HENRY. SINCERE, O tell me, hast thou felt a pain, Hast thou now dreaded, and now blest his sway, EMMA. What is our bliss, that changeth with the Moon; And day of life, that darkens ere 'tis noon? What is true passion, if unblest it dies? And where is Emma's joy, if Henry flics? If love, alas! be pain; the pain I bear No thought can figure, and no tongue declare. Ne'er faithful woman felt, nor false one feign'd, The flames which long have in my bosom reign'd: The god of love himself inhabits there, With all his rage, and dread, and grief, and care, His complement of stores, and total war. O! cease then coldly to suspect my love; And let my deed at least my faith approve. Alas! no youth shall my endearments share; Nor day nor night shall interrupt my care; No future story shall with truth upbraid The cold indifference of the Nut-brown Maid; Nor to hard banishment shall Henry run, While careless Emma sleeps on beds of down. View me resolv'd, where'er thou lead'st, to go, Friend to thy pain, and partner of thy woe; For I attest, fair Venus and her son, That I, of all mankind, will love but thee alone. HENRY. Let prudence yet obstruct thy venturous way; And take good heed, what men will think and say; That beauteous Emma vagrant courses took; Her father's house and civil life forsook ; That, full of youthful blood, and fond of man, She to the wood-land with an exile ran. Reflect, that lessen'd fame is ne'er regain'd, And virgin honour, once, is always stain'd: Timely advis'd, the coming evil shun: Better not do the deed, than weep it done. No penance can absolve our guilty fame; Nor tears, that wash out sin, can wash out shame. Then fly the sad effects of desperate love, And leave a banish'd man through lonely woods to rove. EMMA. Let Emma's hapless case be falsely told By the rash young, or the ill-natur'd old: Let every tongue its various censures choose ; Absolve with coldness, or with spite accuse: Fair Truth, at last, her radiant beams will raise; And Malice vanquish'd heightens Virtue's praise. Let then thy favour but indulge my flight; O! let my presence make thy travels light; And potent Venus shall exalt my name Above the rumours of censorious Fame; Nor from that busy demon's restless power Will ever Emma other grace implore, Than that this truth should to the world be known, That I, of all mankind, have lov'd but thee alone. HENRY. But canst thou wield the sword, and bend the bow? With active force repel the sturdy foe? When the loud tumult speaks the battle nigh, And winged deaths in whistling arrows fly; Wilt thou, though wounded, yet undaunted stay, Perform thy part, and share the dangerous day? Then, as thy strength decays, thy heart will fail, Thy limbs all trembling, and thy checks all pale; With fruitless sorrow, thou, inglorious maid, Wilt weep thy safety by thy love betray'd: Then to thy friend, by foes o'er-charg'd, deny Thy little useless aid, and coward fly: Then wilt thou curse the chance that made thee love A banish'd man, condemn'd in lonely woods to rove, EMMA. With fatal certainty Thalestris knew Near thee, mistrust not, constant I'll abide, To stop the wounds, my finest lawn I'd tear, HENRY. But canst thou, tender maid, canst thou sustain Afflictive want, or hunger's pressing pain? Those limbs, in lawn and softest silk array'd, From sun-beams guarded, and of winds afraid, Can they bear angry Jove? can they resist The parching dog-star, and the bleak north-east? When, chill'd by adverse snows and beating rain, We tread with weary steps the longsome plain; When with hard toil we seek our evening food, Berries and acorns from the neighbouring wood; And find among the cliffs no other house But the thin covert of some gather'd boughs; Wilt thou not then reluctant send thine eye Around the dreary waste, and, weeping, try (Though then, alas! that trial be too late) To find thy father's hospitable gate, And seats, where ease and plenty brooding sate? Those seats, whence long excluded thou must That gate, for ever barr'd to thy return: [mourn; Wilt thou not then bewail ill-fated love, And hate a banish'd man, condemn'd in woods to rove? EMMA. Thy rise of fortune did I only wed, From its decline determin'd to recede; Did I but purpose to embark with thee On the smooth surface of a summer's sea; While gentle Zephyrs play in prosperous gales, And Fortune's favour fills the swelling sails; But would forsake the ship, and make the shore, When the winds whistle, and the tempests roar? No, Henry, no one sacred oath has tied Our loves: one destiny our life shall guide; Nor wild nor deep our common way divide. When from the cave thou risest with the day, To beat the woods, and rouse the bounding prey; The cave with moss and branches I'll adorn, And cheerful sit, to wait my lord's return : And, when thou frequent bring'st the smitten deer, (For seldom, archers say, thy arrows err) I'll fetch quick fuel from the neighbouring wood, And strike the sparkling flint, and dress the food; With humble duty, and officious haste, I'll cull the furthest mead for