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Propitious god of love, thy succour bring, May every god his friendly aid afford,
Whilst I thy darling, thy Alexis sing;

Pan guard thy flock, and Ceres bless thy board! Alexis, as the opening blossoms fair,

But if, by chance, the series of thy joys Lovely as light, and soft as yielding air.

Permit one thought less cheerful to arise,
For him each virgin sighs; and, on the plains, Piteous transfer it to the mournful swain,
The happy youth above each rival reigns.

Who, loving much, who, not belov'd again,
Nor to the echoing groves, and whispering spring, Feels an ill-fated passion's last excess,
In sweeter strains, does artful Conon sing;

And dies in woe, that thou may’st live in peace.
When loud applauses fill the crowded groves,
And Phæbus the superior song approves,

70 A LADÝ. Beauteous Aminta is as early light, Breaking the melancholy shades of night.

SHE REFUSING TO CONTINUE A DISPUTE WITH ME, AND When she is near, all anxious trouble flies,

And our reviving hearts confess her eyes.

Young love, and blooming joy, and gay desires,
In every breast the beauteous nymph inspires ;

Spare, generous victor, spare the slave,
And on the plain when she no more appears,

Who did uneq. al war pursue;. The plain a dark and gloomy prospect wears.

That more than triumph he might have, In vain the streams roll on : the eastern breeze

In being overcome by you. Dances in vain among the trembling trees :

In the dispute, whate'er I said, In vain the birils begin their evening song,

My heart was by my tongue belied ; And to the silent night their notes prolong: And in my looks you might have read Nor groves, nor crystal streams, nor verdant field, How much I argued on your side. Does wonted pleasure in her absence yield.

You, far from danger as from fear,

Might have sustain'd an open fight; And, in his absence, all the pensive day,

For seldom your opinions crt; In some obscure retreat, I lonely stray;

Your eyes are always in the right. All day to the repeating caves complain,

Why, fair one, would you not rely In mourn'ul accents and a dying strain :

On Reason's force with Beauty's join'd? Dear lovely youth,” I cry to all around;

Could I their prevalence deny, Dear lovely youth,” the flattering vales resound. I must at once be deaf and blind.

Alas! not hoping to subdue,

I only to the fight aspird: On flowery banks, by every murmuring stream,

To keep the beautevus foe in view Aminta is my Muse's softest theme: 'Tis she that does my artful notes resine ;

Was all the glory I desir'd.

(shine. With fair Aminta's name my noblest verse shall

But she, howe'er of victory sure,

Contemns the wreath too long delay'd;

And, arm'd with more immediate power, I'll twine fresh garlands for Alexis' brows,

Calls cruel Silence to her aid. And consecrate to him eternal vows :

Deeper to wound, she shuns the fight; The charming youth shall my Apollo prove;

She drops her arms, to gain the field;
He shall adorn my songs, and tune my voice to love. Secures her conquest by her flight;

And triumphs, when she seeins to yield.
So, when the Parthiap turn'd his stecd,

And from the hostile camp withdrew,

With cruet skill the backward reed

He sent; and, as he fled, he slew.
By Sylvia, if thy charming self be meant;
If friendship be thy virgin vows extent :
Oh! let me in Aminta's praises join :
Her's my esteem shall be, my passion thine.
When for thy head the garland I prepare,

THE DUKE OF ORMOND'S PICTURE A second wreath shall bind Aminta's hair;

And, when my choicest songs thy worth proclaim,
Alternate verse shall bless Aminta's name;

Out from the injur'd canvass, Kneller, strike My heart shall own the justice of her cause, These lines too faint: the picture is not like, And Love himself submit to Friendship's laws. Exalt thy thought, and try thy toil again:

But if, beneath thy numbers' soft disguise, Dreadful in arins, on Landen's glorious plain Some favonr'd swain, some true Alexis lies; Place Ormond's duke: impendent in the air If Amaryllis breathes thy secret pains,

Let his keen sa bre, comet-like, appear, And thy fond heart beats measure to thy strains; Where'er it points, denouncing death: below May'st thou, howe'er I grieve, for ever find Draw routed squadrons, and the numerous foe, The flarne propitious, and the lover kind!

