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But whither am I borne? This thought of arms
Fires me in vain to fing to fenfeless bulls
What generous horse should hear. Break off, my song; My barbarous Mufe, be ftill: Immortal deeds
Muft not be thus profan'd in ruftic verse :
The martial trumpet, and the following age,
To Mr. HENRY BENDY SH.
HE following fong was yours when first compofed: The Mufe then defcribed the general fate of mankind, that is, to be ill matched; and now she rejoices that you have escaped the common mischief, and that your foul has found its own mate. Let this ode then congratulate you both. Grow mutually in more compleat likenefs and love: Perfevere, and be happy.
I perfuade myself you will accept from the press what the pen more privately infcribed to you long ago; and I am in no pain left you should take offence at the fabulous drefs of this poem: Nor would weaker minds be fcandalized at it, if they would give themselves leave to reflect how many divine truths are fpoken by the holy writers in vifions and images, parables and dreams: Nor are my wifer friends afhamed to defend it, fince the narrative is grave and the moral so just and obvious.
THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER.
Sept. 3. 1701.
WHY fhould our joys transform to pain?
Why gentle Hymen's filken chain
A plague of iron prove?
Bendyfh, 'tis ftrange the charm that binds
In vain I fought the wondrous cause,
Then deep in thought, within my breaft
O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide,
On fancy's airy horse I ride,
(Sweet rapture of my mind!)
Till on the banks of Ganges flood,
In a tall ancient grove I stood,
For facred use design'd.
Hard by, a venerable priest,
Rifen with his God, the Sun, from reft,
Awoke his morning fong;
Thrice he conjur'd the murmuring stream;
The birth of fouls was all his theme,
And half-divine his tongue.
"He fang th' eternal rolling flame,
"But shap'd in twice ten thousand frames ;
"The mighty power that form'd the mind
"But parting from their warm abode
'They loft their fellows on the road, "And never join'd their hands: "Ah cruel chance, and croffing fates! "Our Eastern fouls have dropt their mates "On Europe's barbarous lands.
Happy the youth that finds the bride "Whose birth is to his own ally'd,
"The fweetest joy of life:
"But oh the crowds of wretched fouls
Thus fang the wondrous Indian bard;
While Ganges ceas'd to flow :
"Sure then (I cry'd) might I but fee
"Some courteous angel, tell me where,
"Or diftant feas detain?
"Swift as the wheel of nature rolls
"I'd fly, to meet, and mingle fouls, "And wear the joyful chain."
THE HAPPY MA N.
ERENE as light, is Myron's foul,
And active as the fun, yet fteady as the pole :
Every Mufe, and every Grace,
Makes his heart and tongue their feat, His heart profufely good, his tongue divinely fweet.
Myron, the wonder of our eyes,
Behold his manhood fcarce begun!
Nor Fame denies the merit, nor with-holds the prize;
The lands where learning never flew,
Which neither Rome nor Athens knew,
In barbarous fongs, pronounce the British hero's name.
"Airy blifs (the hero cry'd)
"May feed the tympany of pride; "But healthy fouls were never found "To live on emptinefs and found."
Lo, at his honourable feet
Fame's bright attendant, Wealth, appears ;
Bleffings with lavish hand she pours
Not Danae's lap could equal treafures boast,
He look'd and turn'd his eyes away,
Now Pomp and Grandeur court his head
Guards, and chariots, at his gate,
And flaves in endless order round his table wait:
And now they fall, and now they rise,
Hang on his lips with most impatient zeal,
Tir'd with the train that Grandeur brings,