Awhile let Troy prevail. that Greece may grieve, And doubled honours to my offspring give.' She faid. The god vouchfaf'd not to reply (A deep fufpenfe fat in his thoughtful eye : Once more around his knees the goddess clung, And to foft accents form'd her artful tongue:

Oh! fpeak Or grant me, or deny my prayer. Fear not to speak, what I am doom'd to bear; That I may know, if thou my prayer deny, The most despis'd of all the gods am I.' With a deep figh the Thundering Power replies: To what a height will Juno's anger rife! Still does her voice before the gods upbraid My partial hand, that gives the Trojans aid. I grant thy fuit. But, hence! depart unfeen, And fhun the fight of heaven's fufpicious queen. Believe my nod, the great. the certain fign, When Jove propitious hears the powers divine; The fign that ratifies my high command, That thus I will: and what I will fhall ftand.' This faid, his kingly brow the fire inclin'd; The large black curls fell awful from behind, Thick fhadowing the ftern forehea of the god: Olympus trembled at th' almighty nod.

The goddefs fmild: and, with a fudden leap, From the high mountain plung'd into the deep. But Jove repair'd to his celeftial towers: And, as he rofe, up-rofe th' immortal powers. In ranks, on either fide, th affembly caft, Bow'd down, and did obeifance as he pafs'd.

To him en hron'd for whifpering the had feen Clofe at his knees the filver-footed queen, Daughter of him, who, low beneath the tides, Aged and hoary in the deep refides) Big with invectives, Juno filence broke, And thus, opprobrious her refentments spoke:

Falfe Jove! what goddefs whispering did I

fee?

O fond of councils fill conceal'd from me!
To me, deglected, thou wilt ne'er impart
One fingle thought of thy close-cover'd heart.'
To whom the Sire of gods and men reply'd;
Strive not to find, what I decree to hide.
Laborious were the fearch, and vain the ftrife,
Vain ev'n for thee, my fifter and my wife.
The thoughts and counsels, proper to declare,
Nor god nor mortal fhall before thee fhare:

But, what my fecret wifdom fhall ordain,
Think not to reach, for know the thought were

vain.

'Dread Saturn's fon, why fo fevere?' replies The goddess of the large majeftic eyes. Thy own dark thoughts at pleasure hide, or fhow;

Ne'er have I afk'd, nor now aspire to know Nor yet my fears are vain, nor came unfeen To thy high throne, the filver-footed queen, Daughter of him, who low beneath the tides Aged and hoary in the deep refides.

Thy nod affures me fhe was not deny'd:

And Greece muft perifh for a madman's pride.' To whom the god, whofe hand the tempeft

forms,

This ferves the more to fharpen my difdain: And woes forefeen but lengthen out thy pain. Be filent then. Difpute not my command; Nor tempt the force of this fuperior hand: Left all the gods, around thee leagued, engage In vain to fhield thee from my kindled rage.' Mute and abath'd fhe fat without reply, And downward turn'd her large majestic eye, Nor further durft th' offended fire provoke: The gods around him trembled, as he spoke. When Vulcan, for his mother fere diftreft, Turn'd orator, and thus his fpeech addrest:

6

Hard is our fate, if men of mortal line Stir up debate among the powers divine, If things on earth disturb the bieffed abode. And mar th' ambrofial banquet of the gods! Then let my mother once be rul'd by me, Though much more wife than I pretend to be: Let me advife her filent to obey,

And due fubmiffion to our father pay. Nor force again his gloomy rage to rife, Il-tied, and damp the revels of the skies. For fhould he tois her from th' Olympian hill, Who could refift the mighty monarch's will? Then thou to love the Thunderer reconcile, And tempt him kindly on us all to fmile.' He faid and in his tottering hands up-bore A double goblet, fill'd, and foaming o'er.

Sit down, dear mother, with a heart content, Ner urge a more difgraceful purifhment, Which if great Jove inflict, poor 1, difmay'd, Muft fand leaf, nor dare to give thee aid. Great Jove fhall reign for ever, uncontrol'd: Remember, when I took thy part of old, Caught by the heel he fwung me round on high, And headlong hurl'd me from th' ethereal kyt From morn to noon 1 fell, from noon to night; Till pitch'd on Leninos, a moft piteous fight, 'The Sintians hardly could my breath recall, Grady and galping with the dreadful fail.”

