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Obtain'd of Venus his desire,
Howe'er irregular his fire:
Nature the power of love obey'd,
The cat became a blushing maid;
And, on the happy change, the boy
Employ'd his wonder and his joy.

Take care, O beauteous child, take care,
Lest thou prefer so rash a prayer:
Nor vainly hope, the queen of love
Will e'er thy favourite's charms improve.
O quickly from her shrine retreat;
Or tremble for thy darling's fate.

The queen of love, who soon will see
Her own Adonis live in thee,
Will lightly her first loss deplore;
Will easily forgive the boar:

Her eyes with tears no more will flow;
With jealous rage her breast will glow:
And, on her tabby rival's face,
She deep will mark her new disgrace.

AN ODE.

WHILE from our looks, fair nymph, you guess

The secret passions of our mind; My heavy eyes, you say, confess

A heart to love and grief inclin'd.

There needs, alas! but little art,

To have this fatal secret found;
With the same ease you threw the dart,
'Tis certain you may show the wound,
How can I see you, and not love,

While you as opening east are fair?
While cold as northern blasts you prove,
How can I love, and not despair?

The wretch in double fetters bound
Your potent mercy may release:
Soon, if my love but once were crown'd,
Fair prophetess, my grief would cease.

A SONG

Iain you tell your parting over,
You wish fair winds may waft him over.
Alas! what winds can happy prove,
That bear me far from what I love?
Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain,
From slighted vows, and cold disdain ?

Be gentle, and in pity choose
To wish the wildest tempests loose :
That, thrown again upon the coast
Where first my shipwreck'd heart was lost,
I may once more repeat my pain;
Once more in dying notes complain
Of slighted vows, and cold disdain.

THE DESPAIRING SHEPHERD.

ALEXIS shunn'd his fellow-swains,
Their rural sports, and jocund strains

(Heaven guard us all from Cupid's bow!).
He lost his crook, he left his flocks;
And, wandering through the lonely rocks,
He nourish'd endless woe.

The nymphs and shepherds round him came:
His grief some pity, others blame;
The fatal cause all kindly seck:
He mingled his concern with theirs ;
He gave them back their friendly tears;
He sigh'd, but would not speak.
Clorinda came amongst the rest;
And she too kind concern exprest,

And ask'd the reason of his woe:
She ask'd, but with an air and mien,
That made it easily foreseen,

She fear'd too much to know.

The shepherd rais'd his mournful head; "And wil! you pardon me," he said,

"While I the cruel truth reveal? Which nothing from my breast should tear; Which never should offend your ear,

But that you bid me tell.

""Tis thus Irove, 'tis thus complain, Since you appear'd upon the plain;

You are the cause of all my care; Your eyes ten thousand dangers dart; Ten thousand torments vex my heart: I love, and I despair."

"Too much, Alexis, I have heard: 'Tis what I thought; 'tis what I fear'd: And yet I pardon you," she cried: "But you shall promise ne'er again To breathe your vows, or speak your pain :" He bow'd, obey'd, and died.

TO THE HON. CHARLES MONTAGUE, ES2.

AFTERWARDS EARL OF HALIFAX.

HOWE'ER, 'tis well, that while mankind Through fate's perverse meander errs, He can imagin'd pleasures find,

To combat against real cares. Fancies and notions he pursues,

Which ne'er had being but in thought: Each, like the Grecian artist, woos The image he himself has wrought.

Against experience he believes;

He argues against demonstration; Pleas'd when his reason he deceives ; And sets his judgment by his passion. The hoary fool, who many days

Has struggled with continued sorrow, Renews his hope, and blindly lays The desperate bett upon to morrow. To morrow comes; 'tis noon, 'tis night; This day like all the former fiies: Yet on he runs, to seek delight To morrow, till to night he dies. Our hopes, like towering falcons, aim At objects in an airy height: The little pleasure of the game Is from afar to view the flight.

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VARIATIONS IN A COPY, PRINTED 1692. OUR hopes, like towering falcons aim At objects in an airy height; But all the pleasure of the game Is afar off to view the flight. The worthless prey but only shews The joy consisted in the strife; Whate'er we take, as soon we lose In Homer's riddle and in life. So, whilst in feverish sleeps we think We taste what waking we desire, The dream is better than the drink, Which only feeds the sickly fire. To the mind's eye things well appear, At distance through an artful glass; Bring but the flattering objects near, They're all a senseless gloomy mass. Seeing aright, we see our woes :

Then what avails it to have eyes? From ignorance our comfort flows, The only wretched are the wise. We wearied should lie down in death,

This cheat of life would take no more; If you thought fame but stinking breath, And Phyllis but a perjur'd whore.

