On his falling in Love with Neæra.
AREWELL that liberty our fathers gave,
In vain they gave, their fons receiv'd in vain :
I faw Neæra, and her instant slave,
Though born a Briton, hugg'd the fervile chain.
Her ufage well repays my coward heart,
Meanly fhe triumphs in her lover's shame,
No healing joy relieves his constant smart,
No fmile of love rewards the lofs of fame.
Oh, that to feel these killing pangs no more,
On Scythian hills I lay a fenfeless stone,
Was fix'd a rock amidst the watery roar,
And in the vast Atlantic stood alone.
Adieu, ye Muses, or my paffion aid,
Why should I loiter by your idle fpring?
My humble voice would move one only maid,
And the contemns the trifles which I fing.
I do not ask the lofty Epic ftrain,
Nor strive to paint the wonders of the sphere;
I only fing one cruel maid to gain,
Adieu, ye Mufes, if she will not hear.
No more in useless innocence I'll pine,
Since guilty presents win the greedy fair,
I'll tear its honours from the broken fhrine,
But chiefly thine, O Venus! will I tear.
Deceiv'd by thee, I lov❜d a beauteous maid,
Who bends on fordid gold her low defires :
Nor worth nor paffion can her heart perfuade,
But Love must act what Avarice requires.
Unwife who firft, the charm of nature loft,
With Tyrian purple foil'd the fnowy sheep;
Unwifer still who feas and mountains croft,
To dig the rock, and search the pearly deep:
These coftly toys our filly fair surprise,
The fhining follies cheat their feeble fight,
Their hearts fecure in trifles, love despise,
'Tis vain to court them, but more vain to write.
Why did the gods conceal the little mind
And earthly thoughts beneath a heavenly face;
Forget the worth that dignifies mankind,
Yet fmooth and polish fo each outward grace?
Hence all the blame that Love and Venus bear,
Hence pleasure short, and anguish ever long,
Hence tears and fighs, and hence the peevish fair,
The froward lover-hence this angry fong.
Unable to fatisfy the covetous Temper of Neæra, he intends to make a Campaign, and try, if poffible, to forget her.
DIEU, ye walls, that guard my cruel fair,
No more I'll fit in rosy fetters bound,
My limbs have learnt the weight of arms to bear,
My roufing fpirits feel the trumpet's found.
Few are the maids that now on merit fmile,
On spoil and war is bent this iron age:
Yet pain and death attend on war and spoil,
Unfated vengeance and remorseless rage.
To purchase spoil, ev'n love itself is fold,
Her lover's heart is leaft Neæra's care,
And I through war must seek detested gold,
Not for myself, but for my venal fair :
That while the bends beneath the weight of dress,
The stiffen'd robe may spoil her easy mien ;
And art mistaken make her beauty lefs,
While ftill it hides fome graces better feen.
But if fuch toys can win her lovely fmile,
Hers be the wealth of Tagus' golden fand,
Hers the bright gems that glow in India's foil,
Hers the black fons of Afric's fultry land.
To please her eye let every
For her be rifled Ocean's pearly bed.
But where, alas! would idle fancy tend,
And footh with dreams a youthful poet's head?
Let others buy the cold unloving maid,
In forc'd embraces act the tyrant's part,
While I their selfish luxury upbraid,
And fcorn the person where I doubt the heart.
Thus warm'd by pride, I think I love no more,
And hide in threats the weakness of my mind:
In vain, though Reason fly the hated door,
Yet Love, the coward Love, still lags behind.
He upbraids and threatens the Avarice of Neæra, and refolves to quit her.
HOULD Jove defcend in floods of liquid ore, And golden torrents ftream from every part, That craving bosom still would heave for more, Not all the gods could fatisfy thy heart: But may thy folly, which can thus difdain My honest love, the mighty wrong repay, May midnight fire involve thy fordid gain, And on the shining heaps of rapine prey : May all the youths, like me, by love deceiv'd, Not quench the ruin, but applaud the doom; And, when thou dy'ft, may not one heart be griev'd, May not one tear bedew the lonely tomb.
But the deferving, tender, generous maid,
Whofe only care is her poor lover's mind,
Though ruthless age may bid her beauty fade,
In every friend to love, a friend shall find:
And, when the lamp of life will burn no more,
When dead she seems as in a gentle sleep,
The pitying neighbour shall her lofs deplore,
And round the bier affembled lovers weep:
With flowery garlands, each revolving year,
Shall ftrow the grave where truth and softness reft,
Then home returning, drop the pious tear,
And bid the turf lie eafy on her breast.
ELE GY IV.
To his Friend, written under the Confinement of a long Indifpofition.
Wand lofe in pleafing thought the fummer-day,
HILE calm you fit beneath your secret shade,
Or tempt the wish of fome unpractis'd maid,
Whose heart at once inclines and fears to stray:
The sprightly vigour of my youth is fled,
Lonely and fick on death is all my thought,
Oh, fpare, Perfephone, this guiltless head,
Love, too much love, is all thy fuppliant's fault.
No virgin's easy faith I e'er betray'd,
My tongue ne'er boasted of a feign'd embrace;
No poisons in the cup have I convey'd,
Nor veil'd deftruction with a friendly face:
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