thy repast; The choicest herbs I to thy board will bring, And draw thy water from the freshest spring : And, when at night with weary toil opprest, Soft slumbers thou enjoy'st, and wholesome rest, Watchful I'll guard thee, and with midnight prayer Weary the gods to keep thee in their care; And joyous ask, at morn's returning ray, If thou hast health, and I may bless the day. My thoughts shall fix, my latest wish depend, On thee, guide, guardian, kinsman, father, friend: By all these sacred names be Henry known To Emma's heart; and grateful let him own That she, of all mankind, could love but him alone! HENRY. Vainly thou tell'st me, what the woman's care Shall in the wildness of the wood prepare: Thou, ere thou goest, unhappiest of thy kind, Must leave the habit and the sex behind. No longer shall thy comely tresses break In flowing ringlets on thy snowy neck; Or sit behind thy head, an ample round, In graceful braids with various ribbon bound: No longer shall the bodice aptly lac'd, From thy full bosom to thy slender waist, That air and harmony of shape express, Fine by degrees, and beautifully less: Nor shall thy lower garments' artful plait, From thy fair side dependent to thy feet, Arm their chaste beauties with a modest pride, And double every charm they seek to hide. Th' ambrosial plenty of thy shining hair, Cropt off and lost, scarce lower than thy ear Shall stand uncouth: a horseman's coat shall hide Thy taper shape, and comeliness of side: The short trunk-hose shall show thy foot and knee Licentious, and to common eye-sight free : And, with a bolder stride and looser air, Mingled with men, a man thou must appear. Nor solitude, nor gentle peace of mind, Made bold by want, and prostitute for bread: The ill-bred question, and the lewd reply; Now, Emma, now the last reflection make, What thou would'st follow, what thou must for O grief of heart! that our unhappy fates Our outward act is prompted from within; For thee: my clothes, my sex, exchang'd for theer O line extreme of human infamy! My fate I can absolve, if he shall own O wildest thoughts of an abandon'd mind! Wild to the woods with me: said Emma so? Or did I dream what Emma never said? O guilty errour! and O wretched maid! Whose roving fancy would resolve the same With him, who next should tempt her easy fame; And blow with empty words the susceptible flame. Now why should doubtful terms thy mind perplex? Confess thy failty, and avow the sex: No longer loose desire for constant love [to rove. Mistake: but say, 'tis man with whom thou long'st EMMA. Why should'st thou weep? let Nature judge our case; I saw thee young and fair; pursued the chase This younger, fairer, pleads her rightful charms; Nor can the wildness of thy wishes err Are there not poisons, racks, and flames, and So wide, to hope that thou may'st live with her. swords, And fall these sayings from that gentle tongue, Where civil speech and soft persuasión hung; Whose artful sweetness and harmonious strain, Courting my grace, yet courting it in vain, Call'd sighs, and tears, and wishes, to its aid; And, whilst it Henry's glowing flame convey'd, Still blam'd the coldness of the Nut-brown Maid? Let envious Jealousy and canker'd Spite Produce my actions to severest light, And tax my open day, or secret night. Did e'er my tongue speak my unguarded heart The least inclin'd to play the wanton's part? Did e'er my eye one inward thought reveal, Which angels might not hear, and virgins tell? And hast thou, Henry, in my conduct known One fault, but that which I must never own, That I, of all mankind, have lov'd but thee alone? HENRY. Vainly thou talk'st of loving me alone: By Nature prompted, and for empire made, [sue? Love, well thou know'st, no partnership allows : Then from thy foolish heart, vain maid, remove rove. EMMA. Are we in life through one great errour led? Her let me follow; her let me attend Yet, when increasing grief brings slow disease HENRY. Hear, solemn Jove; and conscious Venus, hear; And thou, bright maid, believe me whilst I swear ¿ No time, no change, no future flame, shall move No banish'd man, condemn'd in woods to rove, As thou may'st wish, shall all bis life employ, In me behold the potent Edgar's heir, To greatness next to empire: shalt be brought Hence then for ever from my Emma's breast, EMMA. O day, the fairest sure that ever rose! Period and end of anxious Emma's woes! Sire of her joy, and source of her delight ; O! wing'd with pleasure, take thy happy flight, And give each future morn a tincture of thy white. Yet tell thy votary, potent queen of love, Henry, my Henry, will he never rove? Will he be ever kind, and just, and good? And is there yet no mistress in the wood? None, none there is; the thought was rash and A false idea, and a fancy'd pain. [vain; Doubt shall for ever quit my strengthen'd heart, WHILE thus the constant pair alternate said, The queen of beauty stopt her bridled doves; "Now, Mars," she said, "let Fame exalt her "Renown'd for truth, let all thy sons appear; And constant beauty shall reward