AD VIRUM DOCTISSIMUM DOMINUM SAMUELEM SHAW,

CUM THESES DE ICTERO PRO GRADU DOCTORIS

DEFENDERET, 4 JUNII, 1692.

PHOBE potens sævis morbis vel lædere gentes,

Læsas solerti vel relevare manu, Aspice tu decus hoc nostrum, placidusque fatere Indomitus quantum prosit in arte labor : Non icterum posthac pestemve minaberis orbi, Fortius hic juvenis dum medicamen habet : Mitte dehinc iras, et nato carmina dona; Neglectum telum dejice, sume lyram.

TRANSLATION.

BY MR. COOKE.

O! PHOEBUS, deity, whose powerful hand fan spread diseases through the joyful land,

Alike all-powerful to relieve the pain,
And bid the groaning nations smile again;
When this our pride you see, confess you find
In him what art can do with labour join'd:
No more the world thy direful threats shall fear,
While he, the youth, our remedy, is near;
Suppress thy rage; with verse thy son inspire,
The dart neglected, to assume the lyre.

ON THE TAKING OF NAMUR. THE town which Louis bought, Nassau re-claims, And brings instead of bribes avenging flames. Now, Louis, take thy titles from above, Boileau shall sing, and we'll believe thee Jove : Jove gain'd his mistress with alluring gold, But Jove like thee was impotent and old! Active and young did he like William stand, He 'ad stunn'd the dame, his thunder in his hand.

ODE.

IN IMITATION OF HORACE, 11. or. ii.

WRITTEN IN 1692.

How long, deluded Albion, wilt thou lie
In the lethargic sleep, the sad repose,
By which thy close, thy constant enemy,
Has softly lull'd thee to thy woes?

Or wake, degenerate isle, or cease to own
What thy old kings in Gallic camps have done;
The spoils they brought thee back, the crowns they
William (so Fate requires) again is arm'd; [won:
Thy father to the field is gone:
Again Maria weeps her absent lord,
For thy repose content to rule alone.

Are thy enervate sons not yet alarm'd?
When William fights, dare they look tamely on,
So slow to get their ancient fame restor'd,

As nor to melt at Beauty's tears, nor follow Valour's sword?

See the repenting isle awakes,

Her vicious chains the generous goddess breaks : The fogs around her temples are dispell'd; Abroad she looks, and sees arm'd Belgia stand Prepar'd to meet their common Lord's command; Her lions roaring by her side, her arrows in her hand:

And, blushing to have been so long with-held, Weeps off her crime, and hastens to the field. Henceforth her youth shall be inur'd to bear

Hazardous toil and active war;

To march beneath the dog-star's raging heat,
Patient of summer's drought, and martial sweat;
And only grieve in winter's camps to find
Its days too short for labours they design'd:
All night beneath hard heavy arms to watch;
All day to mount the trench, to storm the breach;
And all the rugged paths to tread,
Where William and his virtue lead.

Silence is the soul of war;
Deliberate counsel must prepare

The mighty work, which valour must complete :
Thus William rescued, thus preserves the state;
Thus teaches us to think and dare.

As whilst his cannon just prepar'd to breathe
Avenging anger and swift death,

In the tried metal the close dangers glow,
And now, too late, the dying foe
Perceives the flame, yet cannot ward the blow;
So whilst in William's breast ripe counsels lie,
Secret and sure as brooding Fate,

No more of his design appears,
Than what awakens Gailia's fears;
And (though Guilt's eye can sharply penetrate)
Distracted Lewis can descry

Only a long unmeasur'd ruin nigh,

On Norman coasts and banks of frighted Seine
Lo! the impending storms begin :
Britannia safely through her master's sea
Plows up her victorious way.

