« ПредишнаНапред »
Still when I hear thee, O my fair,
I bid my heart rejoice;
I shake off
care, For forrow flies thy voice.
III, The seasons Philomel obey,
Whene'er they hear her sing; She bids the winter fly away,
And the recalls the spring.
THE FAIR INCONSTANT.
INCE I have long lov'd you in vain,
Give me at length but leave to complain
Of so ungrateful a creature.
Though I beheld in your wandering eyes
The wanton symptoms of ranging;
Still I resolv'd against being wise,
And lov'd you in spite of your changing.
Why should you blame what heaven has made,
Or find any fault in creation ? 'Tis not the crime of the faithless maid, But nature's inclination,
'Tis not because I love you less,
Or think you not a true one ;
But if the trnth I must confels,
I always lov'd a new-one.
TO LORD WARWICK ON HIS
HEN, fraught with all that grateful minds can
With friendship, tenderness, respect, and love ;
The Muse had wish’d, on this returning day,
Something most worthy of herself to say:
To Jove the offer'd up an humble prayer,.
To take the noble Warwick to his care.
Give him, she said, whate’er diviner grace
Adorns the soul, or beautifies the face :
Let manly constancy confirm his truth,
And gentlest manners crown his blooming youth..
Give him to fame, to virtue to aspire,
Worthy our songs and thy informing fire :
All various praise, all honours, let him prove,
Let men admire, and fighing virgins love :
With honest zeal inflame his generous mind,
To love his country, and protect mankind.
Attentive to her prayer, the gud reply'd,
Why dost thou ask what has not been deny'd ?
Jove's bounteous hand has lavish'd all his power,
And making what he is, can add no more.
Yet since I joy in what I did create,
I will prolong the favourite Warwick's fate,
And lengthen out his years to some uncommon date,
TO LADY JANE WHARTON, ON HER
STUDYING THE GLOBE.
HILE o'er the globe, fair nymph, your searches
And trace its rolling circuit round the sun,
You seem'd the world beneath you to survey,
ordain’d to give its people day. With two fair lamps methought your nations shone, While ours are poorly lighted up by one. How did those rays your happier empire gild ! How clothe the flowery mead and tful field! Your earth was in eternal spring array'd, And laughing joy amidst its natives play'd.
Such is their day, but chearless is their night, No friendly moon reflects your absent light: And oh! when yet ere many years are past, Those beams on other objects shall be plac'd, When fome young hero, with resistless art, Shall draw those eyes, and warm that virgin heart: How shall your creatures then their loss deplore, And want those suns that rise for them no more? The bliss you give will be confin'd to one, And for his fake your world must be undone.
TO MRS. PULTENEY, UPON HER GOING
TIR'D with the frequent mischiefs of her eyes,
To distant climes the fair Belinda flies.
She sees her spreading flames consume around,
And not another conquest to be found.
Secure in foreign realms at will to reign,
She leaves her vassals here with proud disdain.
One only joy which in her heart she wears,
The dear companion of her flight she bears.
Æneas thus a burning town forsook,
Thus into banishment his gods he took :
But, to retrieve his native Troy's disgrace,
Fix'd a new empire in a happier place.
ODE FOR THE NEW YEAR, 1716.
HAIL to thee, glorious rising year,
With what uncommon grace thy days appear
Comely art thou in thy prime,
Lovely child of hoary Time;
Where thy golden footsteps tread,
Pleasures all around thee spread ;
Bliss and beauty grace thy train;
Muse, strike the lyre to some immortal strain.
But oh! what skill, what master hand,
Shall govern or constrain the wanton band !
Loose like my verse they dance, and all without com-
Images of fairest things,
Crowd about the speaking strings ;
Peace and sweet prosperity,
Faith and chearful loyalty,
With smiling love and deathless poesy.
Ye scowling fhades who break away,
Well do ye fly and fun the purple day.
Every fiend and fiend-like form,
Black and fullen as a storm,
Jealous fear, and false surmise,
Danger with her dreadful eyes,
Faction, fury, all are fled,
And bold rebellion hides her daring head.
Behold, thou gracious year, behold,
To whom thy treasures all thou shalt unfold,
For whom thy whiter days were kept from times of old!
See thy George, for this is he!
On his right hand waiting free,
Britain and fair Liberty :
Every good is in his face,
Every open honest grace.
Thou great Plantagenet ! immortal be thy race !
See! the sacred scyon springs,
See the glad promise of a line of kings!