The verfe, begun to one loft friend, prolong,
And weep a second in th' unfinish'd fong!

Thefe works divine, which on his death-bed laid
To thee, O Craggs, th' expiring fage convey'd,
Great, but ill omen'd, monument of fame,
Nor he furviv'd to give, nor thou to claim.
Swift after him thy focial spirit flies,
And clofe to his, how foon! thy coffin lies.
Eleft pair! whofe union future bards fhall tell
In future tongues: each other's boaft! farewell,
Farewell! whom, join'd in fame, in friendship
try'd,

No chance could fever, nor the grave divide.

COLIN AND LUCY.

OF

A BALLAD.

F Leinfter, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid ftream
Reflect fo fweet a face:

Till lucklefs love, and pining care,
impair'd her rofy hue,

Her corai lips, and damask cheeks,
And eyes of gloffy blue.

Oh! have you feen a lily pale,

When beating rains defcend?

So droop'd the flow-confuming maid,
Her life now near its end.
By Lucy warn'd, of flattering fwains
Take heed, ye cafy fair:
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjur'd swains, beware.
Three times, all in the dead of night,

A bell was heard to ring;
And fhrieking at her window thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing.
Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
The folemn boding found:
And thus, in dying words, befpoke
The virgins weeping round:
"I hear a voice, you cannot hear,
"Which fays, I must not stay;

t 1 fee a hand, you cannot fee,
"Which beckons me away.
"By a falfe heart, and broken vows,
"In early youth I die :

"Was I to blame, because his bride "Was thrice as rich as I?

"Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows, "Vows due to me alone:

"Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kifs, "Nor think him all thy own.

"To-morrow, in the church to wed, "Impatient, both prepare!

She fpoke, fhe dy'd, her corfe was borne
The bridegroom blithe to meet,
He in his wedding trim so gay,

She in her winding-fhect.

Then what were perjur'd Collin's thoughts?
How were thefe nuptials kept?
The bridesmen flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.
Confufion, fhame, remorfe, defpair,

At once his bofom fwell:

The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He fhook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride, ah, bride no more,

The varying crimson filed,

When, ftretch'd before her rival's corse.
She faw her husband dead.

Then to his Lucy's new made grave,

Convey'd by trembling fwains,
One mould with her, beneath one fod,
For ever he remains.

Oft at his grave, the conftant hind
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay, and true-love knots,
They deck the facred green;

But, fwain forefworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear;
Remember Collin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.

TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER,

T°

AT HIS COUNTRY SEAT.

Whitton's fhades, and Hounslow's airy plain, Thou, Kneller, tak'ft thy fummer flights in vain, In vain thy with gives all thy rural hours To the fair villa, and fhell-ordered bowers; To court thy pencil carly at thy gates, Ambition knocks, and fleeting beauty waits; The boaftful Mufe, of others fame so fure, Implores thy aid to make her own fecure; The Great, the Fair, and, if aught nobler be, Aught more belov'd, the Arts folicit thee.

How canft thou hope to fly the world, in vain From Europe fever'd by the circling main; Sought by the kings of every distant land, And every hero worthy of thy hand? Haft thou forgot that mighty Bourbon fear'd He still was mortal, till thy draught appear'd? That Cofmo chofe thy glowing form to place, Amidst her mafters of the Lombard race?. See on her Titian's and her Guido's urns, Her falling arts forlorn Hefperia mourns; While Britain wins each garland from her brow, Her wit and freedom firit, her painting now.

Let the faint copier, on old Tiber's thore, Nor mean the talk, each breathing bust explore. Line after line, with painful patience trace,

"That Lucy will be there!

"Then bear my corfe, my comrades, bear, "This bridegroom blithe to meet,

"He in his wedding-trim fo gay,

"I in my winding-fheet."

