So fierce a fhock unable to withstand, Admits the fea; in at the gaping fide

While the gay wretch to revels bears The pale remains of fighs and tears;

What only can be found in one.

$95. An Epifle to a Lady. NUGENT. CLARINDA, dearly lov'd, attend

The counfels of a faithful friend; Who, with the warmeft withes fraught, Feels all, at leaft, that friendship ought! But fince, by ruling Heaven's defign, Another's fate fhall influence thine; Oh may thefe lines for him prepare A blifs which I would die to fhare! Man may for wealth or glory roam, But woman must be bleft at home; To this fhould all her ftudies tend, This her great object and her end. Diftafte unmingled pleasures bring, And ufe can blunt Affliction's fting; Hence perfect blifs no mortals know, And few are plung'd in utter woe: While Nature, arm'd against Despair, Gives pow'r to mend, or strength to bear; And half the thought content may gain, Which fpleen employs to purchafe pain. Trace not the fair domeftic plan From what you would, but what you can! Nor, peevish, fpurn the fcanty ftore, Becaufe you think you merit more! Blifs ever differs in degree, Thy fhare alone is meant for thee; And thou fhouldft think, however small, That fhare enough, for 'tis thy all: Vain fcorn will aggravate diftrefs, And only make that little lefs.

Admit whatever trifles come;
Units compofe the largest fum:
Oh tell them o'er, and fay how vain
Are thofe who form Ambition's train;
Which fwell the monarch's gorgeous state,
And bribe to ill the guilty great!

But thou, more bleft, more wife than thefe,
Shalt build up happiness on cafe.
Hail, fweet Content! where joy ferene
Gilds the mild foul's unruffled fcene;
And, with blith Fancy's pencil wrought,
Spreads the white web of flowing thought;
Shines lovely in the cheerful face,

And clothes each charm with native grace;
Effufion pure of blifs fincere,
A veftment for a god to wear.

Far other ornaments compofe
The garb that shrouds diffembled woes,
Piec'd out with motley dyes and forts,
Freaks, whimfies, feftivals, and fports:
The troubled mind's fantaftic drefs,

But chief, my gentle friend! remove
Far from thy couch feducing Love.
Oh fhun the falfe magician's art,
Nor truft thy yet unguarded heart!
Charm'd by his fpells fair Honour flies,
And thoufand treach'rous phantoms rife;
Where Guilt, in Beauty's ray beguiles,
And Ruin lurks in Friendship's fmiles.
Lo! where th' enchanted captive dreams
Of warbling groves and purling ftreams;
Of painted meads, of flow'rs that fhed
Their odours round her fragrant bed.
Quick fhifts the fcene, the charm is loft,
She wakes upon a defart coaft;
No friendly hand to lend its aid,
No guardian bow'r to spread its shade;
Expos'd to ev'ry chilling blaft,
She treads th' inhofpitable wafte;
And down the drear decline of life,
Sinks a forlorn, dishonour'd wife.
Neglect not thou the voice of Fame,
But, clear from crime, be free from blame!
Tho' all were innocence within,
'Tis guilt to wear the garb of fin;
Virtue rejects the foul difguife:
None merit praife who praife defpife.
Slight not, in fupercilious ftrain,
Long practis'd modes, as low or vain!
The world will vindicate their caufe,
And claim blind faith in Cuftom's laws.
Safer with multitudes to stray,
Than tread alone a fairer way:
To mingle with the erring throng,
Than boldly fpeak ten millions wrong.
Beware of the relentlefs train