Falling beneath, or flying from his blow: May Venus long exert her happy power,

Till, weak with wounds, and cover'd o'er with blood, And make thy beauty, like thy verse, endure! Which from the patriot's breast in torrents flow'd,





He faints; his steed no longer feels the rein; Mov'd by my charms, with them your love may But stumbles o'er the heap, his hand had slain. And, as the fuel sinks, the dame decrease: (cease, And now exhausted, bleeding, pale he lies; Or angry Heaven may quickcr darts prepare, Lovely, sad object!' in his half-clos'd eyes

And Sickness strike what Time a while would spare. Stern vengeance yet, and hostile terrour, stand : Then will my swain his glowing vous renew; His front yet threatens, and his frowns command. Then will his throbbing heart to mine beat true ; The Gallic chiefs their troops around him call; When iny own face deters me from my glass, Fear to approach him, though they see him fall.- And Kneller only shows what Celia was?

O Kneller! could thy shades and lights express Fantastic Fame may sound her wild alarms; The perfect hero in that glorious dress;

Your country, as you think, may want your arms. Ages to come might Ormond's picture know, You may neglect, or quench, or hate the flame, And palms for thee beneath his laurels grow: Whose smoke too long obscur'd your rising name; In spite of Time, thy work might ever shine; And quickly cold indifference will ensue, Nor Homer's colours last so long as thine.

When you Love's joys through Honour's optic view.

Then Celia's loudest prayer will prove too weak,
To this abandon'd breast to bring you back;

When my lost lover the tall ship ascends,

With music gay, and wet with jovial friends,

The tender accent of a woman's cry Atque in amore mala hæc proprio, summéque se

Will pass unheard, will unregarded die; cundo Inveniuntur.

Lucret. lib. iv.

When the rough seamen's louder shouts prevail,

When fair occasion shows the springing gale, WHAT

Hat can I say, what arguments can prove And Interest guides the helm, and Honour swells the My truth, what colours can describe my love,

sail. If its excess and fury be not known,

Some wretched lines, from this neglected hand, In what my Celia has already done?

May find my hero on the foreign strand, Thy infant fames, while yet they were conceald | Warm with new fires, and pleas’d with new comIn timorous doubts, with pity I beheld;

mand : With easy smiles dispelld the silent fear,

While she who wrote them, of all joy bereft, That durst not tell me what I dy'd to hear.

To the rude censure of the world is left; In vain I strore to check my growing flame, Her mangled fame in barbarous pastime lost, Or shelter passion under Friendship's name, The coxcomb's novel, and the drunkard's toast. You saw my heart, how it my tongue bely'd ;

But nearer care (0 pardon it!) supplies And when you press'd, how faintly I deny'd. - Sighs to my breast, and sorrow to my eyes.

Ere guardian Thought could bring its scatter'd aid, Love, Love himself (the only friend I have) Ere Reason could support the doubting maid, May scorn his triumph, having bound his slava My soul, surpris'd, and from herself disjoin'd, That tyrant-god, that restless conqueror, Left all reserve, and all the sex, behind:

May quit his pleasure, may assert his power; From your command her motions she receip'd; Forsake the provinces that bless his sway, And not for me, but you, she breath'd and liv'd. To vanquish those which will not yet obey. But ever blest be Cytherea's shrine,

Another nymph with fatal power may rise, And fires eternal on her altars shine!

To damp the sinking beains o Celia's eyes ; Since thy dear breast has felt an equal wound; With haughty pride may hear her charms confest, Since in thy kindness my desires are crown'd. And scorn the ardent vows that I have blest. By thy each look, and thought, and care, 'tis shown, You every night may sigh for her in vain, Thy joys are center'd all in me alone;

And rise each morning to soine fresh disdain: And sure I am, thou wouldst not change this hour While Celia's softest look may cease to charın, For all the white ones Fate has in its power. --

And her embraces want the power to warm : Yet thus belov'd, thus loving to excess,

While these fond arins, thus circling you, may Yet thus receiving and returning bliss,

prove In this great moment, in this golden now,

More heavy chains than those of hopeless love. When every trace of what, or when, or how,

Just gods! all other things their like produce; Should from my soul by raging love be torn,

The Vine arises from her mother's juice: And far on swelling seas of rapture borne;

When feeble plants or tender flowers decay, A melancholy tear afficts my eye,

They to their seed their images convey: And my heart labours with a sudden sigh:

Where the old Myrtle her good influence sheds, Jorading fears repel my coward joy,

Sprigs of like leaf erect their filial heads: And ills, foreseen, the present bliss destroy. And when the parent Rose decays and dies,

Poor as it is, this beauty was the cause, With a resembling face the daughter buds arise. That with first sighs your panting bosoin rose : That product only which our passions bear But with no owner Beauty long will stay,

Eludes the planter's miserable care. Upon the wings of Time borne swift away; While blooming Love assures us golden fruit, Pass but some Meeting years, and these poor eyes Some inborn poison taints the secret root: (Where now, without a boast, some lustre lies) Soon fall the flowers of Joy, soon seeds of Hatred No longer shall their little honours keep;

shoot. Shall only be of use to read or weep :

Say, shepherd, say, are these reflections true?
And on this forehead, where, your verse has said, Or was it but the woman's fear that drew
" The Loves delighted, and the Graces play'd,” This cruel scene, unjust to love and you?
Insulting Age will trace his cruel way,

Will you be only and for ever mine?
And leave sad marks of his destructive sway. Shall neither time nor age our souls disjoin?

