Loofe and undreft all day fhe ftrays alone,
Does her abode and lov'd companions fhun,
In woods complains, and fighs in every grove,
The mournful tale of her forfaken love.
Her thoughts to all th' extremes of frenzy fly,
Vary, but cannot ease her mifery:
Whilft in her looks the lively forms appear,
Of envy, fondness, fury, and defpair.

Her rage no conftant face of forrow wears,
Oft fcornful fmiles fucceed loud fighs and tears;
Oft o'er her face the rifing blushes spread,
Her glowing eye-balls turn with fury red:
Then pale and wan her alter'd looks appear,
Paler than guilt, and drooping with despair.
A tide of paffions ebb and flow within,
And oft the fhifts the melancholy scene:
Does all th' excess of woman's fury show,
And yields a large variety of woe.

Now calm as infants at the mother's breaft,
Her grief in fofteft murmurs is expreft:
She fpeaks the tendereft things that pity move,
Kind are her looks, and languishing with love.
Then loud as ftorms, and raging as the wind,
She gives a loose to her diftemper'd mind:
With fhrieks and groans fhe fills the air around,
And makes the palace her loud grief refound.

Wild with her wrongs, fhe like a fury strays,
A fury, more than wife of Hercules:

Her motion, looks, and voice, proclaim her woes; While fighs, and broken words, her wilder thoughts

difclofe.

TO HIS PERJURED MISTRESS. "Nox erat, & cælo fulgebat luna fercno," &c.

ITA

was one evening, when the rifing moon Amidft her train of stars diftinctly shone; Serene and calm was the inviting night, And heaven appeared in all its luftre bright; When you, Neæra, you, my perjur'd fair, Did, to abufe the gods and me, prepare. 'Twas then you swore-remember, faithlefs maid, With what endearing arts you then betray'd: Remember all the tender things that past, When round my neck your willing arms were caft. The circling ivys, when the oaks they join, Seem loofe, and coy, to those fond arms of thine.

Believe, you cry'd, this folemn vow believe, The nobleft pledge that Love and I can give ; Or, if there's aught more facred here below, Let that confirm my oath to heaven and you. If e'er my breaft a guilty flame receives, Or covers joys but what thy prefence gives; May every injur'd power affert thy caufe, And Love avenge his violated laws: While cruel beafts of prey infeft the plain, And tempefts rage upon the faithless main; While fighs and tears fhall listening virgins move; So long, ye powers, will fond Neæra love.

Ah, faithless charmer, lovely perjur'd maid! Are thus my vows and generous flame repaid?

Repeated flights I have too tamely bore,
Still doated on, and ftill been wrong'd the more.
Why do I listen to that Syren's voice,
Love ev'n thy crimes, and fly to guilty joys?
Thy fatal eyes my best refolves betray,
My fury melts in foft defires away:

Each leok, each glance, for all thy crimes atone,
Elude my rage, and I'm again undone.

But if my injur'd foul dares yet be brave, Unless I'm fond of fhame, confirm'd a flave, I will be deaf to that enchanting tongue, Nor on thy beauties gaze away my wrong. At length I'll loath each prostituted grace, Nor court the leavings of a cloy'd embrace; But fhew, with manly rage, my foul 's above The cold returns of thy exhausted love. Then thou shalt justly mourn at my disdain, Find all thy arts and all thy charms in vain: Shalt mourn, whilft I, with nobler flames, pursue Some nymph as fair, though not unjust, as you; Whose wit and beauty fhall like thine excel, But far furpafs in truth, and loving well.

But wretched thou, whoe'er my rival art, That fondly boasts an empire o'er her heart; Thou that enjoy't the fair inconftant prize, And vainly triumph'it with my victories; Unenvy'd now, o'er all her beauties rove, Enjoy thy ruin, and Neæra's love: Though wealth and honors grace thy nobler birth, To brive her love, and fix a wandering faith; Though every grace and every virtue join, T'enrich thy mind, and make thy form divine: Yet bleft, with endless charms, too foon you'll prove The treacheries of falfe Neæra's love. Loft and abandon'd by th' ungrateful für. Like me you'll love, be injur'd and defpir. When left th' unhappy object of her scorn, Then fhall I fmile to fee the victor mourn, Laugh at thy fate, and triumph in my turn.

IMITATION OF HORACE. BOOK I. ODE XXII.

T

"Integer vitæ," &c.

HE man that 's uncorrupt, and free from guilt,
That the remorfe of fecret crimes n'er folt:
Whofe breaft was ne'er debauch'd with fin
But finds all calm, and all at peace within:
In his integrity fecure,

He fears no danger, dreads no power:
Ufelefs are arms for his defence,
That keeps a faithful guard of innocence.
II.

