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Behold the god advance in comely pride, Thus ancient legends would our faith abuse: Arm'd with his bow, his quiver by his side:
In vain--for were the bold tradition true, Inferior Cupids on their master wait;
While your harmonious touch that charm renews, He smiles well pleas'd, and waves his wings in state. Again the seraph would appear to you. His little hands imperial trophies bear,
O happy fair! in whom, with purest light, And laurel-wreaths to grace th' elected fair.
Virtue's united beams with beauty shine!
Je mourrai de trop de plaisir,
Si je la trouve favourable; To Lore's pre-eminence, and Beauty's fame.
Je mourrai de trop de desir, Some, who, at Anna's court, in honour rais'd,
Se je la trouve inexorable. Adorn birth-nights, by crowding nations prais'd;
Ainsi je ne sçaurois guerir Preserv'd in kneller's pictures ever young,
De la douleur qui me possede;
Je suis assuré de perir
Par le mal, ou par le remede.
If she I love rewards my fire;
If she's inexorably coy, Tall, beauteous, and majestic to the sight,
With too much passion I expire. She led the train, and sparkled in the light.
No way the Fates afford to shun There Stella claims the wreath, and pleads her
The cruel torment I endure;
By the disease, or by the cure.
TO A PAINTER.
"Twere endless to describe the various darts, Painter, if thou canst safely gaze With which the fair are arm'd to conquer hearts, On all the wonders of that face; Whatever can the ravish'd soul inspire
If thou hast charms to guard a heart With tender thoughts, and animate desire,
Secure by secrets of thy art; All arts and virtues mingled in the train;
0! teach the mighty charm, that we And long the lovely rivals strove in vain, [plain. May gaze securely too, like thee. While Cupid, unresolv'd, still search'd around the Canst thou Love's brightest lightning draw, "0! could I find,” said Love, “ the phonix she, | Which none e'er yet unwounded saw? In whom at once the several charms agree; To what then wilt thou next aspire, That phenix she the laurel crown should have, Unless to imitate Jove's fire ? And Love himself with pride become her slave.” Which is a less adventurous pride,
He scarce had spoke, when see-Harmonia caine! Though 'twas for that Salmoneus dy'd. Chance brought her there, and not desire of fame; That beauteous, that victorious fair, Unknowing of the choice, till she be held
Whose chains so many lovers wear;
Who with a look can arts infuse,
She sits serene, and smiles on you!
Your genius thus inspir'd will soar
Adorn'd with spoils in battle won,
In graceful picture chose to stand,
The work of fam'd Apelles' hand;
“Exert thy fire," the monarch said, PLAYING ON THE ORGAN.
“Now be thy boldest strokes display'd, When fam'a Cecilia on the organ play'd, To let admiring nations see
And fill'd with moving sounds the tuneful frame, Their dreaded victor drawn by thee; Drawn by the charm, to hear the sacred maid, To others thou may'st life impart,
From Heaven, 'tis said, a listening angel came. But I'll immortalize thy art."
Descending angels, in harmonious lays,
Such was the sacred art-We now deplore
The Muse's loss, since Eden is no more.
When Vice from hell rear'd up its hydra-head,
Th’affrighted maid, with chaste Astrea, fled, As wlien Camilla once, a warlike dame,
And sought protection in her native sky; In bloody battles won immortal fame,
In vain the heathen Nine her absence would supply. Forsook her female arts, and chose to bear
Yet to some few, whose dazzling virtues shone, The ponderous shield, and heave the massy spear, In ages past, her heavenly charms were known. Superior to her sex, so swift she flew
Hence learn'd the bard, in lofty strains to tell Arouud the field, and such vast numbers slew, How patient Virtue triumph'd over Hell; That friends and foes, alike surpris'd, behold And hence the chief, who led the chosen race The brave Virago desperately bold,
Through parting seas, deriv'd his songs of praise : And thought her Pallas in a human mould. She gave the rapturous ode, whose ardent lay Such is our wonder, matchless maid! to see Sings female force, and vanquish'd Sisera; The tragic laurel thus deserv'd by thee.
She tun'd to pious notes the psalmist's lyre, (fire!