The kindest mistress, and the furest guide,
To catch a likeness at one piercing fight,
And place the fairest in the fairest light;
Ere yet thy pencil tries her nicer toils,
Or on thy palette lie the blended oils,
Thy careless chalk has half atchiev'd thy art,
And her juft image makes Cleora start.

A mind that grafps the whole is rarely found,
Half learn'd, half painters, and half wits abound;
Few, like thy genius, at proportion aim,
All great, all graceful, and throughout the fame.
Su.h be thy life, O fince the glorious rage
That fir'd thy youth, flames unfubdued by age;
Though wealth, nor fame now touch thy fated
mind,

Still tinge the canvas, bountcous to mankind;
Since after thee may rife an impious line,
Coafe manglers of the human face divine,
Paint on, till Fate diffolve thy mortal part,
And live and die the monarch of thy art.

The chiefs who conquer'd, and the bards who fung.
From his cold corfe though every friend be fled,
Lo! Envy waits, that lover of the dead :
Thus did the feign o'er Naffau's hearfe to mourn;
Thus wept, infidious, Churchill, o'er thy urn;
To blaft the living, gave the dead their due,
And wreaths, her felf had tainted, trim'd anew.
Thou, yet unnam'd to fill his empty place,
And lead to war thy country's growing race,
Take every with a British heart can frame,
Add palm to palm, and rife from fame to fame.
An hour must come, when thou fhalt hear with

rage,

Thyfelf traduc'd, and curfe a thanklefs age:
Nor yet for this decline the generous ftrife,
Thefe ills, brave men, fhall quit thee with thy life,
Alive though ftain'd by every abje& slave,
Secure of fame and juftice in the grave.
Ah! no-when once the mortal yields to Fate,
The blast of Fame's fweet trumpet founds too late,
Too late to lay the fpirit on its flight,
Or footh the new inhabitant of light;
Who hears regardlefs, while fond man, diftrefs'd,
Hangs on the abfent, and laments the bleft.
Farewel then fame, ill fought thro' fields and
blood,

Farewel unfaithful promifer of good:
Thou mufic, warbling to the deafen'd ear!
Thou incenfe wafted on the funeral bier!
Through life purfucd in vain, by death obtain'd,
When afk'd deny'd us, and when given difdain'd.

Thefe feats our fires, a hardy kind,
To the fierce fons of war confin'd,
The flower of chivalry, who drew,
With finew'd arm the stubborn yew:
Or with heav'd pole-ax clear'd the field;
Or who, in jus and tourneys fkill'd,
Before their ladies' eyes renown'd,
Threw horfe and horseman to the ground,
IV.

Our patriots in the lift were join'd.
Not only Warwick, ftain'd with blood,
Or Marlborough near the Danube's flood,
Have in their crimfon croffes glow'd;
But, on juft lawgivers beftow'd,
Thefe emblems Cecil did inveft,
And gleam'd on wife Godolphin's breast,

In after-times, as courts refin'd,

My guiltless Mufe his brow fhall bind
Whofe godlike bounty fpares mankind.
For thofe, whom bloody garlands crown,
The brafs may breathe, the marble frown,
To him through every refcued land,
Ten thousand living trophies ftand.

KENSINGTON GARDEN. "--Campos, ub Troja fuit." VIRG.

IFRE Kenfin tou, high o'er the neighbour.
ing ands

*Mic cens and fweets, a regal fabric, ftands,
And fees each fpring, luxuriant in her bowers,
A fnow of bloffoms, and a wild of flowers,
The dames of Britain oft in crowds repair
To gravel walks, and unpolluted air.
Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies,
They breathe in fun-fhine, and fee azure skies;
Each walk, with robes of various dyes befpread,
Seems from afar a moving tulip-bed,
Where rich brocades and gloffy damafks glow,
And chints, the rival of the showery bow.

Here England's daughter, darling of the land, Sometimes, furrounded with her virgin band, Gleams through the fhades. She, towering o'er

the rest.

Stands fairest of the fairer kind confeft, Form'd to gain hearts, that Brunswick's caufe deny'd,

And charm a people to her father's fide.