The French Salmoneus throws his bolts in vain,
Whilst the true Thunderer asserts the main.
'Tis done! to shelves and rocks his fleets retire,
Swift Victory in vengeful flames

Burns down the pride of their presumptuous

names:

They run to shipwreck to avoid our fire,
And the torn vessels that regain their coast
Are but sad marks to show the rest are lost:
All this the mild, the beauteous queen has done,
And William's softer-half shakes Lewis' throne:
Maria does the sea command

Whilst Gallia flies her husband's arms by land.
So, the Sun absent, with full sway the Moon
Governs the isles, and rules the waves alone :
So Juno thunders when her Jove is gone.
lo Britannia! loose thy ocean's chains,
Whilst Russel strikes the blow thy queen ordains :
Thus rescued, thus rever'd, for ever stand,
And bless the counsel, and reward the hand,
Io Britannia! thy Maria reigns.

From Mary's conquests, aud the rescued main,
Let France look forth to Sambre's armed shore,
And boast her joy for William's death no more.
He lives; let France confess, the victor lives;
Her triumphs for his death were vain,
And spoke her terrour of his life too plain.
The mighty years begin, the day draws nigh,
In which that one of Lewis' many wives,
Who, by the baleful force of guilty charms,
Has long enthrall'd him in her wither'd arms,
Shall o'er the plains, from distant towers on high,
Cast around her mournful eye,
And with prophetic sorrow cry:
"Why does my ruin'd lord retard his flight?
Why does Despair provoke his age to fight?
As well the wolf may venture to engage
The angry lion's generous rage;

The ravenous vulture, and the bird of night,
As safely tempt the stooping eagle's flight;
As Lewis to unequal arms defy

Yon' hero, crown'd with blooming victory,
Just triumphing o'er rebel-rage restrain'd,

And yet unbreath'd from battles gain'd.
See all yon' dusty field's quite cover'd o'er
With hostile troops, and Orange at their head;
Orange, destin'd to complete

The great designs of labouring Fate; Orange, the name that tyrants dread: He comes; our ruin'd empire is no more; Down, like the Persian, goes the Gallic throne; Darius flies, young Ammon urges on."

Now from the dubious battle's mingled heat,
Let Fear look back, and stretch her hasty wing,
Impatient to secure a base retreat :
Let the pale coward leave his wounded king,
For the vile privilege to breathe,

To live with shame in dread of glorious death!
In vain for Fate has swifter wags than Fear,
She follows hard, and strikes him in the rear;
Dying and mad the traitor bites the ground,
His back transfix'd with a dishonest wound;
Whilst though the fiercest troops, and thickest press,
Virtue carries on success;

Whilst equal Heaven guards the distinguish'd brave,
And armies cannot hurt whom angels save.
Virtue to verse immortal lustre gives,
Each by the other's mutual friendship lives;
Eneas suffer'd, and Achilles fought,
The hero's acts enlarg'd the poet's thought,
Or Virgil's majesty, and Homer's rage,
Had ne'er like lasting nature vanquish'd age.
Whilst Lewis then his rising terrour drowns

With drums' alarms, and trumpets' sounds, Whilst, hid in arm'd retreats and guarded towns, From danger as from honour far,

He bribes close murder against open war:
In vain you, Gallic Muses, strive
With labour'd verse to keep his fame alive :
Your mouldering monuments in vain ye raise
On the weak basis of the tyrant's praise :
Your songs are sold, your numbers are profane,
"Tis incense to an idol given,

Meat offer'd to Prometheus' man
That had no soul from Heaven.
Against his will, you chain your frighted king
On rapid Rhine's divided bed;

And mock your hero, whilst ye sing
The wounds for which he never bled;
Falsehood does poison on your praise diffuse,
And Lewis' fear gives death to Boileau's Musé
On its own worth true majesty is rear'd,
And Virtue is her own reward;
With solid beams and native glory bright,
She neither darkness dreads, nor covets light;
True to herself, and fix'd to inborn laws,
Nor sunk by spite, nor lifted by applause,
She from her settled orb looks calmly down,
On life or death, a prison or a crown.
When bound in double chains poor Belgia lay,
To foreign arms and inward strife a prey,
Whilst one good man buoy'd up her sinking state,
And Virtue labour'd against Fate;
When Fortune basely with Ambition join'd,
And all was conquer'd but the patriot's mind;
When storms let loose, and raging seas,
Just ready the torn vessel to o'erwhelm,
Fore'd not the faithful pilot from his helm,
Nor all the syren songs of future peace,
And dazzling prospect of a promis'd crown,
Could lure his stubborn virtue down;
But against charms, and threats, and hell, he stood,
To that which was severely good;
Then, had no trophies justified his fame,
No poet blest his song with Nassau's name,
Virtue alone did all that honour bring,