WRITTEN FOR THE LATE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER'S
Wuue Venus in her snowy arms
The god of battles held,
And sooth'd him with her tender charms,
Victorious from the field;
By chance she cast a lovely smile,
Propitious, down to Earth, But you, your sex's champion, are come forth
And view'd in Britain's happy isle To fight their quarrel, and assert their worth;
Great Gloucester's glorious birth. Our Salic law of wit you hare destroy'd,
“ Look, Mars," she said; “ look down, and see Establish'd female claim, and triumph'd o'er our
A child of royal race!
With every princely grace:
Thy heavenly image let me bear, Such dazzling charms, and, spite of envy, lore. And shine a Mars below;
Nor is this all th' applause that is your due, Foun you his mind to warlike care,
I'll softer gifts bestow."
Their blessings did impart:
And love way breath'd into his eyes, Your virgin voice offends no virgin ear.
And glory forni'd his heart. Proceeri in tragic numbers to disclose
His childhood makes of war a game; Strange turns of fate, and unexpected wocs.
Betimes his beauty charms Reward, and punish! awfully dispense
The fair; who burnd with equal filame Heaven's judgments, and declare a Providence;
For him, as he for arms. Nor let the comic Muse your labours share,
1699, 'lis meanness, after this, the sock to wear: Though that too merit praise, 'tis nobler toil Textort a tear, than to provoke a smile. What hand, that can design a history,
ON A PEACOCK,
FINELY CUT IN VELLUM BY MOLISDA.
Iluten Fancy did Molinda's hand invite, 1698.
Without the help of colour, shade, or light,
The fairesi image of the feather'd kind;
Nature herself a strict attendance paid,
(harm'd with th'attaimnents of th'illustrious maid, 1x Nature's golden age, when new-born day Inspir'd her thought, and, smiling, said, “I'll see Array'd the skies, and Earth was green and gay; How well this fair-one's art can copy me.” When Gol, with pleasure, all his works survey'd,
So to her favourite Titian once she came, Al ringin innocence before him play'd;
To guide his puncil, and attest his fame, In that illustrious inorn, that lovely spring, With transport granting all that she could give, The Muse, by Heaven inspird, began to sing. And bid his works to wondering ages live.
Nor with less transport here the goddess sees Her rural slaves their absent victor mourn, The curious piece advance by slow degrees; And wish not liberty, but her return. At last such skill in every part was shown, The conquer'd countries droop, while she's away, It seem'd a new creation of her own;
And slowly to the Spring their contribution pay. She starts, to view the finish'd figure rise,
While cooing turtles, doubly now alone, And spread his ample train, enrich'd with eyes ; With their lost loves another loss bemoan. To see, with lively grace, his form express'd,
Mean time in peopled cities crowds press on, The stately bonours of his rising crest,
And jealous seem who shall be first undone.
O matchless bird! whose race, with nicest care, Hears daily conquests which she ne'er desiga'd;
WRITTEN IN A LADY'S PRAYER-BOOK. Their beauty shines no more, their lustre dies. So fair a form, with such devotion join'd! So when Molinda, with superior charms,
A virgin body, and a spotless mind! Dazzles the ring, and other nymphs disarms, Pleas'd with her prayers, while Heaven propitious To her the rallying Loves and Graces fly,
The lovely votress on her bended knees, (sees And, fixing there, proclaim the victory. No wonder, then, since she was born t' excel,
Sure it must think some angel lost its way, This bird's fair image she describes so well,
And happening on our wretched Earth to stray, Happy, as in some temple thus to stand,
Tir'd with our follies, fain would take its flight, humortaliz'd by her successful band.
And begs to be restor’d to those blest realms of light.
ODE ON THE SPRING.
FOR THE MONTH OF MAY.
Wanton Zephyr, come away!
On this sweet, this silent grove,
Sacred to the Muse and Love, Some Muse unseen to crown their verse,
In gentle whisper'd murmurs play! And boast of Heliconian streams :
Come, let thy soft, thy balmy breeze
Diffuse thy vernal sweets around But here, a real Muse inspires
From sprouting flowers, and blossom'd trees; (Who more revivmg streams imparts)
While hills and echoing vales resound Our fancies with the poets' fires,
With notes, which wing'd musicians sing And with a nobler Hame our hearts.
