1

With tales of Atys' worth, and points the place
Where late he parted from their last embrace.
And now, perchance, in tears they linger'd there,
When flowly-moving real crowds appear.

What means he cried, and shot a trembling eye.
A youth deputed by the rest drew nigh,

And in fad accents told the dreadful tale:

Rage feiz'd the king; expiring, breathlefs, pale,
Idalia finks; th' attendant fair convey,

With tears and fhrieks, the lifeless frame away.
'Where is the wretch Hear, hofpitable Jove!-
'Is this, is this thy more than father's love?
'Give me my fon-why ftare thy haggard eyes
'As fix'd in grief? HERE only forrow lies-
And smote his breast, Thy life in blood began
A fated wretch, a murd'rer, ere a man.

O foolish king! by my indulgence ftole

'This serpent near me, that has ftung my foul.
'This thy return for all a king could fhow'r

'Of bounty o'er thee, life, and wealth, and pow'r-
'But what are thofe ? How great foe'er they be,

· I

gave thee more, I gave myself to thee:

I gave thee Atys, link'd in Friendship's chain-
O fatal gift, if thus return'd again!

'Reach me a fword and yet, dear bleeding clay,
Can his, can thousand lives thy lofs repay?'
Then burft in tears. Heav'n's inftrument I blame;
'Tho' by his hand, from Heav'n the vengeance came.
This ftroke, O Solon, has convinc'd my pride;
O had I never liv'd, or earlier dy'd !

'Alas! poor wretch! why doft thou bare thy breast,
And court my fword! Tho' loft himself to rest,
This curs'd of Heav'n, this Crofus, can forgive
'Th' unhappy cause, and bids the murd❜rer live.'
Ah, ftop!' he cried, and write the milder fate
Here with thy fword; I only liv'd for that.

Undone, I thought, beyond Misfortune's pow'r;
O do not, by forgiveness, curfe me more !'
While yet he pleaded to the mourning crowd,
Forth rush'd Idalia, by her maids purfu'd;
Eager the feem'd, with light fufpicions fill'd,
And on her face heart-piercing madness fmil'd.

• Where is my wand'ring love, ye Lydians, fay;
Does he, indeed, along Meander stray,

• And rove the Afian plain ?-I'll seek him there.— Ye Lydian damfels of your hearts beware.

Fair is my love as to the funny beam

The light-fpread plumage on Cayifter's ftream:
His locks are Hermus' gold; his cheeks outshine
The ivory, tinctur'd by your art divine.--

I fee him now, in Tmolus' fhade he lies

• On faffron beds; foft Sleep has feal'd his eyes.
• His breath adds sweetness to the gale that blows;
Tread light, ye nymphs, I'll fteal on his repofe.
Alas! he bleeds!--O murder! Atys bleeds!-

And o'er his face a dying paleness spreads!

Help, help, Adraftus!-Can you leave him now?

In death neglect him! once it was not so.

What, and not weep! A tear at least is due;

• Unkind Adraftus! he'd have wept for you.

Come, then, my maids, our tears shall wash the gore;

• We too will die, fince Atys is no more.

• But first we'll ftrew with flow'rs the hallow'd ground • Where lies my love, and plant the cypress round; Nor let Adraftus know: for fhould he come,

• New ftreams of blood would iffue from the tomb; The flow'rs would wither at his baleful tread,

And at his touch the fick'ning cyprefs fade.

Come, come-nay do not tear me from his fide;
Cruel Adraftus, am I not his bride?

• I must-I will-me would you murder too ?? `.
At this, unable to fuftain his woe,

My

• My foul can bear no more,' Adraftus cries,

(His eyes on heav'n.) Ye pow'rs, who rule the fkies! If your auguft, unerring wills decreed,

That ftates, and kings, and families, muft bleed, • Why was I fingled to perform the part,

Unfteel'd my foul, unpetrify'd my heart?

• What had I done, a child, an embryo man,
Ere paffions could unfold, or thought began?
. Yet then, condemn'd, an infant wretch I fled,
Blood on my hands, and curfes on my head.
O had I perifh'd fo!-but Fortune fmil'd,

To make her frowns more dire.-This vagrant child
Became the friend of kings, to curfe them all,

And with new horrors dignify his fall.'

Then eager fnatch'd his fword.

For murders past

What have I not endur'd?-be this my last,'

And pierc'd his breast.

This fated arm shall pour

Your streams of wrath, and hurl your bolts no more.
For pangs fuftain'd, oblivion's all I crave;

O let my foul forget them in the grave!

Alas! forgive the wretch your judgments doom;
• Dark are your ways, I wander in the gloom,
Nor should perhaps complain.-Be grief my fhare;
But, if your heav'n has mercy, pour it there,
On yon heart-broken king, on yon distracted fair!'
He fpake, and drew the fteel: the weeping train
Support him to the bier, he grafps the flain;
There feels the laft fad joy his foul defires,
And on his Atys' much-lov'd breast expires.
O happy both, if I, if I could fhed
Those tears eternal which embalm the dead;
While round Britannia's coaft old Ocean raves,
And to her standard roll th' embattled waves,
Fair emprefs of the deep; fo long your names
Should live, lamented by her brightest dames :

}

Who

Who oft, at ev'ning, fhould with tears relate
The murder'd friend, and poor Idalia's fate;
And oft, enquiring from their lovers, hear
How Crœfus mourn'd a twice-revolving year;
Then, rouz'd at Cyrus' name, and glory's charms,
Shook off enervate grief, and fhone again in arms.

L'

LIFE.

AN ODE.

BY DR. HAWKESWORTH.

IFE! the dear, precarious boon!

Soon we lofe; alas, how foon!
Fleeting vifion, falfely gay!
Grafp'd in vain, it fades away;
Mixing with furrounding fhades,
Lovely vifion! how it fades!
Let the Muse, in Fancy's glafs,
Catch the phantoms as they país.
See, they rife! a nymph behold,
Careless, wanton, young, and bold;
Ma k her devious, hafty pace,
Antick dress, and thoughtless face;
Smiling cheeks, and roving eyes,
Causeless mirth, and vain furprize-
Tripping at her fide, a boy

Shares her wonder, and her joy:
This is Folly, Childhood's guide;
This is Childhood, at her fide.
What is he fucceeding now,
Myrtles blooming on his brow,
Bright and blushing, as the morn;
Not on earth a mortal born ?

Shafts,

Shafts, to pierce the strong, I view;
Wings, the flying to pursue:

Victim of his pow'r, behind

Stalks a flave of human kind,
Whose difdain of all the free,
Speaks his mind's captivity.

Love's the tyrant, Youth the flave;
Youth, in vain, is wife or brave:
Love, with conscious pride, defies
All the brave, and all the wife.
Who art thou, with anxious mien,
Stealing o'er the shifting scene?
Eyes, with tedious vigils red,
Sighs, by doubts and wishes bred :
Cautious step, and glancing leer,
Speak thy woes, and speak thy fear.
Arm in arm, what wretch is he
Like thyself, who walks with thee?
Like thy own his fears and woes,
All thy pangs his bofom knows.
Well, too well! my boding breast
Knows the names your looks suggest;
Anxious, bufy, restless pair!
Manhood, link'd by Fate to Care.
Wretched state! and yet 'tis dear.
Fancy, close the prospect here!
Close it, or recal the past,
Spare my eyes, my heart the last.
Vain the wish! the laft appears
While I gaze, it swims in tears.
Age-my future self-I trace,
Moving flow with feeble pace;
Bending with disease and cares,
All the load of life he bears:
White his locks, his vifage wan,
Strength, and eafe, and hope, are gone.

Death,