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Who, wanting eyes thy felf, refpecteft none,
And neither spar'ft the laurel nor the crown!
O thou, whom all mankind in vain withstand,
Each of whose blood must one day stain thy hand!
O thou, who every eye that fees the light
Closeft for ever in the fhades of night!
Goddefs, attend, and hearken to my grief,
To which thy power alone can give relief.
Alas! I afk not to defer my fate,

But with my hapless life a shorter date;

And that the earth would in its bowels hide
A wretch, whom heaven invades on every fide:
That from the fight of day I could remove,
And might have nothing left me but my

love.

Thou only comforter of minds opprest,
The port where wearied fpirits are at reft;
Conductor to Elyfium, take my life,
My breast I offer to thy facred knife ;
So just a grace refuse not, nor despise
A willing, though a worthless facrifice.
Others (their frail and mortal state forgot)
Before thy altars are not to be brought
Without constraint; the noise of dying rage,
Heaps of the flain of every sex and age,
The blade all reeking in the gore it shed,
With fever'd heads and arms confus'dly spread;
The rapid flames of a perpetual fire,
The groans of wretches ready to expire :
This tragic scene in terror makes them live,
Till that is forc'd which they should freely give;

Yielding

Yielding unwillingly what heaven will have,
Their fears eclipse the glory of their grave :
Before thy face they make indecent moan,
And feel a hundred deaths in fearing one :
Thy flame becomes unhallow'd in their breast,
And he a murderer who was a pricft.

But against me thy strongest forces call,
And on my head let all the tempest fall;
No mean retreat shall any weakness fhow,
But calmly I'll expect the fatal blow;
My limbs not trembling, in my mind no fear,
Plaints in my mouth, nor in my eyes a tear.
Think not that Time, our wonted fure relief,
That univerfal cure for every grief,

Whofe aid fo many lovers oft' have found,
With like fuccefs can never heal my wound:
Too weak the power of nature or of art,
Nothing but death can ease a broken heart:
And that thou may'it behold my helpless ftate,
Learn the extremeft rigour of my fate.

Amidft th' innumerable beauteous train,
Paris, the queen of cities, does contain,
(The fairest town, the largest, and the beft)
The fair Almeria fhin'd above the reft:
From her bright eyes to feel a hopeless flame,
Was of our youth the most ambitious aim ;
Her chains were marks of honour to the brave,
She made a prince whene'er fhe made a flave.
Love, under whose tyrannic power I groan,
Shew'd me this beauty ere 'twas fully blown;

Her

Her timorous charms, and her unpractis'd look,
Their first affurance from my conquest took;
fhe learn'd the fatal art,

By wounding me,
And the first figh fhe had was from my heart:
My eyes, with tears moistening her fnowy arms,
Render'd the tribute owing to her charms.
But, as I fooneft of all mortals paid

My vows, and to her beauty altars made;
So, among all those slaves that figh'd in vain,
She thought me only worthy of my chain :
Love's heavy burden my fubmiffive heart
Endur'd not long, before the bore her part;
My violent flame melted her frozen breast,
And in foft fighs her pity fhe exprefs'd;
Her gentle voice allay'd my raging pains,
And her fair hands fuftain'd me in my chains;
Ev'n tears of pity waited on my moan,
And tender looks were caft on me alone.

My hopes and dangers were lefs mine than hers,
Thofe fill'd her foul with joys, and thefe with fears;
Our hearts, united, had the fame defires,
And both alike burn'd with impatient fires.
Too faithful Memory! I give thee leave

Thy wretched matter kindly to deceive;
Oh, make me not poffeffor of her charms,
Let me not find her languish in my arms;
Paft joys are now my fancy's mournful themes;
Make all my happy nights appear but dreams :
Let not fuch blifs before my eyes be brought,
O hide thofe fcenes from my tormenting thought;

I

And

And in their place difdainful beauty show;
If thou would'ft not be cruel, make her fo:
And, fomething to abate my deep despair,
O let her feem lefs gentle, or less fair.
But I in vain flatter my wounded mind ;
Never was nymph fo lovely or so kind :
No cold repulfes my defires supprest,

I feldom figh'd, but on Almeria's breast:
Of all the paffions which mankind destroy,
I only felt excess of love and joy :
Unnumber'd pleasures charm'd my sense, and they
Were, as my love, without the least allay.
As pure, alas! but not so sure to last,

For, like a pleasing dream, they are all past.

From heaven her beauties like fierce lightnings came
Which break through darkness with a glorious flame;
Awhile they fhine, awhile our minds amaze,
Our wondering eyes are dazzled with the blaze
But thunder follows, whofe refistless rage
None can withstand, and nothing can affuage;
And all that light which those bright flashes gave,
Serves only to conduct us to our grave.

When I had just begun love's joys to taste,
(Those full rewards for fears and dangers past)
A fever feiz'd her, and to nothing brought
The richest work that ever nature wrought.
All things below, alas! uncertain stand;
The firmeft rocks are fix'd upon the fand :
Under this law both kings and kingdoms bend,
And no beginning is without an end.

A facrifice

A facrifice to time, fate dooms to us all,

And at the tyrant's feet we daily fall :

Time, whose bold hand will bring alike to duft
Mankind, and temples too in which they trust.
Her wafted spirits now begin to faint,

Yet patience ties her tongue from all complaint,
And in her heart as in a fort remains ;
But yields at laft to her refiftless pains.
Thus while the fever, amorous of his prey,
Through all her veins makes his delightful way,
Her fate's like Semele's; the flames destroy
That beauty they too eagerly enjoy.

Her charming face is in its fpring decay'd,
Pale grow the rofes, and the lilies fade;
Her fkin has loft that luftre which surpass'd
The fun's, and well deferv'd as long to laft:
Her
eyes, which us'd to pierce the hardest hearts,
Ate nov difarm'd of all their flames and darts;
Those stars now heavily and flowly move;
And fickness triumphs in the throne of love.
The fever every moment more prevails,
Its rage her body feels, and tongue bewails :
She, whose disdain so many lovers prove,
Sighs now for torment, as they figh for love,

And with loud cries, which rend the neighbouring air,
Wounds my fad heart, and weakens my despair.

Both men and gods I charge now with my lofs,
And, wild with grief, my thoughts each other cross,
My heart and tongue labour in both extremes,

This fends up humble prayers, while that blafphemes:
C

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