In honour to the bloom of Spring. While from her hand each honour'd guest
Lovely season of desire! Receives his cup with liquor crown'd,
Nature smiles with joy to see He thinks 'tis Jove's immortal feast,
The amorous Months led on by thee, And Venus deals the nectar round.
That kindly wake her genial fire.
The brightest object in the skies, As o'er each fountain, poets sing,
The fairest lights that shine below,
The Sun, and Mira's charming eyes,
At thy return more charming grow:
With double glory they appear,
To warm and grace the infant Year.
On Hyacinth, had she been there,
The design of this ode was to insinuate to Augustus Who unny then had dy'd for her.
the danger of transferring the seat of the empire | January 1, 1701.
from Rome to Troy, which we are informed he
once entertained thoughts of.
The man to right inflexibly inclin’d,
Poising on virtue's base his mind,
Rests in himself secure,
Indissolubly firm in good;
And to new scenes of triumph wait the fair. All rock within, he can unmov'd endure
The foaming fury of the flood, that loath sutjection, and would break their chain, / Whea bellowing winds their jarring troops engage,
ODE III. BOOK II.
Or wasteful civil tumults roll along
“ Let Rome extend her fame to every shoro; With fiercer strength, and louder roar,
And let no banks or mounds restrain Driving the torrent of the throng,
Th' impetuous torrent of her wide command ; And gathering into power.
The seas from Europe, Africk part in vain;
Swelling above those floods, her power
Shining in polish'd steel, she dares
The glittering beams of gold despise, Shatter'd with universal rack,
Gold, the great source of human cares, Come tumbling from the sky:
Hid wisely deep from mortal eves, Yet he'll survey the horrid scene
Till, sought in evil hour by hands unblest,
Opening the dark abodes,
There issued forth a direful train of woes,
No native human uses knows. Mankind, as gods, their benefactions crown'd;
“ Where'er great Jove did place With these, Augustus shall for ever shine,
The bounds of Nature yet unseen, And stain his rosy lips in cups divine.
He meant a goal of glory to the race Thus his fierce tigers dauntless Bacchus bear;
The Roman arms shall win: The glaring savages resist in vain,
Rejoicing, onward they approach Impatient of the bit, and fretting on the rein;
To view the outworks of the world, Through yielding clouds he drives th’impetuous car.
The maddening fires, in wild debauch, (whirl'd! Great Romulus pursued the shining trace,
The snows and rains unborn, in endless eddies And leapt the lake, where all The rest of mortals fall,
“ 'Tis I, O Rome, pronounce these fates behind, And with his father's horses scour'd the same bright But will thy reign with this condition bind, airy race.
That no false filial piety, Then in full senate of the deities,
In idle shapes deluding thee,
Or confidence of power,
Tempt thee again to raise a Trojan tower;
Troy, plac'd beneath malignant stars,
Haunted with omens still the same, “ O Troy!” she said,
“O hated Troy! A foreign woman', and a boy ®,
Rebuilt, shall but renew the former flame,
Jove's wife and sister leading on the wars.
Thrice let her shine with brazen walls,
Reard up by heavenly hands:
And thrice in fatal dust she falls,
By faithful Grecian bands;
Thrice the dire scene shall on the world return,
And captive wives again their sons and husbands
But stop, presumptuous Muse, thy daring flight,
Nor hope in thy weak lyric lay, Nor Priam's impious house with Hector's spear,
The heavenly language to display, Repels the violence of Grecian arms.
Or bring the counsels of the gods to light, “ Our feuds did long embroil the mortal rout,
At last the storm is spent,
The Paphian isle was once the blest abode
Of Beauty's goddess and her archer-god. For his son Romulus, of Trojan race;
There blissful bowers and amorous shades were seen, Here shall he dwell in these divine abodes,
Fair cypress walks, and myrtles ever green.
'Twas there, surrounded by a hallow'd wood, And in this shining court his name enrol,
Sacred to Love, a splendid temple stood; With the serene and ever-vacant gods: Where altars were with costly gums perfum'd, While seas shall rage between his Rome and Troy. And lovers sighs arose, and smoke from hearts con. The horrid distance breaking wide,
sum'd: The banish'd Trojans shall the globe enjoy, Till, thence remov'd, the queen of beauty flies And reign in every place beside;
To Britain, fam'd for bright victorious eyes. While beasts insult my judge's dust, and hide Here fix'd, she chose a sweeter seat for Love, Their litter in his cursed tomb,
And Greenwich-park is now her Cyprian grove, The shining Capitol of Rome
Nor fair Parnassus with this hill can vie, Shall overlook the world with awful pride, (dome, which gently swells into the wondering sky, And Parthians take their law from that eternal Commanding all that can transport our sight,
And varying with each view the fresh delight. 6 Romulus was supposed to be the son of Mars From hence my Muse prepares to wing her way, by the priestess Ida.