Who forms adore, whom rms maintain!
Left prudes demure, or coxcombs loud,
Accufe thee to the partial crowd;
Foes who the laws of honour flight,
A judge who meafures guilt by fpite.
Behold the fage Aurelia ftand,
Difgrace and fame at her command;
As if Heaven's delegate defign'd,
Sole arbiter of all her kind.
Whether the try fome favour'd piece
By rules devis'd in ancient Greece;
Or whether, modern in her flight,
She tells what Paris thinks polite:
For, much her talents to advance,'
She ftudied Greece, and travell'd France;
There learn'd the happy art to please
With all the charms of labour'd eafe;
Thro' looks and nods, with meaning fraught,
To teach what fhe was never taught.
By her cach latent fpring is fcen;
The workings foul of fecret fpleen;
The guilt that fkulks in fair pretence;
Or folly veil'd in fpecious fenfe.
And much her righteous fpirit grieves,
When worthleffnefs the world deceives;

Whether

Whether the erring crowd commends
Some patriot fway'd by private ends;
Or husband trust a faithlefs wife,
Secure, in ignorance, from ftrife.
Averfe the brings their deeds to view,
But juftice claims the rig'rous due;
Humanely anxious to produce
At least fome poffible excufe.
Oh ne'er may virtue's dire difgrace
Prepare a triumph for the bafe!

Mere forms the fool implicit fway,
Which witlings with contempt furvey;
Blind folly no defect can fee,
Half wifdom views but one degree.
The wife remoter ufcs reach,
Which judgment and experience teach,
Whoever would be pleas'd and please,
Muft do what others do with cafe.
Great precept, undefin'd by mile,
And only learn'd in Cuftom's school į
To no peculiar form confin'd,
It fpreads thro' all the human kind;
Beauty, and wit, and worth fupplies,
Yet graceful in the good and wife.
Rich with this gift, and none befide,
In Fashion's ftream how many glide!
Secure from ev'ry mental woe,
From treach'rous friend or open foc
From focial fympathy, that shares
The public lofs or private cares;
Whether the barb'rous foe invade,
Or Merit pine in Fortune's fhade.
Hence gentle Anna, ever gay,
The fame to-morrow as to-day,
Save where, perchance, when others weep
Her cheek the decent forrow steep;
Save when, perhaps, a melting tale
O'er ev'ry tender breaft prevail:

The good, the bad, the great, the small,
She likes, fhe loves, the honours all.
And yet, if fland'rous malice blame,
Patient the yields a fifter's fame,
Alike if fatire or if praife,
She fays whatc'er the circle fays;
Implicit does whate'er they do,
Without one point in with or view.
Sure teft of others, faithful glafs,

Thro' which the various phantoms pafs.
Wide blank, unfeeling when alone;
No care, no joy, no thought her own.

Not thus fucceeds the peerlefs dame,
Who looks, and talks, and acts for fame;
Intent, fo wide her cares extend,
To make the univerfe her friend.
Now with the gay in frolics fhines,
Now reafons deep with deep divines.
With courtiers now extols the great,
With patriots fighs o'er Britain's fate.
Now breathes with zealots holy fires,
Now melts in lefs refin'd defires.
Doom'd to exceed in each degree,

Too wife, too weak, too proud, too free;
Too various for one fingle word,
The high fublime of deep abfurd.
While ev'ry talent nature grants
Jus ferves to show how much he wants.

§ 96. Alexander's Feaft; or the Power of Muke An Ode on St. Cecilia's Day. Dryden. WAS at the royal feast, for Perfia won, By Philip's warlike fon:

'TW

Aloft in awful state

The godlike hero fate

On his imperial throne :

His valiant peers were plac'd around;

Their brows with rofes and with myrtle bound So fhould defert in arms be crown'd.

The lovely Thais by his fide

Sat, like a blooming caftern bride,
In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride;
Happy, happy, happy pair;
None but the brave,

None but the brave,

None but the brave deferves the fair,

Timotheus, plac'd on high

Amid the tuneful quire,

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre?
The trembling notes afcend the fky,
And heavenly joys infpire.

The fong began from Jove;
Who left his blifsful feats above,
Such is the pow'r of mighty love!
A dragon's fiery form belyed the god;
Sublime on radiant fpheres he rode,

When he to fair Olympia prefs'd, And ftamp'd an image of himself, a fov reign of the world.