Secure the happy innocent may rove,

The care of every power above; Although unarm'd he wanders o'er The treacherous Libya's fands, and faithlefs fhore: Though o'er th' inhofpitable brows

Of favage Caucafus he goes; Through Africk's flames, thro' Scythia's fnows, Or where Hydapfes, fam'd for monfters, flows.

III.

D

Imitated from the Beginning of the Sixteenth
ILIAD of HOMER.

IVINE Achilles, with compaffion mov'd,
Thus to Patroclus fpake, his best-belov'd."
Why like a tender girl dost thou complain!
That ftrives to reach the mother's breast in vain;
Mourns by her fide, her knees embraces fast,
Hangs on her robes, and interrupts her hafte;
Yet, when with fondness to her arms the 's rais'd,
Still mourns and weeps, and will not be appeas'd!
Thus my Patroclus in his grief appears,
Thus like a froward girl profufe of tears.

From Phthia doft thou mournful tidings hear, And to thy friend fome fatal message bear? Thy valiant father (if we fame believe) The good Menætius, he is yet alive: And Peleus, though in his declining days,

Reigns o'er his Myrmidons in health and peace;

Yet, as their lateft obfequies we paid,
Thou mourn'ft them living, as already dead.

Or thus with tears the Grecian hoft deplore,
That with their navy perish on the fhore;
And with compaffion their misfortunes view,
The juft reward to guilt and falfehood due?
Impartial heaven avenges thus my wrong,
Nor fuffers crimes to go unpunifh'd long.
Reveal the cause fo much afflicts thy mind,
Nor thus conceal thy forrows from thy friend.

When, gently raifing up his drooping head,
Thus, with a figh, the fad Patroclus faid.
Godlike Achilles, Peleus' valiant fon!
Of all our chiefs, the greatest in renown;
Upbraid not thus th' afflicted with their woes,
Nor triumph now the Greeks sustain such loss!
To pity let thy generous breaft incline,
And fhow thy mind is like thy birth divine.
For all the valiant leaders of their hoft,
Or wounded lie, or are in battle loft.
Ulyffes great in arms, and Diomede,
Languish with wounds, and in the navy bleed:
This common fate great Agamemnon shares,
And fern Eurypylus, renown'd in wars.
Whilft powerful drugs th' experienc'd artists try,
And to their wounds apt remedies apply:
Eafing th' afflicted heroes with their skill,
Thy breaft alone remains implacable!

What, will thy fury thus for ever laft! Let prefent woes atone for injuries paft: How can thy foul retain fuch lafting hate! Thy virtues are as ufelefs as they 're great. What injur'd friend from thee fhall hope redrefs, That will not aid the Greeks in fuch diftrefsè Ufelefs is all the valor that you boast, Deform'd with rage, with fullen fury loft.

But, if thy boding breaft admits of fear, Or dreads what facred oracles declare! What awful Thetis in the courts above Receiv'd from the unerring mouth of Jove! If fo-let me the threatening dangers face, And head the warlike fquadrons in thy place: Whilft me thy valiant Myrmidons obey, We yet may turn the fortune of the day. Let me in thy diftinguish'd arms appear, With all thy dreadful equipage of war; That when the Trojans our approaches view, Deceiv'd, they fhall retreat, and think 'tis you.

Thus, from the rage of an infulting hoft, We may retrieve that fame the Greeks have loft; Vigorous and fresh, th' unequal fight renew, And from our navy force the drooping foe; O'er harrass'd men an eafy conqueft gain, And drive the Trojans to their walls again.

On the re-printing MILTON's Profe Works, with his POEMS, written in his PARADISE LOST.

TH

HESE facred lines with wonder we peruse, And praise the flights of a feraphic Muse, Till thy feditious profe provokes our rage, And foils the beauties of thy brightest page. Thus here we fee tranfporting scenes arife, Heaven's radiant hoft, and opening paradife; Then trembling view the dread abyfs beneath, Hell's horrid manfions, and the realms of death, Whilft here thy bold majestic numbers rise, And range th' embattled legions of the skies, With armies fill the azure plains of light, And paint the lively terrors of the fight, We own the poet worthy to rehearse Heaven's lafting triumphs in immortal verfe: But when thy impious mercenary pen Infults the beft of princes, beft of men, Our admiration turns to just disdain, And we revoke the fond applaufe again.

Like the fall'n angels in their happy state, Thou fhar'dft their nature, infolence, and fate: To harps divine, immortal hymns they fung, As fweet thy voice, as fweet thy lyre was strung. As they did rebels to th' Almighty grow, So thou prophan'ft his image here below. Apoftate bard! may not thy guilty ghost, Discover to its own eternal cost,

That as they heaven, thou paradife haft lost!

