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EPISTLE TO DAMON AND DELIA, 153
Say, Delia, must I chide you or commend ?
your fatterer or your friend?
35 Whose vain, loose life, should caution or disgust;
Him to dislike, whose modelt worth lould please.-
SEE female vice and female folly here,
Raillied with wit polite, or lash'd severe : Let Pope present such objects to our view; Such are, my fair, the full reverse of you. Rapt when, to Loddon's stream * from Windsor's shades,
5 He sings the modest charms of sylvan maids; Dear Burford's hills in memory's eye appear, And Luddal's spring § still murmurs in my ear:
* Alluding to the beautiful Episode of Loddona, in Windsor Forest.
§ A spring near Burford,
But when you cease to bless my longing eyes,
LONG a lov'd fair had bless d her conforto fight
With amorous pride, and undisturb’d delight; Till Death, grown envious with repugnant aim, Frown'd at their joys, and urg'd a tyrant's claim.
He fummons each disease !--the noxious crew,
5 Writhing; in dire distortions, strike his view! From various plagues, which various natures know, Forth rulhes beauty's fear'd and fervent foe. Fierce to the fair, the missile mischief flies, The fanguine streams in raging ferments rise ! It drives, ignipotent, through every vein, Hangs on the heart, and burns around the brain ! Now a chill damp the charmer's lustre dims !
Sad o'er her eyes the livid languor swims ! · Her eyes, that with a glance could joy inspire, 15 Like setting stars, scarce shoot a glimmering fire.
Here stands her confort, sore, with anguil, preft, Grief in his eye, and terror in his breast, The Paphian Graces, smit with anxious care, In silent forrow weep the waining fair. Eight suns, fuccellive, roll their fire away, And eight flow nights see their deep Mades decay. While these revolve, though mute each Muse appears, Each speaking eye drops eloquence in tears. On the ninth noon, great Phæbus, listening bends ! 25 On the ninth noon, each voice in prayer ascends! Great God of light,, of song, and physic's ait, Restore the languid fair, new soul impart ! Her beauty, wit, and virtue, claim thy care, And thine own bounty's almost rival'd there.
30 Each paus'
s'd. The God allents. Would Death ad.
vance ? Phæbus, unseen, arrests the threatening lance !
Down from his orb a vivid influence streams,
O MY lovd Hill,
O thou by heaven design?d
If worldly friendhips oft cement, divide,