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When first admitted to that heav'n, thy breast,
To mine I strain'd that charming foe to rest;
How leaps my conscious heart, whilst I retrace
The dear idea of that strict embrace?
When on thy bosom quite entranc'd I lay,
And lov'd unsated the short night away ;
Whilst half reluctant you, and half resign'd,
Amidst fears, wishes, pain and pleasure join'd,
Now holding off, now growing to my breaft,
By turns reprov'd me, and by turns caress’d.
Oh! how remembrance throbs in every vein!

I ficken for that scene again,
My senses ach, I can no word command,
And the pen totters in my trembling hand.
Farewel, thou only joy on earth I know,
And all that man can taste of heav'n below.

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taking the Degree of Doctor in Physic at Padua, in the Year 1664.



HEN as of old the earth's bold children ftrove,

With hills on hills, to scale the throne of Jove; Pallas and Mars stood by their sovereign's side, And their bright arms in his defence employ'd. While the wise Phæbus, Hermes, and the rest, Who joy in peace and love the Muses best, Descending from their fo distemper'd seat, Our groves and meadows chose for their retreat. There first Apollo tried the various use Of herbs, and learn'd the virtue of their juice, And fram'd that art, to which who can pretend A juster title than our noble friend,

* This little poem was, among several others on the same occafion, printed by Dr. Rogers, with his inaugural exercise at Padua ; and afterwards in the same manner re-published by him at London, together with his Harveian oration before the college of physicians, in the year 1682; while Mr. Waller was yet living.



Whom the like tempest drives from his abode,
And like employment entertains abroad?
This crowns him here ; and, in the bays so earn’d,
His country's honour is no less concern’d;
Since it appears, not all the English rave,
To ruin bent: fome ftudy how to save.
And as Hippocrates did once extend
His sacred art, whole cities to amend;
So we, brave friend, suppose that thy great skill,
Thy gentle mind, and fair example, will,
At thy return, reclaim our frantic isle,
Their spirits calm ; and peace again shall smile.

EDM. WALLER, Anglus.
Patavii, typis Pauli Frambotti.

VIRGIL's Tomb. NAPLES 1741.

Tenues ignavo pollice chordas Pulso ; Maroneique sedens in margine templi Sumo animum, & magni tumulis adcanto magistri. Stat.


Came, great bard, to gaze upon thy shrine,

And o'er thy relicks wait th’ inspiring Nine :
For sure, I said, where Maro's alhes sleep,
The weeping Muses must their vigils keep:



Still o'er their fav’rite's monument they mourn,
And with poetic trophies grace his urn:
Have placed the shield and martial trumpet here ;
The shepherd's pipe, and rural honours there:
Fancy had deck'd the consecrated ground,
And scatter'd never-fading roses round.
And now my bold romantic thought aspires
To hear the echo of celestial lyres;
Then catch some found to bear delighted home,
And boast I learnt the verse at Virgil's tomb;
Or stretch'd beneath thy myrtle’s fragrant shade,
With dreams extatic hov'ring o'er my head,
See forms august, and laurel'd ghosts ascend,
And with thyself, perhaps, the long procession end.

I came — but soon the phantoms disappear'd;
Far other scenes, than wanton Hope had rear'd;
No faery rites, no funeral pomp I found;
No trophied walls with wreaths of laurel round:
A mean unhonour'd ruin faintly show'd
The spot where once thy mausoleum stood :
Hardly the form remain'd; a nodding dome
O'ergrown with moss is now all Virgil's tomb.
'Twas such a scene as gave a kind relief
To memory, in sweetly-pensive grief:


Gloomy, unpleasing images it wrought;
No musing, soft complacency of thought :
For Time had canker'd all, and worn away
Ev'n the last, mournful graces of decay:
Oblivion, hateful goddess, sate before,
And cover'd with her dusky wings the door :
No silver harps I heard, no Muse's voice,
But birds obscene in horrid notes rejoice:
Fancy recoil'd, and with his tinsel train,
Forsook the chearless scene ; no more remain
The warm ambitious hopes of airy youth ;
Severe Reflection came, and frowning Truth:
Away each glitt'ring gay idea Aled,
And bade a melancholy train succeed,
That form’d, or seem'd to form, a mournful call
In feeble echoes mutt'ring round the wall.

Seek not the Muses here! th' affrighted maids
Have fled Parthenope's polluted fhades:
Her happy shores, the seats of joy and ease,
Their fav’rite mansions once, no longer please :
No longer, as of old, in transport loft,
The sisters rove along th’ enchanted coast;
They turn with horror from each much-lov'd stream,
And loath the fields that were their darling theme:


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