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When Athens finks by fates unjust,
When wild Barbarians (purn her duft;
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore
Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore ;
See Arts her favage fons control,
And Athens rising near the pole!
Till some new Tyrant lifts his purple hand,
And civil madness tears them from the land.
ANTIS TROPHE II.
Ye Gods! what justice rules the ball !
Freedom and Arts together fall;
Fools grant whate'er Ambition craves,
And men, once ignorant, are Naves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,
In every age,
Still, when the lust of tyrapt power succeeds,
Some Athens perishes, fome Tully bleeds.
CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.
Ou Tyrant Love! haft thou pofleft
The prudent, learn’d, and virtuous breast?
Wisdom and Wit in vain reclaim,
And Arts but foften us to feel thy flame.
Love, soft intruder, enters here,
But entering learns to be fincere.
Marcus with blushes owns he loves,
And Brutus tenderly reproves.
Why, Virtue, doft thou blame desire,
Which Nature has imprest?
Why, Nature, doft thou foonelt fire
The mild and generous breast ?
Love's purer flames the Gods approve ;
The Gods and Brutus bend to Love :
Brutus for abfent Porcia sighs,
And fterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes.
What is loose love? a transient gust,
Spent in a sudden storm of lust,
A vapour fed from wild desire,
A wandering, self-consuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder flames unite;
And burn for ever one ;
Chafte as cold Cynthia's virgin light,
Productive as the Sun.
Oh source of every
United wish, and mutual joy!
What various joys on one attend,
As son, as father, brother, husband, friend?
Whether his hoary fire he spies,
While thousand grateful thoughts arise ;
Or meets his spouse's fonder eye;
Or views his smiling progeny;
What tender passions take their turns,
What home-felt raptures move!
His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,
With reverence, hope, and love.
Hence guilty joys, diftaltes, surmizes,
Hence false tears, deceits, disguises,
Dangers, doubts, delays, surprizes ;
Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine :
Purest love's unwasting treasure,
Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure;
Days of ease, and nights of pleasure ;
Sacred Hymen! these are thine.
Written when the Author was about Twelve Years old.
APPY the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire,
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire. Blest, who can unconcern’dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away, In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day. Sound sleep by night ; study and ease,
Together mix'd; sweet recreation ; And innocence, which most does please
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
TITAL spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame :
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying !
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.
Hark! they whisper; Angels say,
Sister Spirit, come away.
What is this abforbs me quite ?
Steals my fenfes, Thuts
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death ?
The world recedes; it disappears !
Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring :
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount! I fly!
O Grave ! where is thy Victory?
O Death! where is thy Sting?
Written in the Year MDCCIX*.
“ Si quid novisti re&tius iftis, “ Candidus imperti; fi non, his utere mecum."
* Mr. Pope told me himself, that the “ Essay on « Criticism" was indeed written in 1707, though said 1709 by mistake.