Imatges de pàgina
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And much her righteous spirit grieves,
When worthleffnefs the world deceives;
Whether the erring crowd commends
Some patriot fway'd by private ends;
Or husband truft a faithlefs wife,
Secure, in ignorance, from strife.
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 uses reach,

Which judgment and experience teach. Whoever would be pleas'd and please, Muft do what others do with ease. Great precept, undefin'd by rule, And only learn'd in Custom's school; 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 foe 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,

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Save where, perchance, when others weep,
Her check the decent forrow fteep;
Save when, perhaps, a melting tale
O'er ev'ry tender breast prevail :

The good, the bad, the great, the fmall,
She likes, the 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 says whate'er the circle fays;
Implicit does whate'er they do,
Without one point in with or view.
Sure test of others, faithful glass,
Thro' which the various phantoms pafs
Wide blank, unfeeling when alone;
No care, no joy, no thought her own.

Not thus fucceeds the peerless dame,
Who looks, and talks, and acts for fame;
Intent, fo wide her cares extend,
To make the universe 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, ico free;

Too various for one fingle word,
The high fublime of deep abfurd:
While ev'ry talent nature grants
Juft ferves to fhew how much she wants.
Altho' in
combine

The virtues of our fex and thine :

Her hand reftrains the widow's tears;
Her fenfe informs, and fooths, and cheers:
Yet, like an angel in difguife,

She fines but to fome favour'd eyes;
Nor is the diftant herd allow'd
To view the radiance thro' the cloud,
But thine is ev'ry winning art;
Thine is the friendly, honeft heart;
And should the gen'rous fpirit flow
Beyond where prudence fears to ga;
Such fallies are of nobler kind
Than virtues of a narrow mind.

§ 101. Alexander's Feaft; or the Power of Mufic An Ode on St. Cecilia's Day. DRYDEN. 'TWAS at the royal feaft, for Perfia won, By Philip's warlike son :

Aloft in awful ftate

The godlike hero fate

On his imperial throne:

His valiant peers were plac'd around;

Their brows with roles and with myrtle bound; So fhould defert in arms be crown'd,

The lovely Thais by his fide

Sat, like a blooming eastern 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 inspire.
The fong began from Jove;
Who left his blifsful feats above,
Such is the pow'r of mighty love!
A dragon's fiery form belied 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,

Affects to nod,

And feems to shake the spheres.

The praife of Bacchus then the sweet musician fung;

Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young:
The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums;
Flufh'd with a purple grace

He fhows his honeft face.

Kk 3

Now

Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he

[comes!

Bacchus ever fair and young
Drinking joys did first ordain:
Bacchus bleffings are a treasure,
Drinking is the foldier's pleafure;
Kich the treasure,

Sweet the pleafure;
Sweet is pleasure after pain.

Sooth'd with the found, the king grew vain;
Fought all his battles o'er again;

And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he flew the flain.

The mafter faw the madness rife :
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he heaven and earth defied,
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chofe a mournful mufe,

Soft pity to infuse :

He fung Darius great and good,
By too fevere a fate,
Fallin, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n,
Fall'n from his high eftate,
And welt'ring in his blood;
Deforted at his utmost need
By thofe his former bounty fed,
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to clofe his eyes.

With downcaft look the joy lefs victor fate,
Revolving in his alter'd foul

The various turns of fate below;
And now and then a sigh he stole; *
And tears began to flow.

The mighty mafter smil'd, to fee
That love was in the next degree:
Twas but a kindred found to move;
For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly fweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon he footh'd his foul to pleasures.
War he fung is toil and trouble;
Honour but an empty bubble;

Never ending, ftill beginning,
Fighting ftill, and ftill deftroying:

If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, oh think it worth enjoying!
Lovely Thais fits befide thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee.
The many rend the skies with loud applaufe;

So love was crown'd, but mufic won the cause.
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,
Sigh'd and look'd, and figh'd again :

At length, with love and wine at once opprefs'd,
The vanquish'd victor funk upon her breaft.

Now strike the golden lyre again;
And louder yet, and yet a louder ftrain.
Break his bands of fleep afunder,

And roufe him, like a rattling peal of thunder.
Hark, hark, the horrid found
Has rais'd up his head,

As awk'd from the dead,

And amaz'd, he flares around.