Long have thefe groves to royal guests been
known,

Nor Naffau first prefer'd them to a throne.
Ere Norman banners wav'd in British air;
Ere lordly Hubba with the golden hair
Pour'd in his Danes; ere elder Julius came;
Or Dardan Brutus gave our ifle a name;
A prince of Albion's lineage grac'd the wood,
The scene of wars, and ftain'd with lovers' blood.
You, who thro' gazing crowds, your captive
throng,

Throw pans and paffions as you move along,
Turn on your left, ye fair, your radient eyes,
Where all unlevel'd the gay garden lies:
If generous anguish for another's pains

Ere heav'd your hearts, or fhiver'd through your veins,

Look down attentive on the pleafing dale,
And liften to my melancholy tale.

That hollow fpace, where now in living rows
Line above line the yew's fad verdure grows,
Was, ere the planter's hand its beauty gave,
A common pit, a rude unfashion'd cave.
The landfkip now fo fweet the well may praife:
But far, far fweeter in its ancient days,
Far fweeter was it, when its peopled ground
With fair domes and dazzling towers was crown'd.
Where in the midft thofe verdant pillars fpring,
Rofe the proud palace of the Elfin king;
For every hedge of vegetable green,
In happier years a crowded ftreet was feen ;

Nor all thofe leaves that now the profpect grace,
Could match the numbers of its pygmy race,
What urg'd this mighty empire to its fate,
A tale of woe and wonder, I relate.

When Albion rul'd the land, whofe lineage came
From Neptune mingling with a mortal dame,
Their midnight pranks the fprightly fairies play'd
On every hill and danc'd in every fhade:
But, foes to fun-fhine, moft they took delight
In dells and dales conceal'd from human fight:
There hew'd their houfes in the arching rock;
Or fcoop'd the bofom of the blaßted oak;
The diftant murmurs of the falling rill.
Or heard, o'erfhadowed by fome shelving hill,
They, rich in pilfer'd spoils, indulg'd their mirth,
And pity'd the huge wretched fons of earth.
Ev'n now, 'tis fa.d, the hinds o'erhear their ftrain,
And ftrive to view their airy forms in vain:
They to their cells at man's approach repair,
Like the fhy leveret, or the mother-hare,
The whilft poor mortals ftartle at the found
Of unfeen footsteps on the haunted ground.

Amid this garden, then with weeds o'ergrown, Stood the lov'd feat of royal Oberon. From every region to his palace-gate Came peers and princes of the fairy state, Who, rank'd in council round the facred fhade,

Their monarch's will and great behefts obey'd From Thames' fair banks, by lofty towers adore'd, With loads of plunder oft their chiefs return'd: Hence in proud robes, and colours bright and gay, Shone every knight and every lovely fay. Whoe'er on Powell's dazzling stage difplay'd, Hath fam'd king Pepin and his Court furvey'd, May guefs, if old by modern things we trace, The pomp and fplendor of the fairy-race.

By magic fenc'd, by fpells encompafs'd round, No mortal touch'd this interdicted ground; No mortal enter'd, thofe alone who came Stol'n from the couch of fome terreftrial dame: For oft of babes they robb'd the matron's bed, And left fome fickly changeling in their flead.

it chanc'd a youth of Albion's royal blood Was fofter'd here, the wonder of the wood. Milkah for wiles above her peers renown'd, Deep-fkill'd in charms, and many a myftic found, As through the regal dome the fought for prey, Obferv'd the infant Albion where he lay In mantles broidered o'er with gorgeous pride, And stole him from the fleeping mother's fide.

Who now but Milkah triumphs in her mind! Ah, wretched nymph, to future evils blind! The time fhall come when thou shalt dearly pay The theft, hard-hearted, of that guilty day: Thou in thy turn, fhalt like the Queen repine, And all her forrows doubled fhall be thine: He who adorns thy houfe, the lovely boy Who now adorns it, fhall at length deftroy.

Two hundred moons in their pale courfe had

feen

The gay-rob'd fairies glimmer on the green, And Albion now had reach'd in youthful prime To nineteen years, as mortals measure time

Flub'd