From this dear bosom shall I ne'er be torn? Fair Albion shall, with faithful trust,
Or you grow cold, respectful, and forsworn?

Her holy queen's sad relies guard,
And can you not for her you love do more

Till Heaven awakes the precious dust,
Than any youth for any nymph before ?

And gives the saint her full reward.
But let the king dismiss his woes,

Reflecting on his fair renown;

And take the cypress from his brows,

To put his wonted laurels on. $POKEN BY LORD BUCKHURST, IN WESTMINSTER

If prest by grief oar monarch stoops,

In vain the British lions roar:

If he, whose hand sustain'd them, droops,
AT A REPRESENTATION OF MR. DRYDEX'S CLEOMENES, The Belgic darts will wound no more.

Embattled princes wait the chief, Pisu, Lord, I wish this prologue was but Greek,

Whose voice should rule, whose arm should lead; Then young Cleonidas would boldly speak;

And, in kind murmurs, chide that grief, But can lord Buckhurst in poor English say,

Which hinders Europe being freed. Gentle spectators, pray excuse the play?

The great example they demand No, witness all ye gods of ancient Greece,

Who still to conquest led the way ;
Rather than condescend to terins like these, Wishing him present to command,
'I'd go to school six hours on Christmas-day,

As they stand ready to obey.
Or construe Persius while my comrades play.
Such work by hireling actors should be done,

They seek that joy, which us'd to glow,
Who tremble when they see a critic frown;

Expanded on the hero's face ;
Poor rogues, that smart like fencers for their bread, When the thick squadrons prest the foe,
And, if they are not wounded, are not fed.

And William led the glorious chase.
But, sirs, our labour bas more noble ends,

To give the mourning nations joy, We act our tragedy to see our friends:

Restore them thy auspicious light, Our generous scenes are for pure love repeated, Great Sun : with radiant beams destroy And if you are not pleas'd, at least you're treated. Those clouds, which keep thee from our sight The candles and the clothes ourselves we bought,

Let thy sublime meridian course Our tops neglected, and our balls forgot.

For Mary's setting rays atone : To lerm our parts, we left our midnight bed,

Our lustre, with redoubled force,
Most of you snor'd whilst Cleomenes read:

Must now proceed from thee alone.
Not that from this confusion we would sue
Praise undeserred; we know ourselves and you :

See, pious king, with different strife
Resolv'd to stand or perish by our cause,

Thy struggling Albion's bosom torn: We neither censure fear, nor beg applause,

So much she fears for William's life,
For these are Westminster and Sparta's laws.

That Mary's fate she dares not mourn
Yet, if we see some judgment well inclin'd, Her beauty, in thy softer half
To young desert, and growing virtue kind,

Bury'd and lost, she ought to grieve;
That critic by ten thousand marks should know, But let her strength in thee be safe;
That greatest souls to goodness only bow;

And let her weep; but let her live. And that your little hero does inherit

Thou, guardian angel, save the land
Not Cleomenes' more than Dorset's spirit.

From thy own grief, her fiercest foe;
Lest Britain, rescued by thy hand,

Should bend and sink beneath thy woe
AN ODE, PRESENTED TO THE KING, Her former triumphs all are vain,

Unless new trophies still be sought,

And hoary majesty sustain

The battles which thy youth has fought.
Quis desiderio sit pudor aut modus

Where now is all that fearful love, Tam cari capitis ? præcipe lugubres

Which made her hate the war's alarins Cantus, Melpomene.

That soft excess, with which she strove

To keep her hero in her arms ? Ar Mary's tomb (sad sacred place !)

While still she chid the coming Spring, The Virtues shall their vigils keep:

Which call'd him o'er his subject seas : And every Muse, and every Grace,

While, for the safety of the king, In solema state shall ever weep.