And wanton, like the Thames, through smiling meads Helen. $ Paris. Paris.
Describe the groves beneath, the sylvan bowers, Her sighing lovers, who in crowds adore,
But see! a living prospect drawing near What angels are, when we desire to know,
We form a thought by such as she below, Love's favourite band, selected to maintain And thenceconclade they're bright beyond compare, His choicest triumphs, and support his reign. Compos'd of all that's good, and all that's fair. Muse, pay thy homage here-yet oh beware! There yet remains unnam'd a dazzling throng And draw the glorious scene with artful care, Of nyinphs, who to these happy shades belong, For foolish praise is satire on the fair.
O Venus! lovely queen of soft desires! Behold where bright Urania does advance, For ever dwell where such supply thy fires ! And lightens through the trees with every glance! May Virtue still with Beauty share the sway, A careful pleasure in her air is seen ;
And the glad world with willing zeal obey !
Th’inspiring Muses and the god of Love, "Tis hard to say which gives the deepest wound;
Which most should grace the fair Molinda strovę: Or if with greater glory we submit,
Love arm'd her with his bow and keenest darts, Pierc'd by her eyes, her humour, or her wit, See next her charming sister, young and gay,
The Muses more enrich'd her mind with arts, In beauty's bloom like the sweet month of May !
Though Greece in shining temples heretofore The sportful nymph, once in the neighbouring The ancients thought no single goddess fit,
Did Venus and Minerva's powers adore,
To reign at once o'er Beauty and o'er Wit;
Each was a separate claim; till now we find
The different titles in Molinda join'd,
She gilds the evening, or improves the day,
All eyes regard her with transporting fire,
One sex with envy burns, and one with fierce desire :
But when withdrawn from public show and noise, My loss of darts I quickly can supply, Your looks shall triumph for Love's deity :
In silent works her fancy she employs, And though you now my feeble power disdain,
A smiling train of Arts around her stand, You once perhaps may feel a lover's pain.”
And court improvement from her curious hand. Though Helen's form, and Cleopatra's charms,
She, their bright patroness, o'er all presides, The boast of Fame, once kindled dire alarnis;
And with like skill the pen and needle guides; Those dazzling lights the world no more must view, By this we see gay silken landscapes wrought, And scarce would think the bright description true, By that, the landscape of a beauteous thought:
Whether her voice in tuneful airs she moves,
Or cuts dissembled flowers and paper groves,
Her voice transports the ear with soft delight, And matchless skin contend with rival grace;
Her flowers and groves surprise the ravish'd sight:
Which ev'n to Nature's wonders we prefer;
All but that wonder Nature form'd in her.
A LETTER TO A FRIEND
Whilst thou art happy in a blest retrcat,
And free from care dost rural songs repeat, And spread them into life, and gently chide their Whilst fragrant air fans thy poetic fire, stay.
And pleasant groves with sprightly notes inspire, We court that skill, by which we're sure to die; (Groves whose recesses and refreshing shade The modest fair would fain our suit deny,
Indulge th' invention, and the judgment aid) And sings unwillingly with trembling fear,
I, midst the smoke and clamours of the town, As if concern'd our ruin is so near ;
That choke my Muse, and weigh my fancy down, So generous victors softest pity know,
Pass my unactive hours;And with reluctance strike the fatal blow.
In such an air, how can soft numbers Row,
Or in such soil the sacred laurel grow?
Are but some sparks that soon as born expire. Not Venus star, the brightest of the sphere,
Hail happy Woods! harbours of Peace and Joy! Smiles so serene, or casts a light so clear.
Where no black cares the mind's repose destroy! O happy brother of this wondrous fair!
Where grateful Silence unmolested reigns, The best of sisters well deserves thy care;
Assists the Muse, and quickens all her strains.
IN THE COUNTRY.