Boaft not my fall (he cry'd) infulting foe!
Thou by fome other fhalt be laid as low.
Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind:
All that I dread is leaving you behind!
Rather than fo, ah let me ftill survive,
And burn in Cupid's flames-but burn alive.

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IIO

Reftore the Lock! fhe cries; and all around Reftore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound. Not fierce Othello in fo loud a ftrain Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain. But fee how oft ambitious aims are cross'd, And chiefs contend till all the prize is loft! The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain, In ev'ry place is fought, but fought in vain : With fuch a prize no mortal must be bleft, So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can conteft? Some thought it mounted to the Lunar fphere, Since all things loft on earth are treasur'd there. There Hero's wits are kept in pond'rous vafes, 115 And Beau's in fnuff-boxes and tweezer-cafes. There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found, And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound, The courtier's promifes, and fick man's pray'rs, The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, Cages for gnats, and chains to yoak a flea, Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of cafuiftry.

114. Since all things loft] Vid. Ariosto, Canto xxxiv.

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But truft the Mufe- fhe faw it upward rise, Tho' mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes : (So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, To Proculus alone confefs'd in view)

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A fudden Star, it shot thro' liquid air,

And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.

Not Berenice's Locks first rofe fo bright,
The heav'ns befpangling with difhevel'd light. 130
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd purfue its progrefs thro' the skies.

This the Beau monde shall from the Mall furvey, And hail with mufic its propitious ray.

This the blest Lover shall for Venus take,
And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake.
This Partridge foon fhall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks thro' Galilæo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard fhall foredocm
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.

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VER. 137. This Partridge foon] John Partridge was a ridiculous Star-gazer, who in his Almanacks every year never fail'd to predict the downfall of the Pope, and the King of France, then at war with the English.

135

VARIATIONS.

VER. 131. The Sylphs behold] These two lines added for the fame reafon to keep in view the Machinery of the Poem.

IMITATIONS.

VER. 128.

Flammiferumque trahens fpatiofo limite crinem
Stella micat.

Ovid.

Then ceafe, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd hair,

Which adds new glory to the fhining sphere!
Not all the treffes that fair head can boaft,
Shall draw fuch envy as the Lock you loft.
For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions flain, yourfelf fhall die;
When those fair funs fhall fet, as fet they muft,
And all those treffes fhall be laid in duft,
This Lock, the Muse shall confecrate to fame,
And 'midft the ftars infcribe Belinda's name.

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150

ELE GY

To the MEMORY of an

UNFORTUNATE LADY.

HAT beck'ning ghoft, along the moonlight fhade

W

Invites my fleps, and points to yonder glade ?
'Tis fhe-but why that bleeding bofom gor'd,
Why dimly gleams the vifionary sword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a Lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reverfion in the sky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?

Why bade ye elfe, ye pow'rs! her foul afpire
Above the vulgar flight of low defire ?
Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes;
The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods:

10

a See the Duke of Buckingham's verfes to a Lady designing to retire into a Monaftery compar'd with Mr. Pope's Letters to feveral Ladies, p. 206. quarto Edition. She feems to be the fame perfon whofe unfortunate death is the subject of this poem.

Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breafts of Kings and Heroes glows.
Moft fouls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull fullen pris'ners in the body's cage:

Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years
Ufelefs, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres;
Like Eaflern Kings a lazy ftate they keep,
And clofe confin'd to their own palace fleep.
From thefe perhaps (ere nature bade her die)
Fate fnatch'd her early to the pitying fky.
As into air the purer fpirits flow,
And fep'rate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the foul to its congenial place,
Nor left one virtue to redeem her Race.

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But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deferter of thy brother's blood! See on thefe ruby lips the trembling breath, These cheeks now fading at the blast of death; Cold is that breaft which warm'd the world before, And those love-darting eyes muit roll no more. Thus, if eternal juftice rules the ball, 35 Thus fhall your wives, and thus your children fall: On all the line a fudden vengeance waits, And frequent herfes fhall befiege your gates. There paffengers fhall ftand and pointing fay, (While the long fun'rals blacken all the way) Lo thefe were they, whofe fouls the Furies steel'd, And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield.

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