то

SIR HUMPHRY MACKWORTH,

on the Mines, late of Sir Carbery Price.

W

HAT fpacious veins enrich the British foil; The various ores, and skilful miner's toil; How ripening metals lie conceal'd in earth, And teeming Nature forms the wondrous birth; My useful verfe, the first, transmits to fame, In numbers tun'd, and no unhallow'd flame.

O generous Mackworth! could the Mufe impart A labour worthy thy aufpicious art; Like thee fucceed in paths untrod before, And fecret treasures of the land explore. Apollo's felf fhould on the labor fimile, And Delphos quit for Britain's fruitful ifle. Where fair Sabrina flows around the coaft, And aged Dovey in the ocean 's loft, Her lofty brows unconquer'd Britain rears, And fenc'd with rocks impregnable appears: Which like the well-fix'd bars of Nature show, To guard the treasures fhe conceals below. For earth, diftorted with her pregnant womb, Heaves up to give the forming embryo room: Hence vaft excrefcences of hills arife, And mountains fwell to a portentous fize. Louring and black the rugged coaft appears, The fullen earth a gloomy surface wears; Yet all beneath, deep as the centre, fhines With native wealth, and more than India's mines,

Thus erring Nature her defects fupplies, Indulgent oft to what her fons defpife: Oft in a rude, unfinish'd form, we find The nobleft treasure of a generous mind.

Thrice happy land! from whofe indulgent womb,
Such unexhaufted ftores of riches come !
By heaven belov'd! form'd by aufpicious fate,
To be above thy neighbouring nations great!
Its golden fands no more fhall Tagus boast,
In Dovey's flood his rival'd empire 's loft;
Whose waters now a nobler fund maintain,
To humble France, and check the pride of Spain,
Like Egypt's Nile the bounteous current shows,
Difperfing bleffings wherefoe'er it flows;
Whofe native treafure 's able to repair
The long expences of our Gallic war.

The ancient Britons are a hardy race,
Averfe to luxury and flothful eafe;
Their necks beneath a foreign yoke ne'er bow'd,
In war unconquer'd, and of freedom proud;
With minds refolv'd they lafting toils endure,
Unmix'd their language, and their manners pure.
Wifely does Nature fuch an offspring chufe,
Brave to defend her wealth, and flow to use.
Where thirst of empire ne'er inflames their veins,
Nor avarice, nor wild ambition reigns:
But, low in mines, they conftant toils renew,
And through the earth their branching veins purfuc
As when fome navy on th' Iberian coast,
Chac'd by the winds, is in the ocean loft;
To Neptune's realms a new fupply it brings,
The ftrength defign'd of European kings:
Contending divers would the wreck regain,
And make reprisals on the grafping main:
Wild in purfuit they are endanger'd more,
Than when they combated the ftorms before.
The miner thus through perils digs his way,
Equal to theirs, and deeper than the fea;
Drawing, in peftilential fteams, his breath,
Refolv'd to conquer though he combats death.
Night's gloomy realms his pointed steel invades,
The courts of Pluto, and infernal shades:

He cuts through mountains, fubterraneous lakes,
Plying his work, each nervous stroke he takes
Loofens the earth, and the whole cavern fhakes.
Thus, with his brawny arms, the Cyclops ftands,
To form Jove's lightning with uplifted hands;
The ponderous hammer with a force defcends,
Loud as the thunder which his art intends;
And as he strikes, with each refiftless blow
The anvil yields, and Ætna groans below,

Thy fam'd inventions, Mackworth, most adorn
The miner's art, and make the best return:
Thy speedy fails, and useful engines, show
A genius richer than the mines below.
Thousands of flaves unfkill'd Peru maintains ;
The hands that labour ftill exhauft the gains:
The winds, thy flaves, their useful fuccour join,
Convey thy ore, and labour at thy mine;
Inftructed by thy arts, a power they find
To vanquish realms, where once they lay confin'd.

Downward, my Mufe, direct thy steepy flight,
Where fmiling fhades and beauteous realms invite
I first of British bards invoke thee down,
And first with wealth thy graceful temples crown.
Through

Through dark retreats pursue the winding ore,
Search Nature's depths, and view her boundless fore;
The fecret caufe in tuneful measures fing,
How metals firft are fram'd, and whence they fpring.
Whether the active fun, with chemic flames,
Through porous earth transmits his genial beams;
With heat impregnating the womb of night,
The offspring fhines with its paternal light :
On Britain's ifle propitiously he fhines,
With joy defcends, and labours in her mines.
Or whether, urg'd by fubterraneous flames,
The earth ferments, and flows in liquid streams;
Purg'd from their drofs, the nobler parts refine,
Receive new forms, and with fresh beauties thine.
Thus fluid parts, unknowing how to burn,
With cold congeal'd, to folid metals turn:
For metals only from devouring flame
Preferve their beauty, and return the fame;
Both art and force the well-wrought mass disdains,
And 'midst the fire its native form retains.
Or whether by creation first they fprung,
When yet unpois'd the world's great fabric hung:
Metals the basis of the earth were made,
The bars on which its fix'd foundation's laid:
All fecond caufes they difdain to own,
And from th' Almighty's Fiat fprung alone.