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,
See the furies arife,

See the fnakes that they rear,
How they hifs in the air,

And the fparkles that flash from their eyes!
Behold a ghaftly band,

Each a torch in his hand,

Thefe are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were flaia,
And unburied remain
Inglorious on the plain;
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew:

Behold how they tofs their torches on high,
How they point to the Perfian abodes,
And glitt'ring temples of their hoftile gods !—
The Princes applaud, with a furious joy;
And the King feiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to
Thais led the way,
[deftroy;

To light him to his prey,

And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.
Thus, long ago,

Ee heaving bellows learn'd to blow,

While organs yet were mute;

Timotheus to his breathing flute

And founding lyre

Could fwell the foul to rage, or kindle soft defire.
At laft divine Cecilia came,
Inventrefs of the vocal frame;

The fweet enthusiast, from her facred ftore,

Enlargd the former narrow bounds,
And added length to folemn founds,

With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown be
Let old Timotheus yield the prize,

Or both divide the crown;

He rais'd a mortal to the skies,
She drew an angel down.

[fore.

§ 102. An Epifle, from Mr. Phillips to the Earl of Dorfet. Copenhagen, March 9, 1709.

FROM

OM frozen climes, and endless tracts of fnow,
From ftreams that northern winds forbid to
Ησιν,

What prefent fhall the Mufe to Dorfet bring,
Or how, fo near the Pole, attempt to fing?
The hoary winter here conccals from fight
All pleafing objećts that to verse invite.
The flow'ry plains, and filver ftreaming floods,
The hills and dales, and the delightful woods,
By fnow difguis'd, in bright confufion lie,
And with one dazzling wafte fatigue the eye.

No gentle breathing breeze prepares the fpring,
No birds within the defert region fing.
The thips, unmov'd, the boift'rous winds defy,
The vaft Leviathan wants room to play,
While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly.
And fpout his waters in the face of day.
The ftarving wolves along the main fea prowl,
And to the moon in icy valleys howl.
For many a fhining league the level main
Here fpreads itfelf into a glaffy plain :
There folid billows, of enormous fize,
Alps of green ice, in wild diforder rife.
And yet but lately have I feen, e'en here,
The winter in a lovely drefs appear.

The

1

Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd fnow,
Or winds begun thro' hazy kies to blow,
At ev'ning a keen eastern breeze arole;
And the defcending rain unfullied froze.
Soon as the filent fhades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn difclos'd at once to view
The face of nature in a rich disguife,
And brighten'd ev'ry object to my eyes:
For ev'ry fhrub, and ev'ry blade of grafs,
And ev'ry pointed thorn, feem'd wrought in glafs;
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns thow,
While thro' the ice the crimfon berries glow.
The thick-fprung reeds the wat'ry marthes yield
Seem polifh'd lances in a hofule field.
The flag, in limpid currents, with furprise
Sees crystal branches on his forehead rife.
The fpreading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine,
Glaz'd over, in the freezing ather thine.
The frighted birds the rattling branches fhun,
That wave and glitter in the diftant fun.
When, if a fudden gust of wind arife,
The brittle foreft into atoms flies:
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 wint'ry charm,
The traveller a miry country fees,
And journeys fad beneath the dropping trees.

Like fome deluded peafant Merlin leads
Thro' fragrant bow'rs, and thro' delicious meads;
While here enchanting 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 trackless scencs disperse in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear:
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the tranfient vifion mourns.

§103. The Man of Sorrow. GREVILLE.

AHI what avails the lengthening mead,
By Nature's kindest 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 sturdy peasants ftride
Adown yon hillock's verdant fide,
In cheerful ignorance bleft!
Alike to them the rofe or thorn,
Alike arifes every morn,

By gay Contentment dreft.
Content, fair daughter of the skies,
Or gives fpontaneous, or denies,
Hier 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;
Behold, behold, in loofe array,
Euphrofyne, more bright than day,
More mild than Paphian doves!

Welcome, oh welcome, Pleafurc's queen !
And fee, along the velvet green

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

Ah! baneful 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!

Defpair has feiz'd my captive foul;
And horror drives without controul,
And flackens ftill the reins.

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

To the diftemper'd foul?

I fee the lawn of hideous dye;
The towering elm nods mifery;
With groans the waters roll.
Ye gilded roofs, Palladian domes,
Ye vivid tints of Perfia's looms,

Ye were for mifery made.—
'Twas thus the Man of Sorrow spoke;
His wayward step then penfive took
Along th' unhallow'd shade.

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Was the not all my fondeft with could frame>
Did ever mind fo much of heaven 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,
Stood the stern frown of fupercilious brows,
Deaf

their brutal threats, and faithful to her

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Come then, fome Mufe, the faddeft of the train
(No more your bard fhall dwell on idle lays),
Teach me each moving melancholy ftrain,

And oh difcard the pageantry of phrase :
Ill fuit the flow'rs of fpeech with woes like mine!
Thus, haply, as I paint

The fource of my complaint,

My foul may own th' impaffion'd line:
A flood of tears may guth to my relief, [of grief.
And from my fwelling heart difcharge this load
Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear

To wound my cars with the fad tales you tell;
"How good the was, how gentle, and how fair!"
In pity ceafe-alas! I know too well
How in her fweet expreffive face

Beam'd forth the beauties of her mind,
Yet heighten'd by exterior grace,

Of manners moft engaging, moft refin'd.

