Or if invok'd, where Thames's fruitful tides,
Slow through the vale in filver volumes play ;
Now your own Phoebus o'er the month prefides,
Gives Love the night, and doubly gilds the day:
Thither, indulgent to my prayer,
Ye bright harmonious nymph repair,
To fwell the notes I feebly raise :
So with infpiring ardors warm'd,
May Gower's propitious car be charm'd,
To listen to my lays.
Beneath the Pole on hills of fnow,
Like Thracian Mars, th' undaunted Swede
To dint of fword defies the foe;
In fight unknowing to recede:
From Volga's banks, th' imperious Czar
Leads forth his furry troops to war;
Fond of the softer southern sky:
The Soldan gauls th' Illyrian coaft;
But foon the miscreant moony host,
Before the victor-crofs fhall fly.
But here, no clarion's fhrilling note
The Mufe's green retreat can pierce;
The grove, from noify camps remote,
Is only vocal with my verse :
Here, wing'd with innocence and joy,
Let the foft hours that o'er me fly
Y 2
Drop freedom, health, and gay defires :
While the bright Seine, t' exalt the foul,
With sparkling plenty crowns the bowl;
And wit and focial mirth inspires.
Enamour'd of the Seine, celestial fair,
(The blooming pride of Thetis' azure train)
Bacchus, to win the nymph who caus'd his care,
Lash'd his fwift tigers to the Celtic plain :
There fecret in her fapphire cell,
He with the Nais wont to dwell;
Leaving the nectar'd feasts of Jove:
And where her mazy waters flow,
He gave the mantling vine, to grow
A trophy to his love,
Shall man from Nature's fanction ftray,
With blind Opinion for his guide;
And, rebel to her rightful fway,
Leave all her bounties unenjoy'd?
Fool! Time no change of motion knows ;
With equal speed the torrent flows,
To fweep Fame, Power, and Wealth away :
The paft is all by Death poffefs'd;
And frugal Fate that guards the rest,
By giving, bids him live, to-day.
O Gower! through all that destin'd space
What breath the powers allot to me,
Shall fing the virtues of thy race
United, and complete in thee.
O flower of anicent English faith,
Pursue th' unbeaten patriot-path,
In which confirm'd thy father fhone :
The light his fair example gives,
Already from thy dawn receives
A luftre equal to its own.
Honour's bright dome, on lafting columns rear'd,
Nor envy rufts, nor rolling years confume;
Loud pæans echoing round the roof are hear'd,
And clouds of incense all the void perfume.
There Phocion, Lælius, Capel, Hyde,
With Falkland feated near his fide,
Fix'd by the Mufe the temple grace:
Prophetic of thy happier fame,
She, to receive thy radiant name,
Selects a whiter space.
Imitated from PROPERTIUS, Book iii. Elegy iii.
O green retreats, that shade the Mufes' stream,
My fancy lately bore me in a dream;
Fir'd with ambitious zeal, my harp I ftrung,
And Blenheim's field, and fam'd Ramillia fung:
Faft by that fpring, where Spenfer fat of old,
And great exploits in lofty numbers told.
Phœbus in his Castalian grotto laid,
O'er which a laurel caft her filken fhade,
Spy'd me, and haftily when first he spy'd,
Thus, leaning on his golden lyre, he cry'd:
What ftrange ambition has misplac'd thee there?
Forbear to fing of arms, alas forbear!
Form'd in a gentler mould, henceforth employ
Thy pen to paint the fofter scenes of joy.
Thy works may thus the myrtle garland wear,
Prefer'd to grace the toilets of the fair :
When their lov'd youths at night too long delay,
In reading thee they'll pafs the hours away :
And, when they'd make their melting wishes known,
Repeat thy paffion to reveal their own.
Then hafte, the fafer fhallows to regain,
Nor dare the stormy dangers of the main.
Ceafing with this reproof, the friendly god,
A moffy path, but lightly beaten, show'd:
A cave there was, which Nature's hand alone
Had arch'd with greens of various kinds o'ergrown ;
With tymbrels all the vaulted roofs were grac'd,
And earthen gods on either fide were plac'd.
Silenus, and the Mufes virgin-train,
Stood here, with Pan the poet of the plain :
Elfewhere the doves of Cytherea's team,
Were feen to fip the sweet Caftalian stream.
Nine lovely nymphs a feveral task purfued,
For ivy one was fent to fearch the wood;
This to foft numbers join'd harmonious airs,
And fragrant rofy wreaths a third prepares.
Me thus the bright Calliope address'd
(Her name the brightness of her form confefs'd):
The filver fwans of Venus wait to bear,
Thee fafe in pomp along the liquid air.
Pleas'd with thy peaceful province, ftrait recall
Thy rash design to fing the wounded Gaul.
Harsh founds the trumpet in the Muses' grove,
But fweet the lute, the lute is fit for love.
No more rehearse the Danube's purple stream,
Let love for ever be the tender theme.
And in thy verfe reveal the moving art,
To melt an haughty nymph's relentless heart,
The goddefs ceafing, to confirm me more,
My face with hallow'd drops fhe fprinkled o'er ;
Fetch'd from the fountain, by whofe flowery fide,
Soft Waller fung of Sacharifla's pride.
To the Right Honourable the Lady
MARGARET CAVENDISH HARLEY.
WITH THE POEMS OF MR. WALLER.
LET others boaft the nine Aonian maids,
Infpiring ftreams, and fweet refounding fhades;
Where Phoebus heard the rival bards rehearse,
And bade the laurels learn the lofty verfe.
In vain! Nor Phoebus, nor the boafted Nine,
Inflame the raptur'd foul with rays divine:
None but the fair infufe the facred fire,
And love with vocal art informs the lyre.
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