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An Imitation of the Eleventh Ode of the
First Book of HORACE,
By the Same.
Orbear, my dear Stephen, with a fruitless desire
Into truths which are better conceal’d to enquire ;
Perhaps many years are allow'd us by Fațe,
Or next winter perhaps is the last of their date ;
Let the credulous fools whom astrologers cheat,
Exult or despond, as they vary deceit;
Who anticipate care, their own pleasure destroy,
And invite disappointment who build upon joy;
All ills unforeseen we the easiest endure,
What avails to foresee, unless foresight could cure ?
And from ills by their art how can wretches be freed,
When that art must be false, or those ills be decreed?
From reflection and hope little comfort we find,
To poffeffion alone let thy thoughts be confind;
To-day's all the treasure poor mortals can boast,
For to-morrow's not gained, and yesterday's loft ;
Even now whilft I writę, ţime fteals on our youth,
And a moment's cut off from my friendship and truth:
Then seize the swift blessing, enjoy the dear now,
And take, not expect, what hereafter'll beítow.
sk aril Ski seste in ste sxsi sh SR SRSIL sask silst
By the Same.
THAT fhall I say to fix thy wav'ring mind,
To chase thy doubts, and force thee to be kind ?-
What weight of argument can turn the scale,
If interceffion from a lover fail?
By what shall I conjure thee to obey
This tender fummons, nor prolong thy ftay?
If unabated in this constant breast
That paffion burns which once thy vows profess'd;
If absence has not chill'd the languid flame,
Its ardour and its purity the same;
Indulge those transports, and no more controul
The dictates of thy fond consenting soul ;
By no vain scruple be thy purpose sway'd,
And only Love implicitly obey'd :
Let inclination this debate decide,
Nor be thy prudence, but thy heart thy guide :
But real prudence never can oppose
What Love suggests, and Gratitude avows :
The warm dear raptures which thy bosom move,
"Tis virtue to indulge, ’tis wisdom to improve:
For think how few the joys allow'd by Fate,
How mix'd the cup, how short their longest date !
How onward still the stream of pleasure flows !
That no reflux the rapid current knows !
Not ev’n thy charms can bribe the ruthless hand
Of rigid Time, to stay his ebbing fand;
Fair as thou art, that beauty mult decay;
The night of age succeeds the brightest day:
That cheek where Nature's sweetest garden blows,
Her whitest lily, and her warmest rose;
Those eyes, those meaning minifters of Love,
Who, what thy lips can only utter, prove ;
These must resign their luftre, those their bloom,
And find with meaner charms one common doom:
Pass but a few short years, this change muâ be;
Nor one less dreadful shalt thou mourn in me:
For tho' no chance can alienate my flame,
While thine to feed the lamp, shall burn the same,
Yet shall the stream of years abate that fire,
And cold efteem fucceed to warm desire :
Then on thy breast unraptur'd shall I dwell,
Nor feel a joy beyond what I can tell.
Or say, should fickness antedate that woe,
And intercept what Time would elfe allow;
If Pain should pall my taste to all thy charms,
Or Death himself should tear me from thy arms;
How would'st thou then regret with fruitless truth,
The precious squander'd hours of health and youth?
Come then, my love, nor trust the future day,
Live whilst we can, be happy whilst we may :
For what is life unless its joys we prove ?
And what is happiness but mutual love?
Our time is wealth no frugal hand can store,
All our possession is the present hour,
And he who spares to use it, ever poor,
The golden now is all that we can boast ;
And that (like snow) at once is grasp'd and loft.
Halte, wing thy passage then, no more delay,
But to these eyes their fole delight convey.
Not thus I languifh'd for thy virgin charms,
When forft surrender'd to these eager arms,
When first admitted to that heav'n, thy breast,
To mine I ftraind that charming foe to rest ;
How leaps my conscious heart, whilft 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 refign'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 pant, I ficken for that scene again;
My fenfes 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.
* VERSE S to Dr. George Rogers, on his tak
ing the Degree of Doctor in Physic at Padua, in the Year 1664.
By Mr. WALLER.
HEN as of old the earth's bold children (trove,
W With bills on hile, to focale the chrone of
Pallas and Mars stood by their sovereign's side,
And their bright arms in his defence employd:
While the wise Phæbus, Hermes, and the rest,
Who joy in peace and love the Muses best,
Descending from their so distemper'd feat,
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,
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: some study how to save,
And as Hippocrates did once extend
His facred art, whole cities to amend;
* This little poem was, among several others on the same occasion, printed by Dr. Rogers, with bis inaugural exercise at Padua; and afterwards in the same manner re-publifbed by him at London, together with his Harveian oration before the college of physicians, in the year 1682; while Mr. Waller was yet living.