Nature in fpacious beds preferves her store,
And keeps unmix'd the well-compacted ore;
The fpreading root a numerous race maintains
Of branching limbs, and far-extended veins :
Thus, from its watery ftore, a spring fupplies
The leffer streams that round its fountain rife;
Which bounding out in fair meanders play,
And o'er the meads in different currents ftray.

Methinks I fee the rounded metal spread, To be ennobled with our monarch's head: About the globe th' admired coin shall run, And make the circle of its parent fun.

How are thy realms, triumphant Britain, bleft!
Enrich'd with more than all the distant weft!
Thy fons, no more betray'd with hopes of gain,
Shall tempt the dangers of a faithlefs main,
Traffic no more abroad for foreign fpoil,
Supplied with richer from their native foil.
To Dorey's flood fhall numerous traders come,
Employ'd to fetch the British bullion home.
To pay their tributes to its bounteous fhore,
Returning laden with the Cambrian ore.
Her abfent fleet Poto's race shall mourn,
And with in vain to fee our fails return;
Like mifers heaping up their ufeless store,
Starv'd with their wealth, amidst their riches poor.
Where-e'er the British banners are difplay'd,
The fuppliant nations shall implore our aid:
Till, thus compell'd, the greater world confefs
Themfelves oblig'd, and fuccour'd by the lefs.
How Cambria's mines were to her offspring known,
Thus facred verfe tranfmits the story down:
Merlin, a bard of the infpired train,

With mystic numbers charm'd the British plain;
Belov'd by Phebus, and the tuneful Nine,
His fong was facred, and his art divine:
As on Sabrina's fruitful banks he stood,
His wondrous verfe reftrain'd the liftening flood;
The ftream's bright Goddefs rais'd her awful head,
And to her cave the artful fhepherd led.

Her fwift-defcending steps the youth pursues,
And rich in ore the fpacious mountain views.
In beds diftinét the well rang'd metals lay,
Difperfing rays, and counterfeiting day.
The filver, fhedding beams of orient light,
Struck with too fierce a glare his aking fight;
Like rifing flames the ruddy copper show'd,
And spread its blushes o'er the dark abode:
Profufe of rays, and with unrival'd beams,
The liquid filver flow'd in restless streams:
Nor India's sparkling gems are half so bright,
Nor waves above, that shine with heavenly light;
When thus the Goddess fpake: Harmonious Youth,
Rever'd for numbers fraught with facred truth!
Belov'd by heaven! attend while I relate
The fix'd decree, and dark events of fate.
Conceal'd these treasures lie in Nature's womb,
For future times, and ages yet to come.
When many long revolving years are run,
A hero fhall afcend the British throne,
Whofe numerous triumphs fhall Augusta grace,
In arms renown'd, ador'd for plenteous peace.
Beneath his fway a generous youth fhall rife,
With virtues bleft, in happy councils wife;
Rich with the spoils of Learning's various store,
Commanding arts, yet ftill acquiring more.
He, with fuccefs, fhall enter this abode,
And nature trace in paths before untrod;
The fmiling offspring from her womb remove,
And with her entrails glad the realms above.

O youth referv'd by more aufpicious fate,
With fam'd improvements to oblige the state!
By wars impoverish'd, Albion mourns no more,
Thy well-wrought mines forbid her to be poor:
The earth, thy great exchequer, ready lies,
Which all defect of failing funds fupplies;
Thou shalt a nation's preffing wants relieve,
Not war can lavish more than thou can't give.
This, Mackworth, fixes thy immortal name,
The Mufe's darling, and the boaft of fame;
No greater virtues on record fhall ftand,
Than thus with arts to grace, with wealth enrich the
land.

OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

N

BOOK THE SECOND *.

OW Io Pean fing! now wreaths prepare!
And with repeated Ios fill the air:

The prey is fall'n in my fuccefsful toils,
My artful nets inclofe the lovely spoils:
My numbers now, ye fmiling lovers, crown,
And make your poet 'deathlefs in renown:
With lafting fame my verfe fhall be inroll'd,
And I preferr'd to all the Bars of old.
Thus Paris from the warlike Spartans bore
Their ravish'd bride, to Ida's distant fhore.
Victorious Pelops thus in triumph drove
The vanquish'd maid, and thus enjoy'd his love.