Of all mankind, I lov'd the best

A nymph so far above the rest,
That we outthin'd the bleft above,
In beauty fhe, and I in love.

And therefore they who could not bear
be outdone by mortals here,

Among themfelves have plac'd her now,
And left me wretched here below.

All other fate I could have borne,
And ev'n endur'd her very fcorn;
But oh! thus all at once to find
That dread account! both dead and kind!
What heart can hold! if yet I live,

'Tis but to fhew how much I grieve.

ON LUCINDA'S DEATH.

O ME all ye doleful, dismal cares,

That ever haunted guilty mind!

The pangs of love when it defpairs,
And all thofe ftings the jealous find:
Alas! heart-breaking though ye be,
Yet welcome, welcome all to me!

Who now have loft--- but oh! how much?
No language, nothing can exprefs,

Except my grief! for fhe was fuch,

That praifes would but make her lefs.

Yet who can ever dare to raise

His voice on her, unless to praise ?

Free

Free from her fex's fmalleft faults,

And fair as womankind can be :
Tender and warm as lover's thoughts,
Yet cold to all the world but me.
Of all this nothing now remains,
But only fighs and endless pains!

WHAT breaft but yours can hold the double fire

Of fierce devotion, and of fond defire?

Love would shine forth, were not your zeal fo bright
Whofe glaring flames eclipfe his gentler light:
Lefs feems the faith that mountains can remove,
Than this which triumphs over youth and love.

But fhall fome threatening priest divide us two?
What worse than that could all his curfes do?
Thus with a fright fome have refign'd their breath,
And poorly dy'd, only for fear of death.

Heaven fees our paffions with indulgence ftill, And they who lov'd well, can do nothing ill. While to us nothing but ourselves is dear,

Should the world frown, yet what have we to fear? Fame, wealth, and power, those high-priz'd gifts of fate, . The low concerns of a lefs happy ftate,

Are far beneath us: fortune's felf may take

Her aim at us, yet no impreffion make';

Let worldlings afk her help, or fear her harms;
We can lie fafe, lock'd in each other's arms,
Like the bleft faints, eternal raptures know,
And flight those storms that vainly rest below.
Yet this, all this you are refolv'd to quit;
I fee my ruin, and I muft fubmit:

But think, O think, before you prove unkind,
How loft a wretch you leave forlorn behind.

Malignant envy, mix'd with hate and fear,
Revenge for wrongs too burdensome to bear,
Ev'n zeal itself, from whence all mischiefs spring,
Have never done fo barbarous a thing.

With fuch a fate the heavens decreed to vex
Armida once, though of the fairer fex ;
Rinaldo fhe had charm'd with fo much art,
Hers was his power, his perfon, and his heart:
Honour's high thoughts no more his mind could move ;
She footh'd his rage, and turn'd it all to love :
When strait a guft of fierce devotion blows,
And in a moment all her joys o'erthrows:
The poor Armida tears her golden hair,
Matchlefs till now, for love or for despair.
Who is not mov'd while the fad nymph complains?
Yet you now act what Taffo only feigns:

And after all our vows, our fighs, our tears,
My banish'd forrows, and your conquer'd fears :
So many doubts, fo many dangers paft,

Visions of zeal must vanquish me at last.

Thus, in great Homer's war, throughout the field Some hero ftill made all things mortal yield;

But

But when a god once took the vanquith'd fide,
The weak prevail'd, and the victorious dy❜d.

THE

VISI O N.

Written during a Sea Voyage, when fent to command

the Forces for the Relief of TANGIER.

Within the filent fhades of foft repofe,

Where Fancy's boundlefs ftream for ever flows;
Where the infranchis'd foul at ease can play,
Tir'd with the toilfome bufinefs of the day;
Where princes gladly reft their weary heads,"
And change uneafy thrones for downy beds;
Where feeming joys delude defpairing minds,
And where ev'n jealoufy fome quiet finds;
There I and forrow for a while could part,
Sleep clos'd my eyes, and eas'd a fighing heart.
But here too foon a wretched lover found
In deepest griefs the fleep can ne'er be found;
With ftrange furprize my troubled fancy brings
Odd antic fhapes of wild unheard-of things;
Difmal and terrible they all appear,

My foul was hook with an unusual fear.
But as when vifions glad the eyes of faints,
And kind relief attends devout complaints,
Some beauteous angel in bright charms will fhine,
And spreads a glory round, that's all divine;

Juft fuch a bright and beauteous form appears,
The monfters vanish, and with them my fears.
The fairest fhape was then before me brought,
That eyes e'er faw, or fancy ever thought;

How weak are words to fhew fuch excellence,
Which ev'n confounds the foul, as well as fenfe!
And, while our eyes transporting pleasure find,
It stops not here, but strikes the very mind.
Some angel fpeaks her praise; no human tongue,
But with its utmost art must do her wrong.
The only woman that has power to kill,
And yet is good enough to want the will ;
Who needs no foft alluring words repeat,
Nor ftudy'd looks of languishing deceit.

Fantastic beauty, always in the wrong,
Still thinks fome pride must to its power belong ;
An air affected, and an haughty mein,
Something that feems to fay, I would be feen.
But of all womankind this only the,

Full of its charms, and from its frailty free,
Deferves fome nobler Muse her fame to raife,

By making the whole fex befide her pyramid of praife.
She, fhe appear'd the fource of all my joys,
The dearest care that all my thought employs :
Gently the look'd, as when I left her laft,
When first she feiz'd my heart, and held it faft:
When, if my vows, alas! were made too late,
I faw my doom came not from her, but fate.
With pity then the eas'd my raging pain,
And her kind eyes could scarce from tears refrain :

Why,