Sigifmonda and Guifcardo,

Theodore and Honoria,

Cymon and Iphigenia,

The Epithalamium of Helen and Menelaus, from the Eighteenth Idyllium,

386

The Defpairing Lover, from the Thirty-third Idyllium,

The beginning of the First Book of Lucretius, tranflated,

387

389 Of lambs or bulis, should now Loaded with priests see its own altars too!

XXX.

The woods gave funeral piles no more,
The dead the very fire devour,

And that almighty conqueror o'erpower.
The noble and the common dust
Into each other's graves are thrust.
No place is sacred, and no tomb;
'Tis now a privilege to confume;
Their ashes no distinction had;
Too truly all by death are equal made.
The ghosts of those great heroes that had filed
From Athens, long since banished,
Now o'er the city hovered;
Their anger yielded to their love,
They left th' immortal joys above,

So much their Athens' danger did them move.
They came to pity, and to aid,
But now, alas! were quite difmay'd,
When they beheld the marbles open lay'd,
And poor men's bones the noble urns invade;
Back to the blessed seats they went,
And now did thank their banishment,

By which they were to die in foreign countries sent.

XXXI.

But what, great Gods! was worst of all,
Hell forth its magazines of luft did call,
Nor would it be content

With the thick troops of fouls were thither fent;
Into the upper world it went.
Such guilt, fuch wickedness,
Such irreligion did increase,

That the few good which did survive [live
Were angry with the plague for fuffering them to
More for the living than the dead did grieve.
Some robb'd the very dead,
Though fure to be infected ere they fled,
Though in the very air sure to be purified.
Some nor the shrines nor temples spar'd,

Nor gods nor heavens fear'd, Though such example of their power ampear'd. Virtue was now esteem'd an empty name, And honesty the foolish voice of fame;

For, having past those torturing flames befite, They thought the punishment already o'er, Thought heaven no worse torments had in store;

Here having felt one hell, they thought there was

no more.

write?

There he fat, and mov'd thy hand,
As proud of his command,

As when he makes the dancing orbs to reel,

And spins out poetry from heaven's wheel.
Thy hand too, like a better sphere,

Gives us more ravishing music made for men to hear.

Thy hand too, like the fun which angels move,
Has the fame influence from above,
Produces gold and filver of a nobler kind;
Of greater price, and more refin'd.

Yet in this it exceeds the sun, 'thas no degenerate

What holy vestal hearth,

What immortal breath,

Did give so pure poetic flame its birth?

Just such a fire as thine,

Of fuch an unmix'd glorious shine,

Was Prometheus's flame,
Which from no less than heaven came.
Along he brought the sparkling coal,
From fome celestial chimney stole;
Quickly the plunder'd stars he left,

And as he hasten'd down

With the robb'd flames his hands still shone, And feem'd as if they were burnt for the theft. Thy poetry's compounded of the fame,

Such a bright immortal flame;

Just so temper'd is thy rage,

Thy fires as light and pure as they,

• And go as high as his did, if not higher,

That thou may'st seem to us

A true Prometheus,

[fire.

But that thou didst not steal the least spark of thy

17.

Such as thine was Arion's verse,

Which he did to the liftening fish rehearse; Which when they heard play'd on his lute, They first curst nature that she made them mute. So noble were his lines, which made the very waves

Strive to turn his flaves,
Lay down their boisterous noise,
And dance to his harmonious voice,

Which made the syrens lend their ear,
And from his sweeter tunes fome treachery

fear;

Which made the dolphin proud,
That he was allow'd

With Atlas, the great porter of the skies, to take
Such heavenly music up, and carry't on his back.
So full and graceful thy words go,
And with the fame majestic sweetness flow.
Yet his verse only carried him o'er the seas;
But there's a very fea of wit in these,

As fait and boundless as the other ocean is.

v.

Such as thine are, was great Amphion's fong, Which brought the wondering ftones along; The wondering ftones skipt from their mother earth,

And left their father cold as his first birth;
VOL. VI.

hung.

So were his words, so plac'd his sounds, Which forc'd the marbles rife from out their

grounds,

Which cut and carved, made them shine, A work which can be outdone by none but thine. Th' amazed poet saw the building rife,

And knew not how to trust his eyes: The willing mortar came, and all the trees Leap into beams he fees.

He saw the streets appear,

Streets, that must needs be harmonious there :

He saw the walls dance round t' his pipe,
The glorious temple shew its head,

He saw the infant city ripe,

And all like the creation by a word was bred.

So great a verse is thine, which though it will not raife

Marble monuments to thy praise; Yet 'tis no matter, cities they must fall,

And houses, by the greatest glutton Time be eaten all:

But thy verse builds a fame for thee, Which fire cannot devour, nor purify, Which sword and thunder doth defy, As round, and full, as the great circle of eternity..