And Heaven as plainly pointed out THE KING,
As when he at the altar stood

In all his types and robes of power,
Whilst at his feet religious Britain bow'd,
And own'd him next to what we there adores

Say, joyful Maese, and Boyne's victorious flood,
(For each has mixt his waves with royal blood)
When William's armies past, did he retire,
Or view from far the battle's distant fire?
Could he believe his person was too dear?
Or use his greatness to conceal his fear?
Could prayers or : "hs the dauntless hero move?
Arm'd with Heaven's justice, and his people's love,
Through the first waves he wing'd his venturous
And on the adverse shore arose,
[way,
(Ten thousand flying deaths in vain oppose).
Like the great ruler of the day,
With strength and swiftness mounting from the

sea:

Like him all day he toil'd; but long in night
The god has eas'd his wearied light,
Ere vengeance left the stubborn foes,
Or William's labours found repose!

When his troops faulter'd, stept not he between?
Restor❜d the dubious fight again,
Mark'd out the coward that durst fly,
And led the fainting brave to Victory?
Still as she fled him, did he not o'ertake
Her doubtful course, still brought her bleeding
back?

By his keen sword did not the boldest fall?
Was he not king, commander, soldier, all?—
His dangers such as, with becoming dread,
His subjects yet unborn shall weep to read :
And were not those the only days that e'er

The pious prince refus'd to hear
His friends' advices, or his subjects' prayer?

Where'er old Rhine his fruitful water turns,
Or fills his vassals' tributary urns;
To Belgia's sav'd dominions, and the sea,
Whose righted waves rejoice in William's sway;
Is there a town where children are not taught,
Here Holland prosper'd, for here Orange fought;
Through rapid waters, and through flying fire,
Here rush'd the prince, here made whole France
By different nations be his valour blest,

[retire?

In different languages confest; And then let Shannon speak the rest: Let Shannon speak, how on her wondering shore, When Conquest hovering on his arms did wait, And only ask'd some lives to bribe her o'er; The god-like man, the more than conqueror, With high contempt sent back the specious bait; And, scorning glory at a price too great, With so much power, such piety did join,

As made a perfect virtue soar

A pitch unknown to man before;

And lifted Shannon's waves o'er those of Boyne.

Nor do his subjects only share

The prosperous fruits of his indulgent reign;
His enemies approve the pious war,

Which, with their weapon, takes away their chain,
More than his sword his goodness strikes his foes;
They bless his arms, and sigh they must oppose.
Justice and freedom on his conquests wait;
And 'tis for man's delight that he is great:
Succeeding times shall with long joy contend,
If he were more a victor, or a friend:
So much his courage and his mercy strive,
He wounds, to cure; and conquers, to forgive.

Ye heroes, that have fought your country's cause,
Redress'd her injuries, or form'd her laws,

To my adventurous song just witness bear,
Assist the pious Muse, and hear her swear,
That 'tis no poet's thought, no flight of youth,
But solid story, and severest truth,
That William treasures up a greater name,
Than any country, any age, can boast:
And all that ancient stock of fame
He did from his fore-fathers take,
He has improv'd and gives with interest back;
And in his constellation does unite
Their scatter'd rays of fainter light:
Above or Envy's lash, or Fortune's wheel,

That settled glory shall for ever dwell:
Above the rolling orbs, and common sky,
Where nothing comes that e'er shall die.

Where roves the Muse? Where, thoughtless to reIs her short-liv'd vessel borne,

[turn,

By potent winds too subject to be tost,
And in the sea of William's praises lost?
Nor let her tempt that deep, nor make the shore,
Where our abandon'd youth she sees,
Shipwreck'd in luxury, and lost in ease;
Whom nor Britannia's danger can alarm,

Nor William's exemplary virtue warm:
Tell them, howe'er, the king can yet forgive
Their guilty sloth, their homage yet receive,
And let their wounded honour live:
But sure and sudden be their just remorse;
Swift be their virtue's rise, and strong its course;
For though for certain years and destin'd times,
Merit has lain confus'd with crimes;
Though Jove seem'd negligent of human cares,
Nor scourg'd our follies, nor return'd our prayers,
His justice now demands the equal scales,
Sedition is suppress'd, and truth prevails :
Fate its great ends by slow degrees attains,
And Europe is redeem'd, and William reigns.

