With Adriana's lute of found divine,
Fiercer than Pentheus' though his eye might roll,
Or idiot apathy benumb his foul,
You still, with medicinal founds might cheer
His fenfes wandering in a blind career;
And, fweetly breathing through his wounded breast, Charm, with foul-foothing song, his thoughts to reft.
APLES, too credulous, ah! boast no more
The sweet-voiced Siren buried on thy
That, when Parthenope deceased, she gave
Her facred duft to a Chalcidic grave,
For still she lives, but has exchanged the hoarse
Paufilipo for Tiber's placid course,
Where, idol of all Rome, fhe now in chains
Of magic fong both gods and men detains.
THE COTTAGER AND HIS LANDLORD.
PEASANT to his lord paid yearly court,
Prefenting pippins of fo rich a fort
That he, displeased to have a part alone,
Removed the tree, that all might be his own.
The tree, too old to travel, though before
So fruitful, wither'd, and would yield no more.
The 'fquire, perceiving all his labour void,
Curfed his own pains, fo foolishly employ'd.
And "
"Oh," he cried, " that I had lived content
With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant!
My avarice has expenfive proved to me,
Has coft me both my pippins and my tree.'
TO CHRISTINA, QUEEN OF SWEDEN, WITH CROMWELL'S PICTURE.
HRISTINA, maiden of heroic mien!
Star of the North! of northern stars the
queen!
Behold what wrinkles I have earn'd, and how
The iron cafque ftill chafes my veteran brow,
While following Fate's dark footsteps, I fulfil
The dictates of a hardy people's will.
But foften'd in thy fight my looks appear,
Not to all Queens or Kings alike severe.
ON THE DEATH OF THE VICE-CHAN
CELLOR, A PHYSICIAN.
EARN, ye nations of the earth,
The condition of your birth,
Now be taught your feeble state!
Know, that all must yield to fate!
If the mournful rover, Death,
Say but once" Refign your breath!" Vainly of escape you dream,
You must pass the Stygian ftream.
Could the ftouteft overcome
Death's affault, and baffle doom,
Hercules had both withstood,
Undiseased by Neffus' blood.
Ne'er had Hector prefs'd the plain
By a trick of Pallas slain,
Nor the chief to Jove allied
By Achilles' phantom died.
Could enchantments life prolong,
Circe, faved by magic fong,
Still had lived, and equal skill
Had preserved Medea still.
Dwelt in herbs and drugs a power
To avert man's destined hour,
Learn'd Machaon fhould have known
Doubtless to avert his own.
Chiron had furvived the smart
Of the hydra-tainted dart,
And Jove's bolt had been, with ease,
Foil'd by Afclepiades.
Thou too, fage! of whom forlorn
Helicon and Cirrha mourn,
Still hadft fill'd thy princely place,
Regent of the gowned race:
440 DEATH OF VICE-CHANCELLOR.
Hadft advanced to higher fame
Still thy much ennobled name,
Nor in Charon's fkiff explored
The Tartarean gulf abhorr'd.
But refentful Proferpine,
Jealous of thy skill divine,
Snapping fhort thy vital thread,
Thee too number'd with the dead.
Wife and good! untroubled be
The green turf that covers thee!
Thence, in gay profufion, grow
All the sweetest flowers that blow!
Pluto's confort bid thee reft!
Eacus pronounce thee bleft!
To her home thy fhade confign!
Make Elyfium ever thine!
ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP
Written in the Author's Seventeenth Year.
Y lids with grief were tumid yet,
And still my fullied cheek was wet
With briny tears, profusely shed
For venerable Winton dead;
When Fame, whose tales of saddest sound,
Alas! are ever trueft found,
The news through all our cities spread
Of yet another mitred head
By ruthless fate to death confign'd,
Ely, the honour of his kind!
At once a storm of paffion heaved
My boiling bofom, much I grieved;
But more I raged, at every breath
Devoting Death himself to death.
With less revenge did Nafo teem
When hated Ibis was his theme;
With lefs Archilochus denied
The lovely Greek his promised bride.
But lo! while thus I execrate
Incensed the minifter of fate,
Wondrous accents, foft, yet clear,
Wafted on the gale I hear.
“Ah, much deluded! lay aside
Thy threats, and anger mifapplied!
Art not afraid with founds like these
To offend where thou canst not appease?
Death is not (wherefore dream'st thou thus?)
The fon of Night and Erebus :
Nor was of fell Erynnis born.
On gulfs where Chaos rules forlorn.
But fent from God, his prefence leaves,
To gather home his ripen'd fheaves,
To call encumber'd fouls away
From fleshly bonds to boundless day,
(As when the winged hours excite,
And fummon forth the morning light)
And each to convoy to her place
Before the Eternal Father's face.
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