II.

The World, with Bleffings ill fupply'd before,
Is made by one Misfortune poor;
The fairest Perfon, and beft temper'd Mind,
And sharpeft Wit with fofteft Nature join'd,
Engaging Humour, weighty Sense,
And Joy, the Gift of Innocence,

No more in one unrival'd Youth we find;
His Soul is gone in whom thofe Graces fhin'd.

To Heav'n 'tis gone, ordain'd for Blifs above;
'Twas here all Harmony and Love:

There happy live, and while you reft fecure
From all the Pangs your weeping Friends endure,
Oh pity those that mourn below!

And hear thofe doleful Numbers flow;

Too mean a Tribute, and too bold a Flight :
What Mufe can foar to your Immortal height ?

IV.

See envious Grief, that scarce your Parents knew,
Still banish'd from their fight by you,
With dismal Force expels their Native Grace,
And takes Revenge on all their Beauteous Race:
It brings rude Horror, wild Despair,

And ftrikes their Breafts, and tears their Hair.
For you they call, for you fond Wishes send,
The beft Relation, and the kindest Friend.

V.

'Tis fruitless all: Let Reafon now return;
Why fhou'd the Wife fo vainly Mourn

Why fend Complaints where no Redress is found?
Our Dooms are next, whofe Years roll swiftly round
Thou fly'ft, O Time, to stop our Breath,
Thou faithful Minifter of Death,

And we, too blind our Periods to foretel,
Should dare thy Malice, but employ thee well,

A THOUGHT upon Human Life. Paraphras'd from SIMONIDES.

By Mr. TATE.

N various Ways defigning Mortals move;

Men by the poor Retail of Minutes live,
And Fate but lends the Life it seems to give:
Tenants at Will we are to Heav'nly Pow'rs,
And Debtors for the Breath we think is ours.

On Life's wide Ocean diverfly launch'd out,
Our Minds alike are toft on Waves of Doubt;
Holding no fteddy Courfe, or conftant Sail,
But shift and tack with ev'ry Veering Gale.
Bewitch'd by Fairy hopes, we tug in vain,
Some flying and inchanted Isle to gain;
'Till pitying Chance a kind Difafter fends,
And by a lucky Wreck the fruitless Labour ends.
Tho' Night by Night we find, to our dear cost,
Our laft-spent Day, like all the former, loft;
'Tis yet the common Refuge of our Sorrow,
On the next Day's uncertain Stock to borrow,
'Till broke with Debts on each Infolvent Morrow,
Some run o' Score for Weeks, or Months; and fome
Anticipate for Bliss next Year to come;
When, Darling-Fav'rites, they at Eafe fhall fit
In Fortune's Lap, and fee their Wishes hit,
Revel in Plenty, Pleasure, Peace, and Mirth
When lo! before the promis'd Season's Birth
The weening Mortal dies- ----or has his Breath
Prolong'd by Sickness to a living Death:
Or (forc'd thro' Camps or distant Seas to roam)-
Seeks Fate Abroad, or found by Fate at Home;
For Human Life (by Nature's Law affign'd
One Entrance) does a thousand Out-lets find ;

But ftill the Path to each with Care befet,
Molefting Griefs in ev'ry Paffage met;

Whose ftraggling Troops fince none can always
Not to Alarm, or on the Foe to run, [fhun,

Is all that by the Wifeft can be done.
And dext'rously our Skill fhall be employ'd,
Adding no Griefs to those we can't avoid.

The VISION.

By Mrs. SINGER.

WAS in the clofe Receffes of a Shade,

"Tshade for Sacred Contemplation made;

No Beauteous Branch, no Plant, or fragrant Flow'r,
But flourish'd near the Fair Delicious Bow'r:
With charming State its lofty Arches rife
Adorn'd with Bloffoms, as with Stars the Skies:
All pure and fragrant was the Air I drew,
Which Winds thro' Myrtle Groves and Orange blew
Clear Waves along with pleasing Murmur rush,
And down the artful Falls in noble Cataracts gush.
'Twas here, within this happy Place retir'd,
Harmonious Pleasures all my Soul infpir'd;
I take my Lyre, and try each tuneful String,
Now War, now Love, and Beauty's Force would fing:
To Heav'nly Subjects now, in ferious Lays,

I ftrive my faint, unskilful Voice to raise:
But as I unrefolv'd and doubtful lay,

My Cares in eafie Slumbers glide away;

Nor with fuch grateful Sleep, fuch foothing Reft,
And Dreams like this I e'er before was blefs'd;
No wild uncouth Chimera's intervene,

To break the perfect intellectual Scene.

The Place was all with Heav'nly Light o'er-flown, And Glorious with Immortal Splendor fhone; When! lo a bright Etherial Youth drew near, Ineffable his Motions and his Air,

A foft, beneficent, exprefslefs Grace,

With Life's most florid Bloom adorn'd his Face;
His lovely Brows Immortal Lawrel bind,

And long his radiant Hair fell down behind,
His azure Robes hung free, and waving to the Wind.
Angelick his Address, his tuneful Voice
Infpir'd a thousand elevating Joys:

When thus the wond'rous Youth his Silence broke,
And with an Accent all Celestial spoke.

To Heav'n, nor longer paufe, devote thy Songs, To Heav'n the Mufe's facred Art belongs; Let his unbounded Glory be thy Theme, Who fills th' Eternal Regions with his Fame; And when Death's fatal Sleep fhall clofe thine Eyes, In Triumph we'll attend thee to the Skies; We'll Crown thee there with everlasting Bays, And teach thee all our celebrated Lays. This spoke, the shining Vision upward flies, And darts as Lightning thro' the cleaving Skies.

Upon Young Mr. ROGERS of GLOCESTERSHIRE.

OF

By Mr. DRYDEN.

F gentle Blood, his Parents only Treasure. Their lafting Sorrow, and their vanish'd Pleafure, Adorn'd with Features, Virtues, Wit and Grace, A large Provifion for fo fhort a Race;

More mod'rate Gifts might have prolong'd his Date,
Too early fitted for a better State;

But, knowing Heav'n his Home, to fhun Delay,
He leap'd o'er Age, and took the shortest Way,

DS

The Third ODE of ANACREON

AT

Tranflated.

T dead of Night, when Stars appear,
And ftrong Boötes turns the Bear;
When Mortals fleep their Cares away,
Fatigu'd with Labours of the Day,
Capid was knocking at my Gate;
Who's there? faid I: Who knocks fo late,
Disturbs my Dream, and breaks my Reft &
O fear not me, a harmless Gueft,

He faid; but open, open pray;
A foolish Child, I loft my Way,
And wander here this Moonlefs Night,
All Wet and Cold, and wanting Light.
With due Regard his Voice I heard,
Then rofe, a ready Lamp prepar'd,.
And faw a naked Boy below,
With Wings, a Quiver, and a Bow:
In hafte I ran, unlock'd my Gate,
Secure, and thoughtless of my Fate;
I gave the Child an easie Chair
Against the Fire, and dry'd his Hair;
Brought Friendly Cups of chearful Wine,
And warm'd his little Hands with mine.
All this did I with kind Intent;
But he, on wanton Mischief bent,
Said, Dearest Friend, this Bow you fees
This pretty Bow belongs to me :
Obferve, I pray, if all be right,

I fear the Rain has fpoil'd it quite :-
He drew it then, and ftraight I found
Within my Breaft a fecret Wound.
This done, the Rogue no longer ftaid
But leap'd away, and laughing said,
Kind Hoft adieu, we now muft part,
Safe is my Bow, but fick thy Heart.