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The nymph, fore-doom'd that fatal way to pass,
Spy'd not the serpent lurking in the grass:
A mournful cry the spacious valley fills

With echoing groans from all the neighb'ring hills; The Dryades roar out in deep despair,

And with united voice bewail the fair.

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For fuch a lofs he fought no vain relief, But with his lute indulg'd the tender grief; Along the fhore he oft' would wildly stray, With doleful notes begin and end the day: At length to hell a frightful journey made, Pafs'd the wide-gaping gulf and dismal fhade, Vifits the ghofts, and to that king repairs Whole heart's inflexible to human pray'rs. All hell is ravifh'd with fo fweet a fong; Light fouls and airy fpirits glide along In troops, like millions of the feather'd kind, Driv'n home by night, or some tempestuous wind; Matrons and men, raw youths and unripe maids, And mighty heroes' more majestic shades, And fons entomb'd before their parents' face, These the black waves of bounding Styx embrace Nine times circumfluent, clogg'dwith noisome weeds, And all that filth which standing water breeds : Amazement reach'd ev'n the deep caves of Death, The Sifters with blue fnaky curls took breath, Ixion's wheel a while unmov'd remain'd,

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And the fierce dog his three-mouth'd voice reftrain'd.

When fafe return'd, and all thefe dangers paft,
His wife, reftor'd to breathe fresh air at last,
Following, (for fo Proferpina was pleas'd)
A sudden rage th' unwary lover feiz'd;

He, as the first bright glimpse of day-light shin'd,
Could not refrain to caft one look behind;

A fault of love! could hell compaffion find.

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A dreadful found thrice fhook the Stygian coaft, 40 His hopes quite fled, and all his labour lost!

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Why haft thou thus undone thyfelf and me? What rage is this? oh! I am fnatch'd from thee! (She faintly cry'd;) Night and the pow'rs of hell Surround my fight; oh! Orpheus! oh! farewell! 45 My hands stretch forth to reach thee as before, But all in vain, for I am thine no more;

No more allow'd to view thy face, or day!"-
Then from his eyes, like smoke, the fleets away.
Much he would fain have spoke; but Fate, alas! 50
Would ne'er again confent to let him país.
Thus twice undone, what course remain'd to take
To gain her back, already pass'd the lake?
What tears, what patience, could procure him ease?
Or, ah! what vows the angry pow'rs appeafe?
'Tis faid he feven long moons bewail'd his loss
To bleak and barren rocks, on whose cold mofs,
While languifhing he fung his fatal flame,
He mov'd ev'n trees, and made fierce tigers tame.

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So the fad nightingale, when childless made
By fome rough swain who stole her young away,
Bewails her lofs beneath a poplar shade,
Mourns all the night, in murmurs wastes the day;
Her melting fongs a doleful pleasure yield,
And melancholy mufic fills the field.

Marriage nor love could ever move his mind,
But all alone, beat by the northern wind,
Shiv'ring on Tanais' banks the bard remain'd,
And of the god's unfruitful gift complain'd.
Circonian dames, enrag'd to be despis'd,
As they the feast of Bacchus folemniz'd,

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Slew the poor youth, and strew'd about his limbs;

His head, torn off from the fair body, swims

Down that fwift current where the Heber flows,
And still its tongue in doleful accents goes;

"Ah! poor Eurydice!" he dying cry'd; Eurydice refounds from ev'ry fide.

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The Vifion. Written during a fea voyage, &c. 44

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The Rapture,

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The Miracle, 1707,

The Election of a Poet-Laureat, 1719,

ib.

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Love's Slavery,

On Don Alonzo's being killed in Portugal, upon

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account of the Infanta, 1683,

On One who died discovering her kindness,

On Lucinda's death,

On Mr. Hobbes and his Writings,

On the lofs of an only fon, Robert Marq. of Nor-

manby,

On Mr. Pope and his Poems,

On the Times,

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