The thoughts and counsels proper to declare,
Nor god nor mortal shall before thee share:
But, what my secret wisdom shall ordain,
Think not to reach, for know the thought were
vain."
"Dread Saturn's son, why so severe ?" replies The goddess of the large majestic eyes.
"Thy own dark thoughts at pleasure hide, or show;
Ne'er have I ask'd, nor now aspire to know.
Nor yet my fears are vain, nor came unseen
To thy high throne, the silver-footed queen,
Daughter of him, who low beneath the tides
Aged and hoary in the deep resides.
Thy nod assures me she was not deny'd:
And Greece must perish for a madman's pride."
To whom the god, whose hand the tempest
Drives clouds on clouds, and blackens Heaven with storms,
Thus wrathful answer'd: "Dost thou still complain?
Perplex'd for ever, and perplex'd in vain!
Should'st thou disclose the dark event to come!
How wilt thou stop the irrevocable doom!
This serves the more to sharpen my disdain;
And woes foreseen but lengthen out thy pain.
Be silent then. Dispute not my command;
Nor tempt the force of this superior hand :
Lest all the gods, around thee leagu'd, engage
In vain to shield thee from my kindled rage."
Mute and abash'd she sat without reply,
And downward turn'd her large majestic eye,
Nor further durst the offended sire provoke:
The gods around him trembled, as he spoke.
When Vulcan, for his mother sore distress'd,
Turn'd orator, and thus his speech addrest;
"Hard is our fate, if men of mortal line
Stir up debate among the powers divine,
If things on Earth disturb the blest abodes,
And mar th' ambrosial banquet of the gods!
Then let my mother once be rul'd by me,
Though much more wise than I pretend to be:
Let me advise her silent to obey,
And due submission to our father pay.
Nor force again his gloomy rage to rise,
Ill-tim'd, and damp the revels of the skies.
For should he toss her from th' Olympian hill,
Who could resist the mighty monarch's will?
Then thou to love the Thunderer reconcile,
And tempt him kindly on us all to smile,"
He said and in his tottering hands upbore
A double goblet, fill'd, and foaming o'er.
"Sit down, dear mother, with a heart content,
Nor urge a more disgraceful punishment,
Which if great Jove inflict, poor I, dismay'd,
Must stand aloof, nor dare to give thee aid.
Great Jove shall reign for ever, uncontroll❜d:
Remember, when I took thy part of old,
Caught by the heel he swung me round on high,
And headlong hurl'd me from th' ethereal sky:
From morn to noon I fell, from noon to night;
Till pitch'd on Lemnos, a most piteous sight,
The Sintians hardly could my breath recall,
Giddy and gasping with the dreadful fall."
She smil'd: and, smiling, her white arm dis
To reach the bowl her awkward son convey'd.
From right to left the generous bowl he crown'd,
And dealt the rosy nectar fairly round.
The gods laugh'd out, unweary'd, as they spy'd
The busy skinker hop from side to side.
Thus, feasting to the full, they pass'd away,
In blissful banquets, all the livelong day.
Nor wanted melody. With heavenly art
The Muses sung; each Muse perform'd her part,
Alternate warbling; while the golden lyre,
Touch'd by Apollo, led the vocal choir.
The Sun at length declin'd, when every guest
Sought his bright palace, and withdrew to rest;
Each had his palace on th' Olympian hill,
A masterpiece of Vulcan's matchless skill.
Ev'n he, the god, who Heaven's great sceptre sways,
And frowns amid the lightning's dreadful blaze,
His bed of state ascending, lay compos'd;
His eyes a sweet refreshing slumber clos'd;
And at his side, all glorious to behold,
Was Juno lodg'd in her alcove of gold.
ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON.
IF, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stay'd,
And left her debt to Addison unpaid,
Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan,
And judge, Oh judge, my bosom by your own.
What mourner ever felt poetic fires!
Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires:
Grief unaffected suits but ill with art,
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.
Can I forget the dismal night that gave
My soul's best part for ever to the grave !
How silent did his old companions tread,
By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead,
Through breathing statues, then unheeded things,
Through rows of warriors, and through walks of
kings!
What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire;
The pealing organ, and the pausing choir;
The duties by the lawn-rob'd prelate pay'd;
And the last words that dust to dust convey'd !
While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend,
Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend.
Oh, gone for ever; take this long adieu;
And sleep in peace, next thy lov'd Montague.
To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine,
A frequent pilgrim, at thy sacred shrine;
Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan,
And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone.
If e'er from me thy lov'd memorial part,
May shame afflict this alienated heart;
Of thee forgetful if I form a song,
My lyre be broken, and untun'd my tongue,
My grief be doubled from thy image free,
And mirth a torment, unchastis'd by thee.
Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,
Sad luxury to vulgar minds unknown,
Along the walls where speaking marbles show
What worthies form the hallow'd mould below;
Proud names, who once the reins of empire held;
In arms who triumph'd; or in arts excell'd;
Chiefs, grac'd with scars, and prodigal of blood;
Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood;
Just men, by whom impartial laws were given;
And saints who taught, and led the way to Heaven;
Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest,
Since their foundation, came a nobler guest;
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss convey'd
A fairer spirit or more welcome shade.
In what new region, to the just assign'd, What new employments please th' unbody'd A winged Virtue, through th' ethereal sky, [mind? From world to world unweary'd does he fly?
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