No piteous object could the fee,

But her foft bofom thar'd the woc,
While fmiles of affability

Endear'd whatever boon fhe might bestow.
Whate'er th' emotions of her heart,
Still thone confpicuous in her eyes,
Stranger to every female art,
Alike to feign or to difguife:

And, oh the boast how rare!
The fecret in her faithful breaft repos'd
She ne'er with lawless tongue difclos'd,

In fecret filence lodg'd inviolate there.
Oh feeble words-unable to exprets
Her matchless virtues, or my own diftrefs!
Relentless death! that, ftecl'd to human woe,
With murd'rous hands deals havoc on man-
kind.

Why (cruel!) ft:ike this deprecated blow,

And leave fuch wretched multitudes behind Hark! groans come wing'd on every breeze!

The fons of grief prefer their ardent vow,
Opprefs'd with forrow, want, or dire disease,

And fupplicate thy aid, as I do now:
In vain-perverfe, ftill on th' unwecting head
'Tis thine thy vengeful darts to shed;
Hope's infant bloffoms to destroy,
And drench in tears the face of joy.

But oh, fell tyrant! yet expect the hour
When Virtue thall renounce thy pow'r;
When thou no more fhalt blot the face of day,
Nor mortals-tremble at thy rigid fway.
Alas the day !—where'er I turn my eyes,
Some fad memento of my lofs appears;
I fly the fatal houfe-fupprefs my fighs,
Kefolv'd to dry my unavailing tears:

But, ah! in vain-no change of time or
The memory can efface

[place

Of all that sweetness, that enchanting air,
Now loft; and nought remains but anguish and
despair.

Where were the delegates of Heaven, oh where!
Appointed Virtue's children fafe to keep?
Had Innocence or Virtue been their care,
She had not died, nor had I liv'd to weep:
Mov'd by my tears, and by her patience mov'd,
To fee her force th' endearing fmile,
My forrows to beguile,

Sure they had warded that untimely dart,
When Torture's keeneft rage fhe prov'd;
Which broke her thread of life, and rent a huf
band's heart.

When, feeling Death's refiftless pow'r,
How fhall I e'er forget that dreadful hour,
My hand the press'd, wet with her falling tears,
Ah, my lov'd lord, the tranfient fcene is o'er,
And thus, in falt'ring accents, spoke her fears!
"And we must part, alas ! to meet no more!
"But oh! if e'er thy Emina's name was dear,
"If e'er thy vows have charm'd my ravifad

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ear;

If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain, "Proud friends have frown'd, and Fortune fmil'd ❝ in vain;

"If it has been my fole endeavour ftill
"To act in all obfequious to thy will;

"To watch thy very fmiles, thy with to know,
"Then only truly bleft when thou wert so;
"If I have doted with that fond excefs,
"Nor love could add, nor Fortune make it lefs;
"If this I've done, and more-oh then be kind
"To the dear lovely babe I leave behind.
"When time my once-lov'd memory shall efface,
"Some happier maid may take thy Emma's
61 place,

"With envious eyes thy partial fondness fee,
"And hate it for the love thou bor'ft to me:
"My deareft Shaw, forgive a woman's fears;
Promife-and I will truft thy faithful vow
"But one word more-I cannot bear thy tears-
(Oft have I tried, and ever found thee true)
This fatal pledge of haplefs Emma's love,
"That to fome diftant fpot thou wilt remove

66

Where fafe thy blandifhments it may partake, "And, oh! be tender for its mother's fake. Wilt thou ?

"I know thou wilt-fad filence fpeaks affent; "And in that pleafing hope thy Emma dies

❝content."

I, who with more than manly ftrength have bore
The various ills impos'd by cruel Fate,
Suftain the firmness of my foul no more,
But fink beneath the weight:

[day

Juft Heaven! I cried, from memory's earliest
No comfort has thy wretched fuppliant known;
Misfortune ftill, with unrelenting fway,

Has claim'd me for her own.

But, oh! in pity to my grief, reftore
This only fource of blis; I ask-I ask no more-

Vain hope-th' irrevocable doom is past,
Ev'n now the looks-the fighs her laft-
Vainly I ftrive to stay her fleeting breath,

Again with transport hear

Her voice foft whispering in my car;
May fteal once more a balmy kifs,

And, with rebellious heart, protest against her And taste at least of vifionary bliss.