HYMN TO THE SUN.

SET BY DR. H. PURCELL.

AND INTENDED TO BE SUNG BEFORE THEIR MAJESTIER

ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY, 1693-4.

LIGHT of the world, and ruler of the year,
With happy speed begin thy great career;
And, as thou dost thy radiant journies run,
Through every distant climate own

That in fair Albion thou hast seen

The greatest prince, the brightest queen,
That ever sav'd a land, or blest a throne,
Since first thy beams were spread, or genial power
was known.

So may thy godhead be confest,
So the returning Year be blest,
As his infant Months bestow

Springing wreaths for William's brow;
As his Summer's youth shall shed
Eternal sweets around Maria's head.
From the blessings they bestow,

Our times are dated, and our eras move t
They govern and enlighten all below,
As thou dost all above.
Let our hero in the war

Active and fierce, like thee, appear:
Like thee, great son of Jove, like thee
When, clad in rising majesty,

THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS..LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 139

Thou marchest down o'er Delos' hill confest, With all thy arrows arm'd, in all thy glory drest. Like thee, the hero does his arms employ,

The raging Python to destroy,

And give the injur'd nations peace and joy.

From fairest Years, and Time's more happy stores,
Gather all the smiling Hours;

Such as with friendly care have guarded
Patriots and kings in rightful wars;
Such as with conquest have rewarded
Triumphant victors' happy cares;
Such as story has recorded
Sacred to Nassau's long renown,
For countries sav'd, and battles won.

March them again in fair array,
And bid them form the happy day,
The happy day, design'd to wait
On William's fame, and Europe's fate.
Let the happy day be crown'd
With great event, and fair success;

No brighter in the year be found,

But that which brings the victor home in peace.

Again thy godhead we implore,
Great in wisdom as in power;
Again, for good Maria's sake, and ours,

Choose out other smiling Hours;
Such as with joyous wings have fied,
When happy counsels were advising;
Such as have lucky omens shed

O'er forming laws, and empires rising;

Such as many courses ran,
Hand in hand, a goodly train,
To bless the great Eliza's reign;
And in the typic glory show
What fuller bliss Maria shall bestow.

As the solemn Hours advance,
Mingled send into the dance
Many fraught with all the treasures,
Which thy eastern travel views;
Many wing'd with all the pleasures,

Man can ask, or Heaven diffuse:
That great Maria all those joys may know,
Which, from her cares, upon her subjects flow.
For thy own glory sing our sovereign's praise,
God of verses and of days:

Let all thy tuneful sons adorn

Their lasting work with William's name;
Let chosen Muses, yet unborn,
Take great Maria for their future theme:
Eternal structures let them raise
On William's and Maria's praise:
Nor want new subject for the song,

Nor fear they can exhaust the store,
Till Nature's music lies unstrung;

Till thou, great god, shalt lose thy double power,
And touch thy lyre, and shoot thy beams no more.

THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS,

IN IMITATION OF A GREEK IDYLLIUM.

CELIA and I, the other day,
Walk'd o'er the sand-hills to the sea:
The setting Sun adorn'd the coast,
His beams entire, his fierceness lost;

And, on the surface of the deep,
The winds lay only not asleep:
The nymph did like the scene appear,
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair:
Soft fell her words, as flew the air.
That she would never miss one day
With secret joy I heard her say,
A walk so fine, a sight so gay.

But, oh the change! the winds grow high;
Impending tempests charge the sky;
The lightning flies, the thunder roars,
And big waves lash the frighten'd shores.
Struck with the horrour of the sight,
She turns her head, and wings her flight:
And, trembling, vows she'll ne'er again
Approach the shore, or view the main.
"Once more, at least, look back,” said Í,
Thyself in that large glass descry:
When thou art in good-humour drest;
When gentle reason rules thy breast;
The Sun upon the calmest sea
Appears not half so bright as thee:
'Tis then that with delight I rove
Upon the boundless depth of Love:
I bless my chain; I hand my oar;
Nor think on all I left on shore.

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