave,
But that the knows how much thy foul's her flave.
But fee! Aurora rifing with the fun,
Diffolves my charm, and frees th' enchanted moon;
My fpells no longer bind at fight of day,
And young Endymion calls his love away:
Love's the reward of all, on earth, in heaven,
And for a plague to me alone was given:
But ills not to be thunn'd we must endure,
Death, and a broken heart's a ready cure.
Cynthia, farewel, go reft thy wearied light,

I must for ever wake-We'll meet again at night.

I

THE

VISION.

N lonely walks, diftracted by defpair,

Shunning mankind, and torn with killing care,
My eyes o'erflowing, and my frantic mind
Rack'd with wild thoughts, fwelling with fighs the
wind;

Through paths untrodden, day and night I rove,
Mourning the fate of my fuccefslefs love.
Who moft defire to live, untimely fall,
But when we beg to die, death flies our call;
Adonis dies, and torn is the lov'd breaft
In midst of joy, where Venus wont to reft;
That fate, which cruel feem'd to him, would be
Pity, relief, and happiness to me.

When will my forrows end? In vain, in vain
I call to heaven, and tell the Gods my pain;
The Gods averfe, like Myra, to my prayer,
Confent to doom, whom the denies to spare.
Why do I feek for foreign aids, when I
Bear ready by my fide the power to die?
Be keen, my fword, and ferve thy mafter well,

Heal wounds with wounds, and love with death repel.
Straight up I rofe, and to my aking breast,
My bofom bare, the ready point I preft ;

When lo aftonish'd, an unusual light
Pierc'd the thick shade, and all around grew bright;
My dazzled eyes a radiant form behold,
Splendid with light, like beams of burning gold;
Eternal rays his shining temples grace;
Eternal youth fat blooming on his face.
Trembling I liften, proftrate on the ground,
His breath perfumes the grove, and mufic's in the
found *.

Ceafe, lover, ceafe, thy tender heart to vex,
In fruitless plaints of an ungrateful fex.
In Fate's eternal volumes it is writ,

That women ever shall be foes to wit.
With proper arts their fickly minds command,
And please 'em with the things they understand;
With noify fopperies their hearts affail,
Renounce all fenfe; how fhould thy fongs prevail,
When I, the God of Wit, fo oft could fail?
Remember me, and in my ftory find

How vainly merit pleads to womankind :

}

I, by whom all things fhine, who tune the fpheres,
Create the day, and gild the night with stars;
Whofe youth and beauty, from all ages paft,
Sprang with the world, and with the world shall last.
How oft with fruitless tears have I implored
Ungrateful nymphs, and though a God, ador'd?
When could my wit, my beauty, or my youth,
Move a hard heart? or mov'd, fecure its truth?

Here a proud nymph, with painful steps I chace,
The winds out-flying in our nimble race;
Stay, Daphne, ftay. In vain, in vain I try
To stop her speed, redoubling at my cry,
O'er craggy rocks, and rugged hills the climbs,
And tears on pointed flints, her tender limbs :
'Till caught at length, just as my arms I fold,
Turn'd to a tree fhe yet escapes my hold.

In my next love, a diff'rent fate I find, Ah! which is worse, the falfe, or the unkind? Forgetting Daphne, I Coronis † chofe, A kinder nymph too kind for my repofe : The joys I give, but more provoke her breast, She keeps a private drudge to quench the reft; How, and with whom, the very birds proclaim Her black pollution, and reveal my shame. Hard lot of beauty! fatally bestow'd, Or given to the falfe, or to the proud; By different ways they bring us equal pain, The falfe betray us, and the proud difdain. Scorn'd and abus'd, from mortal loves I fly, To feek more truth in my own native sky. Venus, the fairest of immortal loves, Bright as my beams, and gentle as her doves, With glowing eyes, confeffing warm defires, She fummons heaven and earth to quench her fires, Me the excludes; and I in vain adore, Who neither God nor man refus'd before; Vulcan, the very monster of the skies, Vulcan she takes, the God of Wit denies.

Then ceafe to murmur at thy Myra's pride, Whimfy, not Reason, is the female guide :

Apollo.

A nymph belov'd by Apollo, but at the fame time had a private intrigue with one Ifchis, which was difcovered by a crow.

The