their care." Mars smil'd, and bow'd: the Cyprian deity Turn'd to the glorious ruler of the sky; "And thou," she smiling said, "great god of days And verse, behold my deed, and sing my praise; As on the British earth, my favourite isle, Thy gentle rays and kindest influence smile, Through all her laughing fields and verdant groves, Proclaim with joy these memorable loves. From every annual course let one great day To celebrated sports and floral play Be set aside; and, in the softest lays AN ODE, HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO THE QUEEN, ON THE GLORIOUS SUCCESS OF HER MAJESTY'S ARMS, 1706. WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF SPENSER'S STYLE. WHEN Te non paventis funera Galliæ, PREFACE. wise a Trojan. That this Brute, fourth or fifth from Encas, settled in England, and built London, which is called Troja Nova. or Troynovante, is a story which (I think) owes its original, if not to Geoffry of Monmouth, at least to the monkish writers; yet is not rejected by our great Camden; and is told by Milton, as if (at least) he was pleased with it, though possibly he does not believe it: however, it carries a poetical authority, which is sufficient for our purpose. It is as cer tain that Brute came into England, as that Æneas went into Italy; and, upon the supposition of these facts, Virgil wrote the best poem that the world ever read, and Spenser paid queen Elizabeth the greatest compliment. I need not obviate one piece of criticism, that I bring my hero From burning Troy, and Xanthus red with blood: whereas he was not born when that city was deHor. stroyed. Virgil, in the case of his own Æneas relating to Dido, will stand as a sufficient proof, that a man, in his poetical capacity, is not accountable for a little fault in chronology. HEN I first thought of writing upon this occasion, I found the ideas so great and numerous, that I judged them more proper for the warmth of an ode, than for any other sort of poetry: I therefore set Horace before me for a pattern, and particularly the famous ode, the fourth of the fourth book, Qualem ministrum fulminis alitem, &c. which he wrote in praise of Drusus, after his expedition into Germany, and of Augustus, upon his happy choice of that general. And in the following poem, though I have endeavoured to initate all the great strokes of that ode, I have taken the liberty to go off from it, and to add variously, as the subject and my own imagination carried me. As to the style, the choice I made of following the ode in Latio, determined me in English to the stanza; and herein it was impossible not to have a mind to follow our great countryman Spenser; which I have done (as well, at least, as I could) in the manner of iny expression, and the turn of my number: having only added one verse to his stanza, which I thought made the number more harmonious; and avoided such of his words as ! found too obsolete. I have, however, retained some few of them, to make the colouring look more like Spenser's. Behest, command; band, army; prowess, strength; I weet, I know; 1 ween, I think; whilom, heretofore; and two or three more of that kind, which I hope the ladies will pardon me, and not judge my Muse less handsome, though for once she appears in a farthingale. I have also, in Spenser's manner, used Cæsar for the emperor, Boya for Bavaria, Bavar for that prince, Ister for Danube, Iberia for Spain, &c. That noble part of the ode which I just now mentioned, My two great examples, Horace and Spenser, in many things resemble each other: both have a height of imagination, and a majesty of expression in describing the sublime; and both know to temper those talents, and sweeten the description, so as to make it lovely as well as pompous: both have equally that agreeable manner of mixing morality with their story, and that curiosa felicitas in the choice of their diction, which every writer aims at, and so very few have reached: both are particularly fine in their images, and knowing in their numbers. Leaving, therefore, our two masters to the consideration and study of those who design to excel in poetry, I only beg leave to add, that it is long since I have (or at least ought to have) quitted Parnassus, and all the flowery roads on that side the country; though I thought myself indispensably obliged, upon the present occasion, to take a little journey into those parts. ODE. WHEN great Augustus govern'd ancient Rome, When bright Eliza rul'd Britannia's state, Widely distributing her high commands, And boldly wise, and fortunately great, Freed the glad nations from tyrannic bands; An equal genius was in Spenser found; To the high theme he match'd his noble lays : He travell'd England o'er on fairy ground, where Horace praises the Romans as being de In mystic notes to sing his monarch's praise: scended from Æneas, I have turned to the honour Reciting wondrous truths in pleasing dreams, of the British nation, descended from Brute, like-He deck'd Eliza's head with Gloriana's beams. Gens, quæ cremato fortis ab Ilio |