She wish'd the victor's glory less. The future pious, mournful fair,

'Tis chang'd; 'tis gone: sad Britain now Oft as the rolling vears return,

Hastens her lord to foreign wars: With fragrant wreaths and Aouing hair,

Happy, if toils may break his woe, Shall visit her distinguish'd urn.

Or danger may divert his cares. For her the wise and great shall mourn,

In martial din she drowns her sighs, When late records her deeds repeat:

Lest he the rising grief should hears Ages to come, and men unborn,

She pulls her helmet o'er her eyes, Shall bless her name, and sigh her fate.

Lest he should sce the falling teak.

IMITATION OF ANACREON.. LA PRISE DE NAMUR. 143 Go, mighty prince; let Prance be taught, Yet ought his sorrow to be checkt; How constant minds by grief are try'd;

Yet ought his passions to abate ; How great the land, that wept and fought,

If the great mourner would reflect, When William led, and Mary dy'd.

Her glory in her death complete. Fierce in the battle make it known,

She was instructed to command, Where Death with all his darts is seen,

Great king, by long obeying thee ; That he can touch thy heart with none,

Her sceptre, guided by thy hand, But that which struck the beauteous queen.

Preserv'd the isles, and rul'd the sea.

But oh! 'twas little, that her life Belgia indulg'd her open grief,

O'er earth and water bears thy fame: While yet her master was not ncar:

In death, 'twas worthy William's wife, With sullen pride refus'd relief,

Amidst the stars to fix his name. And sat obdurate in despair.

Beyond where matter moves, or place As waters from their sluices, flow'd

Receives its forms, thy virtues roll; Unboundled sorrow from her eyes :

From Mary's glory, angels trace To earth her bended front she bow'd,

The beauty of her partner's soul. And sent her wailings to the skies.

Wise Fate, which does its Heaven decree But when her anxious lord return'd,

To heroes, when they yield their breath, Rais’d is her head, her eyes are dry'd ;

Hastens thy triumph. Half of thee She smiles, as William ne'er had mourn's,

Is deify'd before thy death. She looks, as Mary ne'er had dy'd.

Alone to thy renown 'tis given, That freedom, which all sorrows claim,

Unbounded through all worlds to go: She does for thy content resign:

While she, great saint, rejoices Heaven;
Her piety itself would blame,

And thou sustain'st the orb below.
If her regrets should weaken thine.
To cure thy woe, she shows thy fame:

Lest the great mourner should forget
That all the race, whence Orange came,

IN IMITATION OF ANACREON, Made Virtue triumph over Fate.

Let them censure: what care 1? William his country's cause could fight,

The herd of critics I defy. And with his blood her freedom seal:

Let the wretches know, I write, Maurice and Henry guard that right,

Regardless of their grace or spite. For which their pious parents fell.

No, no: the fair, the gay, the young, How heroes rise, how patriots set,

Govern the numbers of my song ; Thy father's bloom and Death may tell :

All that they approve is sweet; Excelling others, these were great :

And all is sense that they repeat. Thou, greater still, must these excel.

Bid the warbling Nine retire; The last fair instance thou must give,

Venus, string thy servant's lyre: Whence Nassau's virtue can be try'd;

Love shall be my endless theme;
And sbow the world that thou canst live

Pleasıire shall triumph over Fame:
Intrepid, as thy consort dy'd;

And, when these maxims I decline,
Thy virtue, whose resistless force

Apollo, may thy fate be mine!
No dire event could ever stay,

May I grasp at empty praise ;
Must carry on its destin'd course,

And lose the nymph, to gain the bays !
Though Death and Envy stop the way.
For Britain's sake, for Belgia's, live:
Pierců by their grief, forget thy own:

dex toils endure, new conquest give,
And bring them ease, though thou hast none.

Vanquish again; though she be gone,

Whose garland crown'd the victor's hair:

And reign, though she has left the throne,
Who inade thy glory worth thy care.

Quelle docte & saint yvresse
Fair Britain never yet before

Aujourd'hui me fait la loi?
Breath'd to ber king an useless prayer :

Chastes Nymphes du Permesse,
Poid Belgia never did implore,

N'est-ce pas vous que je voi?
While William turn'd averse his ear.