3 death.

When the ftern tyrant clos'd her lovely eyes,
How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow!
With impious with to tear her from the skies,
How curfe my fate in bitterness of woe!
But whither would this dreadful phrenfy lead?
Fond man, forbear,

Thy fruitless forrow fpare,
Dare not to talk what Heaven's high will decreed;
In humble rev'rence kits th' afflictive rod,
And proftrate bow to an offended God.

Perhaps kind Heaven in mercy dealt the blow,
Some faving truth thy roving foul to teach;
To wean thy heart from grovelling views below,
And point out blifs beyond Misfortune's
reach :

To fhew that all the flatt'ring schemes of joy,
Which tow'ring Hope fo fondly builds in air,
One fatal moment can destroy,
And plunge th' exulting maniac in defpair.
Then, oh! with pious fortitude sustain
Thy prefent lofs-haply thy future gain;
Nor let thy Emma die in vain:
Time fhall adminifter its wonted balm,
And hush this form of grief to no unpleafing calm.
Thus the poor bird, by fome difafirous fate

Caught and imprifon'd in a lonely cage,
Torn from its native fields, and dearer mate,
Flutters awhile, and spends its little rage:
But finding all its efforts weak and vain,

No more it pants and rages for the plain; Moping awhile, in fullen mood

Droops the fweet mourner-but ere long Prunes its light wings, and pecks its food, And meditates the fong:

Serenely forrowing, breathes its piteous case,
And with its plaintive warblings faddens all
the place.

Forgive me, Heaven!--yet, yet the tears will flow,
To think how foon my fcene of blifs is past!
My budding joys, juft promifing to blow,
All nipp'd and wither'd by one envious blaft!
My hours, that laughing wont to fleet away,
Move heavily along;
[long?
Where's now the fprightly jeft, the jocund
Time creeps, unconfcious of delight :'-
How fhall I cheat the tedious day;

And oh the joyless night!
Where shall I reft my weary head?

How fhall I find repofe on a fad widow'd bed? Come, Theban drug, the wretch's only aid, To my torn heart its former peace restore; Thy votary, wrapp'd in thy Lethean fhade,

Awhile fhall ceafe his forrows to deplore: Haply, when lock'd in fleep's embrace, Again I fhall behold my Emma's face,

But, ah! th' unwelcome morn's obtruding light
Will all my fhadowy fchemes of blifs depole,
Will tear the dear illufion from my fight,
And wake me to the fenfe of all my woes:
If to the verdant fields I ftray,
Alas! what pleasures now can these convey?
Her lovely form pursues where'er I go,

And daikens all the fcene with woe.
By Nature's lavish bounties cheer'd no more,
Sorrowing I rove

Through valley, grot, and grove;
Nought can their beauties or my loss restore;
No herb, no plant, can med'cine my difeafe,
And my fad fighs are borne on ev'ry palling
breeze.

Sickness and forrow hav'ring round my bed,

Who now with anxious hafte fhall bring relief,
With lenient hand fupport my drooping head,
Affuage my pains, and mitigate my grief?
Should worldly bufinefs call away,

Who now fhall in my abfence fondly mourn,
Count ev'ry minute of the loit'ring day,
Impatient for my quick return?
Should aught my bofom difcompofe,
Who now, with fweet complacent air,
Shall fmooth the rugged brow of Care,
And foften all my woes?

Too faithful Memory-ceafe, oh cease-
How fhall I e'er regain my peace?
(Oh, to forget her!)-but how vain each art,
Whilft ev'ry virtue lives imprinted on my heart!
And thou, my little cherub, left behind

To hear a father's plaints, to share his woes,
When Reafon's dawn informs thy infant mind,

And thy fweet lifping tongue fhall ask the cause,
How oft with forrow fhall mine eyes run o'er,
When, twining round my knees, I trace

Thy mother's fmile upon thy face!
How oft to my full heart fhalt thou reftore
Sad mem'ry of my joys-ah, now no more!
By bleffings once enjoy'd now more diftrefs'd,
My little darling !-dearer to me grown
More beggar by the riches once poffefs'd,

By all the tears thou'ft caus'd-oh strange to

hear!

Bought with a life yet dearer than thy own,
Thy cradle purchas'd with thy mother's bier:
Who now fhall feek with fond delight
Thy infant steps to guide aright?
She, who with doting eyes would gaze
On all thy little artlefs ways,

By all thy foft endearments bleft,

And clafp thee oft with transport to her breast,
Alas! is gone-yet fhalt thou prove
A father's deareft, tendereft love;
And, O fweet fenfelefs fmiler, (envied state!)
As yet unconscious of thy hapless fate,

Laudanum.

When

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