The lift'ning crowd admire the lofty found;
A prefent deity, the vaulted roofs rebound:
With ravish'd ears
The monarch hears,
Affumes the god,

444

The face of nature in a rich difguife,
And brighten'd every object to my eyes:
For ev'ry fhrub, and every blade of grais,
And ev'ry pointed thorn, feem'd wrought in glafs,
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns fhew,
While thro' the ice the crimfon berries glow.
The thick-fprung reeds the wat'ry marflies yield
Scem polifh'd lances in a hoftile field.
The itag, in limpid currents, with furprise
Sees crystal branches on his forehead rife.
The fpicading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine,
Glaz'a over, in the freezing æther thine.
The frighted birds the rattling branches fhun,
That wave and glitter in the distant fun.
When, if a fidden guft of wind arife,
The brittle foreft into atoms files:
The crackling wood beneath the tempeft bends,
And in a fpangled fhow'r the profpect ends;
Or, if a fouthern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbind the wintry charm,
The traveller a miry country fees,
And journeys fad beneath the dropping trees.

Like fome deluded peafant Merlin leads
Thro' fi agrant bow'rs, and thro' delicious meads;
While here enchanted gardens to him rife,
And airy fabrics there attract his eyes,
His wand'ring feet the magic paths purfue;
And, while he thinks the fair illufion true,
The tracklefs fcenes difperfe in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways, appear:
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the tranfient vision mourns.

A

$98. The Man of Sorrow. GREVILLE.
H! what avails the lengthening mead,
By Nature's kindeft bounty spread
Along the vale of flow'rs!

Ah! what avails the darkening grove,
Or Philomel's melodious love,

That glads the midnight hours!
For me, alas! the god of day
Ne'er glitters on the hawthorn fpray,

Nor night her comfort brings:
I have no pleasure in the rofe,
For me no vernal beauty blows,
Nor Philomela fings.

See how the furdy peasants ftride
Adown hillock's verdant fide,

yon

In cheerful ignorance bleft! Alike to them the rofe or thorn, Alike arifes every morn,

By gay Contentment dreft. Content, fair daughter of the fkies, Or gives fpontaneous, or denics, 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? Methought a bright celeftial gleam

Shot fudden thro' the groves;

Pehold, behold, in loose array,
Euphrofyne, more bright than day,
More mild than Paphian doves!
Welcome, oh welcome, Pleafure's queen !
And fee, along the velvet green

The jocund train advance:
With featter'd flow'rs they fill the air;
The wood-nymph's dew-befpangled hair
Plays in the fportive dance.

Ah! bineful grant of angry Heaven,
When to the feeling wretch is given
A foul alive to joy!

Joys fly with every hour away,
And leave th' unguarded heart a prey
To cares that peace deftroy.
And fee, with vifionary hafte
(Too foon the gay
delufion paft)

Reality remains!
Despair has feiz'd my captive foui;
And horror drives without controul,

And flackens ftill the reins.

Ten thoufand beauties round me throng; What beauties, fay, ye nymphs, belong

To the diftemper'd foul?

I fee the lawn of hideous dye;
The towering clm nods mifery;

With groans the waters roll.
Ye gilded roofs, Palladian domes,
Ye vivid tints of Perfia's looms,

Ye were for miïery made.-
'Twas thus the Man of Sorrow spoke;
His wayward ftep then penfive took
Along th' unhallow'd fhade.

I, who the tedious abfence of a day

[fight; Remov'd, would languish for my charmer's Would chide the lingering moments for delay, And fondly blame the flow return of night; How, how fhall I endure (O mifery past a cure!) Hours, days, and years, fucceffively to roll, Nor ever more behold the comfort of Was the not all my fondeft with could frame? Did ever mind fo much of heayen partake? Did the not love me with the purest flame? And give up friends and fortune for my fake? Though mild as evening skies, With downcaft, ftreaming eyes,

my

foul?

Stool