Accourez, troupe sçavante:

Des sons que ma lyre enfante
But, should the weeping hero now

Ces arbres sont rejoiis :
Relentless to their wishes prove;

Marquez on bien la cadence:
Should he recall, with pleasing woe,

Et vous, vents, faites silence :
The olject of his grief and love;

Je vais parler de Louis.
Her face with thousand beauties blest,

Dans ses chansons immortelles,
Her mind with thousand virtues stor'd,

Comme un aigle audacieux,
Her power with boundless joy confest,

Pindare étendant ses aisles,
Her person ouly not ador'd :

Fuit loin des vulgaires yeux

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Mais, ô ma fidele lyre, Si, dans l'ardeur qui m'inspire, Tu peus suivre mes transports : Les chênes des monts de 'Thrace N'ont rien oüi, que n'efface La douceur de tes accords. Est-ce Apollon et Neptune, Qui sur ces rocs sourcilleux Ont, compagnons de Fortune, Basti ces murs orgueilleux ? De leur enceinte, fameuse La Sambre unie à la Meuse, Defend le fatal abord; Et par cens bouches horribles, L’airain sur ces monts terribles Vomit le fer, & la mort. Dix mille vaillans Alcides Les bordant de toutes parts, D' éclairs au loin homicides Font petiller leurs remparts : Et dans son sein infidele Par toute la terre y recele Un feu prêt à s'élancer, Qui soudain perçant son goufre, Ouvre un sepulchre de soufre, A quiconque ose avancer. Namur, devant tes murailles Jadis la Grece eût vingt ans Sans fruit reu les funerailles De ses plus fiers coinbattans. Quelle effroyable puissance Aujourd'hui pourtant s'avance, Prête à foudroyer tes monts? Quel bruit, quel feu l'environne? C'est Jupiter en personne; Ou c'est le vainqueur de Mons. N'en doute point: c'est lui-même, Tout brille en lui; tout est roi. Dans Bruxelles Nassau blême Commence à trembler pour toi. En vain il voit le Batâve, Desormais docile.esclave, Rangé sous ses étendarts : En vain au lion Belgique Il voit l'aigle Gerinanique Uni sous les leopards. Plein de la frayeur nouvelle, Dont ses sens sont agités, A son secours il appelle Les peuples les plus vantés. Ceux-là viennent du rivage, Où s'enorgueillit le Tage De l'or, qui roule en ses eaux; Ceux-ci des champs, où la neige Des maraz de la Norvége Neuf mois couvre les roseaux. Mais qui fait enfier la Sambre? Sous les Jumeaux effrayés, Des froids torrens de Decembre Les champs par tout sont noyés Ceres s'enfuit, éplorée De voir en proye à Borée Ses guerets d'epis chargés, Et sous les urns fangeuses Des Hyades orageuses Tous ses trésors submergés.

Déployez toutes vos rages, Princes, vents, peuples, frimats ; Ramassez tous vos nuages; Rassemblez tous vos soldats. Malgré vous Namur en poudre S'en va tomber sous la foudre Qui domta Lille, Courtray, Gand la superbe Espagnole, Saint Omer, Bežançon, Dole, Ypres, Mastricht, & Cambray. Mes présages s'accomplissent : Il commence à chanceler: Sous les coups qui retentissent Ses murs s'en vont s'écrouler. Mars en feu qui les domine, Souffle à grand bruit leur ruine, Et les bombes dans les airs Allant chercher le tonnere, Semblent tombant sur la terre, Vouloir s'ourrir les enfers. Accourez, Nassau, Baviere, De ces murs l’unique espoirs A couvert d'une riviere Venez: vous pouvez tout voir. Considerez ces approches : Voyez grimper sur ces roches Ces athletes belliqueux; Et dans les eaux, dans la flame, Louis à tout donnant l'ame, Marcher, courir avec eux. Contemplez dans la tempête, Qui sort de ces boulevards, La plume qui sur sa tête Attire tous les regards. A cet astre redoubtable Toûjours un sort favorable S'attache dans les combats : Et toûjours avec la gloire Mars amenant la victoire Vole, & le suit à grands pas. Grands defenseurs de l'Espagne, Montrez-vous: il en est tems. Courage; vers la Mahagne Voilà vos drapeaux tottans. Jamais ses ondes craintives N'ont vû sur leurs fojbles rives Tant de guerriers s'amasser Courez donc: Qui vous reti rue? Tout l'univers vous regarde. N'osez vous la traverser? Loin de fermer le passage A vos nombreux bataillons, Luxembourg a du rivage Reculé ses pavillons. Quoi ? leur seul aspect vous Où sont ces chefs pleins d'avuite, Jadis si prompts å marcher, Qui devoient de la Tamise, Et de la Drâve soûmise, Jusqu' à Paris nous chercher? Cependant l'effroi redouble Sur les reinparts de Namur. Son gouverneur qui se trouble S'enfuit sous son dernier mur. Déja jusques à ses portes Je voi monter nos cohortes,

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